BBS Archive of Personal Logs

Jameson

Letter Home 53245.5

Tue May 27

The UFP symbol blinks out, replaced by the handsome, and smiling features of Jameson shrouded in shadows. He seems to straighten himself up a bit before saying, "Computer, increase ambient lighting by 20%." The shadows recede from his face and he nods with a satisfied look. "Much better. Hi, Dad. I know I haven't sent anything in a long time. I've been busy with work, which I'm sure you understand, but lately..." There's a grin as he pauses, "I've also been busy with a bit of a personal life." There's a chuckle and a knowing smile, "Which I know you also understand." He gives a deep sigh and closes his eyes. "I think I might have finally met someone. I'm not sure yet. It's...confusing." He opens his eyes and gives a sheepish half-grin, "Which is why I'm talking to you of course. You were ever my confessor and counselor."
The Centauran reaches off camera and collects a mug of something steaming and takes a drink before continuing. "I've known her since Academy. But I never thought of her as anything but a friend. She was kind of tomboyish, but fun. She has a great sense of humour and loves to tease. Then she was transferred here. We've spent a good bit of time together, but the other night there was a beach dance on the holodeck." He adds as an aside. "And yes, Isole and Magret are great before you chide me for not mentioning my fellow Centauran cohorts. They aren't pregnant or married yet, but any time now I'll have news on that front I'm sure." He takes another drink and goes on, "Well, Isole was dancing with Jalyn and...she was beautiful to me. I never realized just how beautiful her smile is. How it lights up her entire face. It was like in that moment I was able to see her through an entirely new set of eyes, and I don't want to go back to looking at her through the others. I asked her out on a date, and I'm going to cook for her."
Marcus closes his eyes as if trying to capture something in his mind. "When I had her in my arms dancing with her? I could forget every bad thing that has ever happened to me. I could forget the stories of the wounded from the war. I could forget..." He closes his mouth and sets it as if in pain briefly, then shakes it off. "Yes, I could even forget the way we found Anna." He smiles a bittersweet smile as he opens his eyes again. "I won't say I'm in love, Dad, but...I could be on my way there." He grins a little the melancholy sliding off his face, "OH, I know that I've had more than my share of partners. But this...this is different Dad. It isn't just about sex. Not that I haven't thought about it...you know me. But it's more than that. I want to know her. I want to just be close to her. I want to be her friend as well." He takes another drink from his cup. "Dad, I love you. Please give Mom and Daphne my love as well. I'll message again soon. Computer, please save message and send to Dr. Elias Jameson, city of Shren, Centaurus." The image blinks out, replaced by the UFP logo.

Niel

What's mine, and what's no longer

Wed May 28

Niel appears on screen with Nelle, the 8 month old infant with blue eyes and blonde hair. The most noticable thing about the image is that Niel and Nelle, and everything behind them (including what appears to be a Federation flag), is lighted in a blue tint. "Personal log, whatever date today is." He smiles and bounces Nelle on his lap, "She's mine. Like, more completely than she was before. Rebecca named me guardian, and now, by all the Federation Courts, Nelle is my daughter. Her father, whoever he is, still has rights of a birth parent, such as visitation, but there's no chance of her being taken away." He looks really happy about this.

"I do owe Wendy now I guess, as she made sure things would work out this way. I just had worried that there would be a chance her birth father could take her away, but there's definitely no chance of that now." He lifts Nelle up into his arms now and turns her to face him. "You're really mine now, and the federation courts recognize you now as Nelle Kirsten Haven." He sighs as he sets her back down. "Of course, that's at Rebecca's request." He seems to be looking around the quarters some. "You know, I've lived here on my own for a few months since her death, and I've still hardly changed anything."

"I miss you so much Rebecca. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so dumb. That night when you said to me, 'when are you going to ask me out already?' I wish I would have been smart enough to ask you out before then. But I didn't even do it then. I waited, till I thought I was ready. Little did I know it wouldn't be enough time."

"But now I don't have you... but I have your spitting image right here in my lap. I've already seen what she will look like in a few years... I just hope that what's supposed to come to pass doesn't, but Wendy didn't do much to reassure me it won't. I guess time will only tell..." he laughs for a moment, "I guess Rebecca knew that best, huh?" The log ends.

Bela

Personal Log: Farewell

Wed May 28

"Personal log, stardate 53247.3."

The torchsong sound of Bela's voice is melancholy as she speaks.

"I bid farewell to the station and I am on my way to Dulcais by shuttlecraft. I'll be catching a transport from Dulcais to Risa, where I will meet Michael. We'll have a few weeks together before we go back to Earth for reassignment. I can't wait to see him and to hold him and tell him how much I've missed him. I almost wish he was bringing the baby, but his mother is looking after Ali while we spend some quality time together."

"Saying goodbye to the station was harder than I expected it to be. I left once, without leave, only to come back on my knees. That first time I left... What a terrible mistake. It cost me my career, which was promising, and the respect of my peers. I only hope that by leaving now I'm not making another terrible mistake. I feel that my place is here, knowing what is coming, what is on the horizon... But I told Michael once that our future is his to decide on. If it comes, it comes. I will meet whatever destiny he plots for us with my chin up."

"I will miss this place. For all the ups and the downs and the hurt and joy... It has become my home. And now, watching it disappear to aft... I feel so sad. And alone. And empty."

"May our future hold brighter promise."

"Computer, end log and save."

Talesin

First entry

Wed May 28

"Personal log, Stardate 53247.4"
The moniter fades in onto the features of Talesin, looking surprisingly worn and tired, hair wet. Bath robe.
"... It's been a while since I've done one of things." an small, tense smile. "I guess I should catch myself up on everything that's happened, because I've not had time before. Time has been flowing so quickly, and already I've been here a week. Things have been going well. I've made a few dear friends, already, in the form of Jalyn and Isole, and I look forward to making friends with Isole's fiancee, Magret, though there's a small language barrier..." another smile.
"Life on a station is taking some getting used to, but one thing I can't complain about is the view. It's amazing... Today... today left enough of an impression that I felt a need to talk about it, though. Ensign MacLeish came in for his pre-duty physical... He's physically fit, alright. Not a -physical- thing wrong with him. Emotionally... Being around him's like having lemon juice poured on rope burn. Raw, intense pain. I can't help but -want- to help that heal..." a soft sigh, and a frown. "And my suggestion of counselling was met with... intense, almost terrifying anger." his hand reaches away, and a teacup returns with it, being sipped from. "I've come so far in controlling my empathy, already... but that shook me to the roots. I've never been the object of that kind of anger before..." another sigh. He's doing that a lot.
"I miss Vildrym. He made it so much safer... but he kept me dependant, too, and that's something no one should be. Nevermind his constant search for his Imzadi..." he takes a long sip from his tea.
"It's sort of funny. I met someone, right away, who caught my attention..." a soft laugh, "However, he's now being pursued by Jalyn, and there are other people on this ship. He's a wonderful man, and she's a wonderful woman and friend. I'd like to become his, as well. And besides, if I wanted someone to warm my bed, it wouldn't be that hard to find someone... That's never what I've been after, though. Hell, half the time I don't know what I want. And that's not healthy. But... I'm not sure... Betazoids take longer to mature than humans do... maybe it's got something to do with that. I just wish I knew where Father was, so I could -talk- to someone about all of this." his voice is almost sullen.
"I miss him. But, then, I've been missing a lot of things, lately." a pause, and he takes another sip of his tea.
"I sound like a petulant child, though. I'm happier here. I have friends. And for now, that's going to be enough to make me happy, I think. I'm just still smarting a bit." a much brighter smile, "It'll pass. I've always landed on my feet before, there's no reason to think I can't do it again." and, having cheered himself immensely, he stops the log, hair drying rather frizzily.

Etrik

Letter to Uncle Finn

Wed May 28

"Personal Log, Stardate 53248.3, begin record, audio only."

"Hey, Uncle Finn! Thanks for the letter! One of these days, you're going to have to tell me how you keep up with me. To answer your questions: I'm fine, I'm perfectly healthy, and I -am- fitting in."

"Station 419 may be small, but it's a nice place. It reminds me a little of home, really. If you ever get the chance, feel free to drop by -- but don't cause trouble. Everyone's kinda twitchy at times, because of how close to conflict things can be. Oh well, I suppose that's why they pay us the big bucks."

"I know you're fond of telling people that you never went into Starfleet because you like to live by your own rules, but frankly, I think you'd have done a good job there. Yes, you're a scoundrel, but you're a lot better person than I think you like to admit. You do have a sense of right and wrong -- though it can be a little warped at times. I know I'm doing well, at any rate. I get along with all my co-workers, both my peers and superiors. I guess my best friend right now is Zip -- Lt. Caeli. He's a Bolian, and he's shown me the ropes for the last week, so I can catch up properly."

"Just between you and me, I think he's got some girl trouble too, but damned if I want to play with that. Mother always told me never pick fights with avalanches, and that's a landslide waiting to happen if I -ever- saw one."

*soft tone in the background*

"Ah, heck, I gotta get dressed and go on the clock. Uncle Finn, give my regards to the family. And tell Grandpa Zeke all those rock-climbing lessons came in handy, eh?"

"Computer, save to personal logfile, and forward entry to Finnegan Etrik, on the /Raven's Feather/."

Regina

Processing...

Fri May 30

Downtime Processing: Countess Regina Bartholomew

Subject: Professor James Moore
Continue Subroutine: Extreme Romantic Attachment
Continue Subroutine: Worry
Target: Obsession With Work
Target: Extreme Dislike For Starfleet

Subject: Gadget (cat)
Continue Subroutine: Detatched Affection
Continue Subroutine: Worry
Target: Health/Grooming (Coat, Claws)

Subject: Duke (dog)
Continue Subroutine: Detatched Affection
Continue Subroutine: Worry
Target: Health/Grooming (Coat, Claws)

Subject: Lieutenant Wendy Tyler
Initiate Subroutine: Polite Interest
Inclination: Social Acquaintance
If: Continued Social Acquaintance
Then: Initiate Friendship

Subject: Isole Arnan
Initiate Subroutine: Warm Interest
Inclination: Close Social Acquaintance
If: Continued Warm Social Acquaintance
Then: Initiate Friendship
Initiate Subroutine: Tenuous Trust
Target: Known Caretaker of Holoprogram
If: Continued Well-Being of CRB
Then: Enhance Friendship Subroutine
Initiate Subroutine: Confusion
Target: Unknown Offer, Unable to Process

Subject: Unknown Offer, Unable to Process
Resolution: Polite Lack of Comprehension, Disregard Immediately

Subject: Professor James Moore/Lieutenant Tyler Conversation
Query: Spark of Life?
ERROR. CANNOT PROCESS.
HARMFUL TO PROGRAM STABILITY. DISREGARD IMMEDIATELY.

Disregarded. Continue Downtime Processing.

Isole

Routine Maintenance

Fri May 30

The UFP emblem flashes briefly before revealing some nameless science lab aboard the USS Aegis, filled with a hodge-podge of machinery and holographic equipment. She is wearing a rather proper dress, her hair falling free. The lights are staggeringly dim. Nursery dim, actually. Sleep dim. She is bent over a terminal, the text flashing over face in gentle scrolls of Holographic diagnostics. Program stability reports. Downtime maintenance.

"Computer: Stardate."

There is a chirp before the female voice of the computer calmly offers, "Stardate 53251.3."

She scrubs at her face gently with a hand, snuffling quietly as she continues staring fixedly at the scrolling data before her.

"What the slag have I gotten us into this time?"

Isole's voice trails off as her eyes skim over a bit of data, her finger moving reflexively to the pause button before rolling the text back a bit. She reads over the program output, her lips moving as her eyes skim rapidfire across the data. Her lips finally purse tightly as she pokes the program to continue and the whirr of data begins again.

"Computer, initiate sequence: Pleasant Dreams. Tailor to programmed desires of the Countess Regina Bartholomew data matrix."

Another chirp is heard, "Acknowledged."

Isole waits for a few minutes before starting up some rather off-key singing as the dreams in digitial continue, such as they are, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don't sing? Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring..."

The song is sung at length before the log ends under full encryption.

Havaris

Happy Birthday!

Fri May 30

Kusto is sprawled out on the enormous couch of he and Medes' quarters, the room dimly lit but for little orbs of soft light shot from candles covered in pierced metal casings. A soft, warm starfield. Outside the stars are clear, and with a blanket draped over him, Kusto sips from a glass of wine, looking freshly showered and rumpled for it.

He sets his his glass down and grabs a leatherbound journal from the floor, opens it to the first page, and begins reading.

"5-21-76: Best day of my life to date. More later." A necessary pause. "Back now. Today I turned twenty-five. Another day at the office. There was a trail of candies on my desk, leading around it in little circles that trailed underneath the desk. On its underside, actually. And there was a little piece of art from my niece with the words 'Happy Birthday' written in Nua's scribbly hand. Below, my sister's hand having written, 'Expect the unexpected'. I thought this would be a good lesson to teach the Officers in Operations. So I went up. And by the door was a little cake in a little case for it. And it read 'Kusto'. The cake did. It was written on the cake."

A pause here as he shifts for comfort and turns the page.

"I went inside and proceeded to throw candies, screaming about a boarding. Caeli and Risa were there. Harris came in and I nailed him between the eyes with a Jumja Toffee." Kusto can't help but chuckle at the memory. "Once the fun and games were concluded, I went back to my duties. The day passed. And I came home."

Another pause.

"Alethea was waiting for me with the quarters all spiced with candles that smelled like Bajor. Like Dahkur, like Bestri. Little sconces with little holes, the lights all dim, and the room like stars. She was on the couch in her skirt and tank and driving cap. Her boots. Stockings. Garters, even." Kusto flops the journal against his chest for a moment, puffs out a sigh, and lifts it again to begin reading the facing page. "We're trying hard to get her pregnant. But nothing is certain, nothing is ever easy. Especially between species. But we're stubborn, and we'll keep trying. Even if it didn't work this time. Or the month before. There's always her birthday, right?"

"Afterwards, after some cuddling, she went off to clean up. When she came out again, I complimented her on the room. And she said the most beautiful things. About the Israelites and their temple which wasn't a temple at all, but rather a tent in which they put the Ark of the Covenent. And she said that the farm we'll one day own is our temple, and that this isn't our Holiest of Holies, it's just our tent in the Wilderness. The Ark of Our Covenant, she said. She wanted to invoke our temple in our tent. And she did a very good job."

"I cried. Good tears for a change, but I cried. She said the most wonderful things. She just kept on comparing us to primal gods of her Planet. To the deitic male and female. The more she spoke, the more I wanted her to be pregnant, the more I wanted that temple for us. The more I realized I would do anything to have it, and her, and our child. I would do anything to protect them. Damn the Fleet, damn my career, damn the Galaxy. Damn anything and show it some mercies in the doing if it stands between my present and our future. Woe betide whatever puts her to harm."

A flip of the page here.

"And then came the presents. This journal, of course. A book about foxes and their various sorts on Earth. A towel with a note in it. A voucher good for a custom gown for Alethea. I get to dress her up how I like, take her out to the Twilight's Edge. A lot. A mobile for the baby. And a holopicture of Alethea looking as beautiful as my minds' eye sees her. Which is to say, just. Incredibly beautiful. She said she shot seventeen rolls of film to get the image she finally holoprinted. She had to record the Bestri and Dahkur sim sounds and talk to me even though I wasn't there. Finally, at the end of it all, after talking to me for hours? She got that picture. I have no notion of where to properly display it. I don't think I'd feel comfortable having others see Alethea through my eyes. They're free to see her with her own, but this was beyond intimate. Straight into the realms of sanctity."

Another turn of the page.

"I went to meet with Gwi'on Darax afterwards. After dinner and another attempt at baby. After Alethea was properly asleep. I was half in the bag after all of that wine, all strung out on nerves and endorphines. We talked about things. The war. Things I'd seen. His family. Our differences and similarities. I don't tend to want to gravitate towards people, but talking to him has been so effortless. They say Bolians in general are good with personal interactions. Darax must be one of those really exceptional Bolians. He's somewhere in the limbo between friend and guy I'll talk to. But I keep going to him to see if he'll take that next step forward with me. Smile through another round of drunken, rude, presumptuous Lieutenant Havaris. Frankly, I think he's on to me. It's why he's never come to me, and seems to know just what to say."

Flip page.

"Then I came back home, no more cake to share, all my candies given away, the wrapping paper and boxes on the floor, dinner detritus on the table beside my pile of presents. And then I crawled into bed beside my wife. And took some pictures with me to work in the morning. Best day ever."

Havaris closes the book and drops it onto the floor before rising up and sounding the end of the log.

Harris

Warrior for the Future

Fri May 30

"Personal log, stardate 53252.8."

The stars drift by in cold silence, their pale light glinting through the viewport into Harris' quarters and onto him as he sprawls in a chair. "My birthday passed in silence this year, with no one except Lieutenant Caeli and Meg saying anything." He sighs, staring at the points of light beyond his window. In his hands rests a model of a Constitution-class starship. "And that was okay."

He pauses thoughtfully again. "I used to feel old and... dusty. A piece behind a rope in a museum, destined to forever be part of the cosmic freak show. Like the Phoenix in the Smithsonian, or Buck Bokai's baseball bat - a piece of history that, for whatever reason, was preserved." He moves the model through a graceful arc, watching it slide through the near complete darkness. "And that shattered all the confidence that I ever had in myself. I knew that I'd fail, because there was no other way about it. How could someone so *old* do anything right?"

Another pause, another swoosh of the model. "At Earth, I stood in the middle of the Quad and waited to be felled by a blast from orbit as they sizzled over the city. I watched the Golden Gate collapse. I watched cadets take up phaser rifles and fire back into the sky, even though it was ultimately pointless. I saw shuttles struggling to lift off, only to be batted down. I watched people vaporized by disruptor bursts." He's quiet as he admits this to himself for the first time. "I *wanted* to die, and they robbed me of it. As the bolts stopped falling, I cursed them. I cursed them for not firing once more. I cursed them for allowing me to live... and I cursed myself for living again."

Finally, the model stops its motions to settle into his lap. "When I first got here, I wanted to keep to myself. I had my books. My quarters. My duty." He smiles to himself, a bit ruefully. "They drug me out. Refused to let me alone. Allowed me into the family, at least in a fashion. And I owe them everything."

Another pause, and he turns his gaze onto the ship he holds. "Kusto says that the improvement I've shown in the last two months is outstanding. He doesn't know that I fight for him. Meg doesn't know that I fight for her. Neither does Randal, or Gwen, or Loni. I can't dwell in the past anymore - it's gone and done with, and no amount of wishing will bring that back now." With a sigh, the model is placed back onto the coffee table. "I will fight for the future. I will fight for my family. I will fight for my home... and I will fight for myself. I owe them no less, and myself much more."

He pauses once again, idly fiddling with his promise ring for a moment. "Today, I embrace my one hundred thirteenth year. Computer, end log."

Kessler

The return

Sat May 31

Anji is sitting at a small table, her back and shoulders held perfectly rigid. She might be made of stone even here, in her new quarters, and the spartan atmosphere makes her seem even harder. Her eyes are tired, however, and when she begins to speak, her voice shakes at first.
"Computer: insert the necessary time and date stamps." It isn't like Anji to skip the details, but she does not pause. "My father is dead. My mother will not speak to me. My brothers do not know how to bridge the gap, and I am tired of trying."
She stops, one hand settling on the table as she studies her short fingernails. "He weathered the first stroke... not well, but at least he was still alive. He could no longer focus, however, and the great Edward Kessler could not live if he was not analyzing strings of data as long as his arm. He could barely walk." The words catch in her throat. "I had to help him dress and eat, and for the first time in my life, I almost felt close to him. For the first time in his life, I think he was grateful to have a daughter. What does that say about us?"
Anji stands abruptly and begins to pace, her posture never wavering. It never does when she is in uniform, and apparently that holds even in her quarters. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I did not lose my post, and now I've returned. But to what? I'm sure everything has changed. Everything always changes, and now the only real obstacles to my dreams are gone. Now, when it may be too late. My mother is so upset that I did not cry at the service -- my cold, emotionless mother, the mother who has never hugged me, that's rich -- she won't care what I do. If I hare off and get myself killed tomorrow, who would cry for me? My brothers... I love them so much, but they are too like Mother and Dad. They are too wrapped up in their work to feel."
"I have been denied everything I wanted in this life. I can't live up to the family intellect, and I can't make my own way. I have to push on, to do what I can here. But what? Kusto gave me a chance with the Lithians and I wasn't capable. I could not find anything new. Maybe I'm not meant to blaze new paths. So what's left for me?"
She stops in the middle of the room and closes her eyes. "I'm finished. Computer, save and encrypt."

Gr'laH

The Rise of Gr'laH

Sat May 31

The trefoil of the Klingon Empire flashes on screen finding Gr'laH seated behind his desk and backed by a red on black banner carrying that very same symbol. He stews quietly in the dim red light, the preferred lighting and coloration for a proper victory brood. He circles a goblet of bloodwine about in his only hand, his stump propped up on the back of his chair as he actually slouches in the midst of his smugness.

"Soon is a word much loved by Klingons. Almost as much as we love the word 'now'. Soon."

He tilts back his goblet for a drink, dribbling wine down his chin and through his beard.

"I convinced the FDS and Starfleet to dodge Lux and go to Rom. With success. West's Blockade will be met not by Krotar's weapons or my rhetorics, but by Commander Poole, Lieutenant Idrani, and Legate Cerene. If they continue to bar our retreat across the border, so be it. Battle. But I make the peacemakers broker the peace while I handle the matters of battle which greatly concern the Empire. Soon I will have the evidence of the Ferengi Alliance. Soon I will have the evidence of the Nausicaans. Soon I will have the access to Teiria to verify it. If Starfleet believes I intend to accept the offerings made of Teirian prisoners tortured for confessions, their minds blank and emotions empty, they are fools. Teiria /will/ point to Rynka. The Nausicaan Evidence points to Rynka. The information bought by Avok points to Rynka, and then on to Lux. Soon. Soon this matter will be concluded and we will wipe those responsible from the realms of the living. Bak'TUR will be repaid."

Gr'laH drains his goblet, tossing it aside with a quiet chortle where it clatters on the floor.

"Soon, I meet with the Kang. Soon the High Council meets to discuss the partitioning of the holdings, captured vessels, funds, and interests of the fallen house of Sta'TORuk. The meeting with the Kang will solidify their intentions towards the UNA -- intentions that trouble me some little in the grand scheme, but serve in the short term -- and provide the rest of those who lost in the Sta'TORuk betrayal sufficient and fair recompense. The UNA will be repaid, I will be repaid, the KDF will be repaid, the Kang will be repaid, and most importantly? Avok will repay the Kang. And once that is done, I will have fufilled my promise to Avok and he will fufill his to me."

"I will press for the rights to Sta'TORuk's interests on Ha'toria and Rura Penthe -- giving me land and oversight near Dulcais, and a pulse on the prison world's comings and goings. In addition, I will request the governance of Balduk, the former seat of Sta'TORuk's power. Claim it. Make it my own. I will ask for vessels to repay me for those I have lost. More besides, if those remain to be divvied. I will ask for a share of the liquid assets of the house as befits my rank and role in the matter. I will acquire income, holdings, and vessels. Enough to elevate my House from its decline. Perhaps we will not be great in my lifetime. But we will be greater at its end, by far, than we were at its beginning."

"And then? I will claim the Ambassadorship. The Empire will have a stronger representative here. Avok's house will be saved. Peace with the UNA. A future for my house. Kang's name reformed and repaired. Vengeance for Bak'TUR."

Gr'laH slowly forms a fist, looking so exquisitely pleased he can nearly taste the blood.

"Soon."

Donavon

Personal Log

Sat May 31

"Change."
The words, gentle, feminine and distant, echo throughout the empty quarters. Flames sway in their flickering dance and illuminate a face in soft candlelight. Eyes sparkle, flecks appearing - flecks of hope, glee, and a promise. Meg shifts from stargazing to glancing ahead at the viewscreen while wrapping herself further into the comforts of a cotton blanket.
"We all face it. Becomes routine to bend with the ebb and flow of life." Simply stated, warmth melts the frost in her tone. She smiles brightly. "Yet there are times when change isn't routine. It is wanted. I want this..with every fiber in me." Her thumb brushes over a ring adorning a finger. The gaze upon it is filled with affection and joy…and remembrance. "That night I was allowed to see every facet of Robert…every age of him and embraced them. Looking back, I've always been able to see them lurking about. Little Robbie when his personal storage items arrived. Rob when he flushes in embarrassment. Harris when he behaves like the Admiral. Robert..ah Robert." Eyes stare ahead. "He's emerging from his shadowy cave. He actually smiles and laughs more and I fall more in love. All my birthday gifts could be returned without a single word from me…for the greatest gift was seeing Robert through those stages of life and being asked to spend the rest of his life at his side."
Meg scoots further onto the couch and sips from her whiskey glass. Moments pause in this stillness before she laughs aloud. "Reminder to self: Payback Dakin and Caeli ASAP. Computer, end log."

Moore

Decisions

Sat May 31

"Professor James Moore's personal journal, Saturday, the thirty-first of May, in the year of our Lord 2376."

The Professor sits on a chair in a very Victorian study, gazing at a book in his hands. "Leftenant Tyler brought by some new guests for me to speak with - a Mycroft Duncan, and Miss Gwendolyn Poole. Duncan is with the Department of Temporal Investigations - quite a queer organization, if you ask me. Investigating temporal events as if they're old stories from dime novels, or from the files of Scotland Yard. They always squabble about the 'preferred timeline' and 'temporal meddling'. As if they know how exactly to repair time, or how to shape it into its proper form, when really... all they want to do is use time to ensure the survival of the Federation." He shakes his head. "Oh, the sheer hubris of it all."

"Miss Poole, however... she is entirely different. She seems to actually be interested in Moore, the man, instead of Moore, the sentient computer program with homocidal tendencies. She spoke to me of her home, outside of London, and her family - it wounded me greviously when I was forced to remind her that London no longer exists." Moore releases a sigh, gently closing the cover of his book and placing it on the desk. "She posed a stunning series of questions to me, ones that actually gave me pause. Am I truly the great Moriarty of the Holmes novels, or can I break outside my programming and become a different man? Can I simply be James Moore, scientist and husband, and not an archvillain? Can I allow Starfleet to trust me, and not use that against them? Or, am I a product of a single command - 'Create an opponent who can defeat Data', and nothing more?"

He frowns thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "That brings with it, of sheer necessity, all sorts of other questions. Do I have a soul? When my program is allowed to degrade, or is deleted - will I go to heaven? Or will I be doomed for all eternity to being a lost collection of bits? I was secure in my position before, but now..." he pauses, considering that some more. "...now, I look forward to Gwendolyn's next visit. I find her company to be quite refreshing, and were I flesh and blood... I would wish to have a daughter such as her. Perhaps I shall discuss programming a child with Regina, after I manage to convince Leftenant Tyler to help me win her sentience."

He smiles wistfully. "There is always room for change, after all. Computer, end log. Encrypt using scheme Moore-576Beta, and store in my matrix."

Poole

No More Tears

Sun Jun 01

Personal Log, Gwendolyn Anne Poole, Stardate 53256.7

Gwen is sitting, much calmer than she was the night previous, cushioning Nevaren's head with her legs. He is, apparently, asleep, but even so she brushes at his lengthening hair, long slow strokes as she speaks. "Computer, delete previous entry... It's hardly becoming me, nor the second officer of this station. Toralin was right. Lao was right... Thea was right. Kusto was... well, I still think he's wrong on that particular issue, but I'm nothing without my friends, so I will do what I can to compromise."

"Wendy asked about my orb vision last night... but I'm bound ethically, not to tell her the most personal parts about it. I told her what I could... not that it's of any help, but I want to help her, I want us to succeed so badly."

Sighing, she pets Nevaren's hair, as she continues, "Nevaren, however, told me of his vision... without me asking him directly. Tortured for two years. And I'm pregnant with Marcus' child.... I think perhaps, he still has some jealously there... I told him I would never do that. Marcus is two minutes away from ending up in a hospital the rest of his life for being mentally deranged. How could Nevaren ever think I'd go back to that ... bastard. Ever."

Gwen shudders and tickles at Nevaren's nose, scritching his shoulders. "I also met Professor Moore on the Aegis today... he is ... the most remarkable individual. I look forward to meeting him again, and I hope this time I can bring Nevaren... other than Isole and Magret, he's the only one I know with skills in holographics, but I'm sure Isole has everything in tiptop shape, so... I guess I just want Nevaren to meet James... I don't know... but, I do know I'm getting tired... computer, make sure you have deleted the previous log and any copies there may be of it, and save and end this log."

Haven

Ups and Downs

Mon Jun 02

The Federation embalm fades out as Loni fades in. She blows out a long sigh then begins to speak. "It takes a lot of courage to take a look inside and decide to make a change. Aaron said that. I don't feel courageous. I feel lost. I feel confused. I feel like I'm farther from shore then I was before and I can't find my stride."

"Wendy asked about my Orb vision today." She shakes her head. "Correction.. she asked if my Orb vision contained silicon-based life forms. I find that very odd. I had nothing to tell her, of course, but I wonder why she asked in the first place? It begs the question.. who had one? I can't believe that only one vision of that kind would worry her that much so how many where there? Just another secret to add to the current list of 3,657."

"I've moved back into regular quarters.. gave Glemm Tull's desk and chair. The rest of the furniture when to the Education center where I know it'll be used. In my fashion, I said good-bye to Tull. Not to the child he is, but to the life he might have lived with me. I said good-bye to Bela as well this week. I'll miss her dearly but I know she'll be happy. She'll be with her family; with Michael and my goddaughter. That makes two lovely young ladies I have the honor to call goddaughters. Allie and Nelle. I guess that'll have to do."

"I don't know what to do about Zip. I'm just not any good at talking to people. I love him dearly.. as a friend.. and I've hurt him. I don't know what to do about it other then give him time. The same with Craig. And Mauri. Prophets, the list just keeps growing."

"On the up side of things, my project is completed. I gave it to Aaron tonight and I asked him to include the list of those that helped me. He said to hold on to the list for now though I'm not sure why. He's got something up his sleeve. I can feel it. I'm also seeing Counselor Gellan for a while to work on this work obsession addiction I have. Both she and Des made some good points so I'll work on it."

"I still haven't heard back from Avok so I'm writing him off as nothing more then an honorless liar. A pity really but not wholly unexpected. I don't care what the others think or believe. Gorgha will be my father until he decides not to be."

She sighs again, pushes the cat from her lap and finishes with, "Computer, save log and encrypt. Set a reminder to write Prythra tomorrow and set up a meeting with Aaron and Des to talk about my up coming leave and with Wade to find out about those items I ordered."

Cristobal

The time has come.

Fri Jun 06

Cristobal sits down in his chair, wearing a robe. A set of chainmail, of all things, can be seen on the floor in the background. There's a glass of wine, or possibly bloodwine, in his hand. He shakes his head and a sardonic grin appears on his face. He says, "Personal Log, Stardate 53268.0, I was so eager to find /some/ form of relaxation that when Ensign Lao posted notice of his holo-novel, I leapt at it, sight unseen. So what was the story?" He laughs loudly and says, "It was a fantasy setting and I played a /swordsman!/" He laughs nearly uncontrollably for several seconds, holding his stomach as it begins to ache with the laughter.
When he finally regains control, he sips from the glass and says, "Oh my...It was actually an intriguing story. Uncomplicated, but these stories don't have to be brain-twisters. The fight scenes were..." He shakes his head and says, "About two or three levels below what I've been practicing against for the last month or so. Really, it had to be, everyone else in there barely knew how to wield a blade. Thea kept jumping out of artificial shadows and trying to stab things in the back. Missed most of the time. Fun though. Zip makes a good orc."
He has another sip and says, "I can't take it anymore, though. The waiting is driving both of us crazy. And the restrictions..." He sets his glass down and stands, pacing absently in and out of the field of view while saying, "I can grasp the concept of no sex before marriage. I don't /agree/ with it. I think couples need to know they are compatible in every way before making a commitment like that, but I can understand it. But simple comfort like sleeping /next/ to each other? Gr'laH said the only reason I wished such was to edge closer to forbidden territory. Gr'laH's no fool, but that's utter nonsense."
Cristobal sits back down and drinks again from the glass. "I wish just once he had fought with a blade. Against me, against anyone. Somewhere I could watch him, assess his skill. I just don't know what I'm up against. I /think/ I should have the advantage. He's stronger, but I'm quicker, and since he can't wield a bat'leth effectively, his strength shouldn't factor into it, as I can parry a mek'leth or a dk'tagh without difficulty. At least I /think/ you can't wield a bat'leth one-handed. If I'm right, that also means I'll have greater range. I can stay away from him, wear him down. Give him little slashes that'll be battle scars he can be proud of but won't cost him another limb. Get the victory without destroying the opponent totally."
"Because that's the real reason I've waited as long as I have. If my estimation of his abilities are correct, I could have beaten him before. I could have destroyed him. I needed to be good enough to win without doing just that. Even under Alliance dueling regulations, I can't believe Starfleet wouldn't look askance at killing a Klingon diplomat, even one as obstreperous as Gr'laH. Perhaps more importantly, I don't think Churas would be grateful even if he would go to Sto-vo-kor. Just the opposite. Call it a hunch."
He shakes his head and drinks the remainder of the wine in the glass. "No. For this to work, I need to be good enough for the fight to be over before it starts. I think I am, but I do not know. What I do know is, I can wait no longer." He sets the glass down on the table and says, "I will wait no longer. Computer. End Log."

Moore

The Changing Face of Evil

Sat Jun 07

"Professor James Moore's personal journal, Friday, June Sixth, in the year of our Lord 2376."

Moore paces through an apple orchard, inspecting each tree as if to take a look at the programming that makes it up. Fog curls around his legs and in the near background. "Gwendolyn brought her husband Nevaren and son Eisak to visit me several nights ago as I endeavoured to make the final adjustments to the program of her family home." The holovillian smiles a bit wistfully as he plucks a dead leaf from the tree, then moves to the next. "I must admit, their openness and candor gave me quite the shock, and indeed... it still continues to surprise me."

As he pauses at the next apple tree, he plucks a ripened piece of fruit and takes a bite. "Hmm... too tart. Computer, adjust sugar content of apples by 13.789 percent." With a nod of satisfaction, and a hint of thoughtful chewing... he continues recording his log. "I can't seem to accept that they may be as caring as they seem - too often have I been betrayed by Starfleet to be able to fully trust them... especially after running into the likes of Agent Leevo Galven of the Department of Temporal Investigations."

The hologram snorts derisively. "The man had the unmitigated gall to enter *my* lab. Touch *my* equipment. Of course, that would have been permissable had he at least been somewhat respectful - but no. Having been raised in a barn, a sty, or some equally disgusting hole, that imbicile called me 'the hologram'. As if I were nothing more than a complex amalgam of bits, a series of ones and zeroes to be decompiled and studied at wiil." He flings his arms apart, still pacing between trees. "I daresay that man was the most ill-tempered humanoid that I have ever had the displeasure of encountering in my short existance, and I do pray to the Lord that we will not cross paths again. I do take some small solace in the fact that my wit was clearly superior to his own, and that my barbs stung quite deeply."

Incident pushed out of mind, Moore comes to a small stream. "But I digress. I am most intrigued by Nevaren's offer to look into the construction of android bodies for myself and Regina... although I know little about the subject of androids myself." He pauses, then raises his voice. "Computer, please transfer all files about androids that I am cleared for to my data terminal." Another nod, then he continues. "I also find myself longing for company more and more each day. Gwendolyn's visits help curb the desire, but I find myself wondering what the other people on this particular facility are like. If they are like her at all, this place is truly one of the finest in the entirety of the Federation."

Moore smiles wistfully. "They almost encourage me to care about their fates beyond the normal status quo... and that does hearten me immensely. Computer, end log. Encrypt log using scheme Moore-Beta576 and store in my matrix."

Harris

Idle Musings

Sat Jun 07

"Personal Log, Stardate 53270.0."

Harris sits in the center chair of the Enterprise 1701 (pre-refit), exhastion written on his features. "I remember the trial of the Admiral as if it was yesterday. We all watched it. We all knew from the beginning that it was a farce. How could it be anything but?" Eyes slide closed as the sea of memories washes over him. "'I've never trusted Klingons, and I never will,' he said... and I agreed with him. They were no better than animals to me then, really - more like bears or mugato than humans. Violent, senseless beasts who had somehow managed to become a spacefaring race."

Shame begins to eat at his voice. "I laughed at all the jokes, spread all the rumors. I looked forward to fighting them, because I knew that I was helping to cleanse the shallow end of the humanoid gene pool." The old man sinks low in the chair, placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "After the accident, I found myself in a future where the Klingons are our allies... and that struck me as being wrong on the deepest level of my soul. The Federation stands for the ideals of peace and justice. Galactic harmony. Building positive relationships with our neighbors. The Klingons stood, in my mind, for brutality. Oppression. Destruction. Senseless violence." He falls silent for a long moment, and then unleashes the ultimate truth of the whole affair in a hiss. "And I *hated* them. How could I not? They were the *enemy*, and they only stood with us to ensure the continued existance of their barbarism."

Another stretch of silence. "Starfleet sent me here to find my place in the fleet again. They sent me here to find my place in this time. With so many Klingons around, I can't help but wonder if they sent me to get over my blatant racism?" Robert sighs, sinking even lower in the chair. "I see compassion in Gorgha's eyes. I hear understanding in Ha'nuQ's words." His eyes reopen with a sigh. "And I hear anger, resentment, and fear in my own. Who is the animal now?"

Falling mute, Harris stares at the viewscreen for a long time before the log finally hits its timeout function and fades.

Talesin

Adjustment

Sat Jun 07

The Federation emblem fades to reveal Talesin sitting in a chair, wearing a large, fluffy bathrobe that covers everything from neck to knee. "Personal log, Stardate 53270.2."
Keth takes a deep breath, "I've been here only a short time, and yet I've already changed so much. I'm adjusting well, I think. The emotions of others are easier to ignore, for the most part, though it still gets a little overwhelming at times... Like tonight. I was called in to a duel between Lt. JG Cristobal and the Klingon Gr'laH, son of Go'lah." a pause, and the Ensign pales slightly, "I never want to see something like that again. If it had been my choice, it would have never even happened. I treated Cristobal for bruised ribs and a mild concussion. Gr'laH had to be teleported to the infirmary."
"It troubled me. Not just to watch, but to feel the... hostility... I just hope Cristobal's beloved listens to Aaron's orders and doesn't throw anything at him for a while. If he gets another head injury before he recovers from the concussion, it could escalate into a third degree condition, or worse, kill him." he looks rather grim for a moment, before smiling again, calming.
"Like I said. I'm adjusting. A few months ago, I would have ran as far as I could from that duel. But I guess that's what we all have to do. If we don't grow, we become stiff. And when high winds come, stiff things break." another smile, this one more sad. He picks up an old fashioned photograph, "I miss mother. If ever there was a human who could have lived happily with the Betazoids, it would be her. She always knew what I was thinking, and the right thing to say. I sometimes wonder if she doesn't have some sort of latent empathy, herself. Perhaps when she was carrying me..." a shrug, "I just know I miss her. I might write her a letter, later." a pause, and he sets the picture back down.
"I recently became involved in something called 'roleplaying'. Ensign Lao needed players for a holodeck program he was running, and Jalyn, Marcus and I all asked to join in." a wider smile, this time, "It was a lot of fun. I almost burnt down an entire forest. After the session, Marcus, Jalyn and I were supposed to have a pig out session, but Marcus got called away. Ensign Risa and I spent the night talking about fun things. I wish I'd known her in Academy. Marcus, too..." another pause, "I'm not sure how to proceed. Two of my closest friends are becoming romantically intangled in an almost unhealthy manner... Jalyn described something, unwittingly, that sounded a great deal like all the definitions of Imzadi I've heard. But on the other hand, she also described what any healthy young woman might feel in her situation..." a louder sigh, and Keth shakes his head, a strand of wet hair falling into one eye. "Ahh. I'm not the Counselor. I'm not going to worry about it. I'll just keep giving advice when they need it, and keep hitting them over the head when they don't /take/ my advice... God, Betazoids are such busybodies. I fear I'm becoming like my stepmother." a laugh.
"Computer, end personal log."

Nevaren

A window with a view..

Wed Jun 11

"Computer, Open Nevaren's personal Log."

The quarters are extremely quiet.. and dark.. completely empty of anyone except the lone figure sitting on the ledge below one of the large windows. Every few moments, for a brief instant, the shadow is illuminated by a pulse from the anomaly... Nevaren just sits there, in his white and draped silk robe, hugging his legs with one hand and cradling a wide-belled wine glass with a suspiciously blue liquid inside of it in his other hand... there is one empty bottle propped beside him, and a second one that is half empty. Nevaren just stares into space, his breath catching in his throat, and takes a sip of his drink.. His hair is disheveled and his eyes are lined with dark rings.. and his cheeks appear to be slightly wet.

"I hate this.. I hate this station.. I hate these people.. but most of all I hate me." He takes a sip of the liquid and shivers faintly, "I have a wife who is, apparently, getting close to an Orion woman in more then the plutonic sense.. Or so the Orion told me.. I want to give Gwen the benefit of the doubt but.. We haven't spoken in two days.. and I know she has visited that slave girl whore. I told that woman if she tried to make a move in on Gwen and threaten our marriage....I would kill her..And I meant it.. Prophets I meant it and I still do.. No wonder Gwen would rather be with someone else.."

He wipes at his eyes. "Oh.. and the crowning achievement of my day... I have just been charged with violation of the Starfleet Security of Information Act.. was threatened with a life time in a penal colony.. They dropped the charges but I have been reprimanded and will lose my new brevited rank.. a rank I worked hard for... all because /they/ made a mistake and took something for granted. All because they didn't give an order, just abstractly implied it. I will never make chief.. I doubt I will make it much longer in Starfleet.. What's the point? I know nothing, am kept out of the loop, having to watch these secrets enfold over and over, having a damned good educated Idea what is going on but not being told.. I was there from the beginning and I have been completely shut out.. and today proved it."

He looks down into his glass, staring at the reflection in the blue liquid. "Mekara.. maybe you were right.. about Gwen.. about Starfleet... About the Federation. They are not my people, and they have all made it clear now that I am not one of theirs. If you were here and asked me.. asked me if I would like to go home, like you offered all that time ago.. I... I might even take you up on it.."

He looks over at the empty bedroom where his foster son, Eisak, usually sleeps. It is empty, Eisak staying over at a friends birthday party. "I just wanted a family. A wife.. A son.. A baby.. the baby that Gwen and I were going to try and have.. I wanted a good career.. one where I could make a difference... where I was trusted enough and respected to keep secrets.. where I was told just what /were/ secrets.."

Nevaren chokes once on a ragged breath, wiping at his eyes. "But.. we don't get what we want.. do we? We never get what we want. But I just... I thought that maybe..." he chokes up again. "Computer.. just... End log, damnit."

Nevaren

Who Are You? (pt I)

Thu Jun 12

Who Are You?

You wake up a little before 0400, tangled in her arms and the soft bed sheets your friends gave you as a wedding present. She is still asleep, the eyes behind her lids scanning back and forth in the throws of deep REM. Her cherubic face is outlined by the long tangles of blonde hair that hang down in front of her.

No, she doesn’t wake with you, being that it is still much to early for her. But she does squeeze you once in an unconscious hug, sighing contentedly. You echo that sigh, your body still relaxed from the previous night’s rather strange but not unpleasant ending.

You aren’t one to remain relaxed too long, however. You never were. And especially not now. Even with the beginning on this road to resolution you and her have begun, together, you are still tightly wound. The Beast inside you stirs whenever you think about the situation, but you keep it at bay.. You always have.. At least tried anyways.

Who Are You?

You won’t succumb.. Not now. Not here. You are in control. You carefully extradite yourself from her, mindful not to wake her this early. The floor, though carpeted, is cool under your feet. The bedroom is even cooler. She stirs once behind you, reacting displeased that there is no longer anyone warm beside her, and wraps herself in the blankets, making a cocoon of thick fabrics.

You grab your robe and some clothes and step into the common area. It’s warmer in here, average human temperatures. That’s the compromise you two made a long time ago. The Common is kept at the most comfortable temperature possible for her, both of your friends, and any other warm blooded mammalian while and the bedroom is kept at a cooler temp which you are more comfortable with. That’s what blankets and You are for, she teased at the time.

You pass the door to your son’s room, taking a quick peek at the little trill boy all curled up with his cartoon-like stuffed tellarite whom he has affectionately named after an associate and friend whom you work with. You take a few quiet moments to make sure he is sleeping well.. and happy. Your heart beats a bit faster, a bit more fearful, when you realize how much you and her love him.. and how close it came to things being ruined forever.. How close it can /still/ come..

Who Are You?

You need to think about something else. You slip on your shorts and t-shirt, a pair of socks and a nicely broken in pair of shoes that bind up around the ankle. You leave the wrist and ankle weights alone, though. But you /do/ grab ‘The Kit’ from the locked medicine cabinet in the bathroom. A roll of pocketed fabric which, when unfurled, reveals a number of pillboxes and a hypospray.

The pills range from dietary supplements that bolster your gustatory system and provide you with the proper vitamins and amino acids your mutated and damaged body cannot produce properly or, in some cases, at all to the salts that help you retain the water your denser then human-average body requires to an a natural Enkephalon analog that you take one every three days to reduce the swelling and the pain in certain joints and muscles that have been over used in your still short life. The Hypospray contains Imetragetavin, the medicine you take because of your lack of pigment and other affects of that particular mutation .

This is what you call ‘The Routine’.. Its what keeps you alive.

Who Are You?

You are Running. Running is a good, pure motion. A motion that you can use to focus yourself entirely on a single action, thus not think abut anything that may distract you. Just the sound of your breath, the thumps of your feet against the floor plating, the pace of your heart in rhythm with each long stride.

Focus keeps the Beast from rearing it’s ugly head. From pushing out of it’s form-confining cage deep inside of you and lashing out. Focus is the chain that binds him and that keeps you and everyone safe from it’s claws that wish to rend and destroy, to take retribution and vengeance.

You run a bit harder now.. a bit faster. Through the bends and loops of corridors that crisscross this station like a maze in some stygian labyrinth. You pass people just waking up and getting ready to head on shift. You pass people who are just get getting off shift and who are looking forward to bed. Some you know, some you don’t. That’s life. You can’t know everyone. They can’t all know you.

Who Are You?

You need to run faster. Turbolifts would only slow you down, allow you to cramp up as you waited for them to arrive and get to wherever they go. Jefferies tubes are the way to go. You know ever single one of them on this station like the back of your hand. It’s your job. They are your domain. The secret arteries that give life to the station.

You take the ladders two runs at a time, pulling yourself with just your arms. You can feel the slight burn in your shoulders. You realize you haven’t worked out enough in the past week. You’re going to have to rectify that. You can’t be weak. You can’t be complacent. Another problem that has arisen, albeit a minor one. You will fix the problem. It’s what you do.

Who Are you?

An hour later you have run the ring of every deck on the station, a number of miles you forget at the moment as you slow your pace along the upper mall level. The run has done you good. Your heart is racing now in your middle side. It’s a stupid place to put a heart, you know. Humans have them in their chest, Vulcan's and Romulan’s have them where the human liver would be. You just /had to be different, right? Your body had to compromise and have it put somewhere in between the two. It sort of sucks when your heart is so close to your stomach that it could give the term heartburn a whole new definition.

You takes deep breaths, trying to slow down your heartbeat now. You still haven’t stopped but you aren’t running anymore either. You’re walking just fast enough to keep your legs from cramping. All in all you feel better. You haven’t even thought once about what has happened the past few days. The breach of security that was your fault. That your wife...

Damnit all.

Who Are you?

You tell the voice to shut up and make your way to the holodeck. Your heartbeat is rising again, thumping hard inside of you. The Beast is rattling it’s cage like some enraged gibbon in a zoo, screaming at the ridiculing spectators.

You Need more Focus.. You need stronger chains to hold the Beast at bay.

Twenty Minutes later you are in the holodeck, a simulacrum of some back street 20th century gym or dojo. It is a good program, one that has served you faithfully over many years. You’ve never been on for meditation, really, not having been formally trained in that area. Physical endeavor has always worked in it’s place, when burying yourself in the arcane fields of advanced applied and/or theoretical engineering has failed. If it wasn’t running, Boxing helped you relieve the stress that has always built up inside of you like the pyro-plastic pressure of a volcano waiting to

Nevaren

Who Are You? (pt II)

Thu Jun 12

(...Continued)

Who Are you?

People do not realize that Klingon’s actually teach Control. That is what Mok’bara is, to you, in it’s simplest incarnation. Not a way of self defense, or offence. Not a series of mindless and repetitive slow moving exercises. It is a way of Control. It is a way to focus your energies in a way so that you can learn not just to control them consciously but also allow that control to, hopefully over time, become an unconscious reflex.

You start with the stance. The way you place your feet, the way you hold your body, are extremely important. They are the beginnings of balance. But you can’t balance without a center. Breathing properly provides that center. It gives you the Focus from which you can build on. You move your body around your breathing, you don’t breath around the moving of your body.

Who Are you?

You are centered am as centered as you have been in a long, long time.. and yet the Beast still mocks you. But it does not have control. You control the Beast, damnit. You control it. Not the other way around. You take another deep breath, takes a cross step and pulls your around you in a slow windmill like motion. You focus on the air moving through your lungs. It is what powers the mills that are your arms.

You know you are doing all of this to try and forget. To forget that your wife has fallen in love with another woman. Focus and Control can’t erase that from the ache in your heart, no matter how much you try. But you still continue with the motions.. with the evenly spaced breaths.. with the routine. It is familiar and helps you not just center you body, but slowly it centers your thoughts as well.

Who Are You?

Your thoughts fall into to place, one by one by one, like a cascading waterfall chasing down a terraced embankment. Your wife has met someone whom she is attracted to. Why didn’t she tell you? Because when you spoke to this other woman for the first time she said something that made you angry and you threatened to kill her. The Beast liked that. Liked it when you had images of blood staining the decks running through your mind. It took those images and fed on them making, it stronger. Feeding the Beast makes it harder to control because it always wants more.

You threatened a woman because she said she had feelings for your wife. Just feelings.. Nothing else. You threatened and scared the life out of her. You also scared the life out of your wife and she ran away in fear to this other woman. She went to this other woman and lay with her.

Who Are You?

You wanted to kill. You wanted to Die. You wanted to believe that she didn’t love you anymore. That would be easier, wouldn’t it? Believing that she had stopped loving you, or loved you less? That would justify everything! You wanted to do something to make the pain.. to make the images of them together.. to make it all stop.

But the pain wouldn’t stop. It would only grow. Because you learned that she /doesn’t/ love you less. You learned she doesn’t love the other woman more then you. She loves you both equally. You don’t understand. you told her as much. You told her as you wept like a child. You told her as /she/ wept like a child. You Told her as the fear of losing her tried to consume you, eat you alive like acid rain.

Who Are You?

She loves you. She never stopped loving you. Even with that other woman she thought about you. She told you this and you believe her because it is true. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in her breath The pain that mirrors your own. The fear that mirrors your own. The Pagh you share in pain.

You don’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to lose you. You don’t want to lose her. She won’t be happy with just this woman. She won’t be happy if you are gone, her heart will shatter. She wants us to all be together, to try and find some way to co-exist peacefully.

She knows we can’t do that by jumping back and forth. She knows that it won’t work if it is just you and this woman sharing her love. And you know this too. Oh, Prophets, how you know this too.

Who Are you?

You know that some people would say that you are just desperate not to lose another love. You know that some people will say you are just being used. But you also know, if they don’t, that you aren’t. They may say you have a choice.. But You don’t. There is no choice.

You and this other woman.. You know you will both have to love your wife. But That’s not all. You can’t just let her love her wife, and /then/ she let you love your life. It’s.. it’s like an engineering problem. A two sided shape is not sound. Two points that separately support a third, yet don’t support each other, will not balance and will fall over in the next gist of wind. But three points.. three points that each support all of one another.. each point supporting the other two and in turn the other points doing the same.. you get a stronger structure.. one that the wind won’t topple.

This conclusion scares you. This conclusion makes the Beast howl in rage. It doesn’t want you to accept. It thinks you are just making a compromise.. being weak. it berates you for your stupidity.

Yes.. You are scared. Scared that while you and your wife are on a delicate edge balancing and hoping that the other will see the right in this no matter how fearful the only solution and not reject it. The Beast wants her to do so. The Beast wants her to get greedy and not want to share. Wants things to fall apart so you will set it free.

No. The Beast will not be free. You tell it as much. Because if this woman cares even half as deeply as you do about your true Love.. If she respects her as much as you have.. Then she will know as well, and as fearful, as you do that this is the /only/ way it will work.. The only way we may have a chance at happiness in any sense for any of us. Then we will have a common ground on which to build trust.

The Beast /screams/

/WHO ARE YOU?/

/I/ am the /man/ she loves. And /I/ am in control of myself.

/I/ am /not/ The Beast.

Poole

Personal Log

Thu Jun 12

Personal Log, Gwendolyn Anne Poole, Stardate 53283.2

Poole sits in her bed, covers wrapped about her as she speaks to a PADD. Hair a mess, but looking like she's finally had a good night's sleep again, she says, "Alone again..."

Pursing her lips, her gaze tracks to the viewport. "She's offstation... and he's off in the Jeffries Tubes, burning off that steam... He... he doesn't see how strong he is... still in one piece. He... I think he expected to fall apart..." Sighing, she rubs her cheek. "How could he think that... that I would let him? I said I would love him until I died. I meant it... that entails him living along with me, healthy..."

"I... don't blame him for his doubt. But, I can't doubt myself. Not now. I am who I have always been, and..."

"I hate being alone."

From outside of the camera angle a young boy's voice says, shyly, 'Mommy...'

Poole beams at the little boy in the doorway, the natural mother. She tosses her PADD down, hopping out of bed and walking over to the boy, "What's wrong my little one?"

'I can't sleep.'

"Oi... neither can I..." Grinning, she kneels before him, wrapping him in a hug, "C'mon, we'll read a story..." Lifting him without too much difficulty, she gets into bed with him, gathering the covers about him and settling herself next to him. Then, she reaches for her PADD again, "Computer... end log and pull up 'Good Night Moon.'"

Ghorev

Defining by Opposites (pt 1)

Thu Jun 12

(OOC Note: This log is rated PG-13 for Mature Themes and extreme Ghorevity. It is also encrypted with an appropriate cypher for such logs in which Timefleet and other classified matters are mentioned. As always, the log is audio only, and translated into Federation Standard from Graalen.)

"Personal Log, Commander Akeen Ghorev, Stardate 54283.7"

"I suppose, in retrospect, I should have exorcised these thoughts once again after my first confrontation with Peter Lao. I should have known after the catharsis of my trip alone to Andoria, to deliver the Honor Blade of Trae Morovok, they would nevertheless not stay buried for long. I should have recognized the signs of these creeping impulses when I first restrained the compulsion to seize Dylan Golden by the throat at Dana's funeral, or when I resisted the urge to hurl David Spect through a console when he all but accused me of negligent homicide in the death of Doctor Bowler. As for Ambassador Meridian, well, the less said of that Honorable Worthy, the better."

"But now, Meridian is gone for awhile. Mister Spect has apologized. Mister Lao has, though he shall likely *never* apologize, at least gained some insight into the reasons for the secrecy around here. He is also, if the rumors are true, romantically involved with Atlin, a maddening concept for all concerned, I'm sure. I really *should* let her know that I don't really care about that, but she's my sister so I'm sure she's already figured that out .. or doesn't care, in turn. And while I still can't say I wish no harm to Mister Golden, my relationship with the Timefleet as a whole is sharply improved. On top of all else, my career, long thought dead by the actions of two conspiracies, has taken the long climb. Within 5 years, I am assured, I'll have my own command. I'll likely beat Kolex to a fourth pip and/or a ship of my own, and even if it's just a small frigate, or a border cutter, or even an antiquated science ship that creaks when I put too much weight on the deck, I'll be pleased with myself. I'll do right by Rann and by Phil Laco, when the time comes. They're the two most underrated officers on this station, and they'll come with me when the time comes or I'll bash them and drag them to the transporter room myself. I am, in short, right with the universe."

"But I am still not *right* with myself, right with my own world. It's pretense. Crouch low by the furs, Akeen, and be part of the merriment at the President's call. You're his little dancing /makra/, now ... You hold his honor blade and you live under his protection from your enemies, his record-setting generosity has made you a full Commander 10 days after you left your Lieutenancy behind ... Crouch low by the furs and smile and make witticisms and very carefully don't watch Her curled up with another man. Without looking at him, the man who has replaced you so effortlessly, jest laughably with him about the movement of the children across the ice as if either of you could do better. Fake the comraderie and above all else, pretend you don't feel more at home with Kusto and Althea, explaining /kochek/ with the air of professional detachment and wry cynicism you don't really feel, than with your own kind. You can do that, now, Akeen. You're a lousy actor, the President's praise for your Sir Thomas More notwithstanding, but you make magic in the bluff. You excel in this art of steeling yourself for the pretense, then daring any to call you on it."

"And yet still the thoughts come. They come unbidden in Her voice. They come when I turn a corner, all alone, the halls suddenly quiet but for the thrum of power conduits and my own footfalls, and against that quiet I hear Her parting words. I denied them then, and I have defied them since, but the fact that I have done so much and come so far to deny and defy is part of the problem."

"Between Her, both Wendy Tylers, one out of five of my crew, and the diplomats assigned here, I have come to define myself by my opposites, and this can't go on. I don't just mean by what I oppose -- though if I have to be remembered for anything, I suppose 'He was a man Uncommonly Resolute, and defied both his Enemy, and his Enemy's Enemy, to the last' is certainly a sobering enough epitath -- but by what I endure, by what I have left behind. That was driven home well enough twice in the past two days -- once when I explained to Ambassador K'net-mauri how my people's open lifestyle make me acutely aware of the opposite need for privacy embedded within the genetically shared neuropsychology of Vulcan and Romulan alike, and before that, in the related matter, when I chastised Gwen for talking down to me in her childish defense of her infidelity."

"I'd like to be a big man and say that the implications of the Ambassador's surprise as to my concern in his matter were more offensive than Gwen's brush-off. But despite her immediate apology when I called her to task for it, I know it is the latter that hurts more. I don't think she realizes how much effort it took me to trust her again, what with how our friendship ended the first time, shortly before her disgrace ... it ended precisely because she made these huge leaps of illogic regarding my nature and my feelings based on the all-too-human misconception that I am nothing more than a Terran human in a funny blue skin and with an odd taste in food and drink, rather than a creature of intensely alien physiology and psychology that just happens to walk on two legs like a man, eat and excrete like a man, and possess roughly the same number of other appendages ... plus two. She looked at the shadow on the wall, below the brow, and saw a human being's shadow, and did not think that the shadow is not essence, not the man ... that I do not think like a human. I cannot, no matter how much they wish me to, think like a human."

Ghorev

Defining by Opposites (pt 2)

Thu Jun 12

"I *am not* human. With the absence of Prythra P'Trell, I now look around the room at a senior officer's meeting, and that fact is glaringly obvious. If the Captain were to shut his eyes to hide the darkness of his pupils and irises, and Rann and Kusto were to look down at the desk so their nose ridges could not be seen, I would be the only one in the room who could not 'pass' for human. And given how freely humans and Bajorans *do* seem to be mating these days, it's not that silly a thing to say, though perhaps it calls too much attention to my loneliness -- the Captain and I are the only unattached senior officers, and frankly, that draws attention to my alienness all the more."

"I am not human. I will never be human. Gwen's argument to bat away my disappointment at her violation of her marriage vows insulted me when they tried to appeal to my Andorian sense of polygamous love. Do all humans honestly think that an Andorian quad is simply an excuse to penetrate the handiest of three people's orifices at any given time? And if so, do they then make the even more inexcusable leap to think that if we're alright with four person marriages, we must have no real concept of fidelity at all? Dung. She is a Starfleet officer. She is a married woman. Both require oaths, the former required one years before the latter. She knows, full well, what the force of an oath is, and what the cost is to break one. As if it makes it alright because *some* humans practice polygamy. That's fine. They practice it. They don't pretend to it. It was a weak argument, Gwen: Nevaren was no willing participant to this, his oath was to you, and you alone, and you snapped that over your knee and expect me to forgive you because you pronounce love for this criminally irresponsible mind-witch."

"And, again, by simply the vehemence with which I say that, I reiterate my own point. I am no longer defined by what I believe, but by what I reject. It is no longer enough to simply say 'This is Commander Ghorev. He is a man of honor who stands against the darkness, opposes violations of the Temporal Prime Directive, defies the Conspiracies that nip at his heels, stands firm when junior officers take liberties, breaks his enemies in half with his bare hands, and occasionally takes the time to say something wry and mocking when an enemy is too far beneath his notice to be crushed.' It's not enough. It paints me only as a caricature, and then I become exactly what She thinks I am, exactly what Michael Edwards has dubbed me: I have become a martyr."

"No. Far better to take the lesson from Sir More. It will mean even less sleep for me, but I must be more than the opposite of what I oppose, even if I am to continue to oppose it. I must be able to say 'Here is Commander Akeen Ghorev, son of Rasek and Ohlasa and Kolex and Naan. Within 50 Light Years, you'll find no finer man with a transporter or replicator. He is studying the smithing crafts of his people and he's a promising legal scholar. He's only a middling-good shot with a phaser, but close with a blade or your bare hands only at your own risk. Someday soon, he will command his own starship. Occasionally, he reminds himself to laugh. Just as occasionally, when warranted, he allows himself to weep. He can respect his enemies and be disappointed in his friends, because he acknowledges the difference between love and affection, between hatred and opposition, and lets none of these blind him to truth. He is a man of fierce temper, but fiercer affection, and the strangest of people are his closest companions.' I *must* be able to look at the mirror in the morning and speak this way. I have to know when I look at my image that I see the man and not the martyr."

"Because if I don't see me the way I need to be seen, I cannot expect others to do so. And if I am nothing more than the definition of my opposites, my enemies have already won. They have decided what I am by being what I am not, and allowing me to make up the difference with the lease on my soul."

"That said, then, computer ... end this log, and then open another, which shall be sent in an encrypted message to Captain Judson Hendricks, Experimental Weapons Program, Utopia Planitia Shipyards, and to Captain Aaron Patterson, Retired, Pacifica. It's time I had a heart-to-heart with my enemies, and let them know where I stand, and why."

Lao

Love and Radar

Fri Jun 13

The logo of the UFP is replaced by Peter Lao, sitting in the chair in front of his terminal. "Personal log, stardate 53285.5." He leans back in his chair, and takes a sip from his ubiquitous cup of tea. "Well. It's been too long since I made one of these. Life's been busy."

"Let's see...I'm in love. Still. With three Andorians." A grin lights his features. "They're wonderful. Kula is smart, ambitious, and wildly sexy. Kotesh is earthy, peaceful, and wildly sexy. Atlin is dreamy, philosophical...and wildly sexy." He grins some more. "And me? I have no idea why they all like me so much, but Momma Lao didn't raise her boy to look a gift horse in the mouth." A pause. "I want to marry them. We can't have kids...at least, -I- can't, with them...but I think I can deal with that."

He takes a sip of tea. "What else? Work is boring. There's a competition going on, sponsored by the S.C.E. It's a good idea; engineers across Starfleet are entering innovative ideas. I...am not." A sigh, and he runs a hand through his dark hair. "I don't want to rile Ghorev...who is, by the way, Atlin's brother. And ignoring her. The jerk."

"I don't really have any worries. I'm pretty much decided that, at some point, I'm going to resign from Starfleet, and go into private research. I mean...well. Damn. I'm not sure, really, not since getting the Medal of Freedom for what I did on Betazed. Which still frankly confuses me. I mean...I was just doing my job." He shrugs. "Another gift, I guess. Not that anyone outside my quad has noticed."

He smiles again. "'My quad.' Well, they aren't yet, not officially...but that's what I call them when they aren't around to here it. Oh, we have problems...we've even had something like a fight. But nothing big. And meanwhile, I'm learning how to be an adopted Andorian. I'm even," and he throws a hand to his chest and mock-gasps, "learning how to fight with a chaka."

He says, "So, yes. I'm in love. My career still rests in the shadow of Ghorev. I would've resigned weeks ago, but then they gave me a medal, and made me feel appreciated, and reminded me that things I do can make a difference. And..." his expression darkens a trifle "...there are things here that might need my attention, in times to come. So. I'll keep being in love. I'll fly under Ghorev's radar, which ought to be easy, and I'll work on my side projects. And we'll see."

He sips his tea. "We'll see."

He leans forward, taps on the console, and the picture blinks out, returning the logo of the UFP to the screen.

Talesin

Letter home

Fri Jun 13

Keth sits in front of his computer, wearing his uniform, hair pulled back and dry, a smile on his face. "Hey Mom, Dad, Nonia. I'm glad to hear that you're all doing alright. I've missed the three of you a lot. Tell the kids I love them, please?"
A pause, "Things have been going so fast. I'm sorry I didn't write back sooner, things have just been kind of hectic." a grin, "Before you ask me, Nonia, yes, I'm making lots of friends. And yes, there is someone special who's caught my eye. He's very sweet. I'm going to invite him to a dinner on the holodeck, next time I see him, so he can meet a few more people. He's very shy, but..." his cheeks flush. "He's sweet. Very sweet."
"I miss Vildrym, still, sometimes. When I first arrived, I thought about requesting reassignment to the Kennedy, again, but I decided against it. You were right, Dad. I've got to stop letting others fight my battles for me and protect me from the things I don't like. You'll /all/ be glad to know that I'm continuing what training I can on my own. My control's getting better, and I think my range might be getting farther. I'm not really sure. Counselor Gellan tried speaking into my mind last night... Still not very strong. I caught a few words, but it was fuzzy, at best. If I do have any latent telepathic ability, it's not reared its head yet. I doubt it will. I wouldn't mind being mildly receptive, at the least... But..." he shrugs and smiles, "I miss all three of you. I think of you often when I'm making a hard decision. Nonia, keep an eye on my little sisters and brothers, mm?" a wider smile, and Keth places his fingers to his lips, then touches the screen. "Keth, out. Computer, save file and send to Jana Talesin in Miami, Earth."

Gr'laH

Personal Log

Fri Jun 13

The Emblem of the Empire fades revealing Gr'laH slumped low in his massive metal chair in the belly of his red tinted quarters. As is his norm, he's brooding. His chin rests on his only hand, his head tilted so that he can peer out of his viewport at the stars outside.

"Churas is wed. To Nathan, of course. I am... relieved. In some ways. Relieved that it is over, not the least. Relieved that she is no longer my responsibility. Relieved that she is her own woman now. Free to make her own choices and forge her own name and destinies. I am happy for her. To see her so uplifted. To see her have what she has said she has desired. But I cannot help but feel some disappointment."

"I am disappointed that it was so sudden. From its start to its end, sudden. Disappointed that she is eighteen and he nearly ten years older than she. Disappointed that he is human, not the Klingon I would have at first preferred. Disappointed that she is gone from me. Disappointed, far more than all of this combined, that Gharas was not here to witness this. To have guided me through the process. Of all the daughters of the Empire, mine must be the one to marry a human. This human. This suddenly. No full blooded progeny from their union. Perhaps for the best."

"I love my daughter. I admire Nathan in many ways. I am happy for them, if they are happy for themselves. But it is time that Churas leave her past behind her. She cannot be the warrior and the wife and still pretend at being the child, head perched upon my shoulder. She has taken these many steps to say she is her own woman. And so she shall be her own woman. I believe she entertains some fantasy that she can be everything and do everything and have everything as she would. She cannot. It is time for her to face the realities of her race for adulthood and her decisions."

"Many will say I am unkind, of course. But we do not coddle our children. Least of all the son of Go'laH. She has adopted far too many human traits, exhibits habits and ideas from the weaker races. Which is not, necessarily, a detriment to her. I do as well. But she must be able to function as a Klingon and a Warrior if she is to then adopt the traits of other races that fit with her ideals. And so, the tie is figuratively and literally severed. My daughter, yes. No longer my child."

"Regardless. There is work to be done. Computer, end log."

Ishba

Stardate: 53286.3 - After work.

Fri Jun 13

Ishba sighs, tiredly, "Second full day of work done. THe tips were alright. Lux, Ambassador from Ferenginar, is either sick or not altogether there. He's a good tipper." She grins, "Though another ferengi, Solok, is more comfortably predictable." Her grin fades, "Reminds me too much of my uncle though." A soft shudder, her ears quivering lightly.
She smiles then, almost laughing, "Though I might my first flesh and blood klingon that didn't just... push me out of the way. I didn't catch the name, but... oh! What a site! I'm glad he left as fast as he did. I don't think I could have kept from laughing too much longer! I don't know how to describe... His hair was.." She motions, making a big ball over her head, "And his shirt," She makes as if to grab giant lapels, "And his shoes!! The best part about it was... the way he was speaking: Baby, you all flies. Or something! Trust me, it was a riot!"
"The rules of acquisition," she comments, her expression becoming a touch more serious, though the grin remains, have served me well so far, though I'm trying to puzzle out if rules 111 and 112 would necessarily apply. Never sleep with the boss's wife unless you pay him first and never sleep with the boss's sister." She purses her lips, "But I'm a woman. Would that meannever sleep with the boss? Then what of rule 33? IT never hurts to suck up to the boss. Well, in this case..suck on the boss." She pouts, deep in thought, "Something I'll have to think about more I suppose. Until then, I'm making a good amount. Not as much as I'd like, so tomorrow is a new day."

Etrik

Another letter to Uncle Finn

Fri Jun 13

<The screen shifts from the Starfleet insignia to show Etrik sprawled in a chair in his quarters, dressed casually.>

"Personal Log, Stardate 53286.6, dual record."

"Hey, Uncle Finn. I got kind of worried when I didn't get a response back as quick as normal. I understand, though. Who would've thought that the Gorn would hold grudges -that- long?" Etrik's grin is clearly visible.

"Life on the Station's been pretty quiet... not that it's a bad thing. You know, you always were big on 'going with my gut', and sometimes it feels like the station officers are laboring under a lot of pressure, possibly from those lost."

Etrik takes a sip from his coffee mug, before continuing. "It reminds me of that song you taught me, when I said I was going to Starfleet Academy. About how a lot of times, people don't come back, and the price we pay." He sits up a bit, setting his mug aside, and clears his throat, before beginning to sing in a deep baritone.

"We meet 'neath the sounding rafters,
The walls around us are bare;
They echo the peals of laughter;
It seems that the dead are there.
So stand by your glasses steady,
This world is a world of lies,
Here's a toast for the dead already;
Hurrah for the next man who dies."

"Cut off from the land that bore us,
Betrayed by the land we find,
The good men have gone before us,
And only the dull left behind.
So stand by your glasses steady,
The world is a web of lies.
Then here's to the dead already,
And hurrah for the next one who dies."

Etrik pauses to wipe his eyes a bit. "Maybe, with any luck, I won't have to bloody well sing that outside of my quarters or a holodeck program, eh?" He grins gamely at the 'camera'. "Okay, enough moping. My shift starts soon. Oh, and that reminds me... I know darned well you've dabbled a bit in smuggling. And according to certain multiple-pipped officers, this sector's leaking contraband. Just between you and me, I think we could use a few tips to catch some of those Syndicate goons. I'm fairly certain you know some of the tricks of the trade, Uncle -- how about helping a family member out, eh?"

"Computer, save log. Send copy to Finnegan Etrik, care of the /Raven's Feather/."

Jub

Back in Town

Sat Jun 14

-=<<Excerpt from the log of Captain Jordan Uziel Baird>>=-
-=<< Civillian Trade Ship /Fallen Star/, Mule Class >>=-
-=<< Stardate 53288.8 (Sat June 14th, 2376) >>=-

<<BEGIN OF FILE>>

Well... another month, another lap around the sector. I just docked with the station some 3 hours ago, fresh from Dulcais Prime with a load of spirits and a few passangers. I must admit, the whole passenger gig is actually quite profitable, though I doubt it will ever surpass the what I earn with fine, unreplicated booze, but that is okay with me. Every extra credit and strip help, right?

I called Ilianna's quarters as soon as I got here.. and I couldn't find her. The Quartermaster said she had left with no forewarding address. That.. made me sad. I thought that for once Good Old Jub was going to get a wee bit of a break. I guess I did.. just the wrong kind of break. She probably couldn't handle being with someone that was more machine then man. and a cripped machine at that. The same old story, over and over. It makes me so damned depressed. Maybe I should just forget women all together.

Bah, I need to just push that from my mind. There is business to attend to. It looks like the Zone has a new owner.. again. At least thats what my latest update from the station's public datanet is telling me. Some guy named Miguel Alercon. Never heard of him, personally. Might have to look into him. Damnit, everytime the damned bar goes through another pair of hands I have to get the paperwork out, run credit checks, go over a whole new contract and find out what he /thinks/ he wants to order from me.. and what he can actually /get/. It's enough to make an ol' cyborg like me want to cry.

I wonder if Toog wants to settle into a more permenant contract, maybe for some regular shipments of luxury edibles.. . Or maybe Lux has a job for me. I like Ferengi. At least with ferengi you can trust where /not/ to trrust them. They are a reassuring, if not sometimes annoying, constant in my line of business.

And after all that, I guess I better look up Doc Loni. Just what I need.. Another damned doctor to tell me that I still can't walk, or move my arm. Another doctor to tell me to give it time, do more rehab, and that I shouldn't be piloting a ship one handed. Hell, I have been piloting through life onehanded, figuratively speaking, for most of my existance. Why stop now.

Maybe she won't hassle me so much when she hears I am hiring a new shiphand. I got a comminque from Boptnelus when I arrived. Seems the lad is in search for a job and that he enjoyed his breif tenure with me some months back before my less then happy little encounter with Cenobiar's little band of ruthless child flesh peddlers. That Pakled cracks me up. Didn't want to go with his current ship as it left the sector and headed on the Risa Run. Okay, if the guy wants to stick around Dulcais that's fine by me. He's a bit wierd, but he not as bad as many pakleds I know. A hard worker, and a /fairly/ competent quartermaster. Hell, he's better then nothing, doesn't ask /too/ many questions about business (though if he asks about me one of my spare arms because he wants to be stronger I am going to whack him)

So. It looks like life as normal for me. Good to be back in town.

<<END OF FILE>>

Caeli

Jaded like a cheap necklace

Sun Jun 15

"Personal Log, Zipok Caeli, Stardate 53289.2."

"If work can possibly get any worse here, I'd like to know how."

Zip is seated in one of the egg-shaped bowl chairs provided for seating in his room, with terrible posture, sinking into the furnishing. His words are carefully chosen, as the more than slightly inebriated Bolian struggles to overcome his inclination towards slurring.

"Instead of letting me keep the position that I did a perfectly competent job at for a month, Starfleet saw fit to give the job to a Ranger. Fine. Perfectly understandable. When she failed her phaser qualifications miserably? I had my doubts. But I trusted in Starfleet and put them aside to give her a fair chance. It's not my place to question Starfleet's decision."

"Now, though... now she gives orders that violate the Charter, that deny someone their basic rights - as much as I despise the someone - and then she goes so far as to insult my judgement and attack me. Sorry, babe, the war's over... and unless I've grown horns in the last few days I don't think I look like one of them anyway."

"To be honest, I hope she *does* get court-martialed... if only because I think nothing less will get the message through to her that we preserve peace. Peace, not conflict."

"And of course, there's Gwen. What's happening with her is just so sad... that she could, consciously or otherwise, just hurt Nev like that, and expect him to be alright with it. I wouldn't entirely blame him for hurting Ilsanna right now... and I sincerely hope Gwen *is* under some sort of outside influence. Because that's just not a Gwen Poole thing to do."

"Oh. There's something else. Jylo is here. It's good to see her, I suppose, but on some level I just can't seem to fall into the rapport we used to have. I think it's because we were always so similar... and while now we still are, honestly counterpoints what with the tactical/security duty officer posts, she just seems like the same *person* she was two years ago. Still naive, idealistic, and reminding me very much of myself when I got here. When I wasn't getting shafted left and right. When my 'friends' didn't keep secrets from me and dance around the truth. She's almost family, to me; she was at my side on the Cafferey when things got hot. I don't want this station to do to her what it's done to me."

"Computer, end log and save. I've had enough of this."

Sharei

In Mysterious Ways

Sun Jun 15

The UFP logo clears to reveal a morose-looking Dax Sharei. He has his head propped up on one fist, his eyes are downcast as he draws small circles on the console in front of him.

"Personal log, Stardate 53289.1," he says.

"I've decided to do it. I'm going to put in a request for line officer certification. I've been spending the last few weeks studying command protocols, tactics, and starbase administration. I think I'm ready. And if I fail, then I know what I need to study up on."

He draws a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. "I thought it'd help," he says. "I thought a change of pace would take my mind off my love life--or lack thereof. But, when Ha'nuQ found out about me..." He rubs his face. "Compassionate Imza, you are such a fickle and capricious being, at times." The Chief Nurse waxes thoughtful. "Although, I must admit... it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. The thought that Dr. Gorgha might react the same way... it doesn't seem as important, anymore."

Dax shakes his head. "I still have feelings for him. And I still dream that he will be my Imzadi. But the thought of failure doesn't seem quite so daunting, now. Even if he does spurn me, I have a fall-back net. I have my friends to lean on if I need to. And I think, in time, my heart would heal." His somber mood cheers somewhat. "Maybe someday, I'll even find my Imzadi." Dax's fingers move to gently run across the chevron of his combadge.

"Imzadi," he says. "Imzadi means 'forever'. Some loves are meant to fade, with no hard feelings. But Imzadi... Imzadi never dies, not even after the flesh is gone." He closes his eyes and manages a wan smile. "Maybe I've found my Imzadi after all, in some ways." When he opens his eyes, nearly all the depression has fled. "Some loves are meant to fade. Others are meant to endure." He rises to his feet, and starts preparing himself for bed. He takes off his combadge and gazes at it.

"Mother's right," he says quietly. "The Four, they move in mysterious ways. But sometimes, maybe they're not so mysterious."

He sets down his combadge. "Computer, end log and save."

BBS 06-22-03 Personal Logs

Tue May 27

Wed May 28

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