[IND]Memo Dump.
As with the move of bar location, this is now our new home for [IND] business ...
Traders Dump will continue unabated for all to use.
Everyone else please respect this as our other roleplay thread, and unless invited ... You know the score.
MESSAGE TO: All [IND] and Epsilons
COMM ID: The Shrike CEO
New office premises now in operation ... All standing operational procedures, and any changes to status will be posted here. Please add any inter office memos and all paperwork to this board ... My in-tray will as usual be avoided as long as possible.
That is all.
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare
Five months now adrift in space. Comms down, life support on reserve power. The only food left are the scrappy dry rations Starfleet provide in case of replicator malfunctions. It's one of the quirks of warp travel that it makes the universe seem a smaller place, but alone in this tin can, drifting endlessley through the black void of teasing, leering stars I begin to understand how big space really is.
I brush the dust from the bed where she died. After the third month it was like she knew what was coming, like she just... gave up. Mom. I try to utter the syllable but it sticks in my throat like bad grapok sauce. Mom. I'm so sorry.
I can barely see above the console from the helm chair, but I'm going to try bring the systems back online. If I can just squeeze a little more power from the flickering, sputtering warp core, I could send one last subspace message. My small fingers flick inexpertly over the console as I try to remember the warp mechanics I learned in school. Why didn't I listen?! The computer flickers a message. Text only.
"SENDING A SUBSPACE MESSAGE WILL REDUCE LIFE SUPPORT TO 5 MINUTES. SENDING IS NOT RECOMMENDED._"
I hit 'OVERRIDE' This is my last chance. My only chance. I Input the message destination 'Drozana Station' and type my message.
'TRIBBLE'
I hit send. The power drains. The air becomes still and thick. I look over to the blue lips of my mother and I could swear they turned up at the corners into a smile. Mom, I hope I made you proud.
Comments
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare
I brush the dust from the bed where she died. After the third month it was like she knew what was coming, like she just... gave up. Mom. I try to utter the syllable but it sticks in my throat like bad grapok sauce. Mom. I'm so sorry.
I can barely see above the console from the helm chair, but I'm going to try bring the systems back online. If I can just squeeze a little more power from the flickering, sputtering warp core, I could send one last subspace message. My small fingers flick inexpertly over the console as I try to remember the warp mechanics I learned in school. Why didn't I listen?! The computer flickers a message. Text only.
"SENDING A SUBSPACE MESSAGE WILL REDUCE LIFE SUPPORT TO 5 MINUTES. SENDING IS NOT RECOMMENDED._"
I hit 'OVERRIDE' This is my last chance. My only chance. I Input the message destination 'Drozana Station' and type my message.
'TRIBBLE'
I hit send. The power drains. The air becomes still and thick. I look over to the blue lips of my mother and I could swear they turned up at the corners into a smile. Mom, I hope I made you proud.