BBS 10-16-03 Personal Logs |
| Nilee | Ups and Downs |
Sun Aug 10 |
"Personal Log, Stardate 53423.8." "Twenty-four days I've been back on the Station now." <The recording is started with Galen sitting down in front of an easle he's setup near the viewport in his quarters. He's painting a stellar anomaly, though it's nothing like the one he's looking at out the window.> "It's been a series of ups and downs since I've been home." "First, a down. Federation Social Services came and took Lianna away. It didn't really hit me that she was gone until a couple days later. There were too many reminders in my quarters... I had to get out. I'm glad Kusto and Thea were in the 'Core when I went down there to escape. I don't know what I'd do without the two of them." "Up was returning to actually *see* everyone. Even if all those meetings weren't cheery... like the one with Thea and Kusto. I missed everyone. Gwen... Nev... Thea and Kusto, of course. Tera, who I only managed to catch up with tonight. Mycroft... even Wendy, despite the less than pleasant conversation we had before I left the Station. I haven't managed to catch up with a few people still... two and a half months of backlogged reports tends to do that." "Down... dealing with the new Trill crew. I mean, there were Trills around when I did my lecture tours, surprisingly, I even caught glimpses of one or two in a couple of my lectures. When I got sick of it though, it was easy to escape. I mean, there's only a few Trill on Earth... or Alpha Centauri... or Vulcan. On 419 though... it's more difficult. You run into the same ones on a regular basis. Chief Serina Jostin for one. Her personnel file says she's Commander Ghorev's Yeoman. I've hardly talked with her, our first meeting didn't go so well, I didn't even get to say anything about what happened with my joining, not that it would have mattered." <Shaking his head slowly, Galen looks down.> "I wish Edzi had stayed on the station... it was nice to have another Starfleet Trill to talk to. Mycroft's great, and I'm glad to have *someone* but there's something about having someone in the same career choice who doesn't look at you with disgust as soon as they hear your name." "Up... or well... maybe down, I'm not sure yet. I'm sure most everyone else would say it was a down, my most recent mission. What was initially a simple asteroid recharting became... well, a nightmare. Badly programmed computer software setting loose genetically-engineerd monstrosities that want to eat us. Of course it wasn't a *good* mission, but we weren't prepared. If I get a chance, I'll gladly volunteer for a return... with a heavily armed escort of course, and portable pattern enhancers for an emergency beamout this time, instead of walking three kilometers in EVA suits well trying to evade giant animals that want to kill us. Regardless, the amount we could learn from that... a thirty-five thousand year old station. Huge... and the computer STILL WORKS. We need to refit our hardware every few years to keep it from breaking down... incredible." "I'm probably getting ahead of myself, though. I managed to get out alive, who's to say I could do it again. If it weren't for Kusto, Ensign Absyn wouldn't have... that could have just as easily been me..." <He stares at the easle in thought for a few moments. Moments turn into minutes... enough of those pass to enable to automatic shutdown of the recording.>
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| Harris | The Journal |
Mon Aug 11 |
Stardate 53426.0. Station 419-U, Dulcais Sector. Deck 8, Section 3. Crew Quarters 812, assigned to Robert Harris and Megan Donavon. Lights cast low, silence reigns supreme in this set of rooms. Long shadows are cast over the model of a Constitution-class starship that rests on the coffee table. A holocube rests alongside, displaying the redheaded Irish Ensign (sporting a black eye) and her family at her graduation from Starfleet Academy. In the bedroom, two bodies curl next to each other under the sheets - lovers, lost in a dream. Their soft breathing is practically in unison, so connected are these two. On the desk near the viewport rests a journal, cast open with a pen holding the pages down. It's the personal journal of Lieutenant Harris, eighty-two long years forgotten until the beginning of this day, when the owner began recording the thoughts that he means to share with his anamchara - his soulmate - in it once again. "Sunday, August 10th, 2376." "It's 0330. I just got home after everything went to hell in Operations. I wish I knew what happened, and what caused it - but I don't. All I can do is clean up the mess as quickly as possible, and get the station back to work again." "Meg's asleep, that little smile she gets when she has a good dream on her face right now. I wonder what wonderful image she has in her head, and if I'm in it. To be honest, I envy her ability to get sleep... but I get to watch her in return, and that's a fair trade. When I'm near her, or hear her voice, or see her face... hell, when I think about her, nothing is as bad as it seems. How could it be when you've got the image of the most beautiful woman you've ever seen stuck in your mind?" "I can't help but think about the wedding. I've asked Kusto to be my best man, sure... but who else am I going to get to be in my party? Hamish, if Meg hasn't snatched him up. Randal. And... I don't know who else. That's something to solve in the near future, I suppose." "I can't decide if I should ask Christine to come, either. She's so young, and we haven't had a chance to get together - I don't know if she wants to know me, or if she even cares, but the attempt has to be made. I owe it to Annie, and my son both. I guess that's a yes, in the end." "Sleep, now. I've allowed myself two hours, and I've already spent 45 minutes staring at Meg. If only there was time to curl into her arms... but that will come later, no doubt. How could it not, when she haunts my dreams?" "Good night, Meg. Good night, 419. May the morning bring better news." The rest of the page is unblemished by ink, snow white paper (tinted blue by the pulsing of the anomaly) waiting for further entries by its author.
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| Javits | Long Hours |
Mon Aug 11 |
The blue and white UFP seal fades to reveal a somewhat tired and drained Nicolas Javits reclining on the sofa in his quarters, the anomaly's blue glow washing over the scene as he slowly sits up and yawns, setting a PADD on the table before him with a grin. "Personal log, stardate 53426.5. As usual, I end up with a timed out PADD stuck to one side of my face, probably from the drool. Eh, have to wipe that up. As of my last shift and a half, the Thomas Paine has a new skin. Aside from the inspections and cleanup procedures, the structural portion is complete. Of course, with that subspace pulse, Ensign Blair has to start over on the entire communications system, right back to the beginning. I imagine he has a lot more to think about than just the Thomas Paine at this point. He's a good officer and should, with the rest of the team, be able to bring the comm systems back up to nominal status quickly enough." He stands, yawning again and doing a few stretching exercises before passing out of the camera's range. A few beeps are heard along with the hum of a replicator. "With the completion of my additional duties, I should be assisting him. The least I can do is take a shift piloting one of the workbees or out on the hull doing EVA work to position the new arrays. Personally, I'd love to see a junior structural engineer arrive as soon as possible, then my job would be made a whole lot less intensive. The additional off duty time would be quite welcome. These shift and a half days are beginning to wear thin. Still, the extra range time I've been taking lately has helped to relieve stress, especially when the targets are programmed to explode in such a satisfying display of color and sound." He reenters the frame, plopping back onto the sofa, glass held in one hand and cloth in the other. Setting the glass on the table, he wipes at the PADD with the cloth, picking up the device and giving it a cursory inspection. As an afterthought, he gives his left cheek a swipe or two as well. "I could stand a few more hours of rest and relaxation, either a nice quiet walk in the garden, or reading a book, or a visit to the Warp Core, any non work related activity. Which reminds me, I still should pay visit to that bookstore." He glances off camera for a second, "At the moment, however, it's time to write up a brief progress update and go to sleep, preferably in a bed. Computer, end log and save."
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| Donavon | Beneath the surface |
Mon Aug 11 |
"Meggie. Meggie. Where are you?" whispers an eerie voice through the darkness. Thud. Another cushion and book is thrown aside. "Come out, come out wherever you are….you know I'll find you. Lovely Meggie, come out and play." Huddled and hidden beneath the bed, a frightened woman shudders and inches closer and closer to the far wall. Breath is held in check lest the sound is heard. Suddenly a light flashes on. "Meggie. There's no hiding from me." The source of the horror creeps to the bed before a hand lashes out to grip hard, enough to break the bones, and tugs the woman out. ---------------------------------------------- "And then I woke up silently screaming." Megan Donavon sits upward on the bed, vocally recording the details of a nightmare while sheets are clenched tightly about her body for protection. "Why have these memories resurfaced? I had thought I was long past them." Her forehead crushes against her knees, gasps ever so soft it is hard to tell if she's breathing. "No one except Mo, Mic, and Robert knows the truth. And I mean to keep it that way. It's…still embarrassing to wake up like this and admit I let that happen. Why did I let it happen?" She reaches out to smooth a hand over the leather journal, smiling lightly. "Robert thankfully wasn't here when I woke. I…I don't know how he'd handle that. He's a source of my protection, my anamchara. We pick up each other's pieces when one is crumbling. I never want that to end." The stars outside the viewport are stared upon. Megan is lost in their twinkling and meaning. "I'm scared. That's probably why the memory broke through my guards and barriers. I'm scared that one day Robert will find a way to go..back..to his home. And that because I love him, I'd let him go." Silence records the last moments before the auto disconnect is engaged, but not before a whisper adds, "I hate the name Meggie."
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| Idrani | Personal Log |
Mon Aug 11 |
Personal Log: Stardate 53427.8. Lieutenant Jaylas Idrani, Diplomatic Attache Officer, S419-U. "It's been an interesting few days. Something of both 'ups' and 'downs'. The biggest 'up' was, of course, having the opportunity to command the USS Flemming, a Saber class with the Strategic Operations outfit. It was an incredible experience. It felt something like a glimmer of hope, of opportunity, that although sometimes I am so frustrated with my job that I could... and sometimes do... scream, it will all be worth it in the end. -That- ship design, was something like a dream come true and hopefully, if I continue to work hard, I will captain one of those full-time. "The mission itself, however, had its problems. I can honestly say that I sympathize with my senior officers' frustrations, where Starfleet Intelligence or perhaps specifically, LTJG O'Rielly, are concerned. It is not that he has the ability and the duty to classify matters, that is something I completely understand. It is the condenscending and arrogant manner in which he delivers, that I dislike. The first lesson in diplomacy, not just intergalactic diplomacy but in inter-personal relations, is that one captures more flies with honey than with vinegar. This human appears to have an awfully high opinion of himself. He is alienating his peers and yes, his superiors, simply by his mannerisms, and that is something that will likely bite him in the hindparts, further along. Ultimately, however, O'Rielly is not my concern. I don't need him to do my job, pure and simple, nor is it worth the energy to talk to him about playing nice on the playground with others. And I am determined not to let him ruin the memory of what otherwise has been a dream come true, captaining the Saber. "I took my JOC skills test and came a little short of achieving my goal of 90 percent. Still, an 87 percent is a respectable score and I know what I need to work on. The perfectionist in me is annoyed that the score wasn't perfect, of course, but the pragmatic in me balances out that disappointment, somewhat. "For now, I am awaiting communications to be restored, as quickly as possible. I hope I can have a role with the subsequent mission, following this last one, but I think that might be a little above my pay grade. Commander West herself, will probably go and I understand that. Maybe I can accompany her, in a support role. Otherwise, it's business as usual." End Log.
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| Moore | Fencing |
Tue Aug 12 |
Lightning crashes across the heavens, the brilliant white washing away the darkness of the landscape for a few moments. No rain falls yet - the storm is too far away - but it comes as inexorably as the dawn. At least, for most people. The roar of Richenbach Falls competes with the thunder, each vying for ultimate supremacy over the other. At the point where the water makes the dazzling 240 meter drop into the chasm below, Professor James Moore stands and watches in silence. In his hand, he clutches a rapier, the business end tinged red with blood. Chest heaving to draw breath, he allows the hilt to slip from his numbed fingers and fall to the ground before he collapses to his knees next to it. "Professor James Moore's personal journal, Tuesday, the twelfth of August, in the year of our Lord 2376." The hologram wipes sweat from his brow with his sleeve, allowing his icy blue eyes to slide closed. "Thirty hours, and still that pompous, conceited... arrogant... imbecile's words still bring my blood to a boil." He crumples even farther, falling back to his posterior in the dirt. "I fail to understand how people see myself and Regina as mere computer programs, placed here to please them on a whim. I am not a hardware clerk, or a computer programmer. I am a cryptographer and a professor of mathematics, not an overpriced calculator here for their amusement." Eyes reopen, the fires of dark rage burning within. "We are confined to a laboratory against our will, at the mercy of people who are hardly concerned with the fate of two holograms. My wife and I have no privacy, being left at the mercy of people who presume that we are availible at all times to do their bidding. We are not mere programs - we are alive." Repeating the words from last night just serves to deepen the anger. "And Agent Galven had the sheer, unmitigated gall to insinuate that just because Regina is not blessed with my level of self-awareness that she is not sentient. He maligned her honor, and I should like to teach him a lesson in being a gentleman - even if it means that I must bathe the deckplating and bulkheads in his warm blood." As his blood starts to boil, James comes to his feet. "WE ARE ALIVE, AGENT GALVEN!" he yells into the chasm, his cries echoing back at him. "IF YOU DARE TO ENTER MY LABORATORY AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU! MY CONSCIENCE DEMANDS NO LESS!" Voice lowering to an almost deathly silent whisper, he adds, "My duty as a husband demands more." Still for a few moments, Moore finally brings his rapier to the ready. "Computer! New opponent, level five! Begin!" Another flash of lightning reveals a Zakdorn, curiously resembling the erstwhile DTI agent, holding a sword of his own, and battle begins anew... at which, the log ends and automatically stores into the professor's holomatrix.
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| Cross | Recording Nightmares. |
Tue Aug 12 |
In his bedroom, Micheal Cross sits up suddenly from a deep sleep. His eyes dart about his room before sighing out heavily, his heart pounding from the fear. He combs a hand through his hair before looking up at the ceiling. "Computer, lights..dim." With the added illumination, he looks about his room before disentangling himself from the sheets and padding out into the living room to the terminal in front of the couch. He sits down to face the screen and begins. "Computer, begin recording..." "<Dream log one, stardate and timestamped to file.> As Counselor Gallen requested, I'm making a recording of my dream before I forgot. Okay...<He takes a breath> It starts with me back in my EVA suit, in those tunnels. I have a phaser on me, but I'm alone. No Lieutenant, no anybody. The only light is the suits illumination and everwhere I look with them, I see moving shapes, scurrying into the shadows. Sometimes, the light gleams off some teeth, but mostly that black angled carapace. They crawl over each other like bugs. I fire the phaser at one, but as we found out, it hardly made a dint into one. Still, the phaser illuminates the area and I find myself surrounded by the black creatures ..these demons. They are stacked and crawling over each other around me until one leaps at me, those four rows of teeth going for the faceplate. That's where I usually wake up. <There is a long pregant pause before he speaks up again> Computer, end recording." Leaning back onto the couch, Micheal sighs and looks to the black screen. "I'll hope that will do it, Counselor." He mutters before climbing his feet to go ahead and start the day since he is up.
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| Caeli | Invincible |
Tue Aug 12 |
The log opens to reveal Zip cleaning his carpet. Chocolate pudding, it looks like. The Bolian hardly seems pleased, especially at the cleaning. "Zipok Caeli, personal log, stardate 53430.6" He pauses, canting his head to one side, and speaks in an oddly placid tone. "Something happened today that had me extremely upset. By all rights I should still be extremely upset. But one thing led to another, and my train of thought has set me disturbingly at ease." "It's over. On many levels, I wish it wasn't. It will make things exceedingly difficult in days to come. But in retrospect, it really matters very little." "I know why I wasn't afraid when they mentioned the armed microtorpedoes. I know now why I wasn't afraid when O'Rielly asked for volunteers and almost got us converted into pure energy." "I couldn't have died there, on the runabout, or in that planetoid. I'm going to die in a turbolift, halfway between the upper and lower malls. And /because/ I know that, it really matters very little whether Kea comes or goes. Whatever happiness we might have had would have been fleeting at best." He cleans some more, and just as the log is about to time out, poses another question from where he kneels on the floor. "So then, why does it hurt?" The log is graced with another minute of Bolian carpet hygeine before timing out.
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| Poole | -Not- Happy Kitten Thoughts |
Thu Aug 14 |
The camera's viewpoint is that of the entrance to the quarters shared by Poole and her family. All is silence and there doesn't appear to be anyone home. Those fancy Federation sliding doors part and Poole stumbles in, heel catching on the carpet and nearly causing her to face-plant. Instead with a sour look she hobbles over to a chair, uses it for balance and bends her leg, inspecting the shoe. She's dressed for a night out, earrings in her ears and wearing a fancy black ensemble that smacks of Terran style. "All the way from Paris, too," she mutters, pulling off the shoe, then alternating to get the other one. "No more Paris anyways... not that it matters." Sighing, she has to forcibly tear her mind away from starting down the destructive path that she longs to go down. The Dominion murdered whole /worlds/. They should be destroyed. There should be no peace, it whispers. And when she ignores it, it screams in her ears. "Nevaren?... Eisak?" Gwen calls before it becomes too much, before it can worm it's way into her consciousness. Silence answers her. Nobody is home, but her. Sighing once again, much more deeply, she pads barefoot over to the loveseat, positioned near the viewport. Digging in the cushions she retrieves her PADD and powers it up, sitting with her legs tucked up underneath her as she gazes out at the Anomaly. It's blue glow is cast on everything in her quarters, including herself, causing her golden blonde hair to shimmer. It's nearly long enough now to do the hairstyle she wished to try. Tonight though it's in close bound curls, forced there by her hand earlier in the night. Tapping on the PADD's screen, she begins speaking: "It's only been three days, but I've already had more things happen... more things I've witnessed, that I have been involved with and that I really need to sort out." "Kearia left Zip. Like I knew she would. Her youth and inexperience seem to me to be the biggest factor. She wants someone to wait on her twenty four hours a day, every day. It's not going to happen. Get over yourself. And by the way, thank you for hurting my friend whom you presumed to know better because you've known him longer. He deserves better... and I'm sure he will get better than you. Honestly when I bump into her next time, metaphorically of course, not literally, I don't know what I'm going to say. I suppose I'll try to be nice... but I'm not required to any more." "The lack of respect issue by junior officers is getting worse. I witnessed a cadet threaten a commissioned officer. Even in jest that is not wise... Knowing Thea, she probably straightened him out in a hurry, but how much more of this is going to go on?" "And speaking on the subject of lack of respect. DTI. Duncan at least has manners, but this Zakdorn? Gal-whathisface? He treated Professor Moore with absolutely -no- respect. None. None for James. None for Regina. And none for me, though I'm getting used to that... but James and Regina? They needn't have to put up with that horse's arse. And to make matters worse, he pointed out that Regina wasn't sentient. /When she was present/! I took that to Isole already. Hopefully it's on it's way to Wendy. We'll see if Agent Galven will be visiting Lab 2 any time soon." The anomaly slowly passes out of view around the curve of the station's hull and bathes Gwen in near absolute darkness, but for the low light provided by her active PADD. "Another matter presses in on me. I tried to make him promise and he wouldn't. This doesn't bode well... it means that he's planning on it already. But I think he knows that I'll try and stop him if he does. I can't allow him to. I can't. Not even for a brother." That last sentence comes out slowly, breathily as Poole lays back, tapping that button on the PADD again. "Computer, end and save as personal log. Classify level seven, maximum encryption." More silence. "Mark log for deletion upon death of Gwendolyn Anne Poole."
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| Treal | Letter Home |
Thu Aug 14 |
As the anomaly passes out of view, Treal settles heavily on her couch a bowl of chocolate pudding goodness held in her hands. "Compter, begin recording personal letter to Roger Devereaux, Betazed. Insert stardate, add personal signature." Her first commands given, she takes a bite of her vice, and sighs. "I'm sorry I haven't contacted you for a while, Daddy, but transfers take time to settle. How are you and Auntie Elsiana doing? Maybe someday you can visit, yea? That'd be nice. Zip is here. You remember him, right? The Bolian from the Academy? Yea, well don't get yourself all excited, Daddy. You were right. Auntie Elsiana was right. It takes more than loving someone, to make a relationship work. Sacrifices must be made. What did you give up, for Auntie Elsiana? What did she give up for you? I almost ended up giving myself up, for Zip. Why? Because I thought it was the way it was done. I thought that there would be give and take on both sides. Why, then, do I feel as if all the give was me, and the take him? Don't get me wrong, Daddy. I loved him. I love him. But... Is love supposed to make you uncertain? I never knew what jealousy was, until I gave in to my feelings for Zip. I don't like jealousy. It's an evil, vile creature." The Betazoid pauses, to take a few bites of her pudding, and consider what else to tell her father. She curls her legs beneath her on the couch, and puts a throw over them. Shifting so that she can look out the windows, another sigh escapes her lips. "I suppose you can guess what happened next. I left him. Am I weak? Maybe. Was I afraid? I'd say. Afraid of losing too much of myself. Afraid of coming home to find him in the arms of another. Afraid of always being second in his life. You may ask, how I could be second in his life? Duty not-withstanding, I was second to his precious Gwen. A curious human, that has the two-faced quality of her people. No offense, Daddy. Whether it's right or not, I attribute the problems Zip and I experienced, partly to her. I don't know why. Just a feeling, I suppose. That she didn't want us to work out, despite the smile on her face. Maybe the entire station wished for us to fail. And maybe I just gave them what they wanted." "It hurts though, Daddy. It hurts like nothing ever has, before. I can feel it tearing me apart inside. But I can't go back. I won't go back. I will not crawl, I will not submit. He let me go, you know. Just like that. Like I wasn't even worth keeping, like I wasn't worth fighting for. That intrusive human's influence, no doubt. We had problems, I tried to tell him about them, tried to give him signals. Are all men so blind? Okay, sure, maybe I overreacted when he walked in to the cafe arm-in-arm with that woman. And maybe I overreacted when she kissed him. He assured me there was nothing between them, they were just friends... Doesn't he realize, that putting his friends before his lover, is just the same as sleeping around? I'm not saying he couldn't have friends. I'm not saying he couldn't visit with them, with or without me. I am saying, that quality time without them is needed. That the world doesn't revolve around them. That I want.. need to feel like I actually matter." The anomaly passes back into view, bathing her quarters in diffuse blue-white light, and she closes her eyes against its beauty. "I'm not free of guilt in the relationship, either. Maybe I should have been more direct with what bothered me. But everytime I was straight forward, somehow it would get twisted. He'd get insanely jealous. I told him there was an officer that had gotten a crush on me, though when I told him I was involved, he backed off. He was jealous. He was scared of losing me. And yet all he could think of, was how this man desired me. Maybe it was a mistake to tell him. But... I thought, based on yours and Elsiana's relationship, that honesty was the best course of action? Maybe I was wrong. It doesn't matter now, though. It's over. And now I've made enemies for it. But let them busy themselves over it. They interfered, they stuck their noses where they didn't belong. My private life, was not my own. My relationship, was not my own. It was theirs. Interference, manipulation... Anyways. While I was with Zip, I met someone else. A friend. A good friend. Someone who listened to me without judgement, someone who did not need me to draw him a roadmap to every little part of life, or our friendship. When I really started to feel the strain of my relationship with Zip, he was there. Talking. Advising, but never judging, not myself or Zip. His advice didn't work, though. But.. after one particularly bad day, after Zip ignored me in deference to her. After he distanced himself from me, despite my efforts to draw him out. After he didn't even have the presence of mind, to realize that I was no longer standing by his side... I went to work out, to relieve some stress. And things exploded, almost literally. I kissed my friend. Not just a quick kiss, or a chaste one. One full of passion and desire. I felt it burning inside of me. I felt so.. alive! And I realized, that I was falling for him. So, that's where I am, Daddy. It's not like anything is a guarantee, is it? Especially love? This man, that I kissed. He's... A Klingon. The strongest, bravest, most passionate one I know. There is so much that draws me to him. The fire that burns inside of him; his honor; his dedication to family. But with my desire to be with him, comes the trials... He is a Klingon Warrior of the Empire.. who am I? I am... not a Klingon. I must prove my worth, to be his mate. Can I do it? Do I have the strength of body, mind, and spirit? His daughter does not approve of me. I know this, just by her actions towards me. But she is just one of many battles I must fight. And should I fail? Well, I don't plan on failing." She glances towards a chronometer, and frowns. "I should go, Daddy. I love you. Give Auntie Elsiana my love. Oh! Before I go. I'm learning to ride horses. They're only holodeck ones, but that's perfectly fine with me. I think I'd have too many problems with real ones. But.. it's fun. Hugs and kisses." Another few bites of pudding taken, and the woman rises from the couch. "Computer, transmit letter. Delete from memory after transmission." And then the screen goes blank.
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| O'Carroll | Problems on the Baer |
Thu Aug 14 |
A series of beeps and chirps greet the log as it begins recording. Alice O'Carroll sits in the pilots seat of a Type-6 shuttle, tapping away at the controls. The port-sitting display taking in her features as she seems lost in thought.. the starboard windows giving a bit of a star-filled backdrop. "Personal log.. Stardate 53434.7." "Communications are still out on station.. so me and my flyboys have been playing Operator along with an assortment of other ships in the area. Catching transmissions and sending them towards 419.. and the occasoinal transmission out of 419." she sighs lightly, "A bit too monotonous for my liking, but I'm dealing with it just fine. I've got the switch-off schedule set up so nobody loses their mind out here." she grins at that, "I'm thinking I did it wrong. Out here is peaceful considered to the chaos on station.. more likely to lose your mind there, these days." "A lot of people are.. overflowing with work. People going two days at a time without any real rest. It's nuts. And for all that, I haven't heard anything from engineering on how long it's going to take to get anything working again. I guess they're all too busy working, tho." she pauses to deal with a rather large bit of work at her console. "I don't know too much about engineering, or I'd offer them a hand. But I'm just a little rookie in that regard. Still, whatever I can do I'd do. But instead, I've been trying to help out the rest of the Operations crew when I can. I can sit at a console and direct comm signals to the proper places decently enough. Else I wouldn't be out 'ere doing it." she grins, "Prolly what's keeping me mood up a bit more than the average officer.. I actually like it out 'ere. I don't mind the extra flight time at all." "My own head isn't on all that well, actually. As good as I seem to be at showing it is. There are two.. two relationship.. conflicts. At the same time. With different people.. but they're all my friends. I am, at this time, reminded of why I avoid them as if they were a plague." she chuckles softly, "But I'm always 'ere to be helpin' out those that take them on. I guess that's 'ow I get me relationship fix." "First off.. is Rob and Meg. One of Meg's friends from the Academy is taking his Cadet Cruise here." a sigh, "Of all the Stations in all of Starfleet.. he had to be transferred to mine." she pauses with work for a moment, "This Cadet apparently helped Meg out through a rough time. And she.. owes him, apparently. But he's making a.. rather large fuss over Rob. One that I am very, very uneasy about." "The second one.. is Kea and Zip. They're gone. Over. Most likely for good if he's going to be talking about her the way he was yesterday.." she shakes her head, "I do think he was blind in the matter. The relationship wasn't what either of them expected.. and it ended rather.. poorly. And now she's off chasing.. an even /harder/ target. After the problems her and Zip caused.. I can only /imagine/ how the diplomatic community is going to react to this one." she sighs, "Her eyes.. might be a touch bigger than her heart. But she's a good person. She doesn't deserve to be treated any worse than Zip does." Alley's eyes glance over at the sensor readings, "Looks like my shift is over. Time to head back to the front." *click*
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| Harris | Drunken Ramblings |
Sat Aug 16 |
"Personal log... the middle of the night." Harris peers into the log recorder with bloodshot and bleary eyes, both bearing testimony to a night of drinking... no doubt one that Meg will not approve of. "I talked with... Kirsten... Kyla... Kathy," he pauses for a moment, nose scrunching in thought as he tries to remember through the haze, and then snaps his fingers. "Kea. Yes. I talked with Kea for a long time tonight. We blew things up, too. On the holodeck. Yeah." A hiccup escapes his lips, and he turns to stumble toward the couch, dropping heavily onto it. "There's one thing, you see. One thing that's important. We live to find it." Apparently, that's deeply profound to him right now. "And... I found it. She's got red hair, and she stands at 5'8" or so. She's named Megan for her mother." A pause for another hiccup, and then he continues. "I told... K... K... whatever her name is that she needed to find something like what we've got, because that's good... and stuff." "She's got this friend named Mo, who apparently hates my guts... but that's okay. I told Meg that I'd accept him, only because she asked me to... even though he hates me because I'm a man, and not good enough for her. All because of a jerk she dated once." The old man grunts, scratching absently at his cheek before continuing on. "I wouldn't harm a hair on her head, but do they see that? *Noooooo*. They just see a man who wants to use her and then leave." That apparently frustrates him, and he stabs a finger at the camera, which causes him to tip over onto the couch. "We fought, and then spent the next two days making up." The lazy grin returns to his face. "And I'm tiiiiiired." While that thought is on his mind, he loses track of the fact that he's recording a log. Five minutes later, he's humming an old Irish drinking song and directing the band from flat on his back on the couch. The doors part, and in stumbles a less intoxicated Meg, dressed to kill in a silky amber dress - carrying, of all things, a monkey. As his eyes settle on her, Harris rolls off the couch in amazement, jaw dropping. "Wow..." the old man breathes, unable to stop staring... and then the log recorder hits its timeout and shuts off.
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| Tracker | Questions |
Sat Aug 16 |
A voice begins to play as the log begins. A human male speaks softly but with a calm confidence. "Personal Log. Supplemental. Stardate 53438.8. Lieutenant JG Tracker." "The mental health of my Calon Absyn is no longer my official concern, but it has remained in my thoughts." A pause ensues, lasting a few seconds, then is broken. "He has, as I thought he would, remained at the core the man that he was. He is still responsible, and he acted as such when the time came. However, despite the fact that he is still the same person, he has changed much during the recent turn of events. For him, this is an awakening. A rude awakening to life, its pains, and its pleasures." "Confined to the infirmary as he recuperates, left alone with his thoughts, removed from duty. I can but wonder as to what he is thinking right now. Undoubtedly, his thoughts are a mix of the man and the child. He is simultaneously both grown and an infant, being, on one hand, the responsible, collected man that he was, and, on the other, suddenly immersed in a world of strange emotions and ideas that he had long forgotten." "I wonder too, what is the reaction of Counselor Gellan to the man that she sees. She, like us all, has her own demons. Ironically, she is the person that I find the most enigmatic. I have spoken to men of war, tortured in their own mind, scientists filled with self-doubt and loathing, strong men who only yearned to be weak, weak men that wished they were strong. Their stories were written on their faces, but I see nothing on the face of Sharra Gellan." "What she sees in Mr. Absyn must be much the same as what I see. The question of Sharra Gellan is one that will be answered in the future. The question today is how Calon Absyn relates to Counselor Gellan. As he grapples with his own inner self, he is confronted by a woman that he has not met before. Her junior is the object of his hatred. He, however, is not looking for another enemy. He seeks a person that he can trust, and Sharra Gellan fills that role." "This chain of events has not yet come to a close, but I already know the outcome." There is a momentary pause before the man continues. "The outcome. Ultimately, despite my effort," The man halts mid-sentence. The recording ends.
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| Smith | Message in a Bottle |
Sat Aug 16 |
Sealed somewhere in a small black container that drifts through space, along with a dozen long-stemmed roses and a picture of a small girl, is a pad with a message recorded on the stardate of 53438.8. The recording plays. A man dressed in a sharp black business suit stands with a fresh bouquet of roses. The setting behind him is unclear. His look is one of half-chagrin, half-nervousness. The look of a man about to deliver a speech at a wedding or funeral. "She turns five today. I promised that we would always spend her birthday together, and here I am. She's growing up to be as beautiful and smart as her mother. She still knows the songs that you taught her, and she has a lovely voice. She enjoys singing as much as her mother, and I know that would make you happy." The man looks sheepish for a few moments, then continues. "I try to sing along sometimes, but she doesn't let me. My singing isn't up to par with hers just yet, but I keep practicing." His look becomes a bit brighter. "I enrolled her in the school here on station. She's so bright. You would be so proud of the things that she can do." The man pauses, seeming unsure of how to continue. His smile becomes forced for a few moments, then begins to fade, and he looks down shamefully. "I'm sorry, Melissa. I've failed you. This isn't the life that you wanted for our daughter. All the hopes and dreams that we had, and this is where I ended up. This is where I carried our flame." A few tears begin to roll down the man's face. "It's been hard without you, baby. I'm sorry. I know you want to me to move on, but I can't. I still love you. I'm sending you this message knowing that your heart is still where it has always been. In the stars." The message cuts off abruptly.
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| Treal | Truth or Lies? |
Sun Aug 17 |
"Computer, begin personal log. Insert stardate, whenever I get finished." Treal appears on screen, looking like she took a trip to hell and back. "Ugh. Vile green stuff. Rob, thanks for the grenade launcher lessons. And the headache. I'll return the favor, I promise. Somehow, someday." Rubbing her eyes, then her temples, the woman curls up beneath her throw on her couch, taking a sip of some steaming liquid. "Where do I begin? I have begun my hunt, to better myself. Or at least my skills. If I'm going to confront Churas for her insults, I have to be ready to defend myself. Commander Ghorev recommended Lt Turtledove. I'll have to get with her soon. Rob, yea, Meg's guy, came into the 'Zone. We talked a bit. Invited me to the holodeck to blow things up, and drink. I accepted. It's been tough, since I left Zip. Was fun. We blew things up. Shot them. Had Aldebaran whiskey. Note to self: Make sure you have an escape route back to your quarters after drinking half a bottle. I ended up in the Warp Core. Contrary to popular belief, coffee does not sober you up. Or at least, it didn't me." The woman smirks faintly, shaking her head. "At least the Romulan Ambassador was nice about it. I wasn't too bad. At least, not that I remember. Anyways, that's besides the point. Michael made sure I made it home. His quarters are somewhat near mine, so I was on the way. We talked for a bit. I'm not sure what to make of what he told me." Now, her brow furrows, and she begins to look uncertain, confused. Silence is all that's recorded for a time, as she stares off into space before her, lost in thought. When she brings herself back, she inhales sharply, shaking her head. "Err.. Where was I? Oh. Michael. Was he telling me this stuff, because he's a friend, and doesn't want me to get hurt? Or was he telling me, because he hopes to steer me towards him, and away from Gr'laH? I don't know. I can't tell. I'm lost. Were they lies? Were they truth? If truth, were they twisted to drive a wedge between Gr'laH and myself? Yet, I cannot doubt Gr'laH. I cannot see him just humoring me, only to end the game when he gets bored. He wants me to succeed, and if he could tell me the way, he would, to ensure it." Sighing, the Betazoid sips more of her drink, then shrugs a shoulder. "I will not deny, the pain my heart felt, at his words. I will not succomb to self-doubt. I will not allow this.. to turn me from my goal. Though I may fail, I will not turn from my path. I must see this through to the end." She pauses, "I can't think straight anymore. Computer. Lights off, and end log. I'm going back to bed." The screen goes blank.
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| Harris | The Journal |
Sun Aug 17 |
Stardate 53442.5. The lights in quarters 812 are out, the only illumination provided from the stars beyond the viewports. On the desk, Robert Harris lies facedown, his face holding open his journal as he slumbers. His face is tear-streaked, the drops having impacted the paper and smeared the ink in some spots. "Sunday, August 17, 2376." "Everyone here has a family. Meg's got her brothers. Hamish has a father living in Glasglow. Alley's parents call her Alley Kat. Even Kusto has family here." "Out of everyone, it's times like this when I feel singularly alone. I have a family too - it's just that I'm removed from them by a century. My brother dead at the hands of Orion pirates. My parents gone to old age. My son lost near the Neutral Zone." "My only link to my past is my granddaughter, and she hasn't responded to my letter yet. I'm... afraid to approach her, just in case she actually wants nothing to do with me. Otherwise... all I've got are memories, and memories aren't something you can speak to. They're not tangible to anyone but me... and that hurts." "Meg and I are family. We've decided that between ourselves. Someday, her family is coming here to meet me, and we're going to get married. Together, we'll move on into our future together." "I just wish I could do the same for her. Mom would have loved Meg. Dad would have loved Meg. Matt... Matt would have taken a look at her, then asked me point-blank if I'd gotten myself a piece of that. She deserves to know my family, and they deserve to be able to hold our children when they're born." "None of that will happen, and there's nothing I can do to fix it." "I'm sorry." The rest of the page is blank, waiting for more words to be added by the old man.
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| Treal | Tearful lamentations |
Mon Aug 18 |
The log begins as audio only, the screen remaining blank. "Personal log, stardate... Oh, I don't care. Computer, insert appropriate stardate, I'm tired of having to look each time." Sighing heavily, a familiar voice resumes, "Well, you've gone and done it, Kea. What the hell were you thinking? mu'qaD veS? You don't know the first thing about curse warfare. Now you've probably pushed him too far. And you've gone and put your career in jeopardy. Confined to quarters? Ordered to stay away from him? Why... Why are you insisting on trying to be something you're not? For love? Love, that may never be returned? What right.. what right do you have, to even presume that he'd want you? He is a Klingon. You are... not. He is a warrior. You are a warrior in your own right. But by his standards? You made your choice, Kea. Though partly it was made for you. You can't back out now. You can't back down. Even though the whole galaxy seems hell-bent on forcing you to stop, forcing you to give into self-doubt. Though from all sides you are attacked, by people telling you he doesn't want you, he doesn't love you, that he wants someone else, that you could never be good enough for him. How much more can you take? How much more must you take? Fool. Child." The recording is paused, and when started again, now video accompanies it. Treal is curled up on her couch, a pillow hugged to her chest, and several kleenex strewn about. Wearing a simple green dress, she sniffles, dabbing the tears from her eyes, as she looks longingly out over the stars. "It would be so easy to run away. So easy to give up. But I'd never be able to face myself in the mirror each morning. Never be able to face him. Nor anyone else." She looks down towards her chest, lifting the silver amulet from around her neck, to run her fingers lightly over its surface. "I never knew you, mother. All I have are pictures. But, there are nights, that I can still feel your warmth, your touch. I still can hear your voice, though it sounds so far away. The song you used to sing, when you'd rock me to sleep, it hums in the back of my mind. Is it my need for you, that calls forth these spectres? I do need you. More than I ever have. I'm scared, mother. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. I'm losing myself. Or am I discovering myself? Where are you? You're supposed to be here. You're supposed to hold me, and rock me, dry my tears. You're supposed to smile at me with all the love you have for me, and say those magical words only a mother knows, to make it all better. Why did you have to go away?" Letting the amulet drop from her limp fingers, the young woman curls into a tighter ball, as tears overcome her. "I love him, mother... I love /you/, mother. Where ever you are," is whispered before the log ends, the screen going blank.
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| Talesin | Dreams |
Tue Aug 19 |
The room is dimly lit, but it doesn't look like Keth's. He's sitting on the couch in Jameson's quarters, indeed, Jameson dozing nearby. "Personal log, stardate 53445.6. I had that dream again. No, not the one where the rice ball is chasing me. The one about Lt. Cross. Well... not just about him. It's a very confusing dream. I'm floating in a starfield, and everyone I've ever known in my life is around me. The children I went to school with, my fellow acadamy students, the people I served with on the Kennedy... It was strange, because, well... everyone looked exactly as they did the last I saw them. Jalyn, Isole, Magret, Marcus, Vildrym... they were all toward the front, and... the emotion I got was... fear. Fear of me, or fear of something around me. I'm not sure exactly what. And then the dream changed. I was still in the starfield, but it was only myself and Lt. Cross." a pause, and Keth takes a sip of coffee. "And we were talking. It was a continuation of the talk we were having the other night, when I went to his room because of his nightmare. It was so comfortable, though. And music started playing from somewhere..." his expression becomes one of concentration, as if he's trying to remember something. "And we started dancing. Which is just weird, considering I don't slow dance with strange men. Well, strange anyone." another pause, and he shifts. "He leans in to kiss me... And then I wake up as the computer beeps. Dammit. I can't even enjoy a kiss in my /sleep/." a soft laugh, "It's strange. Cross isn't all that attractive to me, either. He's handsome, to be sure, but he's not really the type of man I'm usually attracted to." a soft sigh. "Perhaps it's just stress from everything that's happened today. Lt. Nevaren's stable, but Ambassador Gr'laH is in a stasis field, and I've only got about two more hours before they're going to need me in the infirmary again. Me and Marcus, both." a soft smile, "He did good, today. Really, really good, for never having had anything beyond first aid training." he bites his lower lip for several minutes, face showing just a hint of how afraid the nurse really is. "I'm terrified. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure Gr'laH was killed. Two guards at the infirmary exit aren't going to do a lot if someone's determined enough, and I doubt whoever attacked him would have a problem with attacking a couple of medical officers who get in the way." a pause, "That's part of the reason I'm having Churas stay there overnight. /If/ anyone's stupid enough to try anything, they'll have to go through two trained security officers, one incredibly formidable Klingon warrior and one well trained marksman with a type II phaser." "Computer, dim lights, set alarm for two hours." he curls up against Jameson's side, head resting on the blonde's shoulder. "End log."
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| K'net-mauri | A letter to KM's wife |
Tue Aug 19 |
The screen is black, with the green emblem of the Romulan Star Empire spreading its wings from the center. It fades into an image of K'net-mauri's expansive diplomatic quarters, but once again the green raptor does not dissapear -- the Romulan Ambassador sits in his favoured armchair, the Star Empire's symbol looming on the wall behind him. K'net-mauri grins into the camera. The expression is vulpine, full of teasing wickedness and searing playful affection. "So, my love," Mauri addresses his distant wife through the technology that closes the light-years between them. "You think I ought to be more forthcoming about it when people shoot at me? You never seemed to feel that way when it was expected that people would shoot at me. Could it be that you've gotten -more- possessive over the years?" He laughs, regarding the camera with warmth in his dark eyes. "Very well. Since you are too far away for us to fight about it properly, I will apologize. I ought to have sent you a message immediately, detailing the experience." "As it happens," the Romulan goes on, leaning over towards his coffee-table to pour himself a drink from the bottle there, "It wasn't all that thrilling. It was only S'veralis' handing of the attacker, and the rather beautiful irony of the Federation Ambassador's self-sacrifice, that make the moment much worth remembering. Aside from the general insult of the matter." He has a swallow of blue Romulan ale. "I am unhurt. A little stiffer than usual for a few days, that is all. Though I'm relatively furious about it. It is disgusting, this failure of mine. And while I doubt I shall be held in much blame for it, considering the blunt and flimsy nature of the tools available, I shall not forget." A chuckle. "Not that anyone remains for me to avenge myself on, aside from myself. No doubt Voidrai has seen to that." "Speaking of, that particular agent has served us very well these past few months. Remember her for me, should my memory fail." Mauri smiles lazily, watches the camera and tastes his drink again, unhurried. After this pause he speaks again, "Taevan, whom I do not imagine you remember. I myself do not recall if I even mentioned him to you. He was on Kayhaar for a time. And now I have him here. Where his service is proving quite adequate. Though considering my past string of adjutants, I may have simply lowered my standards. He's appearantly greatly annoying to the Andorian Jaylas Idrani. But appearantly neither of them is able to tell me precisely why. So I put it off to the general inability of Federation peoples to understand and tolerate Romulan people, and their staggering ability to find insult from us regardless of our intent. And I am content. The man does his job. And occasionally he says something witty." "The Ferengi, Lux, remains a disturbing mystery. His response, or rather, lack therof, to my assistance with the Rynkan situation concerns me. I can make a guess what he's been playing at, but I mislike my guessing. If he did not try so hard to appear harmless and near-incompetant..." he trails off, laughs. "Well, even though he does, I wonder at him. He is clever enough to play two parts for two audiences, and at the same moment. There is no real and great reason for us to be at odds, but there may be small ones that might seem great to Lux. And while I am sure that no one would believe it, he is more dangerous in himself than any other at that table. Including the Klingon, who, it would seem, isn't dangerous at all any more, having been murdered in the garden last night." Mauri shakes his head, his expression ironic. "Or something. Perhaps he lives. I have not checked. I would not be particularly suprised. Behead him, and he'd probably get up and start spewing complaints about the insult from his severed neck along with the blood. I rather wish the Klingon diplomats would stop getting themselves killed. Though they behave so chaotically there is very little difference between one and another. Gr'laH, at least, has been more tolerable than the others in most respects. Hopefully he'll survive to tell me what the hell he was hinting at during our most recent meeting. I wanted to bleed him; I am so tired of being toyed with." Another longish pause for the careful consideration of ale's intense flavour, and Mauri goes on: "I had a Vulcan child for a few days. An appalling situation; appearantly her deceased parents made no arrangement for her and she was adopted by an Andorian." He shakes his head, "A friend of her father's. And the father of this Station's first officer. Who immediately sent this unlucky child to be raised by his son. This Vulcan girl's poor reaction to this new 'parent' is surely conclusive evidence of the Federation's folly in believing that in spite of their 'infinate diversity,' all sentient beings are more or less the same. Andorians seem to me to have quite a chaotic mode of living. It is no suprise that a bereaved and grief-stricken child of thirteen should be terrified and act badly. Or attach herself to me. In such circumstance she behaved acceptably. But obviously the girl's self-enacted solution could not sit well with Starfleet or the Federation. She has returned to her Andorian 'brother.' Who perhaps will take a lesson and do better by her in the future. He was, to his credit, quite adult about her perculiar little defection." "The Bajoran Havaris Jiasha is great with child. Startling, how quickly this happened. She is rather comical to look at now." K'net-mauri smiles, now sweet with nostalgia. He leans back in his chair. "I think of you. After I see her, I touch the little thickening of bone where you broke my thumb when Vaera was born, and think of you. I'm sure you'll want to pummel me to hear that seeing a young woman bloated and clumsy in the last stages of pregnancy reminds me of you, but forgive me. I take any opportunity to be reminded of you." "Encrypt. Transmit to the Senator Selera, daughter of the House of Va'raeh, Val'danadex Trel, Romulus."
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| T'Lyna | Phantoms of the Past |
Tue Aug 19 |
"Ensign T'Lyna, Personal Log, Stardate 53446.7." The voice which opens the computer recording sounds somewhat rough and weary, and the face which gazes into the recorder reflects that weariness. The Vulcan woman's face appears rather haggard, with dark circles under her eyes. The room behind her is only dimly illuminated, the majority of the light coming from the many flickering candles placed throughout the quarters. On her computer terminal, a series of holo-images are displayed--a series of Vulcans of varying ages. T'Lyna's gaze strays to the first image, that of a Vulcan male of middle age. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she speaks again. "Sutak, my husband... I remember you once more. The blocks which were placed within my mind, for the preservation of my sanity during the most difficult period in my life, have fallen, and I recall it all with perfect clarity. I recall our marriage.... our children... our children's children. The trips we took during your all too infrequent shore leaves." The Vulcan woman pauses for a moment, closing her eyes and struggling mightily to maintain her composure as the sudden wealth of memories threatens to overwhelm her. "but most of all, Sutak... as clearly as if it only happened yesterday, I recall your death. I remember with crystal clarity how it felt as our link was severed, as I watched a section of Deep Space Three explode outward into space from the safety of the transport which was carrying me to see you." The Vulcan woman hangs her head, her shoulders slumping slightly as she allows her usually stiff posture to go slack. "I am uncertain which pains me more, now: the memory of your death... or the event which has breached the mental barrier to return the memory to me. You see, Sutak... I have failed you. I swore, when I learned of the incompetance of the officers aboard that station, who allowed the terrorist bomb which stole you from me to be planted, that someday, I would become a Starfleet officer myself, and that I would not allow what happened to you to happen to anyone else, if it was in my power to prevent it. "Even when my memories were suppressed, the urge to join Starfleet and make a difference remained, and the safety of my crewmates and the civilians aboard the station or vessel I served upon has always been my main priority, though I never knew the true reason why I was so vehement about it... so determined to be extra vigilant and thorough. "And yet despite this... now that my skills have been put to the test, I have been found as lacking as those who served with you on DS3. A Klingon shuttle docked here at Station 419-Upsilon, and it was my task to conduct a customs inspection of it. I performed my usual, thorough investigation, and found nothing of note. Nothing. And yet... using materials found aboard that shuttle, someone engineered an explosion in the shuttle bay which injured one of my crewmates, and then attempted to assassinate the Klingon ambassador. My inspection should have prevented this from happening... but somehow, it didn't. I am fortunate in that no one died, this time... but logic dictates that I must redouble my efforts from this day forward, so that I will not fail again. "End log."
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| Gr'laH | Convalesced |
Wed Aug 20 |
The UFP Emblem fades, revealing Gr'laH on his biobed, staring up at the ceiling. Eyepatch removed, dressed in a surgical frock, belly bandaged. His hair is unbraided, pooling about him in a wave of salt and pepper. The jagged scar down the left of his face is less defined now. Federation medicine got hold of the Ambassador and left a less ruined version of the original behind. "I did not see the face of the man that tried to kill me. Not until after he had pierced my lung and turned the blade through an artery. I was dying from the first blow. The second assured that it would be septic and painful. Spilling my guts into themselves, emptying my bladder into my blood. He was young. He was skilled. I could not bury my blade in him. My Mok'bara was sufficient, only with the aid of Churas. And even so, I was nearly ended. Even so." "It is a simply matter to mock me for my eye and my arm, my age, my lack of speed, my waning skills. I can no longer argue it. I have had it proven time and again. By Nathan. Ha'nuQ. Now this honorless, gutless creature whom my daughter split open like a fruit. But there is one skill yet that age cannot deny me. My greatest. My cunning. Perhaps Nathan is the faster, Churas the stronger, Ha'nuQ the better skilled at Mok'bara, Qe'met at the Bat'leth, Randal at the phaser. But I could out-think, out-speak, out-lead them all." "Or can I?" Gr'laH snorts softly. "And now I face the suit of Kearia Treal. A friend. A woman I respected much more before she decided I was to be hers than after. I am advised that I should tell her to seek her love elsewere. I am advised that she is unravelling around herself at this suit. I have no wish to be her undoing. But... I do not feel... compelled. To continue this any longer. She has tried. She may continue to try, indeed. But I have never confessed to loving her as she has to me. Not in this manner, with this intensity. Perhaps it is all flavored by recent events. Perhaps it is otherwise. I do not know what should be done, what I should do. And this, more than anything, confuses me." "Perhaps it is YaSharra." Gr'laH's eye scans about for a moment to make certain that he is, if not alone, then at least assured some level of privacy. "She makes me feel at peace. She is the one among the crew of this station whom I have met at length who has yet to offend me. Ensign Donavon? She has not offended me, though I have only dealt with her in brief. Lieutenant Turtledove, perhaps. Vimes. Javits. Casual acquaintances, all of them. But YaSharra I know. I go to her and bring her coffee. Sit and speak. About whatever requires saying. And there is never any greater press that it be more than that. Perhaps I am, simply, an old man. Wanting only for someone to listen to me speak of when I was otherwise." "I could promise some retribution, here, for my attack. I could make some grand declaration, some great outpouring of rhetoric as would quail the hearts of my enemy. I will not. I will say only this: they have tried and they have failed. They will try again, and we will be waiting for them." "I should like my heart to be calm that day."
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| Churas | Belonging |
Wed Aug 20 |
"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 53448.0." Churas sits in one of her long black nightgowns on the couch in her quarters. Her dk'tagh is, despite her nightdress, still in its sheath, that slung on her hip by means of a leather baldric across her chest. Her hand rests on its hilt, ready. "It has begun." "They descended upon my father in the Observation Garden, the whole lot of them personified in a dishonorable assassin who struck my father in the back before my own eyes. I saw the blade drive in, and even so, I did not immediately attack. I thought my father strong enough to withstand any blow. I did not wish to take this kill from him." A pause. "The second strike turned his howl into one of agony, and I called the assassin onto me. Onto my body, slowing as it is with pregnancy. And I did it without thinking." She pauses here and looks off to the side for a moment, leaning forward and peering off into the bedroom. A nod indicates that she's found whatever she felt she might. "Had I not been there at that moment, coming to find my father for the yellow alert, he would now be dead. And I or my husband or Iliara would be the next target. We may still be." A long sigh. "He lives. And as he lives, my debt is repaid. Whatever words I said two years ago, before his first convalescence, whatever debt I might have had then? It is gone. I own myself entirely, now, and what I may give, I give from choice, and not from obligation." A long pause inserts itself here. "And he is alive. As if it were an Opera, he woke as I spoke to him. Spoke to him of the Gharas in my belly and the Gharas in whose belly I began and found no difference when I said 'You know she will not yet allow you to die.'" "We know who did this. I can feel it in my bones. Why I have made, at this point, a career of killing the assassins of Ambassadors, I am not sure. Counselors would analyze it, I suppose." A short snort. "Regardless. We know who did this, and as much as any Starfleet Officer might boast that they will seek vengeance, where they can be found is not Starfleet space. We know this." A long pause. "I am told that the Betazoid trollop continued her display even after I left. If there was one shred, one micron, one tiny iota of my person that might have given her the opportunity to show me some reason why I should give her the scrapings from my bootheel, much less a kind word, that iota was crushed into nothing by her embarassing and pitiful display over my father's injured body." Churas unsheathes her dk'tagh and pulls a horribly mimicked face, all pathos and wide eyes, the dk'tagh held as someone who can't help but hold a weapon correctly might try to hold it wrong for comic purposes. Her voice becomes a comical falsetto, a quick change from her usual rumbling contralto. "Oh, he will want this when he wakes! I just do not know what to do! I am pathetic and lost and weak! Please prey on me, for I am no more than a scared rabbit! Why are you so meaaaaaan to meeeeeeee?" Rolling her eyes, the Klingon resheathes the knife. "I am done with her. I cannot humor my father any longer, even if his intent is to make it clear to /other/ Betazoids that he is available, as he has said. Even if he is merely enjoying hearing a long-faded song for a time. That woman had best stay clear of my family. If I want a suitable Betazoid role model for my sister, I will seek out Aliana Cerene. I will not have Iliara turned into a disgusting whinging spectacle of a woman. I feel pity for her family and house, having to bear that upon themselves." "My husband is as he always is. Faithful. Devoted. Protective more than I would like, perhaps, but I cannot blame him. I forget always how much more fragile humans are than we, naturally so. No wonder he protects me with all the assiduous ardor of a paranoid in love." She pauses here. "Perhaps this will serve as a reminder that he cannot always protect me, and I must still always guard myself. Be able to guard myself." "Regardless of all of this. My father is alive. The discommendated house failed. As they will. As they must." "If I must make a career out of killing the assassins of Ambassadors, at the very least, now I am protecting an Ambassador /worth/ protecting." "Computer, end log and save."
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| Poole | The Lonely Dark |
Wed Aug 20 |
The camera's viewport is that of the entrance to the quarters shared by Poole and her family. All is silence and there is no one home, no sign of life until the doors part and emit one Gwen Poole in Starfleet Uniform. Looking tired, but rather well-kempt, she walks over to the loveseat near the viewport. Digging in the cushions she pulls out a PADD, the one she always does her personal logs on. It's been with her since she came back aboard... been modified by Nevaren, for her, it's seen duty on Fimdari, Occa, through the darkest times this past year. Poole looks down upon it contemplatively, laying back on the love seat until she is comfortable. Has it always looked so dinged up, she wonders. There's the scratch from when I dropped it in that cave on Fimdari. And the scorch mark from when I was shot on Occa and it was in my pocket. "Begin personal log..." "Tyler was right. With all that's behind me, I have no room or allowance for self-doubt. Not with the crew looking to the senior staff for leadership. Called to mind Captain Kirk she said. Instinctive... Strange that Wendy was the one who came to me and not Thea. She even opened up to me. Told me things. I tried to let her know that I was here to protect her, but I think she dismissed it as sentimental nonsense." Turning to get more comfortable, she continues on a different tangent, "Nevaren said to eat... I managed a few crackers, but I'm too worried to eat more. The restoration of his sight is up in the air at the moment, and it has me on edge. To see him lying there tears at my heart. He's there, alive... bald... blind. And he made me go away." "Eisak is with friends, since the quarantine, and I think so that I can sleep soundly tonight I'll let him stay there until the morning. He's likely asleep by now, anyhow, little man." "Zip caught whatever that dirty monkey was spreading about... and last I heard he wasn't doing well. I haven't been able to get down to see him yet, however.... I wish I could let him know I was thinking of him with something more than a PADD message, even if I can't get to visit him. ... He must be so alone." "I hate being alone."
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| O'Carroll | Nothing is Perfect |
Thu Aug 21 |
There is a swirl of color as the desktop terminal is turned to face O'Carroll, who sits on the couch in her quarters. She doesn't look happy.. nor sad.. but touched with a neutrality that is oddly disturbing. Her eyes seem somewhat distant for a moment before they focus in on the recording device. "Personal log.. Stardate 53450.4." "To be, or not to be: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms aginst a sea of troubles.. and by opposing, end them. To die: to sleep." Alley lets out a sigh, "I remember back in the Academy.. everyone was second guessing if Starfleet was right for them or not. Doubting if they were good enough to join in it's numbers." pause, "I was never among that number. I knew that Starfleet was my place. It was the instrument I could use to combat the evils of the universe." there is a pause as a frown tugs at the corners of her thin lips, "And now I find myself doubting what I have thought all my life. Starfleet seems to be choked with evil, just as the universe is." "Six years of my life have been spent in this Fleet. Four of it being training.. getting as prepared as they could get me for the vastness of it all. The other two on the Potemkin.." her jaw clenches briefly, before relaxing as she continues, "Six years. Some would look at that and wonder where I went wrong.. I haven't even tried for a promotion. Because that promotion would seperate me from what I hold close.. my shuttles. L'tenants are used for more important matters. And that's just not fer me. Not yet, anywho." "Six years. No, no promotions.. but I have no flaws on my record. Not one. And then I get transferred here." her jaw clenches again, "And that changes in.. a few weeks. Yes, I was at fault for failing to check up on a single rule. I went aboard the Aegis. Got a nice big red mark on my clean record." there's a pause as she spends some time smirking.. losing herself in thought again. "Oddly.. I find myself wondering what would have happened had I been someone who didn't want to get caught. And was being much more covert than I was. Someone was slacking with security on that ship, and instead of faulting themselves, they fault me. It was my fault for pointing out the flaws in security." she pauses, giving the camera the 'Can you believe it?' look, "Shouldn't I have been given a medal or something for finding these flaws before someone else?" she chuckles at that. "What's more.. is Moore." okay, so it doesn't exactly fit, but it brings a smile to her lips anyway, "I actually exchanged greetings with him while I was there. And now they're letting him get visitors.." she shakes her head, "Perhaps I was a helpful catalyst in this event. Seeing as it happened just a few days later." sigh, "Oh, and security is much tighter, now. Again.. I can't really believe it." Another silence as the red headed Ensign gets lost in thought. "After all I've done for my friends on this station.. even people who I doubt consider themselves my friends, like L'tenant Havaris.." there's a pause at that, "Okay, so I haven't done /too/ much for the L'tenant. I've been rather.. I don't know.." shrugs, "I've engaged him in some good natured verbal disputes. But I've also helped him out with what I can. But I don't think he really considers me a 'friend'.. just another officer in his department." shrug, "But I don't mind. I help him like I help everyone else I can.. and I don't get too much credit for it. Not that I mind that, either.. except for times like these, where the 'Good' far, far outweighs the 'Stupid'. This reprimand should not have even seen the light of day." "Maybe it's just this station. Perhaps I can swing a transfer back to the Potemkin.. maybe. Or perhaps I'll wake up in the morning and this will be gone from my head.." there's a good ten second pause, "Doubt it." *click*
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| Havaris | What You Don't Know |
Thu Aug 21 |
The UFP Symbol flashes briefly before listing classification and encryption levels. In flashes Havaris, seated at his desk in his quarters, drinking a very large glass of water and staring fixedly at a PADD. What's on it isn't readily seen. Perhaps for the best, given the shadows in the room. "Today hasn't been a particularly good day in a lot of ways. Brief quarantines, overzealour medical officers, another double-shift and laboring in my off-hours over an AAR addition that is, in and of itself, the size of an AAR I might file for a routine mission. Isobel's AARs are, to put it mildly, thorough. And she was kind enough to ask for my input in several areas. Strangely, they had a good deal to do with what the things looked like that were trying to kill us. Naturally, I had the best look at them. Isn't that always the way?" He's still staring at his PADD. "What do you do when you can't see the enemy? When it crawls in shadows and skulks behind you through the corridors. When you can feel it watching you, closing that distance between you and it? If they're Jem'Hadar, you lob a grenade and pray. It worked on Betazed. If they're Bioroids -- cunning machines crafted by the First Imperium to hunt and kill -- you aim for the shadow you're afraid of the most. And you fire. And you hit. And it just keeps coming, razor teeth snapping at your wrist as you run screaming down that corridor into more darkness and deeper shadow." "What do you do when it's you?" Havaris grins slightly at that question, waggling his PADD. "What do you do when you're followed by you, I wonder? Trailed by a self you can't see, by your own Prophet bestowed destiny? Do you talk to it? Do you look at it and freeze, catatonic? Do you see rows of teeth in that mouth? Do you fire? Do you hit? Does it keep on coming anyway?" Havaris purses his lips for a long moment, shaking his head with a soft snort. "Akeen said that if we know how to see them, they know how to see us. I told him that it wasn't us I was worried about. But it is." "Anything that watches without being seen, that moves without a name, that you can look in the eye and not know? That is a thing sorely in needed of removal from any Universe where honesty is still a virtue. Cloak, shroud, immersion, call it what you will. It's all a deceit. And so long as there are people staring out at those shadows afraid, men with weapons firing into the darkness, you cannot hide forever. We'll find you. We'll see you. We'll know you're there." "And just like she can't hide from her destiny, just like I won't hide from mine, you can't hide from yours no matter how hard you try. And you're trying. I know you are." Havaris waggles his PADD with a grin. "Try harder."
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| Donavon | Mistakes |
Thu Aug 21 |
"Audio only. Computer, insert Stardate." A voice strained by the events records personal thoughts. "How do you apologize to a Station full of Andorians and Bolians?" …. "How do you explain that Zephram Cochrane Torin would never intentionally hurt anyone? That he's an innocent himself. Zeppy didn't devise a plan, let me develop this bacteria to infect the entire Station. Nor did Mo create such a malicious thought. It was an honest mistake…a grave one." "How could you forget his shots, Mo? And how could I not have checked as well?" "I expect hatred. I expect that no one will want Zeppy around." A long sigh is drained from her system. "Ever since Mo brought Zeppy to the Academy as a wee baby, I've fallen for the little monkey. Mo and I cared for him all these years. So why am I shouldering all of this responsibility for Zeppy?" "Because it is my duty to protect this Station and I failed them by not caring for Zeppy fully. I failed as a 'parent' and as an officer." There's a longer moment of silence before the voice returns. "I owe a debt to this Station. I owe Zip a golden platter. His hearing…his hearing is gone because of….I'll work my arse off for him. I'll do what I can to ensure this section is running smoothly. Each Ensign will properly acknowledge all rules and regulations and follow Federation law to the letter. And that starts with Ensign Treal. There's an officer in her worthy and needed. All she needs is a little shining." "Zeppy is coming here. Robert's already agreed. He's as much as my responsibility as Mo's." "Mo," pause, "what am I to do, my friend? More reasons are created for this Station to despise you. My dear socially inept Mosey, I can see this latest event causing you to hide again in your work….holding to the belief that you shouldn't speak…that you shouldn't develop friendships." Another pause. "How can I blame you for thinking thus?" "End log."
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| Harris | The Darkness before Dawn |
Thu Aug 21 |
Personal log, Stardate 53452.1. We are naturally children of the light. We are bred to goodness. Bred to find hope in all things. It comes pre-wired into our genetics, like some kind of narcotic. We lose it. It leaves us as inexorably as the sun sets in the west on Earth. And then, the darkness comes. We may fight it. We may rail against it with all the venom we in our coporeal existance may summon, but we will ultimately fail. It claims us. It consumes us whole, and most of us don't realize it. I've fought the darkness. I've tried to penetrate the gloom with all the light I can muster in my soul, and for a time... it worked. I was happy. I was strong. I could do anything. And then, it all fell apart. I pieced it back together with what energy I could muster. I've swallowed my pride. I've taken my knocks. I've busted my butt to try and improve myself. To better myself. To keep those at bay who would see me fall. Slowly, inch by inch, it's falling apart again. One minute, Meg blows hot. We're inseperable, able to take on the universe. She tells me I'm her strength. Her fortress. Her resolve when she has none. The next, she prefers to sit in the bar and stew into a glass of whiskey rather than tell me what's wrong. I try to include her in every facet of my life, and she pushes me away. 'I'm not the best of company right now, Robert.' I don't understand. I probably never will. I'm probably overreacting. And so, the darkness takes another piece of the picture that hasn't been whole since the moment I was born. I slip another moment closer to death. A voice in the back of my head asks me if it wouldn't really be merciful. And, for the first time in months, I can't answer back that it wouldn't. END OF FILE. SAVE? SELECT YES OR NO.
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| Caeli | Alone |
Fri Aug 22 |
LCARS ACCESS: LTJG ZIPOK CAELI SECURITY OFFICER CLEARANCE LEVEL SIX ______________________________ PADD ENTRY: STARDATE 53451.7 ______________________________ So. I can't talk, because the sores have spread almost into my torso and even saying 'Hi.' hurts like all hell has leapt down my throat. My voice is my compin - I can't inflect, I can't say what I mean. I'm restricted to a monotone. What's worse... I'm alone. This is living death... I close my eyes and there is /nothing/. I can sort of smell Anu or Dr. Vala walking by sometimes, and I can usually always smell Gr'laH - I don't think he's had a chance to shower in a few days. Someone really ought to pin the back of his gown together. I can't hear my biobed humming, but I can feel it underneath me. It almost makes me nauseous... but then I think of what throwing up would feel like, and that gets rid of that. Gwen came, when she found out. She didn't say anything. It was so comforting, really. She called Thea, who set me up with my little voicebox and translator... Thea, who I could have sworn wanted nothing to do with me. Cameraderie in adversity, I suppose. I'll have to thank her appropriately. Meg... I haven't seen, yet. Not since the attack happened. Not since I turned into a feral... thing... and ran from her... probably destroying her quarters. Not since I took a swing on a Lieutenant Commander. A day and a half of hospitality, of Robert taking out an heirloom blanket for me, and I go on a /rampage/. When I can talk again, I'll apologize. This thing that talks for me can't do my words justice. Great /Bird/, is it so much to ask that people take care of their pets? Does it take something like this to wake people up? That monkey. He's sitting across the sickbay from me, hooting his little simian brains out. How could something like this have given rise to an intelligent civilization? Yes, you, you sniveling little thing that put Gwi'on and his children in these biobeds. If Meg didn't like you I'd... I can't kill a monkey. No matter how much it hurts to swallow, or how deafening this silence is. There's nothing /here/. Nothing to the left of me, nothing to the right. I can't hear Hamish's accent in Fed Standard, Gr'laH's Klingon looks just like Ora'tharas and Gilleana chattering away. One thing Thea was right about, though... this puts everything that's been happening in perspective. The whole Kea thing... it just seems less important. Especially when Gr'laH is lying right here with that big old gut wound. We still need to get past the insubordination problems... but I'm happy enough just to be here, with no swollen brain and at least a way to read what's being said, to worry about... stuff. ENTRY TERMINATED.
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| Medes | Normal? |
Fri Aug 22 |
Text-only log, Lt. JG Alethea Ruth Medes Stardate 53452.4 Lt. JG Caeli asked me last night if I hear normally. I had never really thought about it before, and you know, if I have, I'd put it out of my mind. I just sort of blinked at him a few times and told him the truth. I have no idea what it's like to hear normally. I know what I hear like, but I have no frame of reference as to what it's like to hear without machines performing the function of middle ear, piping sound in electron form directly to my inner ear. I know that I have sufficient auditory function in order to perform my duties as a Starfleet Officer, but... normally? No, Zip, I don't hear normally, and I never will. I place a different weight and priority on sound and the vibration caused by sound than any other person I have ever known. It's funny; most people get their disabilities repaired these days. I've never known someone else -- not well -- who had cochlear implants as an adult. I can't even remember meeting anyone. If I did, I didn't know it. It's such a singular thing about me that I don't know how to relate to someone else who's going through the same thing about it. Honestly, I've never been in his situation. By the time I was his age, getting these things updated and tweaked was as natural to me as getting a haircut. Ha ha. It's just a part of who I am, and I don't make a big deal of it, and I never have. Normally? No. I don't hear normally. I have in my life an absence of sound so profound as to give new meaning to what I actually /do/ hear, and I treasure that. Most people take for granted the form and shape of people's voices, the sound of speech. I prize the peace of my silences, and for the ending of those silences, I prize sound even more. The clamor of the shuttle bay, The Boss's terse orders, and Kusto's Bajoran adorations. All of them are so much more for the fact that I know that it only takes a short-circuiting computer or an exploding console for them to be gone.
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| Albertz | Personal Log |
Fri Aug 22 |
52452.6, S-419U - It has been a hectic forty-eight hours in the infirmary. Or is it closer to seventy-two? I'm unsure since I've been working almost non-stop it seems. First with the slew of patients that appeared. Later on the resultant paperwork for said patients and analysis of this new disease that has decided to appear on 419. When I slow down, get some sleep, and then kick a ball around for a few hours I'll most likely look back at what's happened over the past few days and be rather pleased with what we've accomplished. It starts with the assassination attempt on Ambassador Gr'laH, something I wasn't around for initially. He was severely wounded, but hearty fellows that Klingons are, has recovered sufficiently to return to his quarters and his family. Not before a round of surgeries though, one of which I had the opportunity to assist. While I was a passive participant, it was immensely beneficial to watch Dr. Park and Dr. Vala perform a procedure I had not seen done before. In fact, Dr. Vala pulled the procedure out from the mists of time almost. The Ambassador had many wounds to his intestines, so Vala bagged them off, allowing them to drain and eventually heel. Something like that hasn't been used regularly for well over two hundred years. Very resourceful on her part. The doctors also managed to get the Ambassador off life support, so it was a hugely successful surgery. I've finally finished up the report on the illness that struck the Station's Ghelnoid population. So the last thing I want to do is rehash the blasted thing here in my journal. There are a few things that stand out though: I think we may have an entirely new disease on our hands here. There are a few odd characteristics to this bug and I haven't been able to track down any mention of it in any medical journal or database. I have a little bit more work to do and I'll go to Dr. Park and hopefully he'll give me permission to submit our findings to Starfleet Medical. Who knows? Maybe it will end up published in their journal? That would be like scoring the winner in a cup final! Zip's hearing was badly damaged by a case of Arxhet. So now he can't hear a thing and will have to wear cochlear implants for two months while the nerve damage is repaired. He also can't speak because of a viral infection and has sores in his mouth and down his windpipe. For someone who is so tuned into people, for someone that thrives on contact and interaction with other people like nobody else I've ever met...this must be absolute torture for the man. He just needs to hang in there for a couple more days and the worst will have past. He can bounce back from this. I have complete faith in Zip on that one. That long night when we finally tracked down the cause of all this was, well, LONG. Not nearly as long as Anu Darax's night, I think. The evening must have been interminable for her. Sitting there, watching her children and husband in the grip of a thoroughly unpleasant and dangerous illness. And not being able to do much more than wait and wait and wait and sometimes a friend comes to cheer you up and sometimes a member of the medical staff comes to try and keep you appraised with the situation. I wouldn't be able to handle that with as much goodnatured calm as she did. When everything was said and done, she touched my arm and said, "Thank you for everything that you've done. I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate it." I don't think the grandest plaudits, could compare to the simple thanks of a very tired, very worried mother.
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| Crayn | A Quiet Moment |
Fri Aug 22 |
Personal log, Ensign Joran Crayn, Stardate 53453.0 The looming figure sits on his bed, topless. He's covered in sweat, possibly from an intense workout. He sighs.. "It's been awhile. Not used to saying anything when there really isn't anything to say, but it looks like it's feast or famine around here." he starts off. "Zip's sick.. I mean, -really- sick. He's gonna need cochlear implants just to hear, and who knows when he's going to be able to talk again?" He shakes his head.. "He still has that same sense of humor though. Making jokes about it. I saw the others too, the Ambassador, and the Andorian family that was 'affected' by this short outbreak." He wipes himself down. "Everyone's blaming the monkey, but Ambassador Gr'laH was right.. If our medical screening was as thourough as we thought, this would have never happened. We've got no one to blame but ourselves." He shrugs... "Made a major faux pas the other day, with a Romulan representative. She wanted to know about the attempt on the Klingon Ambassador. I thought the specific fact I had told her was common knowledge, seeing as everyone on the station was discussing it." He sighs.. "Well, the Lieutenant Havaris overheard me, and corrected the issue, pointing the Urlah in Lieutenant Idrani's direction. I've been tearing myself up about it all day. At least it gave me a chance to talk to Kearia." He smiles.. "Was she hot today or what? And she said she had nicer stuff.. Girl's gonna seriously have eyes rolling around on the decks one of these days." He stops, pausing.. "I care for her.. I'm not sure how, I mean, we've been friends since forever, I'm always looking out for her.. Perhaps that's all it is. She's hurting, and because of that, I'm hurting to. I'm going to try and help her out.. Try and help her with work, keep her emotions to the side for now, until she's more balanced." He smirks.. "If anyone knows how to push their emotions aside, it's me.." He pauses, looking quizzically.. "Well, and any Vulcan on the station.." He stands, heading towards the computer.. "Haven't seen Ensign Asarah for ages. I... miss her, strangely. We were getting along really well, even after finding out that she's just four years short of being twice my age.." He smirks.. "Do I know how to pick them or what? Well, I'm heading for a shower, then meditation, and then finally sleep. Crayn out."
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| Novairen | Personal Log - 53437.9 (Pt 1) |
Fri Aug 22 |
Lieutenant Laura Novairen's personal log, Stardate 53437.9." "I think I'm going to die." Novairen is seated at her desk, dressed in a long white t-shirt. Her hair is down and in total disarray. She also has bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them and her skin is a lot paler than even the dim lighting would account for. After making her statement she just stares at the camera as though in thought. A few seconds later her lips press together in a grimace and she nods. "I haven't been this sick in a long time. I've only been this sick a few times before and that was pretty much just at the Academy. Every single time I swear it'll never happen again. I guess that makes me either stupid or a masochist. I haven't decided yet." She squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her hand down across her face. Then she just leans forward and rests her head on the computer, the top of her head being the only thing that the camera is recording now. There's a lot of beeping and electronic raspberries before she adjusts herself off of the interface. "**** me," she groans in a now muffled tone. "You know it's bad when there's absolutely nothing left inside and your still trying to yak your brains out. ****. "This has been the two weeks from hell. I've gone from being irrelevant, to being irrelevant with secretarial duties. I mean, I did paperwork before, but this is like being the only yeoman at BuPers during promotion season or something. I missed a couple away missions because of this crap. One of them I really wanted to go on. I was perfectly qualified for it too. From the way people are talking it sounds like I missed a real hoot. But that's okay. People tell me that there will always be more. And Sharra tells me to be careful what I wish for. Well you know what? I wish for lots of bad-things-that-aren't-so-bad to happen so I can play hoorah and have a good time and save the friggin' day. How's that for a wish? Next time though. Definitely next time. I think I'm done with whatever this dump of garbage has been. Now that our practice SQTs are over things have slacked off a bit. We also got a couple new enlisted recruits fresh from boot. They're going right to work. It should take some of the pressure off of the rest of us. No more double shifts when the rosters don't mesh at least. So that's why I visited the Neutral Zone tonight. That's why I went rummaging through my unpacked boxes for a little something afterward." Novairen kind of rolls her head to the side and tries to crane her neck to look at the camera. The results are less than optimal. Instead of recording the crown of her head, there's now a lovely view of her forehead, some bangs, and one eyebrow. This is followed by some low muttering that isn't quite Standard, nor Centauran. The camera shakes violently once and then the second time the view shifts downward to get a more or less decent shot of her face. "Piece of crap. "SQTs. Gods, what a nightmare. The whole process took about two or three weeks to get done. This is my first taste of it. The circumstances of my last assignments were not particularly accommodating for sitting down and testing my competency via standardized testing. We finally got through it. I ended up having to administer quite a few of the damn things. They take forever and then some for each one. The end result? We suck. At least as it stands right now. Our overall departmental competency level was something like a 5.8 out of 10. It keeps changing as I average in the stragglers. The last official post had us rated at a six something. I think I'm going to leave that and brief the officers on the final scores. Let Dakin decide what to do with it. The tactical and security sections both failed. It was rather gratifying to post a failing score for Caeli's section." Novairen lifts her head, straightens out, and rests her chin on her hands. There's a smirk on her face, but it quickly turns back into a grimace as she begins speaking again. "That is until I realized that the buck doesn't stop with him. It doesn't make sense though. I haven't seen anything that would indicate why we got these scores. Apathy and poor training are not among Caeli's flaws. In fact, I would say he posseses the opposite qualities. So while it might have made me feel better for him to look bad, it doesn't make sense. His section should have done better. Much better. Him and Donavon have already started a training regimen for their section, parts of which are being adopted for departmental use. I expect better things come January. In the meantime, I'm going to try dissecting these tests to see if I can explain good work in practice and poor work in theory."
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| Novairen | Personal Log - 53437.9 (Pt 2) |
Fri Aug 22 |
She half yawns, half groans, and ends up making a really weird sound in the process. She sits up and reaches off camera and comes back with a half empty glass of water. Gingerly, she takes a sip and then returns it to the desk. "Speaking of the SQTs, I'm more or less pleased with my results. First time I've ever taken them, only been in the security business for maybe six months, and I got a 7. I actually think I could have done better, but I didn't have time to take advantage of my retest. Still, not bad at all. I'm going to kill these things come January." Rather than this producing a smile, it causes a deep frown. Novairen reaches up and brushes her hair back from her face. "I won't get promoted. I took a look at Lieutenant Dakin's service record a few days ago. Wonder of wonders, he graduated the same year I did. Little wonder boy or something. He made lieutenant while I was still a bloody ensign. He's almost a year younger than me!" She snorts. "Because of this and now that the war is over, he won't see lieutenant commander for years. And that means there's a decent chance I won't see lieutenant even though I should be up for it. Gods know that this reprimand I managed to earn won't go any distance toward impressing the board. I'll bet the Old Man didn't see this one coming. We'll see though. Or he will at any rate." All of this is followed by a long string of silence as she just sits slumped in her chair. Eyes closed, it looks like she might have drifted off to sleep. About ten minutes later she starts speaking again though she doesn't open her eyes. "At the risk of stating the obvious, I don't think my department likes me. Not as a person or as an officer. Even the ones I thought I might be getting on with. Unless I corner them or someone tosses me a bone they try and bypass me to deal directly with the Lieutenant. My orders seem to have the weight of suggestions with a couple of them. And despite not being friends with any of them they still think it's okay to call me by my first name. I think this is the biggest problem. Our department thinks that they're one big happy family. I suppose in once sense we are. But in a more important sense we are NOT. I would have put my foot down a while ago, but Dakin encourages this. It's not the first name thing in and of itself that bothers me. I can understand it. If I want to let someone call me Laura, that's my prerogative, not their's. Unless it's my CO that is. But when everyone's doing it whenever they want it leads to other things. It might be cliche, but familiarity does breed contempt. Among other things anyway. When people get too friendly on duty the distinctions in rank and authority become blurred. I don't ever want an environment where people think this is a democracy or that I'm merely suggesting things or talking for my health. That's going to get someone killed. More importantly, that's going to get me killed." She sighs and slumps a bit further down in her chair. "I don't want them or need them to like me. Just respect me." She cracks her eyes open to look at the camera again. "Respect isn't given, it's earned. This I know. But in this environment I think the prerequisites for earning it are severely skewed. Am I a bitch like they say?" She makes a noncommittal noise. "Maybe, but only if they get classified as unprofessional. That's how I answer that. This BS has to stop. I just need to figure out how." Novairen lifts her arm up, looks at her watch, then moves it to about a centimeter from her nose to peer at it some more. "0600. Crap." She snorts rather daintily. "If I'm a princess, then as their princess I decree that I'm so going to sick call today. Computer, end log."
|
| Gellan | Longings... |
Sat Aug 23 |
"Personal log, Stardate 53454.8." The log opens with the voice of the Chief Counselor, audio sensors picking up her soft voice from several feet away. The video comes into focus on a field of green over grey, as Sharra tends to her many plants. "I haven't recorded a log since Occa," she continues in a soft voice that speaks of weariness. "Things continue on their usual track.." Her hands pause in the examination of a leaf from a hanging lilly. "Thats..not entirely true either." Letting go of the leaf, Sharra approaches the desk, a small pair of sheers in her hand. At the desk, she lays them carefully on the surface, and then takes a seat in the overstuffed chair before the desk. "This week alone..we've almost had an epidemic on the station, and an attempt was made on Gr'laH's life. Ambassador Gr'laH," she corrects herself as a quick afterthought. "And.." Her voice drops a bit more in volume, and her gaze becomes unfocused on the sheers laying on the desk. "..And, I've managed to get myself tied up in knots. Over..men, of all things." She sighs softly, lifting her right hand to rub her fingers against her right temple. "I should explain that. Someday, if we all live..I'll look back and wonder what I was talking about." "First..there is Aiden." Her face takes on a warm, if tired, smile. "I felt the attraction to him almost immediately. Well..it /was/ immediate, come to think of it." She grins slightly. "The night I first met him..I couldn't talk. Stumbled over my words like a schoolgirl, and then found an excuse to run away." Sharra shakes her head, the grin fading slowly. "I've gotten to know him some..it's..refreshing, actually, not to worry about communication so much. I mean..earlier this week, he sensed I had one of my headaches, and came visiting with a hypo." She smiles again at that. "And he's supposed to give me a chance at this holodeck program..racing..combustable cars." Combustable engines, she means, but the mistake sneaks past her. "I am drawn to him, I'll admit it. And yet..I know I cannot let it happen. Not with the future...no. And then there would be two Betazoids hiding their minds from each other, for the Gods forbid either of us let something slip? No. It wouldn't be fair. And then...there is Gr'laH." With a ragged sigh, she drags herself up from the chair, and then padds across the room in bare feet to the replicator. "Hot Chocolate," her voice is heard saying. Shortly she returns to the chair and sits down. Now she has something else to stare into, as she's wont to do. "We've become friends, the Ambassador and I. Good friends. And..I could see it going beyond that." Here she pauses to take a careful sip from the steaming mug. And then, once again, she stares into it, as if it's contents could answer all of her questions. "This past week..we have spent literally hours talking. Just..talking. I love the sound of his voice," she says as a smile shows itself. "We've talked about politics, cultures, philosophy..his Betazoid daughter. Planned a picnic. He even brought me breakfast in my office, suspecting I had skipped eating," she says with a wistful smile. "And then someone tries to kill him. Not that I should be surprised..he's a high profile person. And a Klingon. But when I saw him there, in stasis, not knowing if he would live or die..I felt like I couldn't breathe. But I couldn't show it. I don't think I did. His daughter Churas was there. It would have been..dishonerable, somehow. Especially in light of other things going on. And she does not know me." She sighs again, shaking her head. "But it will not do. He already has a woman trying to win him, Klingon style. A Betazoid, at that. Which I find rather..shameful, actually. He explained the custom to me. If she were a Klingon woman, it would be one thing, but she is not. She cannot win him being someone other than herself. Does she not see this? In any case..he is not happy about the situation. But there is naught I can do to help him there." There is another pause, while she lifts her eyes to a point over the desk, and takes a longer sip from the mug. "She is torn apart by her own feelings. And as I sense them, I am reminded by my own vow of solitude. I have felt the anguish before. I will most certainly feel it again if I do not mind myself and my feelings. And yet..there is that nagging thought. Wouldn't it be worth it? To feel that closeness again? Or more? I told Gr'laH I was a coward, for my fear of it. He said it was a fear I could overcome. The question is..do I want to?" Silence follows, as Sharra sips thoughtfully at her chocolate, eyes focused above her desk. Until she realizes the log is still running. "Computer, end log."
|
| Sharei | And The Rage Of His Mind |
Sat Aug 23 |
The UFP logo clears to show a very pensive Dax Sharei, studying his hands. They tremble slightly. He gets to his feet and begins to pace. "Personal log, Stardate 53455.0." "A double-shot of dexedrine on top of my meds. What was I _thinking_? There's no way I'll be able to get to sleep now." He rubs his face, then sits back down. He starts drumming his fingers. "I'm getting tired," he says finally, "of people using this station as a playground for their vendettas. I'm getting _exceptionally_ tired of not being able to help the people I respect when they come to me for aid." Dax gets up and starts pacing again. "I've spent the last nine months immersing myself in Klingon culture and medicine. Patching up Ambassador Gr'laH should have been _easy_. But I just couldn't do it. I got flustered. Then I got angry. I let my emotions control me. Thank _Altha_ I'd dosed before that, else I probably would have gone into a siezure from all the thought-noise around me." Dax rubs his face. "Gr'laH nearly died because of me," he says quietly. "Goddesses... I shouldn't set foot near an operating theatre. I'm a _nurse_. Every time I try to reach beyond who and what I am, people get hurt. Sometimes it's me. Sometimes not." Dax steps over to his replicator. "Computer, rak'ta'jino, double strong, double sweet--no, belay that. Chamomile tea with peppermint and honey." After his cup shimmers into being, he picks it up and sips from it. "One thing is clear," he says. "Something must be done, or the innocent will continue to suffer. I have a great deal of respect for our security officers, but what happens when even _they_ cannot keep us safe?" Dax looks out the window, drawing a deep breath. "Will they call upon us to break the Articles of Sentience, and use the gifts the Goddesses gave us to search for guilty thoughts?" he asks, his tone rhetorical. "Such an idea terrifies me to the very core. Even if I couldn't safely commit such an act... this Federation is founded upon the principles of freedom and responsibility. I am ready to give my life in service to those principles. As a Betazoid, I find the very idea... blasphemous. As a Starfleet officer..." Dax lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "But what more can we _do_? What more can _I_ do? What sacrifices must be made so that we may enjoy the freedom we love?" Dax drains his teacup in one go. "I am angry. Angry at the assassin. Angry at myself. Angry at my own weaknesses. My own inadequacies. Everything I have been raised to believe tells me that my anger is unfounded. Everyone around me, people whom I love and respect, they all tell me what a wonderful job I do, and yet when it comes down to it, my faith in the Four, my skill as a nurse, and my loyalty to Starfleet fail me, and then I fail _them_. Perhaps, when the time comes, it is the rage of my mind I must turn to in order to succeed where before I have failed." Dax sets his empty cup in the replicator, letting out a sigh. "Sacred Altha, grant me patience and understanding. Help me to be strong," he says quietly. "For the sake of all those whom I hold dear in my heart." He looks up and out the window, and his expression is a cold one. "I think you owe me this much, at least." "Computer, end log and save."
|
| Donavon | What to say... |
Sat Aug 23 |
Audio Log. Insert Stardate. Where do I go from here? Perhaps I should start at the beginning of these stresses. Zip. I cannot blame him for hating me so, for not wishing to speak friendly with me. It's apparent by the way his friends have reacted to me. And how I wish those friends could let go and stop making Zephram a scapegoat. He is no more at fault than if I arrived on this Station unknowingly with a contagious flu. I don't want to be forced between the two. And I'm finding myself torn between them and ending up causing hurt on both sides. Zip won't look at me. Zephram and Mo barely are happy in my presence. So what am I do to with that? Ham could have not chosen a more perfect time to remove that PADD from my clutches. I wasn't fit to carry on working. Even now I question myself and my reactions. Was I right in speaking with Ensign Treal so? To point out that she needs to control her emotions when on duty. To follow orders to the letter. This coming from an Ensign barely out of the Academy and who has been already tossed in the brig for direct disobedience. Laughable. To cast more grease into the fire, I grow tired of Treal's flirtatious mannerism around Robert. They are not in the least bit funny but I attempt to make light of it. At least with Alley I can trust her impeccably. With Treal there are bounds of uncertainty which leave me extremely uncomfortable. Robert…what would I do without him? Even now----- <<The audio log is abruptly ended>>
|
| Torin | How long... |
Sat Aug 23 |
"Computer, Begin recording voice only. Stardate 53456.8. Personal Log: Cadet Torin." How long can I last like this? They always said the cadet cruise was supposed to be hard, and tiring, and informative. I suppose it is, but I don't think your supposed to learn that the federation is comprised of idiots and jackasses. I should have stayed on earth, been a mechanic. What did I think I would gain out of all of this. *sigh* Bah this sounds like I just hate people. Computer del...leave it. I woke up today, it was quiet. Usually when any alarm goes up or even without one Zephram wakes up with me. I should ask if he sleeps and if he gets up even when I'm not around. I stopped by the infirmary, talked with Zephram and then went in to Alph shift. It helps, I suppose just doing work. A Cadet Cruise isn't as bad as they say, I barely work, the Lt only lets me work an 8 hour shift, for every twelve hours. So I'm only working three shifts every two days. There's way too much free time. But it's good now, I've been just doing one a day, it gives me more time to spend with Zephram. I don't think people like that though. Whenever I meet people now especially in the infirmary they always say it like it's oh /your/ Torin. I'm infamous I think, and poor Zephram. They want to kill him, so many. A few their more coolheaded. But the most, even some of the doctors, they just want this to be done so they can put him down. I still need to talk to the Lt. Cmdr, get a list of who I need to do something for. But everytime I look at her I think she wants to throw Zephram out, followed quickly by me. They say you should respect your officers...I can't help it they disgust me. Maybe it started with Rob...I don't know, I didn't go in there intending to threathen him. I wanted to talk about the night before, yeah I was upset. But I just wanted to talk to him get things straightened out. He thinks he's so much better. I hate that, but Meg loves him. He's lucky, he seems to know that even if he's a jerk. I just have to let them do their thing I suppose. It's sad though, thinking I can't be a part of her group of friends. But it's better this way, she's got better friends now. I know she feels bad about Zephram, he's like a kid brother to him, or a favorite nephew. She loves the bugger nearly as much as I do. If I leave I think it'll be hard for her to part with him. But we'll see, I don't want him to have to fight with everyone thinking he's just a dirty virus giver. But I don't know where I'll go if I have to leave with him, I suppose we'll figure it out when everyone's safe. I still wish they'd believe me. He did get his checkup. They just didn't know what to look for. Poor Zephram. I better get back there I suppose, check on him, it's nicer at least this way. No one tries to get me to go out, no one wants to have anything to do with me. I like it that way, I think. I don't have to try so hard, I can just do my work, and spend time with Zephram. Those Centauran's are nice though....maybe they'll let me go drinking with them sometime....Maybe, they might be tired of me by now. That would stink. Well, that's enough...These are stupid. Computer Del....no. Maybe it's a good start. Computer save and file. Later Journal.
|
| Treal | Another letter home |
Sat Aug 23 |
"Computer, begin personal letter to Roger Devereaux, Betazed. Audio only." "You were right, Daddy. I was wrong. How do you do it? Even after all these years? How do you know the curves my life will take, even before I know there's a course change approaching? Always figured you were more navigator than security officer. So, yea... I told him, well not directly, I sent a message. But I told him, that I'm tired. That I can't be something I'm not. That I tried to play by his rules, and I failed. That if he couldn't accept me as I am, then that's that. He never wrote back. I just wish.. You know, that he hadn't of encouraged me, as if I had a chance. I respected him, I cared for him... And yet, all I was, it seems, was a game. Entertainment. I don't know, really. But I suppose it doesn't matter, does it? Just another lesson in life. So, sorry Daddy, you won't become a grandfather anytime soon. Not for a few years, at least." "Zip got really sick. Had to go to the infirmary and everything. Lost his hearing... Hopefully only temporarily, but who knows. I got really scared, when all I knew was that he was sick. I was really stupid, you know. For giving him up. Even though he hurt me, and refused to acknowledge the problems in our relationship... I was stupid for giving him up, for an uncertainty. You know how I said I wouldn't crawl? The way I'm feeling right now, I'd crawl across the desert... Even though it won't do any good. He doesn't want me. We're still trying to be friends. It's hard, though. But I'm trying.. for him." "It's getting really hard to be here, though. To go from, well, home, to a place like this is hard. Maybe I should just come home. At least for a while. Maybe my training needs to be refreshed. Maybe I'm sick. I don't know. I can't block out, like I used to. Especially when someone personally attacks me. It's hard to block thoughts that are purposefully directed at me. And I can't do a thing about it. And I can't let it 'slide'. I find myself getting upset, hurt, angry. I spend more time in the holodecks, beating up holograms, blowing things up, trying to release the frustration. I find myself so tired. I can't sleep. Eating, well, when I can eat, it's usually chocolate. Thankfully I have mum's metabolism, or I'd have to replicate larger uniforms. Is it always this hard, daddy? Love and relationships? Or am I just... Too emotional? Do I have more of you in me, than I should? I'm not complaining, Daddy. I love you, and have always aspired to be like you. But, I don't like the way people look at me, or talk about me, or think about me. I'm not a Vulcan, why should I be made to feel guilty for having and expressing emotions?" "I have to go for now, Daddy. Maybe, maybe I'll track down one of those counselors and talk, someday. Give everyone my love, for what it's worth. Miss you, and write back soon!" "Computer, transmit message. Delete from memory upon completion."
|
| Poole | The Darkness Within |
Sun Aug 24 |
The camera's viewpoint this time is the open area of the quarters shared by Poole and her family. The furniture has been pushed to the side, a PADD set presumably to record on one of the moved tables. Gwen Poole is standing in the center of the room, wearing a thin black tank top and some matching loose fitting pants. She seems to be in the middle of a workout routine, limbs dancing in fierce motion. There is some upbeat wordless music in the background as she moves, timing her rhythm with her breathing. (And then promptly screwing it up again by speaking). "Begin personal log... Eisak is home, working on his newest painting. Read to him earlier. Going to take him down to the infirmary after this last routine to visit Nev." "Nev had Craig check up on me. He -still- won't take a hint that there are just some things about me that can't be fixed. There's nothing to be done, except what I've been doing. I need to hone, train and leave my self-doubt behind me. I have to lead by example. It's important to the station's mission. It has to be that way." "Wendy is worried she may be wasting her time. She's much better managing her time than myself... I think I've allowed my personal relationships to dominate my time. In the end, they will prove to be dangerous distractions. Distractions I can't allow myself too much of. Not if I want to be ready to do my part." There's the slightest sheen of sweat all over the bare parts of Gwen's skin as she swirls through a series of three kicks, ending with a swing low with her hands, that last move clearly of Klingon origin. "That's /three/ people who've noticed I've lost weight... except, I haven't. I've gained weight. In muscle density. I've lost fat. Just because I've skimped on a few meals here or there, suddenly now I have Nevaren worried, and he's told Craig. Craig scanned me himself and didn't seem to find anything wrong, outside of my back, but that's /still/ healing from years ago." "And Craig wants me to share with Aaron, who's gone from being the only one I'd talk to, to being the one I barely talk to. I don't feel like sharing. I don't -need- to share. Yes, there is a lot on my mind. There's guilt. There's the nightmares. There's shame. There's anger. There's..." She steps forward, arms seemingly moving without pattern until at the last second the smoothly come to a halt in front of her, palms together. "... Darkness. To lend definition to the light."
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| J'qoba | Frustrated! |
Sun Aug 24 |
The image of the viewscreen changes from the Klignon trifoil to the image of J'qoba sitting on a heavy iron chair. He looks into the screen with his arms folded over his chest and a combined look of disgust with a somewhat of a relaxed look on his face. With a growl, he states, "Computer, open personal log, encrypt, and send to 69th Planetary Security Division. Well, I had to wait to collect my thoughts about events from last week. I was away from the station all the back to Qo'noS last week. I thought this damed investigation was over!" He slams a fist in anger onto the tabletop of the coffe table in the center of the living room. "The investigative team was basing themself out of the embassies on homeworld. It seems that they were made up of Federation, Romulan, Ferengi, and Cardassian personnel." He snarls as he says Ferengi. "The Cardassians and the Ferengi were brought into the fold for a neutral stance on the matter. Once again, my unit, the 234th Marine Expeditionary Unit, was being further investigated for war crimes during the Dominion War. "I don't know who is accusing us of these 'war crimes'. I wouldn't think that the Federation would be accusing us since we served in their space under one of their commanders. I am guessing the Romulans are laying blame to us, or another insidious organization or individual who is trying to get me off of Station 419. "I took this in full stride as I was back home. I had decided to visit with my family. It was good to see father and mother again. I was able to see qo'var who was home on leave. We drank and told good war stories and stories of good deeds. It was a glorious family reunion! J'qoba stretches and walks around his cast iron chair, but continues his log, "I was glad to have seen more ridged heads than smooth ones. I even had a female warrior try to court me." He laughs heartily as he blurrs by the recorder. "Make that serveral." A playful sound is heard deepily in his voice. "This made the trip back even more enjoyable and made the hearings bearable by thinking about the previous night." He falls controlably back into his chair and stares back into the recording device. "None of the females could return back here to Station 419, but it was a good frustration release. I enjoyed the thrill of the chase and conquering of a Klingon female. I WANTED to sneak, at least, one of them back here. Their services to the Empire was beyond this sector of space." An audible sigh is heard. "So few Klingon women here, and I doubt any of the smooth brows would consider a Klingon male. Gr'laH's daughter, Churas, had taken a mate long prior to my arrival to the station. I guess humans can tolerate the pleasureable limits that a Klingon woman can induce." "It looks like I go into the dating drought once again. The Starfleet officers seem to have their own drama going with each other. I don't think they need a Klingon male added to their mix." He laughs as he leans forward, "I even made the mistake of misinterpretting an Andorian female's actions. I learned that she already has a mate, but I was informed that I could challenge him. There is no honor to challenging him to just have her. I will have to consider our relationship.. professional. "At any rate, I don't wish to attempt to court another woman to learn that she is mated already. I can barely keep up who is mated with whom. I don't want that hanging over me to get disgraced. If she knows our customs, I will go after her upon initating romantic overatures." He leans back into his chair with a growl. "My first week back, it seems that all Gre'thor (Hell) broke loose on the station. With the failed murder of our ambassador, Gr'laH survived his attack. The Starfleet doctors were able to patch him up rather well. Now, I hear that I get tasked with protecting his family. Apparently, my orders come from the 69th Planetary Security Division and Starfleet or the High Council. It doesn't matter how I feel about them. Orders are orders, and I will do them to the best of my abilities." He pats his disruptor holstered at the hip and glances off camera with a smile. "Now, I have an actual task to pass the time." "Computer, end log." He stands up and walks off screen. In the background, J'qoba states, "Computer, gagh and raktajino." A hum is heard, and the Klingon warrior sits back in front of the recorder with a plate and a mug in hand. He sets both the items down on the table. He looks puzzled as he leans forward and mutters, "Stupid Federation technology. It didn't recognize my voice. Looks like someone might not have performed the maintenance in my room. These things need to be more robust not so delicate." He bangs on the unit which makes the image move slightly serveral times. Then, the image starts to cut out and then is disrupted as the Klingon trifoil appears and disappears into blackness.
|
| Park | Personal Log |
Mon Aug 25 |
The log opens with Doctor Park sitting on a couch in the quarters he shares with his fiancee. Crosslegged and sideways on the cushions, staring out the window as the station rotates, a glass of water forgotten in his right hand. Wearing only a pair of shorts, he stares out the window for a few minutes before he speaks. "I'm starting to have nightmares.", he says. That simple statement speaks volumes for a former counselor. With a shake of his head, he drains half the cup before continuing. "It started once Akeen told me where Captain Peterson is living, which turns out to be on Pacifica of all places. I've been waiting for months to get this information, but now I'm not sure how it's going to play out. I have to know what they did to Wendy so that I can correct it somehow." He stops for a moment to correct himself, "Or what /I/ did to her. I just can't imagine what would make me do something like that. Going against my oath as a physician, much less my personal morals, and to the woman I love no less." He shakes his head ruefully, "A past version of her from his perspective, but she's still a human being. It's unnerving to know that somewhere inside of me I have the capability to do something like this. I'm more afraid of what the outcome will be. Will he tell me that there is nothing I can do to change it? Will she resent me for lying to her all this time?" Aaron sighs deeply, obviously troubled by the tumultuous thoughts running through his head. He stands and moves to the window, draining the rest of the glass as he goes. "I need to figure out who to take with me. Sharra would be great, considering that she's a telepath, but I have a nagging feeling that it's not going to be a walk in the park. I don't want to put her into danger. Dylan would probably the the next logical choice, considering that he's her friend and he doesn't have a family to worry about." He sighs again. "I suppose it doesn't really matter who I take. I'm sure that he knows I'll try this anyway and take precautions. I need to go back to sleep. I just hope that the nightmares don't come back." He moves to the console and hits a key, and they screen blacks out.
|
| Magret | The Day |
Mon Aug 25 |
"Computer, begin recording, stardate 53461.6." A pause, and Magret, sitting on the bed in the quarters she shares with Isole, grins broadly and waves. "Hi Mom!" She speaks in Centauran, as always, and is blotchily blushing, obviously about to bounce out of her seat. "It's time! We're going down to the Infirmary and Aaron's going to take the eggs he smooshed together and implant one of them in Isole. We're /really/ nervous, both of us. It's scary and big and overwhelming and I just can't wait for you to be here so we can be married and you can see Isole again and me of course. Of course, it's going to be a while before she's showing, we figured out that she'll be due in mid-May." A big, heavy sigh. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone, too. Randal and Mauri and Hamish and... I wonder if Jalyn and Marcus will be back by then." Another pause. "Well, they'll just have to be, I know they will be. And if not, well, you're not leaving, are you? I mean, you will, but not for a bit?" She leans in, then, and peers at the chronometer. "Eek! I'm running out of time! I love you, Mom, I'll see you soon. Computer, save message and send to Helmsman Keryke Etena, CTC Hernes; then open a message, send copies to Ambassador K'net-mauri, Ensign Hamish Albertz, and Randal Thorne upon close... "
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| Isole | Mom Spit |
Tue Aug 26 |
The UFP ensignia fades from the screen, revealing Isole reclining in a properly steamy Centauran Spa Bath, arms draped back across the lip of the massive shallow pool, knees poking out of the water in front of her, head resting back on a spa pillow. That's the life, right there. Other bathers mill about the background of the picture, a rather excellent simulated representation of a Centauran retreat. "I have never been very good with words. That was always Magret's strength. She was the words and I was the pictures. I guess that's one thing you're going to want to know about your other mommy. What she's like. What she was like when you were born. What she was like before. I just... I don't know where to start. I could lie here for days talking about mommy Magret, sweetie. I guess... I guess, I'd rather talk about you. And what you mean to us." "When we were younger, we both lost the ability to have kids. Before we really had any idea that we really /wanted/ kids, you know? In the singular notion of a woman wanting to one day have children, I mean. I had always... I'd always felt like something apart from really... womanly. If that makes sense. As a result. There was this... enormous. Magical. Wonderful ritual of living that I couldn't enjoy. My life would be... Wouldn't have been as complete and whole as it might have otherwise been. I suppose I just told myself I'd wrapped my mind around that during my teen years. And it came in handy later, not having that issue to think about. But I'll be honest, sweetie, a lot of my poor choices came out of not having that choice, really. Or believing I didn't. I could never enjoy a full, healthy, normal life in the holistic notion of Centauran living, and anything less was just a game I could play. Just a thrill to be had, a challenge to be met." "When our doctor gave momma Magret her new heart, I let myself entertain this dream again. Life inside of me. Something fertile and... something. Something whole. In me. Made whole in me. Making me whole. Nature's covenent kept for one more generation of Arnan. I could be what I'd always... dreamed I could be. Just. A woman. And that sounds so shallow, now. Thinking back. It sounds naive and stupid. I just really wanted a baby, and a family, and a life of my own away from all of the things I'd seen before. I just wanted you, sweetie. You and mommy Magret." "My maternal instincts are enormous. They always had been. I love children, I always loved children. I encourage the child in my friends and the people I love. I dance, and sing, and paint, and play, and laugh all of the time. Because, I think, I wanted to taste it. Being a mother. I wanted to have some small idea what it might be like to hold you, nurse you, watch you grow. I love my friends, sweetie, with every little piece of me. But I love you and Magret... With all of me and all of you, too. I haven't even seen you yet. And you've already eclipsed all of that." "Taking off the rose-tinted welding mask for a moment? I know you are going to mean I look like a zombie for two months, that you'll cry and sometimes I won't be able to fix it right away, that I'll lose my patience and need to put you down and walk away. That I'll screw up. That you'll grow up. That someday you'll pack your ruck and give me a salute and tell me the ship's changed and you won't watch it change like that anymore and hop off on some port in some system with your own shiny ideals and dreams to chase across the galaxy. And like my mother, I'll just have to smile and bid you Good Fortunes, and hope I did enough good to keep you together out there in the big black everything." "That's my job, though. Loving you so much you feel confident you can leave. Feel confident you should. Feel the need to show me what you can do with it all. It's why my mother is coming here, and Magret's too. So I can show them what their love let me do. It let me be strong enough to find this place and this situation and this woman that I love. It let me be strong enough to risk the real end of my dream for the chance to carry you. It let me be strong enough to make you. I screwed up, I will screw up again. You will screw up, you'll screw up again. We all screw up, sweetie. We all make a mess of things at one time or another." "But I will always, so long as I'm alive, be around to help you clean up those messes you make. In your diaper, in your bedroom, in your romances... Anywhere. Mom-spit is the universal solvent and strongest bonding agent. It fixes booboos and peels away the grime of an impulse drive. Just tell me where it hurts. We'll figure it out." Isole looks fit to continue speaking but trails away into silence, staring off at the ceiling of spa with a wistful smile until the log's eventual end.
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| Park | Station Medical Log |
Tue Aug 26 |
CMO Doctor Aaron Park, Reporting I completed the implantation of one of the embryos into Isole Arnan last night. The proceedure went smoothly and I don't anticipate any problems with the pregnancy. The baby will be a girl, since women don't carry the DNA to have a male child. I have scheduled a follow up appointment in two weeks to ensure there are no complications. Doctor Haven completed her proceedure on the primate carrier of the bacterial immuno-deficiency syndrome. The animal has been given a clean bill of health but will remain under quarantine for the next 48 hours as a precautionary measure. Cadet Torin will be required to visit with Counselor Gellan for what Doctor Haven described as an unusually strong attachment to this animal. <Access limited to Station CO, XO, Department Heads, ACMO and Counselor>
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| Churas | Revelations (Part One) |
Tue Aug 26 |
The emblem of House Gr'laH precedes the image of Churas settled on the couch in the quarters she shares with Nathan. She's in a long tunic with slits up the side, the usual black-and-oxblood business that she wears about the station. The tunic's worn with loose shorts beneath it, as if she's paused in the middle of dressing to record this, and she leans forward, elbows on knees, to let her belly, relatively small as it is now, hang between her legs for comfort. "Personal log, Churas, daughter of Gr'laH, stardate 53463.9" "I am certain that someone, at some point -- one of my relatives, perhaps -- will ask, 'Why did you let them do that to your father?' By this they will not mean, 'Why did you stand back, Churas, and allow the assassin a second attack?' though that question is a viable one, and has a simple answer. They will not mean, 'Why did you allow him to be attacked in the first place?' because they will know that had my father been, as he should have been, in his quarters, this attack would never have happened. Regardless, I am not -- despite presumptions to the opposite by that 'I think I am so very clever but am in fact entirely transparent' UuuUUuuuhlan -- his guard, and even Qem'et is not my father's babysitter." She raises a hand and scrubs it over her swarthy face before continuing. "No. What they will mean is, 'Why did you allow your father to be placed in stasis, Churas? Why did you allow the doctors to regenerate, to stitch, to place bags from him where his intestines would have worked, were they not lacerated to pieces? Why did you not scream "ALLOW HIM TO DIE AS A WARRIOR SHOULD!" when the doctors were hovered over his near-corpse like buzzards or flies? Why did you simply sit and watch?' And that answer is more complex than the first." "Why did I not step in? Because I believed my father, even after being quite literally stabbed in the back, to be easily capable of fending off this attack on his own, and I did not want to offend him by rushing to him as if he were a youngling." She pauses, and shakes her head. "I had apparently forgotten that their last assassin did well against an opponent who has active depth perception and both of her arms. When I heard his cry on the second strike... I knew that I should have struck, myself, after the first blow against my father." A deep exhalation. "And that is the first answer." "Commander Ghorev -- and this may seem as a tangent, but it is not -- apparently does not understand that in my father's absence, I speak /for/ him. When he was incapacitated, my word should have been taken /as/ my father's. I did not think I could like that blue buffoon any less, but apparently... I was wrong! His lack of respect for me as the daughter of Gr'laH or the Ambassador's Aide is blatantly evident. But it is because I know my father's mind that I spoke as I did in my request of Lt Dakin, that which was answered by Commander Ghorev instead, and it is because I know my father's mind that I did not do as I would have done, but as he would have had done for him." She rises, then, with a modicum of irritation evident on her face when her movements are not as smooth as they were before this whol gestation thing began, and begins to pace around the room. For the most part, she is not visible, though occasionally she passes in front of the camera, apparently finishing the task of dressing while she speaks. "If I had my way, and only my way, my father would now be dead. Many here would look upon me with a shocked and dismayed expression for this, no doubt, but it is true, and I will say it to any who ask it of me. My father is a warrior. Has been a warrior. Deserves to die as a warrior. And just as I bid to bar /that woman/ from his bedside so that she might not create a horrific scene should he die or linger, unable to speak his own mind but cognizant, so I would have him die as a warrior. With proper dignity." She pauses just out of camera view, and there are sounds of brief, irritated struggle with her clothing, followed by a grunt of small triumph. There. She got her pants on. Stupid hide pants. "Not with bags and hyposprays and heart transplants. But I know my father's mind, and on my father's mind in that situation, could he have spoken up, would have been one word. One name." "Iliara. For /her,/ my father would do anything. I am convinced of it. If there were any /one/ person, any /one/ thing, anything at all that has /ever/ existed for which my father would cast aside /everything,/ it is that child. And so his honor in death was secondary to removing the need to explain to Iliara that 'Gwah,' as she calls him, was very brave." A pause, and Churas settles back down on the couch in front of the recorder, reaching (with a grunt of annoyance at the difficulty of stretching) for her boots. "As brave as her parents. As brave as Gharas."
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| Churas | Revelations (Part Two) |
Tue Aug 26 |
The first boot is tugged at, pulled on with a few rumbled curses of effort. "Gharas. I needed some good news that day, and so I allowed Doctor Malloy to tell me what Nathan apparently already knew -- incorrigible creature that he is, I imagine he scanned me in my sleep or some such -- that I am carrying a girl. A Gharas." "Peh. It was good news, well-needed." She waves a hand dismissively. "So my father was placed in stasis, and so I offered one of my hearts to him until another could be grown, though thankfully it was not needed." A rumble as Churas reaches for the other boot. "And now he lives, and I wait -- /still/ -- for the results of the autopsy from Starfleet Medical. What they are waiting on, I do not know. It did not take me this long to get no fewer than /two/ answers for /them./ One from Qo'noS and the other from House Krotak itself. Ridiculous." "It seems that /that woman/ has given up her pursuit of my father. This is good. I hope she knows enough to stay away from my family. The displays she put on... ridiculous. Disgusting. I might chalk it up to being Betazoid, had I not seen the dignified way in which Counselor Gellan comported herself during my father's surgery." Churas nods her head, apparently rather approving of the latter Betazoid. "My father wishes me not to wish ill of his friendships. I do not. Not so long as they are friendships and acquaintances /worthy/ of him." "Like this KaR'tik. Ha! My father, the Great Orator, reduced to 'Buh-/ah!/' by her taunts and teasing. She is of House Kang, some twenty years his elder, and apparently came to convey the good wishes of that House to my father after his attack. Not surprising, given his recent dealings with Qa'rinQ. I laughed until my sides ached watching the pair of them go back and forth with their taunting." She pauses, shaking her head in amusement with the thought of it. "I have not seen my father like that since... " The second's thoughtful pause becomes a handful of seconds, and then a full half-minute after a revelation has quite obviously taken place within the female Klingon's brain. Her eyes become wide, her jaw goes briefly slack, and she has the distinct look of someone who's thinking 'How did I not see that?' "Oh." "I see." She blinks several times, then, stares into the recorder with an entirely blank expression for almost half a minute before she reaches forward to end the log manually and return the emblem of House Gr'laH where the image of her face had been a moment earlier.
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| Cristobal | I think I need a Neutral Zone |
Wed Aug 27 |
The UFP logo winks out to display Cristobal in the quarters he shares with Churas. He says, "Personal Log, Stardate 53464.4. Gr'laH has survived his attack, and is the same crotchety old buzzard he's always been. He was awake for barely hours before he inserted himself back into my marriage and spoiled my wife's surprise." He shrugs, "Not that it /was/ a surprise. I scanned her in her sleep almost a month ago. But it was still a lousy thing to do." A snort, "For all their arguments..." he pauses, "her arguments, I should say. He just jumps in them to annoy me, but /both/ of them went and found out she was a girl the first time they actually went into the infirmary." Another snort. Nathan leans back in his couch and says, "Shocking as it must seem, I'm finding myself more and more irked in Gr'laH's presence. Whether that has anything to do with the fact that Churas and I are spending more time with him I cannot say. The playful taunting can be amusing, but it seems to be the only way he's capable of relating to me, and I'm finding it harder and harder to keep it on a semi-jovial level. I should probably ask Churas about Klingon etiquette. Just how acceptable is it to punch your father-in-law in the head for calling you 'ratface'?" Cristobal shakes his head and says, "Maybe I just need a buffer between us. A neutral zone, as it were. Let me have my space and let him...get a girlfriend...or a sandwich. /Something/ for him to work at other than his daughter's marriage. Kar'tik, Daughter of Qa'rinQ seems suited to occupying Gr'laH's attentions. Certainly a better choice than Treal. After hearing about her nauseating display over his comatose body, Gr'laH at once corrected the mistake he made in not requesting a restraining order. So I don't have to do my imitation of a deflector shield every time his would-be stalker is around." He grumbles and says, "Churas, at least, seems to be doing well. She much enjoys my little bouts with her father...which is reason enough to allow them to continue. I'm not even sure why I brought up the mission. I didn't really expect her to even consider absenting herself...but she did. She hasn't decided yet, but she is very seriously considering the responsibility of motherhood. I find myself more deeply in love with her than ever." There are some sounds coming from the other room. "Speaking of which...End Log." The image winks out to be replaced by the UFP logo on a black background.
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| Javits | Personal Log |
Wed Aug 27 |
The Federation insignia, with its blue background, fades to reveal a uniformed Nick reclining comfortably in his chair, hands folded across his stomach. Behind him are several tall bookcases, each filled with various printed works, though one has been converted to a display of fencing equipment. The light blue illumination of the anomaly is visible, though the lights are set at normal brightness. Personal log, stardate 53464.4." Looking to the camera, he places his hands flat on the desk before him, shaking his head with a smile, "If I never see another fused receiver assembly, I'll be a happy man. At least the communications systems are slowly being brought back up to green status, though they're all still red at the moment. Internal repairs are progressing well, according to Ensign Blair, who seems to have everything well under control in that area. With Lieutenant Nevaren on medical leave, I've been reassigned to the alpha team, charged with replacing external communications arrays. We're concentrating on the station for the moment. I estimate that the simple remove ad replace operations required for the external arrays should require no more than forty-eight hours at the most, with teams working around the clock on eight hour shifts. By then we should be able to reacquire the beacon signals and return to normal operations as far as communications is concerned. I should add that Lieutenant Cross and Cadet Torin have ben invaluable to the repair efforts. If not for them, we'd be nowhere near this far along. Honestly, both men have the potential to end up at least as department heads before they hit retirement, if not going all the way to command." He chuckles, refolding his hands across his stomach and leaning back in his chair, "I did see the Son of Go'laH this evening, carrying on as if the assassination attempt never occurred. That was certainly a relief. I wasn't sure how the incident was to be dealt with beyond the usual procedures. I mean, I didn't feel right walking into the infirmary to visit. I don't know him that well, only as an acquaintance at best. What was I supposed to do, send flowers, maybe a large vat of live gagh? I really should devote further study to Klingon culture." Stretching, he yawns, pushing up from the chair and moving to stand, "Seems like work is all I do, even when I'm supposed to be off duty, though I really don't see a problem with that. Still, would be nice to have somthing to come home to, even if it's ankle high and mews. The shedding I can do without. Maybe I should look into getting one of those hairless Rex breeds. Computer, end log and save." The view of Nick's quarters fades, replaced by the Federation insignia once more.
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| Talesin | Dreams Again |
Wed Aug 27 |
The UFP logo fades out, and Talesin sits in bed, hugging a stuffed animal to his chest. "The mind is a terrifying place to reside, at times." he pauses for several moments. "They say when you dream about flying, you're really dreaming about sex. So what does it mean when you're falling in your dreams? It started out pleasant enough. I think I was in the infirmary, and I was diagnosing Mr. Cross with something. Hamish was there... It's rather fuzzy already, though. It was just strange. There were rabbits in the infirmary. I'm not sure why, but there were rabbits in the infirmary. And then I was flying through space without a starship. But it wasn't like my usual dreams of flying through space. This one was... Darker. Sinister, I guess. I think I was looking for something, but I can't remember what, now. It was cold." He hugs the stuffed animal all the closer, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. "And then I was falling. I fell right through Earth's atmosphere toward the ocean, and it was terrifying. I've never been afraid of the water before, but I knew if I was to fall into the waves, I'd never be free again." "And then I stopped falling. Someone had caught me. Of all people, it was Ensign Treal. I'd treated her for a sprained ankle about a week ago..." a soft sigh, "And then I was back in the ship, and she'd backed me into a corner and was trying to seduce me. But it wasn't /her/. There was a malicious presense behind her eyes that..." he breaks off, biting his lower lip for a moment. "It's just a dream, I'm just picking up on the general fears of the station. I know that... but it's not helping me sleep any easier knowing it. Computer, end log."
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| S'veralis | Letter to Selara |
Thu Aug 28 |
The insignia of the Romulan empire floats among a sea of stars. The screen then resolves into S'veralis. Her uniform is dirty and she is onboard a Romulan Warbird. Obviously she has decided that this is more important that changing into new clothes. Senator Selara, my cousin I write to you to advise you that your husband is well, we crash landed on a planet in the Neutral Zone and faced many hazards, but K'net-mauri is alive." she takes a deep breath, "It was a close thing many times however, and I tried to acquit myself as honor demands to my station, my position and to my family." she sighs softly, "I cannot go into much detail as of yet for the event is classified, and this transmission may be monitored." "Adjutant Taevan did his best to get us free of the savages, and even tried a trick of religion, I do believe it failed in the end, if it was not for the timely arrival of the search party your husband and I would be dead, as would Taevan." She looks away from the monitor for a moment, "But the search parties did arrive, and K'net-mauri only had to my knowledge superficial wounds, as well as suffering from exhaustion. I would ask that you speak with High command about our training, the savages though not well armed by our standards were enough to provide a significant hazard, Survival training should be made paramount in this aspect, how to make weapons from what is available as well as tracking and how to obscure scent trails. For in this manner was how Taevan and K'net-mauri were captured, regardless of the attempts I made to provide them time to get away from the scene." "I must also inform you at this time, though this is of a personal matter, one of the blades you gifted to me on my twentieth year of life has been lost, in combat with the Savages of Trelan. I still have its mate." She takes another deep breath, "I tell you this not because I ask for another blade to be delivered to me, but to tell you that the knife did serve in the manner you had hoped for when you gave them to me." "Legate Taevans idea while sound, did have a dangerous aspect and I must forward this to you on the matters of religion though out the empire if we encounter it, religion will cause even the most timid of people to fight if they feel their beliefs are threatened...and this was what almost caused our deaths. Again if not for the Search parties we would not be sending you this, my blade and uniform would of been returned to my family to rest in a place of honor as would the proper equipment for your husband." "Yours in service and in life, S'veralis." the screen returns to the RSE insigna floating in space.
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| Darax | Suprise feelings |
Thu Aug 28 |
The UFP logo blinks out and shows Gwi'on sitting in a chair and looking directly into the viewscreen. His hands are wrapped around a mug which provides tiny wisps of steam trailing up from the launchpad of his lap. "Peronal Log, Ensign Gwi'on Darax. Stardate 53466.8." He falls silent long enough to take a cautious sip of the liquid before lowering it into his lap again. "The worst is past, it would seem." His eyes stray away from the monitor to look over into some distant corner of the room. "Ora'thras seems to be sleeping more restfully and the last of the splotches have all but faded." He sighs softly and looks down into the depths of the mug. "He's going to be alright... Gilleana bounced back well. She's been running around for a few days. "I'm still a little worn down, but I think that is as much nerves as it was being sick myself." The mug is lifted, blown upon and lowered again after a sip is taken. "Anu was..." he shrugs, "Anu. I know how little she slept and how very little she was away from the infirmary. Still, she wouldn't have been happy being anywhere else. She'd have been miserable anywhere else. Miserable." He chuckles softly and shakes his head. "More miserable than she could possibly be in the infirmary. It's just who she is." His smile broadens as he talks about his wife and occasionally, he looks to other parts of the room as if he fears the recorder may find him to be too cute. "She's wonderful." He lets a few moments pass in silence. The time that passes slowly erodes the smile brought on by his wife to leave a tired and somewhat serious look to his face. "All of this because of a monkey.." Once more he lets out a chuckle and a shake of his head, this one a little more beleaguered. "The darkness of it fades a little bit with the children getting or being better. The monkey doesn't seem like such a big matter anymore. But," he adds leaning in a little bit. "I can still vividly remember all of the things that I wanted to do to that monkey and it's owner. Especially while I wasn't sure how the children were going to handle this sickness. I'm not violent. I'm not. It isn't part of who I am. But I have never. Ever. Wanted squeeze a monkey to death with my bare hands before forcefeeding it to its owner." "He's lucky the children are alright." He sighs one more time and takes one last sip of his drink. "Computer. End log and save."
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| Magdala | Dreams. |
Thu Aug 28 |
The UFP logo fades to show Magdala in her quarters in a long blue robe, some comfortably luxe-looking fabric. Her quarters look rather smart, as well--whatever else can be said for the Betazoid, she's got a serious sense of style. Betazoid style, anyway. The sofa upon which she's seated has an elaborately-patterned throw covering most of it, also made of some soft material. In her hands, Magdala cradles a heavy mug of some steaming beverage, takes a cautious sip before she begins in her native Betazoid. "Personal log, Magdala Dagen, Stardate 53467.1. I know I should be keeping better records than I have been. All this time on S419 and this is my first? Shameful. Simply shameful. How will I ever get another book of travel essays done?" Smiling, she sips her tea, shakes her head slowly. "But with this station, I do not know where to begin. I have no desire to recall the incident with the telepath so soon after my arrival, though that Andorian officer was nice, what was his name? ...Ghorev. Ghorev was a pleasant enough fellow, fended off my request to speak to the Captain about the matter very handily. Good at his job." A pleasant smile--she seems perfectly unbothered. "Now, though, I have met the Captain, and with my usual grace, failed to realize immediately who he was. The uniform and pips did not, apparently, immediately tip me off." This last is said with somewhat drier amusement. "He asked for my books, out of politeness I am sure, but the man could certainly do with a touch of home. Not to say that this makes him any different than any of us." A longer pause, now, more sipping, a more pensive air. "I will send them to him... I find it interesting that the first man here to whom I provided my books was Gurdek. I am sure what they make of them will prove an interesting contrast." Magdala draws up her knees, wraps her arms around, the voluminous robe and sofa throw enveloping the small woman. "Gurdek. Political dissident author Gurdek. Former... well, very important person in his earlier life. And that's where I shall leave that bit." She looks briefly uncomfortable, so presses on. "Adopted father of Tull. He is a remarkable man, fascinating. It has been a very long time since I met anyone who was so intriguing that I wanted to study like a university major, peel each layer of them back like a great... onion." She makes a face, her nose wrinkling. "Okay, that was an imperfect comparison. But then, this is my log, and -I- will understand what I meant. Particularly when I add that the last person who inspired such undying curiosity is on Bajor right now." She turns, perhaps toward a viewport. In any case, she looks off-camera for a few moments. When she turns back, "I am in a sort of... flux, right now. But I do not wish to sit and talk to myself on -that- topic tonight." Resettling herself somewhat languidly, placing her tea on the low table before her, Magdala draws part of the throw comfortingly up to the level of her chin. "So if I am unwilling to risk full disclosure with myself, why am I recording this log? What is to go in it? Magret and Isole are having a baby. This is good news. I have not seen my acquaintance the Romulan Ambassador in some time--I trust he is off doing important diplomatic things. I keep seeing this other Betazoid around--I think she is a blueshirt--but eventually I shall get a chance to say hello. I see Nua and her mother all of the time, now--nearly everywhere I go. Lovely people. I watch Nua play with Tull and I am so hopeful and so despairing at the same time. I just know one day they will look at one another, no matter how fondly, with all these layers of history and pain like a filter between them. I will always know, even if I read this log fifty years from now, why I know this." There follows an extremely long pause, during which Magdala lays her head on the arm of her sofa and closes her eyes, blanket still up by her chin. Just when it seems apparent that she must have fallen asleep, she speaks, eyes still closed. "When I lie here like this, I can imagine that the hum of the station is the hum of a ship. Sometimes I will lie here and imagine that the ship is the one that took me off Betazed before the Occupation, but in my imagining it is returning, and so I am coming home to what I remember leaving. And then I start to worry that I am not lingering for good reasons, I am being a coward, I am dragging my feet. I did not realize how much I needed to be reminded that I am not the only one who is afraid of what she will see when she goes home again until tonight, and it is like a weight has lifted from me. Lessened, anyway. I am grateful, and I hope everyone on this humming station has pleasant dreams tonight. I, for one, would like nothing more than to spend my night walking through my memory's gardens of Medara, and may history and my own better sense forgive my poetic ramblings this evening for being those of a maudlin writer of sentimental stories. Computer, end log and save."
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| Havaris | It's About Time |
Thu Aug 28 |
"Second Officer's Log, Lieutenant Havaris Medes Kusto, USS Thomas Paine, currently docked with s419." "I don't know what to think of any of this. I don't know what to think of non-linear time, subspace dimples, temporal convergences, chronitons, anti-chronitons, temporal anomalies, temporal anchors, temporal prime directives, or Celestial Temples. I don't know what the Prophets do when two men exist in one place in two times, or infinite times, or parallel times. I don't know what becomes of destiny when you stare yourself in the eye from across a distance of years. I don't know." "Prophets guide us, I don't need to know. That is the beauty of Faith. I can sit calmly in my chair and slaughter an enemy eighty-years distant, four years distant, and feel no remorse for it. It doesn't matter to me where or when, it makes no difference to me where and when I am either. Wherever I am, wheneve I am, I am /whoever/ I am, and whoever I am has a job to do. Naive? Oh, you can rest assured that it is. Simplistic? Absolutely. But you cannot argue with the results, can you." "Drop me anywhere, send me anywhere, anytime, anyplace. The job gets done. And all that's left are the questions, then. The uncertainties that exist between cogent moments and moral absolutes. A man can point at the Starfleet Code, the Temporal Prime Directive, he can defend himself in such ways. The Courts will listen. His peers will understand. Because in the shadows of doubt, in the moments between moments, they've clung to that tender thread of ephemera and hid behind its thin veil of excuse, too." "You die because my duties say you must die. They die because my duties say they must die. Whole species extinct, planets consumed in celestial fire, simply because they lacked a warp drive on that rock of theirs. And that's permissible because somewhere in a book someone wrote an arbitrary distinction to inform us of when and where we might land our ships and say 'The tide is coming, and there is no dam big enough to stop the flood. Come on. We'll get you out of here.'" "I looked out that viewscreen and saw a Polaron flood crashing down on the USS Exeter and all I wanted to do was land my ship and say 'Come aboard. I know how to get us out of here.'" "And here I sit, hiding behind that excuse men like me have hid behind since the first Enterprise left the Sol system. There are words on paper that say I cannot do this thing that I feel I should do. And that's my comfort. I am in the company of a thousand other officers who stared out their viewports and asked, as I am asking, was it /right/ to watch them die? Was it the /right/ thing to do? Are /we/ right? Is any of this, /any/ of this... right?" "I could have destroyed the last of the Jem'hadar. I could have saved the Exeter. I could have saved Robert's crew. But I didn't. I didn't because they didn't want to be saved, they wanted to save us. And die. Having hid behind that thin veil of arbitrariness one final glorious time. I thought I had found my saving grace in the actions of the Exeter. Of which Robert was a member. With him at the helm, turning us away. I thought that if I stood by him and watched them die, watch him rocket like that probe into the future, sat beside him while he witnessed in third person the sum total of his nightmares... I thought it would be enough. I thought it would keep him from turning his back on me and walking away." "I was wrong. He's chosen a path that leads only inward. That spirals only downward. Every step that he takes away from us is one step closer to the bottom. And we sat in our chairs and pushed him down that path. We sat in our chairs, we gave the orders, we followed them through, and we now look to him to bear the greater share of the weight. It isn't fair. It isn't right. It /isn't/ right." "Nothing about that war was right. Nothing about war is ever right. But if I will be damned if I will sit here in this chair and hide behind the Temporal Prime Directive and my orders for having stabbed my best friend in the back. I will be consigned to the fire caves before I sit back and watch as he walks that path alone into the darkness. I will be dead before I let those Borhyas tear his mind apart and drop the leavings for his discharge papers." "I will not throw that man away. Not again. There's only one of him left now." "I can do without the other one, I never met that man. But I can't do without this one. I love him too much."
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| Donavon | Conas tá; tú? |
Thu Aug 28 |
<<Video Recording Stardate Stamped 53467.5 at 03:00>> The face that has been shook is stricken with worry and is held all together by an invisible thread of strength. Meg's eyes are bloodshot, her body is wrapped in a blanket with a slumbering semi-peaceful Robert spread out over her lap. Constant are her movements as her fingertips trail over his sides and back, lightly massaging and keeping close contact. Yanked from her clenched throat, her words are whispered and barely are picked up by the audio recorder. "I almost lost him." There's a long moment when her head lowers, ashamed, worried, and hurt in hiding her features from the recorder. "What strength I have, what love I have, all of me is for him. When I thought there was no hope, he gave me an inch. He came back to life for a few moments. And I'll cherish those moments forever - the time when he lost a piece of himself that he reached out towards us." She swallows deeply, fighting back that knot in her throat. Eyes adore him in washing across Robert, lovingly affectionate. "I do not expect to learn from him what happened. He isn't ready to tell me. Perhaps out of fear that I would balk away, perhaps for a very good reason. Either way I'll remain at his side. I'll be here for him because he needs me. I've contacted Zip to request for a few days off. I won't be able to work knowing that Robert lays here an empty and broken man." A tear threatens to drop but a firm hand wipes at her eyes, her upper lip stiffens. "I cannot break down. I need to be strong enough for the both of us and be his lifeline when he needs it else he'll drown in this pain and never come back." Quietly she whispers to no one in particular, "What happened out there?" Carefully she separates herself from Robert and their bed, walking towards the computer. "Send a request to Lt. Havaris for a moment of his time." She frowns. "Correct that computer. Send this to Kusto : He's not gone. But what killed a part of Robert?" She turns about, staring upon her fiancée. "Graim thu, anamchara. Graim thu. I hope our love is enough because I cannot live without him." The personal log times out, flicking off to black just before Meg reenters the bedroom, firm in her decision not to let go.
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| Peers | Mail to Spacedock Transport Chief |
Thu Aug 28 |
<The UFP logo blinks out and Peers is sitting on a chair in her quarters, a set of drums made from some kind of non-Terran giant fruit resting in her lap.> "It's been a while, Russel. I know, I haven't 'written' since I got to S419... but we had a little accident with the sector com systems, and I felt it would be irresponsible of me to use the jury-rigged backup we're got going to send personal mail. But with it almost repaired, I felt I could grab a minute or two of transmission time. "I was expecting S419 to be a lot like Spacedock... boy, was I wrong. The station itself is rather short on transporters... except for the cargo bays, I think we've got one transporter room on the entire station. Everyone just docks around here. On the plus side, I'm also responsible for the transporters on the ships assigned to the station... the Aegis, the Thomas Paine, and a handful of runabouts that have single-pad setups. I love the Paine's transporter room... dual-hex setups. You'd love it, too. "Other than that... I guess it's just like any other posting. You've got egotistical Ensigns, skittish Cadets... oh, and of course, guess who I'm working with? Well, for? Commander Akeen Ghorev. Yeah, the guy who wrote that paper you showed me. I feel like I'm just here to do his grunt work... I mean, I'm used to being the last word on transporter technology on my postings, but he knows far more than I do... some theories that I have no idea how he got them, but they look like they work. But I don't mind doing the grunt work. There's a great potential for me to learn a lot here. If I can avoid the assassins and the diseased monkeys. "I'll explain that last bit later. Give my best to Valjean and Marie. Billie, out." <The UFFP logo blinks back on.>
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| Nevaren | Words in the Dark |
Thu Aug 28 |
We fade into the Poole family quarters, dark and illuminated only by the stars outside the viewport window. In the center of the the terminals video input frame we see a vaguely humanoid shadow, unmoving. As the Anomaly comes into view outside the window, the shadow is disovlved but the soft and pulsating blueish white light to reveal Nevaren sitting in a chair and staring sightlessly towards and slightly to the right of the video pickup. Light reflects off his hairless head, illuminating the contrast between the scars of his youth and the newly regenerated burnt skin that has a slightly wavey-melted and slick-smooth quality to it. He is dressed completely in loose fitted white cotton and linen clothes, his elbows propped on the chair's arms and fingers steepled in front of his face. "Personal Log," he says quietly, his 'gaze' unfaltering, "Stardate 53468.1." He licks his lips, biding a second for him to plot out what his words will be. "It's nice to be home, regardless of whether I can see it or not. It's comfortable.. If not a bit quiet during the day when Gwen and Eisak are gone. It gives me time to reflect on what has happened. And what will happen." "Gwen is fighting something again. I can tell by how she talks.. How she acts. She won't tell me exactly what it is but I can guess. Craig never got back to me about if there was anything wrong with her.. Physically that is. And really, that doesn't bother me. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. If she has a problem then I should trust her enough to know whether she can tell. That has been our major problem as of late, before the explosion. I am slowly coming to realize that now, I think. It doesn't mean I have to like it. But it does mean I should be more understanding. I need to tell her, to show her, that I can be patient. That I am here for her if she wants to talk. About anything. And that I will listen. And that I will be at her side, no matter what. Because I love her." "As I know she will be, and is, at my side regardless. Even if no one else is. No one came to see me while I was in the Infirmary, save her and Loni. My circle of friends seems to have shrunken dramatically. If Lux had been around I know he would have come by. Vor'mak too if he were still on station or even in the the sector. But who else? Duncan? Too busy, probably. Ghorev? Probably too busy too take time out of his schedule and it's not exactly as if we are friends. Just collegues. Kusto and Thea? I don't even show up on their elite little pack radar. Yeah, that still pisses me off. Maybe if they got off their high horses and realized that maybe they weren't quite as faultless in our little breakdown of communications as they like to beleive themselves then we could actually move forewards. But I see that happening as much as I see ambassador Gr'lah asking Lux for his hand in marriage. I guess I'm not angsty enough to be part of theire little club anymore. Which in a way frightens me since I know how angsty I have been at points and if they are passed that level.. Then hell, They shouldn't be in /Starfleet/ and should be commited to a nice little rubber wallpapered cell somewhere." "And Speaking of Ambassador Gr'Lah... You know what? As angry as I am at the Havaris Clan it is just a low simmering anger which is something that doesn't bother me /too/ much. Gr'lah's little assasination attempt on him pisses me off a lot more. I've heard the security people talk. I've heard the Federation news reports. Gr'lah this... Gr'lah that. Assasin this.. Assasin That. What about me? I can deal with being shot at. Or attacked purposefully. But the innocent victim blown up for no reason then being a distraction? Gr'lah is up and walking about, looking for his vengence probably. But what about me? Don't I deserve a bit of satisfaction? Or maybe an /apology/ from /some/ one? It's always about the important, high profile people in these things. You never hear of the story of those who were dragged into their little private wars. What happens to /them/ afterwards?" "If I didn't have Gwen and Eisak I would probably go mad over this one little thing. Maybe it's petty and selfish, but it's true. I deserve /some/ compensation for this mess. But I will swallow my pride because as Long as I have my wife and my son it is enough to help me endure." "And I /will/ endure. Soon Loni will begin her attempt to save my eyesight. I trust her more then any doctor on the station. Gwen also said that Wendy told her Park had a team standing by as well. Working together I am confident I will see again." "And after that.. Whatever scars and disfigured tissue that cannot be repaired with plastic surgery I will wear with pride. Because they will show I have survived and that I will keep on kicking." "Computer.. end log."
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| Harris | Absolution |
Thu Aug 28 |
The silent pulse of the crimson tracers casts a sinister pall over the bridge of the Constitution-class starship. The captain stares at the viewscreen, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he waits patiently for the time to become ripe. At the science console, the bandage covering the right side of the Vulcan's soaked through with emerald blood again. "Captain, sensors are detecting weapons fire. There are two differing patterns... one bears a strong resemblence to Starfleet weapons, while the other is completely alien." He turns to face the center of the ruined bridge. "They are closing." Riley straightens up in his chair. "Get me an identification. Helm, plot an intercept course." Tugging open the white flap on his jacket, the officer stands. "Maybe we can assist." At the navigation console, Harris turns to face the controls. "Aye, sir. Plotting an intercept course at best possible speed." The maroon of his uniform is dingy and stained - it's seen hard use over the last few days, and the bold colors of Starfleet are dulled. "Mister Harris, you are going to fail." The Andorian commander to the side of the bridge crosses his arms over his chest, the black and grey of his jumpsuit contrasting with the bold colors of the officers surrounding him. "You've already failed. Accept it. Embrace your destiny." "Don't come home, Robert." The communications officer's chair swivels around to reveal Megan Donavon, her arms folded over her chest as a grim frown settles on her face. "Look at you. You're a mess, not a man. I can't love a miserable wretch like you." The lieutenant at the helm's head swivels in confusion, lost in the accusations of the people he doesn't even know. "Don't surrender, Harris Robert," implores Havaris Kusto from Tactical. "Not now. Not to them. Darkness is not the path. Giving up is not the answer." Gwendolyn Poole's voice floats over from science. "You are not worthless, Robert. You did all you could do, and now... all you can do is move on. Embrace your life! Take your gift! LIVE." Harris' mouth works, attempting to form the words to question these people when a hand falls on his shoulder. Glancing back, his eyes fall on the form of Captain Kevin Riley. "I forgive you, Robbie boy." The captain's voice is filled with compassion and caring, while completely devoid of malice. "Don't you stew, now. Just get your tail moving." As he's absolved of his sins by a ghost of the past, Harris' old uniform becomes a black jumpsuit like the ones worn by his comrades. He removes his hands from the helm, and the purifying fire of polaron weaponry wipes the slate clean.... ...and leaves a sobbing Robert Harris clutching a journal on his couch.
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| Caeli | Normalcy |
Fri Aug 29 |
I can hear again. Well. That's not /exactly/ true. It's a little over a week since I broke down, and I can't hear. The little whatevers Aaron put in my head are telling my brain about the vibrations in the air, tricking me into thinking I can hear. But that's what my ears did before, right? Just nature's version of Aaron's little doohickeys? So am I odd, or is everyone else? Is this why Thea got upset when I asked if she could hear normally? What is normal?
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| Taevan | Duty |
Fri Aug 29 |
(Handwritten on paper, in an archaic Romulan dialect) Mauri is injured. He has been for quite some time. Unable to run, condemned to his stately pace. Indefinitely. By all rights he should be dead. Long since. The Star Empire does not accommodate the infirm. And yet I have not composed a communique to my local Tal Shiar branch office. For all intents and purposes, I am neglecting my duty to the Empire even as I write this. Certainly I know this, else I would record it rather than handwrite it and conceal it away. But as much as I know my duty, I have no wish to discharge it. K'net-mari is my only link to advancement. Moreover, he is a friend and a mentor who has done more for me in my life than my own father. Still I cannot help but wonder which of these reasons stays my hand. K'net-mauri is also the reason I have been on Trelab, that haven of savagery that calls itself a planet. In the space of thirty hours I have been a diplomat, a weary traveler, husband to a beautiful woman, a humble missionary, and a vengeful god. I was each of these things because I said I was -ah, the power of words!- and because people accepted my words as truth. And just as quickly, I go from wrath-filled deity dispensing punishment on wayward souls to broken, bone-tired minor diplomatic functionary in a sickbay. But all that aside, thousands of people at /least/ are convinced I'm a god. Maybe even /the/ God. Within my lifetime the followers of 'The Taevan' may have conquered their continent in his - in my name. Is it wrong to take pleasure in that?
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| Gellan | Measures of duty |
Sat Aug 30 |
The blue background and it's Starfleet emblem fade away, replaced with a video presumably recorded from the holodecks. The scene is a forested hillside on Earth, a precipice at the head of a river that crashes into a rocky pool below. And seated on that precipice, is YaSharra Gellan. She sits with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms encircling her knees, and her chin resting on her arms as she gazes into the pool below. When she begins speaking, the video image sharpens and focuses on the speaker, and it becomes evident from the red dampness of her eyes, that she has been crying. Something the Counselor rarely does, and never where it could be seen. "Personal log, Stardate .. whatever it is," Sharra begins, her voice hushed and barely carrying over the sound of the waterfall below. "I have failed. Again." She pauses, swallowing hard, and then begins again. "I failed to help a patient. I failed utterly to reach him, as I have time and time again. In training, my instructors told us we would not be able to aid everyone. That there would be those we could not help. I didn't believe it then. And some part of me refuses still, to believe it now." She swallows again. "I have failed before. But this time..this time it took something out of me. This time..I failed because I was /wrong/." A soft snort follows that statement. "Oh, I was right where Starfleet is concerned. But where the soul matters? I was wrong. Would I have done the same as he? If I suddenly found myself in the same space and time where Lorraine and her baby died..if I had the chance to yank them away, to save their lives and bring them home with me..would I do it? Would I chose love over duty?" She falls silent for a long space of minutes. "Yes. I think I would. I sit here now because someone else made that decision a few years ago. I suspected it then. I've become certain of it since. And yet..I told him it was wrong. I did my job," she adds, anger creeping into her voice. "My job. I quoted General Orders at him. Told him there was nothing he could have done. And he withdrew, again. But what would it have mattered? Even had I agreed with him. It would change nothing. /Nothing/. They would still be dead. And he would still feel sorry for himself, still feel responsible, still bury himself in his pain. He holds it around himself like a glove. Keeps a grip on it, deep inside, as if to say 'No! Its /my/ pain, and I won't let it go!' like it were some precious prize." She sighs softly. "And I cannot reach him. I cannot help him. And it hurts. It hurts worse than I could have imagined it would." Silence follows for several minutes, but for the background roar of the waterfall. And then her voice picks up again. "Duty." Pause. "Computer, stop recording and erase log."
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| Poole | Letting go |
Sat Aug 30 |
The camera's view is that of the inside of a small private chapel, clearly from the small adornments terran in nature. Poole is carefully blowing out some candles, regardless that they aren't even real, nor is the smoke. Her face is visibly more gaunt than usual, though she is as physically strong as ever, it is clear in the way she carries herself and moves. She sighs and starts. "Another few months and it will be a full year since the death of my parents and the confirmation of the loss of my sister... It's just one of those things that has been eating away at me lately." Settling her bottom onto the cool stone floor of her family's private (and rather ancient) chapel on the grounds of their parsel of land, Gwen looks at the wooden cross above the small altar in front of her, as if trying to draw strength from the symbol. "I still haven't let them go." "I can feel their presence, even when the scientist in me says that can't be possible. They are here... and it's because I won't let them go." A pause. "More than that, I can't let my hatred and outrage go... of the mockery of a peace process that went on. No retribution in any form for the -targeted- strike by the Breen at Earth. A last ditch effort. They knew they were losing." "This not letting go is just one of the things that's chipping away at me from the inside, much like Ilsanna has said it would. The intolerance I have for certain races, the ones I have to stomach when I deal with them. There's my brother, acting a child. My family's past... and all that I must make up for. That voice in my head that is -screaming- at me to have a baby, even when I know it's for the best that she come later. And center-ring in all of it is the situation on the station, and the seemingly narrow dodging of death that happens to me every time I set foot off the station." "Tonight I'm lessening this deterioration. Tonight, I am letting go of them... for my health and for their memory." As she says this she blows out the final lit candle. In the darkness she says, with steel-strong confidence, "Someday we will meet again, when my journey meets it's end... but not soon. -Not soon-." Then, in the darkness of the shadowy moon filtering in through the small stain-glass window of the chapel, Gwen begins to sing softly to herself. "Though I know I'll never lose affection... For people and things that went before... I know I'll often stop and think about them... In my life I'll love you more..." Her voice cracks at the end and she trails off, biting her lip. "Good bye Da. Mum. Sis."
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| Haven | Details I |
Sat Aug 30 |
~Audio Begins~ TO: Commander Aslan, USS Dallas FROM: Lieutenant JG Haven, Station 419 Utopia Hey there, Mervonian. I'm sending this in hopes that you'll be able to come in for the wedding and I want you to have a bit of a background on the people in my life. It might make it easier.. it might not. But here goes.. Des - My light. My solid anchor when life batters me about. He keeps me focused and quails my wayward thoughts when I'm being less then fair, not only to those around me but to myself as well. Gorgha - He's far stronger then I will ever be. He knows his mind, his heart, his desires, and he's not afraid to speak them openly. I wish I could be more like that but at the same time, I'm thankful that I'm not. I don't think people would like the earful they'd receive. Nevaren, Dax, Niel - My nearest and dearest. All of them hurt and left raw more times then I care to think about. More then I've been able to help which tends to leave me raw as well. Prythra, Glemm, Bela - I miss them like I'd miss the very air I breathe. Like I miss the warmth of the sun upon my cheeks. S'veralis - She embodies the true warriors heart that all woman are capable of having without losing that fine edge, that sensual grace, that makes her a woman. K'net Mauri - Sent here by a government that would see him fail, to protect and stand as a guardian to a people that would, if given the choice, see him dead. He knows this and yet he holds his head high with an honor that so few truly know the meaning of. Zuh'raah'do - Well meaning and loveable in his own way. He strides hard to make a better home for his people while not being afraid to seek help outside his race. That, alone, is admirable. Gwen, Wendy, Tera - Strong women, all of them, but those I could never be close too. Could never get to know. Each seems to have a wall about them that keep others at bay. What little bit of room there is inside those walls, is small at best. Which is sad, I think. Zip - Funny, sweet, and caring. So many good qualities to have in a friend but he allows people all the room they need to walk all over him. He trusts too easily, loves too quickly, and is hurt so deeply because of it. Aaron - He tries so hard to be everyone's best buddy but I think he loses that fine line between friend and superior. He is a great guy, however, one that's taken more then his share of grief to follow his heart. I wouldn't trade him for all the hot chocolate in the Galaxy. -And there is a lot of that!-- Craig, Meg, Robert, Idrani, Dylan, Rann - Their job titles are unimportant but they are all people I know. Some I've known a long time and others I've known well.. but lately it seems like I don't know them at all. There is a distance there that I can feel and it makes me ache. I want to reach out to them but something stays my hand...self-protection, fear, who knows. Kusto & Thea - I know I've mentioned them before. Hell, their pictures hang on my wall, but no more. Both have made it clear that I'm not a wanted entity in their lives and that is their right. I know, in part, why the hate is there but not completely. Don't expect a welcome from them. We aren't .. Bajoran enough. Correction.. /I'm/ not as I spend my time with Cardassians and Romulans and Nausicaans. Plus, I'm just.. me and I'm not going to change my outlook on life for two people. /Everyone/ deserves a chance.
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| Haven | Details II |
Sat Aug 30 |
It never ceases to amaze me how things can change and how quickly they can become either better.. or worse. At what point do we say 'I've accomplished all that I've set out to accomplish in this life.'? Do we press on? Do we stop looking ahead? Or do we set new goals? When do we focus on personal and not professional goals? Most Doctors don't hit their professional stride before their 8th or 10th years of practice. I've been in that upward swing since my graduation from the Academy. What does this mean in the grand scheme of things? Will I simply burn out? Is there something greater out there, awaiting me that I can't, at present, fathom? Is the Orb right? Will I return to Bajor? Or did the Prophets set me upon this path because my time here is limited and there are things I must accomplish? If the latter is true, by what right do I drag Des onto this path with me? Not to mention the child we wish to have to make our family complete. What mark do I leave? What piece of myself will remain outside the hearts of my friends and loved ones? A name on a hospital on Nauscaa III? A nomination for the Carrington Award? While these things are a nice pat on the back, they aren't what matters. No, all of those lives we save... /that's/ what matters in the long run. That's why I do this. I was told once that we aren't warriors. We are Knights that lead the Warriors to battle and then stay behind to take care of the home front. I'm one and you are the other, Mervonian, and I wouldn't want it any other way. I hope you can make it as I'd love to spend some time with you. Write soon, my friend. ~Audio Ends~
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| Medes | Changes |
Sun Aug 31 |
"Personal log, Lt. JG Alethea Ruth Medes, Stardate 53474.2." This log, unlike most of Medes's, has visual accompaniment with it. She's sitting in front of the terminal in her quarters, a couple of PADDs strewn to either side, rubbing at her forehead. "I expected to simply be happy about this. This was what I wanted, right? I asked for it, I worked hard for it, I interviewed, I said what I meant. And I meant it at the time. And I still do. But now that I've made the requisite handful of hails, covering everything that I needed to cover, checked up on reports... I'm sitting here, looking at my last daily repairs report and tomorrow's crew schedule. Once I hit this button, I've finished my last official act as the station's Vehicle Maintenance Engineer. I'll be out of the shuttle bay." She smiles wryly, more than a bit of self-deprecation evident on her face. "On to bigger and better things. The Boss -- who is really not The Boss anymore, which is kind of a shame, it was neat to get away with calling him that instead of sir -- has said that I'll do fine. And I'm sure I will." "Still. It kinda feels like putting my bag down on my bunk on my first day at Academy. More so, it feels like stepping out of San Francisco and onto the shuttle that would take me up to the Habronnatus for my Cadet Cruise. I was really leaving home for the first time." She scrubs a hand over her face and then back over her scalp at this, and reaches for the PADD, almost tapping her thumb on its screen and sending off the reports. Halfway through the motion, she stops, and sets down the PADD. "This was my father's job. Core Systems Engineer on the Yamaguchi. I'm doing now what he did when he died." Thea blinks a few times, looks over her shoulder at something. "So on the other hand, I've got redemption. Like I redeemed every horrible thing I ever said or believed about him for leaving me to Aunt Kate to raise while he and Mom were serving." A pause. "I didn't get that it really was serving. And maybe they could have found a way for me to be with them. But maybe not. And either way. Either way... my father died in service. So that people like the ungrateful, surly slacker teenager I was could continue to live our lives." "And Dad always knew I was Starfleet material. The Boss knew I was Core Systems material. So that's two votes of confidence." She taps the PADD, then, sending off the reports. "Bigger and better things. Leaving home for /only/ bigger and better things." She almost looks like she completely believes it. "Computer, end log and save."
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| Blair | Different Changes |
Sun Aug 31 |
"Personal Log, Ensign J. Evan Blair, Stardate 53474.4. "You know, if I wanted all the troubles I faced to be interpersonal, I think I would have stayed at home." Evan sits on the floor against the corner of a wood-paneled room, though one floor is a mirror, reflecting the Starfleet-issue athletics outfit he wears. He lightly fingers his compin, turning it over in his hands as he speaks. "I've decided it's probably a matter of time before I burn the rest of my bridges, mostly since I can't seem to keep my foot out of my mouth. It is consoling, I suppose, that 'brainless Ensign' and 'disrespectful officer' can't really ever match up to 'slimy Feddie hu-mon', but honestly, I could've stayed home. "Anyway, there are a few people that don't like me out there, and probably a few that don't like me as much as they used to." He flips the combadge with his thumb, watching it spin before he catches it again. "I'm working on my big mouth, but that's only part of the issue. The rest isn't really something I can fix by myself, which isn't a comfort per se, but it's easier to cope with." Flick. "I'm being separated from the people I used to consider my best friends, slowly, and what's funny is that it's not my fault and I don't think it's theirs, either. There's just that sort of layer that comes from being traveled, learned, and experienced. "I saw Gwen and Thea today, though I hadn't seen them in weeks before that. They were with Kusto," he says, then pauses for a second. "There's a huge gap there now that didn't used to be before I left for the Queensland, and I can sort of see it in their eyes. I ran around on a starship fixing sensors, and they watched people they knew and people they didn't know die." Evan chuckles, tossing the combadge once before catching it firmly in his palm. "You don't need a Security clearance of level 7 to figure that out. "Of course, that's not all of it, I'm sure, but, well, when you're as clueless as I am, little things like 'details' escape you." He smirks faintly. "Regardless, I don't think I'll ever be quite as close to them as I was before I left. They're a 'group' now, the kind you hear whispered about and muttered over in the halls by anyone who doesn't belong in it." He tosses his badge idly from hand to hand, a figure in a blue leotard and sweats briefly coming into view in the mirror before departing again. "I don't begrudge them that. It's the kind of relationship I've wanted to have with people since the Academy, not that I was really capable of it then. I just sort of miss how things were, but, well, no point dwelling and getting all mopey. "I do feel distant from people, though. Even the self-declared 'friend' who I don't really know," he chuckles. "That's another story. Maybe it was just the exchange I had with Lieutenant Tyler that sort of brought it all crashing in, but I don't think I'm exactly gaining any friends anywhere right now. Big mouth." He snorts. "Me, not her. "Well, no. There is one." Evan smiles slightly at that, now spinning his combadge lightly between his fingers. "Damnedest thing. Here I am scrawling diagrams on a napkin in the coffee house, and this frighteningly enthusiastic redhead walks in, plunks down on a seat next to the counter, and next thing you know, it's this week and we trade barbs like we've known each other for a couple years." The smile splits into a grin. "Alley O'Carroll's one of the most interesting people I've met in years, and has one of the highest tolerances for alcohol, for that matter. Fortunately, I haven't tried challenging her. I think the last time I chattered with someone this easily, though, was..." He laughs softly, looking down and shaking his head. "On that note, speaking of Thea, I suppose there's one thing that might at least keep me from completely burning my bridges. She's my boss." Evan grins and tosses the combadge again, idly, missing it on the downfall and wincing as it clatters to the smooth wooden floor. "I congratulated her, and I'm sure I'll go see her at some point, though it'll be interesting to see how it pans out." He tosses the combadge up into the air again, watching it rise. "Well, that's enough talking to myself for one day, I suppose. Computer, end log, save, and end program." The last sight is of the combadge clattering, missed, to the floor as the walls fizzle out from behind Evan and he topples backwards onto the grid with a yelp.
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| Crayn | Just a day, just an ordinary day |
Sun Aug 31 |
Personal Log, Ensign Joran Crayn, Stardate 53474.6 Joran sits in front of the terminal, looking rather hangdog. "Terrans are a jealous race.." He sighs, and tries to smile.. "Yes, I'm back.. I know I only log when I have something to complain about.. As soon as I run across something positive, you'll be the first to know.. The event just has to actually -happen- first.." He shrugs.. "I've started seeing someone...well, sort of. It's like, we're keeping it secret, and we're not exactly dating. I love her... but I know she doesn't feel the same for me. I've known her a long time, and I probably understand her better then anyone else, which is why it kills me inside when I see how she is with him around.. I know she feels more for him then me." He clears his throat, doing his best to beat back the oncoming depression. "Can I say anything about it? Tell her how I feel? No.. She knows how I feel about her, but if I say anything.. it's a breech of our agreement.. No commitments.." He shakes his head.. "Why do I do it? I mean.. I'm not happy with where we are, but.. I can't stand being without her. She's made me the happiest I've ever been, especially since I've come to this place. My psychology background is telling me that I'm being used.. but.. is it being used if I allow her to? Volunteer for it? And what's to say that I'm not using her as well.." He shakes his head.. "I don't want to see a counselor.. I already know I'm seriously messed up, plus there's no need to drag Her through that as well. I told her I'd always be there for her and I will.. In what capacity, I don't know, right now. I'm so confused it's spinning my head. Thankfully I can focus on work and push these things out of my head. Sadly, meditation doesn't help me anymore. Not with this. All it does is give me more time to dwell on it, which isn't good. I'm afraid I'm going to turn evil because of this.. Petty, jealous, angry.. That's not me.. that's not the Jo everyone knows, and it's definately not the Jo she knows.." He shrugs.. "So.. the question is.. How long do I let this continue? How broken am I going to allow myself to become?" He looks, eyes watered.. "Honestly, I don't know.. Terrans are a jealous race, and I'm sorry if I've failed, Sweetheart, but I -am- merely human." He chokes up towards the end.. "Computer, end log and archive."
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| Cross | A Dream of an old Memory. |
Sun Aug 31 |
You are in a familiar place. A place that you don't want to be. Your senses are under assault. You're eyes make out the familiar gray halls of a Federation starship, at least to the best of their ability. They burn from the smoke that is in the air, the environmental systems somewhere are damaged or having difficulty coping. The halls are painted red as the alarms flash on and off in the emergency lighting. You're ears are ringing as the Klakons sound loudly throughout the ship. Voices can be heard, but they are muffled by the sirens. You can hear the hull creak about you as pressure alters somewhere, not a good sign. Overall all of this, you barely can hear your heart pounding as you run. You get to the junction and order the repair team to move ahead while you reach for a panel and rip it open with your hands. You drop the toolkit, opening it quickly, scooping up a tool in trying to get the flow of power in this section regular before it becomes too late. You hear voices again as they bark out responses on their progress or the lack of success from the damaged systems. Getting a positive flow, You look up as you see movement and see the security detachment as they run in your direction. You're eyes fall upon her. The woman who means everything to you as she does her duty while you do yours. Then you hear the hull groans out loudly. Before you can do anything, emergency forcefields snap on directly in front of you, separating you from the security detachment, your repair team and her. You look about before your eyes fall back upon her, seeing her trapped on the wrong side of the forcefield. Behind her, you see the wall give away, ripping away from the ship into the vacuum of space. The forcefield leaps up, bridging the gap of the opening, stopping the evacuation of air from the next section, giving a momentary reprieve, but only momentary. You watch as the forcefield flickers and shimmers, the power feed too low. You jump to your feet, quickly reaching for the manual override, your fingers trying to enter the command code but it's too late. You hear it first before you see it, the sound as the forcefield fizzling out. You turn and watch as the next section is opened again and space drawing those in the section towards their doom. Your eyes locks onto hers. Eyes that you have cared...loved before they are gone, her body goes tumbling out into the depths. You can never remember what happen next, you only remembering a scream of anguish. A scream that came from you. You snap awake from the memory. Your sense is muttled from the sleep while your mind pieces together what has happened. Then sadness fills you as the pieces are connected, reminding you. It was not a dream. It was real. You crawl out of bed and slide into a robe, making your way to the console. With a few touches, the computer executes it's commands... Cross Dream Journal (Stardate, Friday 23, 04:00) I haven't dreamed about that moment for a long time. Of all times, why now? It always starts as the same. I'm aboard the Clarkstown....
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| Harris | Resurrection |
Sun Aug 31 |
"Personal log, Stardate 53475.5." The anomaly sings its siren song beyond the viewports, the blue-white spears of light casting a pale glow over quarters 812. On the couch, Robert stares morosely out the windows, his gaze lost in the stars beyond. "It hurts. I'd be a liar if I didn't say it hurts." Robert's eyes cast to the deck, sliding closed. "Denied. Cheated. Robbed. Last time by luck. This time by duty and regulations." He slides to the floor before the coffee table, his eyes sliding open to regard the model of the Exeter before him. "I've railed. I've railed at Commander Ghorev. I've groaned at Counselor Gellan. I ranted and raved at Kusto. I cursed God. I've floated between leaving the fleet and jumping out the nearest airlock." Shame crosses his features, and he sinks even further. "I've put Meg through hell... and all for what?" Shaky hands lift the model and bring it to cradle in his lap. "Ghosts. People I laid to rest a long time ago." A finger absently strokes the edge of the saucer as he waxes thoughtful. "It didn't hit me until last night, really... I've been so upset because I saw it as a second chance. For redemption. For vengeance. But, really... we were there. There wasn't a second time - it was all the first." A sigh escapes his lips. "I just got to experience it twice." Carefully, the model is replaced in the place of pride that it occupies. "I can't let them haunt me anymore. Lieutenant Robert Harris died on December 24, 2293. He died just as anyone else has ever died. On February 14, 2374, he rose from the dead." He sinks even further, his eyes level with the table now. "And he has a new life now. New responsibility. A new family. It took a fiery redhead and her depthless love for me to remind me of that." "We're getting married soon." His eyes close, and he vanishes behind the table. "Sorry for being wrong, Meg." The log fades to black after the timeout period is reached.
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| Zuh'raah'do | It's all a game |
Sun Aug 31 |
"UNA Ambassador Personal Log." The UNA symbol fades away, replaced ever-so-briefly by a Ferengi Commsystems "flash logo", reminding the owner just who made his personal terminal and who to contact for all of his technological needs. Sitting at his desk is Ambassador Zuh'raah'do, his attention alternating between making this recording and playing with a deck of Terran cards. The Ambassador appears to be practicing various dealers tricks. He's not ready for Vegas, but he isn't half bad. "K'net-mauri and I share similar views about our mutual neighbors. He agrees that more information is required and has agreed to the method of extracting said information." Toss toss toss. All three cards land where they're supposed to, very near the mock "players" that the Ambassador has placed around his desk. To his left, the covered, unpowered and completely unused Federation terminal. Across from him, an upside-down (to the recording terminal, that is) pile of PADD books. It looks like Zuh'raah'do has been reading up on the Terran Eugenics War, Romulan Language Basics and, finally, Moo'moo the Happy Andorian Ice Bear. To his right, an empty bottle of Andorian Ale and two empty shot glasses makes for a rather phallic-looking third player. "He did not agree to supplying the device and training, so I am going to check availability with like or similar devices via a third party. Yet, his offer of assistance for the immediate problem should prove most useful for the UNA and the Star Empire." Zuh glances up at the recording terminal. "Is is so nice to speak the languages of negotiation and diplomacy with someone who understands both." Zuh retrieves his cards and starts to deal again, this time with his left hand. "As I predicted, the Star Empire has no intention of repaying the UNA for our losses along their border. It is a small matter, really, as the Ambassador showed a willingness to see if we can handle the related problems in and along our borders in a cooperative manner. I have already sent the request to UNA Border Command." Zuh stops dealing, one eye squinting as he ponders. "Admiral Mo'den'su, I believe." "Admiral." Zuh spits out the rank as if it was synthahol. "One of the few remaining Councilmembers who managed to escape Gr'raak'tah's wrath by smartly licking all the right...boots." Zuh chuckles. "The Klingons are up to something again. Perhaps they'll stay in their own space this time, though I suspect that one side or another is behind the recent Othan adventurism. Yet another request has been sent to UNA Command to have our assets keep an eye out for IKDF and fleet movement of interest. We haven't noticed any differences in our business dealings with the Kangs, so I do not suspect the UNA to be what the Klingons are after. Unless, of course, some Klingon slips our name to the Klingon High Council. Mention the word "Nausicaan" and they all start howling." Zuh looks at the recorder once again. "Remind me to thank the Federation for giving the Klingons warp drive those many years back." Zuh finishes dealing and looks at the cards for each of his players. It seems the stack of PADDs wins the hand. "Doctor Haven wants to be upset with me, but it just hasn't come to be. Not with her full wrath, at least. One cannot argue with results, and a little spotlight on the good doctor won't do her any harm." "It looks like Mister Heller has found something very interesting on Otha. But, like the man I know he is, he ended up sharing more information with outsiders than he brought back to the fold. So, I've requested for an "investigator" to be sent to see if we can refresh Mister Heller's memory." Zuh smirks. "That should be fun."
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| Magret | Magret's Laws |
Mon Sep 01 |
Magret's Laws of Starfleet Interaction, as recorded Stardate 53476.0. Law the First: None of these laws apply to Hamish Albertz. Laws may apply selectively to other officers, and function as an overall guide for self-navigation through s419. Law the Second: The more pips they have on their collar, the less interested they will be in any actual experience or knowledge a civilian might have. Corrolary the first: This reflects a pervasive belief in the Omnipotence of Starfleet Knowledge. The higher the rank, generally the less secure in their own sense of knowledge they become, necessitating greater displays of same to the detriment of others; the reasons for this are unknown. Law the Third: Those Starfleet Officers who seem the most normal are likely the ones with the greatest number of real problems. Corrolary the first: This observation should never be shared with any Starfleet Officer, and definitely not any of those who either bear Visible Open Emotional Wounds Of Martyrdom. Cataclysmic events would follow. Corrolary the second: It is believed that the average UFP citizen, having never experienced deprivation of actual necessities and, in fact, taking nigh-miraculous scientific developments for granted, has a psychological need to create traumas. See also: Terran author Aldous Huxley's Brave New World. Reference: VPS or Violent Passion Surrogate. Law the Fourth: You are only interesting or worth protecting so far as you are useful. Law the Fifth: You are a walking caricature. Do not bother trying to dispel this, simply accept your place as half of the Station's Token Lesbian Couple and expend your energy on people who are already aware that your personality is not exclusive to or dependent upon your orientation. Law the Sixth: Do not waste overmuch energy on the self-created personal crises of Starfleet Officers. There are real problems to deal with in your life. Law the Seventh: There are Right kinds of different and Wrong kinds of different. These distinctions change without warning or apparent reason. See Law the Fifth in order to determine your classification. Corrolary the first: Your culture (or "subculture") has not been filed in triplicate and has never experienced a First Contact, therefore it does not exist save as a perversion of the dominant culture. Law the Eighth: You are not an Engineer without a delta on your chest. You will not be allowed to forget this. Do not try.
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| Idrani | Game of Thrones |
Mon Sep 01 |
"Personal Log: Stardate 53478.0. Lieutenant Jaylas Idrani... I don't know if I can rightly call myself the Diplomatic Attache officer right now, at least for the moment. But I am still assigned to S419-U. "I despise being moved like a chess piece. "Nothing to do now but follow orders... and vainly gnash my teeth. When you're caught between two individuals that are three ranks, political or military, above you, there is little else that can be said. Damn it all to hell. "At least this will give me more time to think, to prepare and to study. And I suppose I have not been dismissed from all my duties. Just the biggest part. I'm angry. And disappointed that it came to this point. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now. With this, and with Meridian leaving." With a soft sigh, the young Andorian opens a subspace message to Dulcais. "Time to talk to the boss and see what happens next."
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| K'net-mauri | I need to talk to you. |
Tue Sep 02 |
The green hawk emblem of the Romulan Star Empire preceeds the recording, fading to reveal the image of K'net-mauri siting in the armchair he favours. His expansive quarters are dark -- it's only the stars framed in the tall viewport providing any illumination. The Romulan Ambassador is little more than a shadow. "Selera. My love. You will have recieved the clinical account of our little adventure on Trelab. And probably extrapolated the truth of it. I need to talk to you. The Romulan sighs in the darkness, speaks quietly: "I'm a broken liability. If I have done things that have saved millions does it mean my life is worth such risk to these young people?" "My life. The sad addendum to my modest greatness. Tattered remnants. Bitter dregs. The days are longer than sorrow but the years are far too few to make good the promises I made before my long future was reduced to a tattered handful. The promises my body made to you. And to our children. I need to talk to you. I came here, away from you, because I could not stand to live and let my promise to the Empire wither to some tiny scrap. I had to give some greater service. I traded years for the power to do that. Was it pride? I do not regret it. I remember how I felt. But now this ache grows in me and I long to keep those blood promises and I want to regret escaping a torture that was far worse than this one because it might have lasted a century. I'm sorry. Was I disloyal? I think Rookaed'el thinks so. Do you? I need to talk to you." "I met. Someone. Something. I'm being stupid, I ought to report it to the station's sciences department, but I don't want to explain. I don't want to tell the story to them. Havaris Jiasha was there. She birthed her child and she wished to keep this visitation a secret, and I will. And I'm glad. Because it's stupid, but this -is- a secret, I feel the ridiculous awe of a primative. As if I could believe in Gods or Prophets. I think maybe I could believe in Gods or Prophets. I met beings who understand some things about the universe that I don't understand. The very definition of magic. And I'm shivering and raw inside because they asked the question that's seething in me and tearing me from my center. Gods, Prophets, charlatans. Somebody's taken a great liberty with me and I don't want to seek vengance, I want to keep it secret and wonder over it. It feels. Good. It hurts very terribly and it feels good. But cuts so clean they come like a fresh breath bleed a lot. I need to talk to you. K'net-mauri moves in the darkness, turning in his chair to look towards the viewports and leaning forward enough that the dim bluish light touches his face. He's got the look of a man who's just caught himself about to make a mistake and is slightly suprised at his own error. "But I cannot do it like this," he says. "Computer, delete file." There is sudden blackness as the letter ceases to exist, dissapearing along the chain of time before the Ambassdor's wife, or the Romulan censors who might review such a transmission, can know the words were ever spoken.
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| Donavon | I Fold |
Tue Sep 02 |
Boozed up if synethol could ever achieve such a mind state would be Meg who at present staggers into her quarters and cues up a personal log. Slightly tired and reeling from a thwap to the noggin, one could only hope that this one won't be a doozey. "A merry lass she is. Robert's granddaughter." Her hand clutches the doorframe, paused before entering the bedroom. "My granddaughter. Only pray the lass has sense enough /not/ to call me Granny Meg else there's a family brawl coming." A twinkle in her eye, mischief sparked, there's a bounce to the woman's step when approaching her bed. "I've nervous. I really want her blessing and acceptance. Not only for myself but for Robert. She's…our family now." Boots are flung to the closet; Meg preps for bed. "Reminder to self, play poker more often or order that fire belly burner of Alley's another time. Oh," a devilish grins appears, "need to order Robert a cowboy hat." The log flickers off at a touch of a button.
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| Cristobal | What dreams may come |
Wed Sep 03 |
The starscape of Rynkan space is still. Then the stillness is broken. In one portion of space, the stars shake and distort, and then vanish, blocked by a large grey vessel. A Vor'cha-class ship. Nearly a dozen birds-of-prey then decloak behind the Gharas. Most B'rels, but two of the larger K'vorts. They slowly drift into formation. With the ships now at rest, the view of space is peaceful once again, if more crowded than a few minutes ago. To the left, more distortions. Many more. Two dozen birds-of-prey decloak. They fire on the recently-arrived ships and hit...but...the ships are gone. Their warp trails become visible, revealing that the torpedoes the ships fired hit nothing but the light that had not yet caught up with the other ships. Then there is more fire, as those first ships strike back. Four of the enemy B'rels are destroyed in the first volley, but they regroup and re-engage. Still outnumbering the first force by nearly two-to-one, they set up crossfires, and traps. A flare of light in the background as one of the friendly B'rels is destroyed. "Must...stop them," Nathan's disembodied voice says. He looks down and sees a Klingon Operations Console. His fingers fly across it, trying to access the communications of the other fleet. The battle turns against them, as four of the enemy B'rel's surround one of the slower K'vorts like hornets, pounding away with torpedo after torpedo, before finally severing the nacelles. They then fly away from the crippled ship, which explodes into a ball of fiery death. The console below him blinks red. The writing seems to elude him, though he can read Klingon perfectly well, but the message is clear, he cannot access enemy communications. "No...Must...stop..." he says, his voice somehow echoing through the raw vaccuum he floats in. The cold of space seems to seep into his fingers, slowing them. He clenches his teeth and forces them to keep moving. B'rel after B'rel of the friendly fleet is chased, cornered, and destroyed. While the Gharas has inflicted heavy losses, they still have nearly a dozen ships, to the three or four Gr'laH vessels. Nathan can't quite tell. Seeking to put an end to this, eight B'rels swarm around the big Vor'Cha, pumping gigajoule after gigajoule of energy into its shields. Despite the stacked odds, however, the Gharas fights an even battle, nailing the vessels with a barrage of disruptor bolts. One shears off the nacelle of a B'rel. "No!" Nathan shouts, his fingers frozen in place, curled up like claws. The ship, unable to alter it's course, slams through what remains of the Gharas's aft shielding. The core of the vessel sets off the Gharas's impulse reactors. Plasma conduits throughout the vessel ignite, completely overloading the EPS system. The shielding in the warp core, no longer receiving sufficient power, fails. The Gharas ignites in a gigantic ball of flame. "/NOOOOOOOO!/" Nathan shouts, his hands curled in front of his eyes as he sits up in bed. Panting, he stares down at the sweat-drenched sheets. Looking beside him at the unoccupied other half of the bed, he falls back down to the bed, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow, racked with sobs.
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| Treal | Slumber of Innocence |
Wed Sep 03 |
Darkness fades, giving 'way to muted candlelight. Framed by the window above her bed, Kearia sits crosslegged, wearing a pair of black silk pajamas. She twirls a chameleon rose between her fingers, the colors shifting among the darker blues. "Computer, begin personal log, stardate 53481.4" Lifting the rose to her lips, the petals brush against them, as she closes her eyes, breathing in deeply its intoxicating scent. "I haven't recorded anything personal for a while," the young woman begins. "Sent a few letters to daddy. I hope they find him well. He wrote back. He tries, you know. Tries to make up for my mother not having been there to raise me. Elsiana has tried, too. I think, sometimes, it takes that bond that is created, when you carry a child in your belly for 10 months. Why is it now, that I flounder as I do? Why is it now, that I need my mother the most?" Sighing, she lets her hands fall to her lap, still holding the rose. "I started writing again. Or trying to, anyways. I hoped it would help me sort myself out, you know? I don't think, when I write. I just let the words flow from me. I'm not sure that it's helping to sort me out, though. Some of it is dark. Angry. Do I really feel that way? Do I hide from myself, as much as I try to hide from the prying of others? I've begun to do that. To hide. To close off. I've never felt the need to close myself to others before, to other Betazoids. But now? Now, I feel I have to. I feel violated, insulted. And I can't talk to anyone about it. At least, not here, not that I know of. Maybe I'll ask the XO. The Code of Sentience... Designed to protect us from aliens, and they from us. But what about protecting us from each other?" "I've started seeing someone. Well, two someone's really. Casually. No promises, no expectations, no committments. I'm still recovering from my last failed attempts at love. I'm not very enthusiastic about finding another failure. Will any of these go anywhere? I don't know. Maybe. Maybe they will eventually fade, as all things seem to do. But for now, I am comforted, I am loved. I am treated not as a toy, as a source of entertainment. They actually listen to me, when I talk. They actually care about my feelings, about what I'm thinking. They know about each other, I do not hide the truth from them, it is not my way, our way. They are friends - no, they are more than friends, but they are less than... Less than what? Is it so easy to catagorize love? So easy to say, 'I love you as a friend, a mother, a father, a son, a daughter.' But what about when it comes to the deeper forms of love? The love that involves more? I care deeply for them. I love them. As I love Zip, Gr'laH. Will it grow into more? Will I end up hurting someone, by choosing one over the other? Is my need to find solace, to find refuge from the cruelty of others, going to turn around and burn me? Their friendship means more to me than anything. If I lost that, I fear I would lose myself." The rose in her hand, rapidly shifts through its full spectrum of colors, before settling upon pristine white. "I will talk to them. I have to talk to them. I can't do this anymore. Not to them. Not to myself. I'm not ready to try and love again. Not the way I know they wish I would. I can't keep tearing them apart. It's not fair to them, to expect them to heal my heart. That's something I have to do on my own. They deserve the love of a woman, who will love them as they desire. Who can give them, what I just cannot right now. Someday, when I am no longer broken, I will close my eyes, and he will be there, my Imzadi." Turning her head she leans over to start blowing the candles out, gradually bringing the room into darkness, then she recites: The snow-white petals of a rose glisten with the morning dew Kiss of the sun's rays tender caress of a breeze Spectres in the burning mists echos of a dream remembered Brush of a lover's lips innocence returns to slumber Silence and darkness reign supreme, until the log times out.
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| Laco | Klingons |
Wed Sep 03 |
<A basic audio log. From the background noise, Laco is located in a public area, but one that is not populated, as only the sounds of Federation consoles can be heard, no other beings.> "Physical Science Officer's personal log, stardate 53481.7. If I had to sum up the Klingon race in one word, I wouldn't pick something like 'violent', or 'honorable', I'd select 'honest'. Brutally honest...though they're brutal in a great many things they do...but that is beside the point. When a Klingon has an opinion, they say it. If they want to know something, they ask." "Example." "I've been suffering from my 'medical condition' for quite some time now. That is easy to see for all those around me. Just about every new officer that comes aboard this station stares at it for at least a little while. Some even seem a bit distressed. But how many have actually asked me about it? Maybe ten? Out of dozens of officers and civilians I've seen on board this station, some of which look as if they are about to detonate if they don't ask the question on their mind, only that many actually ask. Perhaps they detonate after I leave, who can say." "But not the Klingons. They have a question? They ask. They're a very honest people. If you insult them, they'll pummel you in the middle of the Mall. Encroach upon their space? Here comes a Klingon Task Force. And the disdain many Klingons have for other races is well known. And so,f the few people who have actually come to *me* to enquire about what exactly decorates my face, the great majority are sons and daughters of the planet Qo'nos." "Of course, my assessment of their honesty could be flawed. Perhaps they simply have nothing to fear about insulting a 'weak' human, especially one wearing the color blue. Blue-shirts are not warriors, they cower behind their sensor consoles, or patch the 'real officers' back up after their battles, all the while moaning about the horrors of war that they cannot possibly understand. I've even seen my fellow Starfleet officers in other branches do the same. It doesn't matter to them that, when it comes down to numerical kills, I've probably killed a lot more Jem'hadar than most people on board. I just did it with a transporter, instead of a compression rifle." "That isn't something to be proud of, I know. But it is not something I regret either. If the need comes again to take lives to complete a mission, with no reasonable alternatives, I'll do it, and I won't lose sleep. And in my opinion, a finely honed mind with such freedom is far more dangerous than a score of disruptor rifles." "But I've gotten off the subject of the Klingons and their honesty. They're so honest, it sort of surprises me they were able to form a stellar empire at all. From what I've heard, which may or may not be true, I admit, nearly anyone can duel a superior for their position. If you don't think your captain is doing a good job, you don't just deal with it and wait for his superiors to step in, you try to stab him in the face, then, theoretically, show everyone how it was meant to be done. I've never met a conciliatory Klingon. They know what they want, then they try to get it. Its amazing that such an unstable foundation supports one of the most powerful societies in known space. Possibly *the* most powerful, if you consider the Federation's Dominion War losses. Internal infighting has destroyed more great empires than any other cause on Earth. Perhaps Baxx could explain to me how it works." "Oh well. I am uncertain what I was trying to get at, if anything. I suppose this monitoring duty could have left my starved brain for any sort of real stimulation." "End Log." <beep>
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| Havaris | The Children |
Thu Sep 04 |
The UFP ensignia fades away to reveal Kusto seated on a large boulder, arms wrapped around his loosely parted knees, hands laced together. His eyes rest solidly on the valley below him and the village just now waking to another virtual dawn. Fog is already boiling away before the sun that edges its way over the peaks before him. "It's starting to trouble me. Not my hate, but its absence. My inability to hate with consistency. Blind, unrelenting hatred is many things, but it isn't a hypocrisy. If I say I hate every Cardassian that ever drew breath -- and I did once, I hated all of them, every single one of them -- they can call you a bigot. They can call you a warmonger. They can call you a good many things. But they cannot call you a hypocrite. Not for hating your enemy. Not for hating the race that nearly broke your planet is half. They can give you counseling, order you to put your duty before your hate, distance you from it by a measure of lightyears. But they cannot make you a hypocrite." "I remember the first time I saw Tull's face. Not. Not during the rescue mission. But on the PADD Alethea gave me. Of the three hundred faces we were going out there to save. They all stuck out to me. I see some of them, now and again, walking around the station. Iliara, Eisak, the Darax children. Tull. They don't understand, merciful prophets, what happened to them. I remember very distinctly looking at the face of Tull and the other Cardassian children and... not. Not hating them. How I hate Gurdek. How I hate Dosa. Damar. How I hated Gul Tramek. How I hated Dukat. How I hated them all. All of them. Once." "I was morally outraged. I was furious that this could be allowed to happen. The Betazoid children, the Trill, the Bolians, the Andorians, the Bajorans, the Cardassians, they blended into one long list of names and faces that pulled at something inside of me. My Pagh, perhaps. The part of me that would be a father. The last undamaged thread of what makes a person a person left inside of me, perhaps. I don't know. I didn't think 'serves them right', I didn't gloat, I didn't parade it before the Union. I didn't do anything more than my job. I got those kids back. All of them. I got all of them back." "I could. I could have welcomed Tull. Into my family. Jiasha wished to adopt him. I wouldn't have argued. He says I have ridges. I made him cry once, for not knowing what to say. How to respond to him. And he'd been half-dead when we found him, too. From Salor Rao's biogenocide agent. That man I should have killed, want to kill. For. Being no better than them? For hurting those children? For...? I don't. I don't know why. And I don't know why I can't bring myself to hate Tull. To hate them all like I used to hate them. Not even Gurdek." "I hate him now, not because of the Occupation. Not because of the War. Not because of my brothers, my sisters, my father. My village. The Tasis. The Umanah. Not because of Kendra Valley, or the Orbs they stole, the works they destroyed, the mines they ripped open on Bajor, the millions they killed. Terok Nor, work camps, slavery, rape. Murder. Battle. I don't. Hate him. For that. I hate him because when I look at his scaled, ridged-necked, spoonheaded, smirking face? His beady black eyes? I see my hypocrisy in that cute little boy that's with him. I see myself not letting go of my hate, clinging to it like a plank of wood in a wide, cold ocean. Stubbornly refusing to change. While slowly, piece by piece, changing. Learning that they have families, too. And dreams of families. That their children cry, too, if you hate them back. That you can make them sick and alone. Make them scream how I screamed. Until you're just like them, anyway. Until you're no better." "I was a child once, too. If Tramek had seen himself in me -- before I shot him in the face -- would I be different than I am? The children aren't responsible for the actions of the adults. And if those Cardassians made me who and what I am, what is my hate doing but making another generation of children just like me to cross that border and start it all over again?" "When do you stop blaming them, and start blaming yourself for the children left crying?"
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| Torin | Time for Thoughts |
Thu Sep 04 |
Good morning log, Mmm append time, Stardate 53482.5 There. I tried to do this yesterday, but we'll ignore that attempt I was angry. I guess I can see why they wouldn't want me on duty after all that. But dammit that still hurts, and with Lt. Medes off, I know the chiefs can run themselves but damned if it won't slow things down. Sigh, I suppose I just have to be responsible for that....I think I'm getting ahead of myself, let's summarise the week shall we log? Meg and Harris got in a fight, I've started it again where I can't decide what I want, Zephram's still in the infirmary, and I got in trouble. Not much new. Meg and Rob got into a fight, he wasn't talking to her. I told her things wouldn't be perfect, I told her he'd make her sad. But no what do I know...Well I guess nothing really. But they seem to be good again, I'm glad I was worried for a second. I told her to be careful, but like any other thing when Meg sets her mind on something it can't lessen, she does everything with all of her strength. It's good, just scary. I hope that's the last major trouble they have. I don't know if they fixed things up, but one night we were baking brownies and she was crying, the next she seemed chipper as ever. So I can only hope things work out, and threathen to castrate people if they don't. And....I'm doing it again. Kearia, Ishba. I hope I don't hurt them. Ishba, well I'm sure she'll understand. Kearia, mmm I just don't know what she wants. She wants to be friends, but she's so touchy. I don't think I know what I want. It's just like the Academy again, I can flirt, I can talk, I can smile. But alone...it just doesn't feel right anymore. *Chimes ring* Computer, hold. Save file, Come in!...... Mmm...So people came I forgot to write for a bit. Meg came over, she has a granddaughter...It was strange but still. I don't know how I'll treat that, but I've always spoiled Meg's nieces and nephews...I can't wait till they come. I hope I'm still not remanded to quarters...Oye and that. I don't know what to say about that. I don't think I really disobeyed an order through the whole thing. The only order I can remember is me being ordered out. But well I suppose everyone will just say everything out of their mouths was an order. Conduct unbecoming surely, but insubordination...eh unless they just meant insubordinate conduct which one might think follow after the other. Whatever...At least a class again even if it's regs and conduct. But damn....I got relieved of duty....I got drunk late last night so when I finish this it's 53484.9. Kearia came over. I think she was trying to be comforting, I know nothing happened. I woke up still in my clothes and quite firmly alone. I think I passed out while talking to her....It was awful nice of her. I hope I didn't do anything foolish. Anyways my head hurts like hell. Computer, Save Log.
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| Spect | Why Me? |
Fri Sep 05 |
"Stardate 53487.3, Personal Log, Ensign David Spect" There is a long pause while he takes a deep breath. "Complaints. About me. What did I do wrong? I am only trying to do my job around here. With a slap on the wrist from my boss I was notified that I am no more than someone to watch people sit at a station. That's it. Why do they even have a position here if that is all I am supposed to do." another pause "I just don't understand. I wouldn't have to 'bully' my way into reports if people would go through the proper channels. Let me read something for you *ahem* and I quote from the station XO. ""Examples of Away Missions therefore include the launching of shuttlepods and work bees from the station for external repairs, the beaming of personnel from USS Thomas Paine-C to a pirate vessel for boarding and seizing, the sending of shuttles from USS Aegis-D to a planetary surface for survey, or the escort of cargo from Station 419-Upsilon to a visiting Galaxy-class Starship by cargo shuttle... It seems like some engineers need to read the SOP hmm?" Spect runs to the door of his room and screams at the door. "EXAMPLES OF AWAY MISSIONS THEREFORE INCLUDE THE LAUNCHING OF SHUTTLEPODS AND WORK BEES FROM THE STATIONS FOR EXTERNAL REPAIRS!!! YOU HEAR THAT? HUH? MAYBE -I- SHOULD BE MAKING TO COMPLAINTS FOR YOU PEOPLE TRYING TO GET YOUR WAY AROUND HERE WITH GOING THROUGH PROPER CHANNELS! IT'S RIGHT THERE FOR EVERYONE TO READ!!!!!" another long pause as he reachs for his breath deep down then shrugs and walks back towards the camera, "If anything goes wrong out there who is held accountable? Hmm?" "'Oh I am sorry sir. I didn't know about the repair -mission- because I wasn't informed properly. Well, I mean I -knew- it was going on but I have been told to stay out of those things sir and watch the rotating shifts of my underlings. Oh yeah and to be on the brigde when the captain says 'You. Go.' That is my job to be an expendable person who is not supposed to say or do anything else, oh right yeah, except watch people sit at a terminal then leave and the next person over again.' But of course I won't be held accountable because no one consults me. Sometimes I think the Senior Staff hasn't even read the SOP. Or maybe I am interprepting it wrong, I mean if those words don't mean what I think it they mean, by all means please correct me." Spect walks over to the replicator "Computer, replicate water." The computer chirrups several times. "But I agree with him in some aspects. No one has to answer to me, like I said I wouldn't have nosed my way in if those above me had followed the SOP and notified me. My job is to tap Lieutnant Havaris on the shoulder when I have a problem and tell him because people -do- answer to him. Then he can take whatever action he wants. Or even go to the XO because everyone answers to him. I don't undestand what the big deal is, I really don't. I don't understand why I am being given a stern talking too. Doesn't matter who opened to report or is in charge of the mission, if it falls under my section I need to know. It is just plain nice, courtesy, what is there no more of that around here. The Lieutenant's and Lieutenant Junior Grades get to where they want and all of a sudden they are no longer capable of acts of kindess. You know, even a mercy notification I mean come on. They," he points towards his door, "need a stern talking too." He drops his head into his hands, "Prophets, I sound like O'Reilly." Looking away from the camera he sighs, "Yeah, I can't wait to meet with Havaris, he's supposed to be backing me up. I hope he defended me better then he did in that report. Ouch. Jerk. Computer Save."
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| Poole | Sis |
Fri Sep 05 |
"Computer, begin personal log." The camera comes into focus displaying the living room of Gwen Poole and Nevaren's quarters, dimly lit so it must be during the occupants sleep period. Near the viewport, however, there is movement in the shadows, a small profile that becomes quite distinct once light from the Anomaly hits her blonde hair and pale skin. She's chewing at her lip as she gazes out at the stars, something she's let become a habit (the stargazing that is). "Little Chere has arrived." There's a thoughtful pause here and Gwen corrects herself, "Not so little Chere. Not so young either. She's grown up. Grown up a whole lot, in fact. Some of it is obviously the Academy, but there are... fractures... that I can see. I see matching ones when I look in the mirror. Mum. Da. Beryl." "She -just- came aboard and immediately offered me support, without even a thought to her own worries and problems... The pain she has had to bear, likely alone. I've had Nevaren. Thea. Kusto. Zip. Ilsanna. Eisak... multitudes. A web to keep myself sane." Gwen shifts uncomfortably, causing the PADD doing the recording to wobble. "I'm tired of people worrying about me... they tell me time and time again that I am strong. And so I am. And like I have for most of my life, I'm going to use that strength to help others. Like little Chere. Little sister. Who's helped you through the void left by our parents and lost sister? Jonathon? No. He's on Enterprise. This Brian you mentioned? The man sounds like another one of your conquests, your affairs that you engage in so freely." "I requested you here to help me, to help -us- save that which matters most in this galaxy. I've brought you into Station 419's shared nightmare and I need you whole, a Poole, not Cherry-dearest. Steel, not gold." "So I will do my best to toughen you, to prepare you for the horror, so that you can stand on that line and face Fate here... not in a mockery of a battle in some sector hundreds of lightyears away." "I only hope there is enough time." "Computer, end log and encrypt. Classify level seven and save to my personal files."
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| Hurley | Beginnings |
Sat Sep 06 |
"Christine Hurley's Personal Log, Stardate 53489.4. I don't even know where to begin. Everything's been a whirlwind since I left the relay station. Not that I'm not up for adventure - I'm always up for a good adventure, but a new assignment, new faces, new command, and now.. my Grandfather. "It's harder than it seems to say that, really. I've finally accepted that he's alive, but.. he seems to have a new life for himself. Why would he want a reminder of what he left behind? And Meg, she certainly seems to be friendly. I can't help but like her, really. But, how fair is it to be a constant reminder to either of them to what Grandfather left? "I just don't know how to handle it yet. Of course, they're probably feeling very like-minded. So many thoughts... I can't even separate them right now. For now, though, I'll accept the new friendships. New beginnings are always a bit intimidating and it'll be nice to have some people around to help. "But, for now, I need to go check in with Lieutenant Havaris, I believe his name was." There's a pause from the cheerful voice as some papers are shuffled around. "Ah yes. Havaris. Today is the last day allotted to me to settle in before I have to report for duty, but I think I'm fairly well settled. Look out, 419. Here I come."
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| Lao | Too Far. |
Sat Sep 06 |
The UFP logo disappears to reveal Lao sitting at his desk, with his usual cup of tea in his hand. He looks somehow determined, like someone who has been wandering along, looking for the right road, and finally found it. "Personal log, stardate 53489.4." A pause. "I've been a fool." "The Captain called me into his office. And, quite rightfully, reamed me out. My lovely Atlin sent a letter off that got intercepted, and contained mention of classified projects whose existence I suspected...and ranted about to her and Kotesh and Kula." A sigh. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid," he says, shaking his head. He looks away for the screen for a moment, and then back to it. "I've decided that my reaction to the classified stuff going on around here has been wrong-headed. Utterly. I tried the official channels, I thought, and that gave me a right to go outside them." He sips his tea. "Well...it didn't. It didn't because while I still believe people around here are handling things in a fashion that is less-than-ideal, it doesn't mean they're involved in some dark conspiracy. And if they are...?" he asks, trailing off. "If they are, I'm willing to bet that they think they're doing it for the right reasons." Another sip of the tea. "So, what now?" he asks the viewer. "Now, I undertake a different approach. I'll change things from the inside. The Dominion War hurt Starfleet in a way it'd never been hurt before. And like Germany after World War I, America after September 11th, the Klingons after Praxis, we're excusing dark thoughts with the dark deeds we've suffered. We need people who will yank the 'Fleet, forcibly, back to its roots." A smile. "And I can't do that as a civvie. I can't do it from a brig. And I can't do it as an Engineering ensign." "So, along with a well-deserved apology for my behavior these last few months, I've sent in a request to begin training with an eye to move to Command. Oh, it'll take years, but it'll keep me here, and keep me around to help out the friends I've made during this crisis I see looming in their eyes." He sips his tea. "And I think I'll learn a bit about the hard decisions men like Akeen Ghorev and Tarsis Balin have to make." And then he grins. "Besides...'Captain Peter Lao.' I like the sound of that." He winks at the viewer, and then the UFP logo reappears.
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| Toralin | What Price, A Man's Pagh? |
Sat Sep 06 |
From the handwritten journal of Vedek Toralin Jerrod. "I was approached by Alethea today," it starts the entry in his long, flowing hand. "About a matter that, perhaps, I should have dealt with soon after my arrival. Poor Kusto...exiled. Exiled for doing nothing more than making a mistake, a mistake in war that cost the lives of Bajorans." "The long Occupation cost us so much. Our sense of dignity. The innocence of generations. The lives of millions. Why are we so insistent on letting it cost us more? Do those who exiled Havaris, as a political expediency, ask themselves what part of their pagh they sold off? Do they awake at night, wondering what nightmares shake Havaris Kusto awake? Where he is? What part of him is left on Bajor, unhealed?" "Well, it is time for him to be healed. And past time. I have eschewed politics for a long time, but this needs to be addressed. I hope that, in doing so, I lay the road for all our lost sons and daughters to come home. May the Prophets guide me in this."
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| Chere Poole | The Little Sister |
Sat Sep 06 |
"Computer, begin personal log." The image of a halfway decorated, half torn apart set of quarters, with bits of this and that all over the floor, electic bits of furniture tumbled and sorted in to some sort of seemingly random order, clothes and uniforms thrown over chairs and tables. A blonde woman sits down in front of the computer and curls up in the chair, dressed in a silken, comfortable looking nightgown and robe, her hair touseled from what looks like a restless few hours of sleep. Chere Poole settles down, bleary eyed and exhausted looking, and looks into the computer. "I can't sleep. I can't sleep in this place. First of all, this bed is completely uncomfortable, and I can't even /imagine/ who did the decorating on this place. These posters.. really! I've never met such a clashing-" Just then, Chere's image blurs as she jerks up from her seat and walks away from the computer, with a whirl of her nightgown hitting the computer's screen. The sounds of quick footfalls can be heard, and it is moments before she sits back down again. "It's come to /that/. I'm even playing the shallow little social butterfly who hasn't a care in the world deeper than the cut of her hair and the decoration of her quarters to myself at two o'clock in the morning with nobody to hear me but a bit of machinery." Chere's face is twisted into a passionately angry stance, her full lips now thin and pressed together, her head turned slightly to the side. "Fine, let's try a bit of truth, see how that feels." "I don't even have a private self anymore. I go through the day with that smile on my face, congratulating myself on laughing at people inside, and never letting them what I really think. But in the silence of the night, by myself, I can't even be myself. It's gotten to this point.. where I'm too afraid to voice my own thoughts to the empty air." "I'm here now. This Station 419. Gwen got me here. But for what? Why am I here? I thought, when Gwen first mentioned the idea to me, that I could come here, help her in some way. But now I'm here and I look around.. Gwen doesn't need me. She's her husband, her lover, and mulitude of friends and collegeues willing to help her at the drop of a pin. She's friends in every corner of this station. No matter where I go, I'm recognized as "the little sister."" Chere runs a hand through her already touseled waves and curls. "I don't resent that. I'm glad to see she's happy, established, and loved as she deserves to be loved. But coming here.. it's as if I'm pre judged, since I come here bearing the Poole name. Everyone seems to expect /something/ of me... and I've no idea what it is. They won't get another Gwen, if that's what they're looking for." Chere heaves a tired sigh. "I need Jonathon. Or I need Brian.... oh, Brian, why did I refuse you?" Chere shakes her head, looking off into the distance. "I can't remember anymore. And now it's just too late." Chere lowers her head, and her voice is now slightly muffled. "And now Alec's gone, after Mum and Dad and Beryl.. and now Alec. What happened to our happy little farming family, who quarreled about cows and pigs? What's happened to us?" Chere looks up and ruefuly into the camera. "So this is why I don't do the truth thing with myself. Now I really won't get any sleep. "Computer, end log, save to personal files." The screen goes blank.
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| Atlin | Letter |
Sun Sep 07 |
TO: LT JG AMY BLACKWELL, STARBASE 123 FROM: ATLIN GHOREV, STATION 419-U STARDATE: 53492.1 Dear Amy: Things have been continuing in sort of a rut for a long time. I feel rather like I've been pushing through the same day over and over again for months. It's been depressing; thank Borva for Kotesh. I'm glad to hear that you've gotten the opportunity to go to Deep Space Nine for a nine-month assignment; that's a rather long way away, but I can't possibly expect you to base your career plans on how close you'll be to me! Besides, I don't know if there will be reason for you to visit soon anyway. I have to be honest, I've become rather disillusioned with my nascent quad of late. More depressing, I've become disillusioned with a particular member. One part of me is just gutsick over the whole thing; the other part of me is glad that this whole thing came about before any contracts were signed. The latter part is what's making me think. Peter maintained his conspiracy hoojoo. I spoke with Akeen about the whole thing, and he assured me that he was Akeen as he is always Akeen. I told him I didn't need or want to know anything but... well. I just wanted him to reassure me. And he reassured me. First he asked if it were more likely that there were a conspiracy of some sort that spread all the way up the chain of command, or that one Engineering Ensign didn't have the whole picture. Naturally, the answer is the latter. And Akeen is Akeen. That's really what scared and bothered me so much about the whole thing. One of the truths I hold dear to myself, out here on the edge of Federation space, so far from everything I understand and know, is that Akeen Ghorev lives and dies by his principles. That's still true. And yes, I believe Akeen, "over" Pete, if that's the way that it must be seen. I trust my brother deeply and implicitly. Add to that the fact that I haven't /seen/ Pete for more than a few minutes at a time in months, and what does that say about the future of this relationship? The status of our informally-agreed-upon-and-never-made-official engagement? Nothing good, I'm afraid. What exactly it means in the long term, I haven't yet though out or discovered. All I know is that I don't feel the same way that I once did. I'm disillusioned, and if this relationship can't hold up to a loss of illusion? Well, I guess it's best that I find that out now, isn't it? I'm so lucky to have Kotesh. I think I'd drown without him. I miss you terribly, Amy. Write soon. Love, Atlin
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| Treal | Of pirates and love |
Sun Sep 07 |
Video feed begins, displaying Ensign Kearia Treal's quarters, specifically the couch with the anomaly in the background through the window. "Computer, begin personal log, stardate 53492.6" comes the young woman's voice from off-screen. There is nothing more said, and only the movements of the unseen woman heard. Then, she appears on the viewer, sitting down on the couch. What appears to be something like an icepack is held against the back of her head. She's wearing a simple black silk robe, over her silk PJs. "Ow. Um, wow, so where to begin. Note to self: Wear a helmet when fighting pirates. Why didn't I go to sickbay? Well, it's just a bump on the head. But I missed the rest of the night's fighting." She sighs, pouting slightly. "It was fun, though. I never knew one could have so much fun with such crude weapons as swords and canons. I felt, I don't know, powerful? Dangerous? The thrill that at any moment I could be gutted just as well as I gutted them? Granted, the safties wouldn't allow for me to really be hurt. But you still know. I begin, I think, to understand some of the appeal the Klingons have for it." Wincing, she shifts on the couch, leaning back some more, eyes closing. "He's replaced me," Kearia says softly, releasing another sigh. "Replaced me with a Poole. Why doesn't this surprise me? Gwen Poole couldn't have him, so gave him the next best thing: Her sister. She's been planning this. For how long? Maybe since before I even came on the station. I really don't know how to feel. He never went out with me like that. Never went anywhere with me, unless Meg Donavon or the Gwen Poole were there. Sometimes I wonder. He claims he loved me. Claims I was important to him. And yet, why do I feel like I was the flavor of the month? Even after six years." "I tried to replace him. It didn't work. I don't think there is anything that can fill the void in my heart. I just hope that someday, the breaks will mend over, that the void will no longer drain me dry. That someday, I can love again, like I loved him. For six years..." She shakes her head, "Six years I was his friend. He replaced me in 7 months with Gwen Poole and Meg Donavon. I should have realized he could replace my love just as easily. What does he see in her? Is it just because she's a Poole? Whatever it is, I obviously don't have it. She irritates me. Why? I don't even know her. Maybe I judge her, because of her sister. Do I want to know her? I don't know. Why do I still love Zip? He hurt me deeply, and yet..." Adjusting the icepack on her head with another wince, the Betazoid frowns slightly. "And yet I still want him. I still need him. But it's apparent he doesn't feel the same." She laughs harshly, immediately regretting it, the pain written on her face. "Clocked me good you did, pirate #103. But I will get you back!" she mutters, then coughs. "Um, yea, so... It's hard letting go. I've never had to do it before. Zip was a lot of firsts for me: My first friend at the Academy; My first kiss; My first love; My first relationship; My first failure; My first broken heart. And... I don't know how to handle it." "All wounds heal in time, they say. Question is, will I be alive long enough." "Computer, end log."
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| Gwen Poole | A Letter to Alec |
Mon Sep 08 |
The camera blinks and brings into focus Gwen Poole sitting very close, like she's having a very private conversation with whomever she's sending this message to. Distraught and confused would be the two best adjectives describing her look, because though she is in uniform, it's a bit wrinkled and her hair is in a slight disarray. "Alec," she starts and stops right away, pausing to consider what she's going to say. "Alec, I'm sorry. It took seeing the look on Chere's face to understand just what I had done in disowning you. She was hurt, and you have to know that despite all the stupid things you've done in your life to harm us, we -still- love you and care about you." "Alec... If you want, I do hope you will come back to the family... I was wrong to let it go that far. Instead of talking things out slowly with you, I rushed forward like I used to do. Impulsive little Gwenny." "I'm also writing because there is something wrong with Chere. I don't know what it is, but not for lack of prompting, or asking." Gwen's voice builds in agitation, until she runs her hand through her hair as a distraction, a way of letting herself settle down a bit. "I -just- put my foot in it, Alec. I've made up a simulation of home, but I didn't stop there. I tried to make recreations of us. The children. The program still needs work, but, ... God. She saw them and ran, like I'd done something that burned her. But, Alec, even you know that those years contain some of the fondest memories that I have, and I can't for the life of me understand why she ran away." "And yes, even you were there, Alec. You are a member of this family. But we have a member who is in greater need right now, and for only the second time in my life I don't know what the hell to do." "I need to know what you think. I need to know what Jonathon thinks. I'm writing him his letter next. Please write soon, brother. Please."
|
| Hurley | Tradition! |
Tue Sep 09 |
"Computer, record Personal Log - Christine Hurley, Ensign. Stardate 53497.2." The video feed clicks on to show Christine tapping at the computer, still in uniform, adjusting the recording as necessary. Nothing is too perfect for a Communication's Officer - but then the small view of her desk can be seen. Complete and total disarray. But that doesn't seem to bother the young woman, who steps away from the desk and out of view as she speaks. "I finally had a chance to speak with Lieutenant Havaris. He seems.. grumpy. But, that's alright - he's been busy lately, and probably prone to a bout of grumpiness. We all are, afterall." She steps back over to the desk, lays her datapadd down, removes her compin and tugs at her uniform, stepping back out of view while she continues. "He asked me something that has me thinking. Why did I join Starfleet? Well," there's a sound of rustling as Christine continues talking, a stuffed animal goes flying in front of the camera. "Of course I joined to meet new and interesting people, explore, be a part of our advancements.. but.. is that all?" She reappears, pulling a yellow baby-doll shirt into place as she settles into the chair behind the disorganized desk. "My father was an only child of two Starfleet officers, who as well were children of Starfleet officers. That's just how it is." The young woman pulls a knee up to her chest, fastening a sandal onto the foot while she continues speaking. "You're born, given a name, grow up, go to school, then join Starfleet - either through the Academy or just.. well, join. Then, you're assigned to the neutral zone and either killed or temporally displaced and believed killed." Christine pauses, lifts her eyes to the video recorder and smiles brightly. "Ok. Well, maybe there *are* parts of the tradition that I'm not terribly fond of, but.. Still! It's Tradition! You just.. do it. Well, I did because it was Father's dream for me." Hugging her knee to her chest, she dreamily looks off to the view port, just as the anomaly passes out of view from the station rotation. "He was an only child, too, and joined Starfleet because it was his mother's dream for him. And how could I let him down? This is *exactly* what he wanted for me - what he hoped for me. And, how can I blame him? This is a great job - interesting people, fun toys, exciting work. Well. Usually. "And!" her eyes light up and she leans in towards the video recorder, as though about to share a secret while she gleefully whispers, "I'll be cross-training in Engineering! Eeeee!!" Excitement overflowing, she bounces up from her chair and crosses around it, leaning over the back to face the video recorder. "I'm *so* excited! Sooo much to learn. I *need* to go tell Meg! Computer, end log and save. I'll ammend later." Before the recording winks out, Christine can be seen tugging on the other sandal hurriedly while hopping towards the door.
|
| Treal | Crossing lines |
Thu Sep 11 |
Kearia Treal appears on the screen, hair slightly mussy, as she works on removing her shoes while standing - more like hopping around. "Computer begin... Personal log! Uh, insert stardate upon completion, this is short." She doesn't sound the least bit happy. One shoe is flung away, as she continues, "You try to be a friend. Try to show someone that life still exists outside of their quarters. Try to show /yourself/ the same. That friends aren't as scarce as you believe. And what does he do? He KISSED me! What gave him the idea he could cross that line? Especially since it was the first time we really spent time together? Dinner, dancing. Keeping him at a distance... I was trying to be nice. Hell, see if I try that again with anyone. You can all spiral into the pits of dispair for all I care. No one, absolutely no one touches me without my permission. I don't care if someone told you otherwise. The next time it happens, someone's getting hurt. And it sure as hell isn't going to be me!" Throwing the second shoe, she stomps off camera, and yells, "Computer, end log!" and the screen goes blank.
|
| Gr'laH | Something Ventured |
Thu Sep 11 |
The Klingon Trefoil flashes brutally across the screen before diffusing to reveal Gr'laH pacing the floor of his quarters. His robes and armor are all properl hung, his hair unbraided, himself wearing only a floor length fur dressing gown. His eyepatch is off, revealing the rather much improved scarring beneath. Federation doctors did wonders to it, really, if you'll forgive the empty and closed socket. His empty sleeve is pinned up to his shoulder as he turns to pace the other way, a goblet of bloodwine in his hand. "Is it too much to hope? A woman that knows me. Sees me for who and what I am. Respects me because of it. That listens to me -- and moreso -- enjoys what I have to say? I thought it so. Once." Gr'laH lifts his goblet for a sip, pausing to adjust the sash hanging across his armor on its rack with a pair of fingers. "After Gharas died, I believed there could never be another like her. And there isn't. There never could be. She was... unique. Among all women." He moves off again, staring down into his goblet. "Churas is unique. Qe'met is unique. Anu is unique. YaSharra Gellan is unique. Gharas was exemplary, yes. For things I admired and treasured and still love. But she is dead. Gone to Sto-vo-kor. And I am here, these years since, with a family to raise. A daughter in need of a mother. A man in need of company." "YaSharra has been here for me without expectations for some time now. Listening to me. Advising me. About my daughters, about my life. Not in her office, not from her uniform, but as a person. Time saw me seeking her out to a greater degree. Excuses to see her as she stepped from a room. A chance meeting in this corridor or that. YaSharra is in the Gardens? I do have a report to deliver to the FDS offices, after all." Gr'laH chuckles softly for a moment. "It must have been transparent to her, but she neither discouraged it nor encouraged it. She met it. To her credit, it was a simple matter, simply seeking her out and speaking to her. It was never an issue as to /if/ I might, but what we would discuss when eventually I came upon her. And such things we could discuss." "Family. Her home. Her career. My home, my career. Her niece, now dead. Her lover, now dead. My wife. My daughters. The war. Her future. Fears and worries. Dreams and desires. Poetry, art, opera. She has the ability to engage me in a conversation and leave me wondering where the hours went. And that is how we spent our time, from time to time, exchanging jokes over drinks or warm looks over a picnic blanket. And where, I hear the forum asking, is the blood? The roar? The challenge? Where is the test of resolve? Where indeed, but in admitting to myself what this meant. She waited for me to ask, and then she agreed to the asking. She waited for me to come to her, without pretenses, and then she delighted in it. She waited for me to ask to kiss her. And then she kissed me." Gr'laH's grin tries to be a glower and fails. "And now it is my turn to wait, I suppose. For her to decide if she wishes this undertaking of ours to be more than whatever it may be now. She worries for attachments. As much for her heart as for their welfare. I assume it is because of the war, because of the death of her lover before her. She is not bonded for marriage, nor would she leave here to seek it out. I do not believe she has an Imzadi. Such matters will come out as they may. In due course. I, for one, am not worried. I, for one, have no fear in this, or concern. She would not mislead me. Lead me on. Deceive me with her intents or availability. I have no need to press her for admissions, she admits what she must. It is one of our greatest similarities. And an excellent basis for such things. Honesty." "So I have come to court her by her custom. And the game is afoot. Her only demand, that I be whom I am for her. Her only test that I express the desire to move these boundaries forward. No great expectations, no misguided acts, no clumsy tumble towards a bed. Sensible, timely, patient, genuine affection. Left to grow like her plants while she was away. The questions asked, but allowed to answer themselves. The kisses sweet, the confidences assured, the discretions promised. So I wait with her. We wait together, to see what the answer will be. More? Or this? Or friends again? What an excellent question. Full of only good answers. And no rush. Never a rush." Gr'laH is smiling down at his mug at this point. "I am happy. Computer, end log and save." And so it does.
|
| Gellan | Growth |
Thu Sep 11 |
"Computer, begin personal log." YaSharra Gellan sits at her desk, hair slightly damp and dressed in a crisp, clean uniform. Sitting on the desk before her, among other personal things like holographs, a tall vase containing flowers of deep violet. And upon her face, a content smile that speaks volumes. Her voice picks up again, carrying with it a girlish lilt of warmth. "He brought me flowers!" The smile grows into a beaming smile. "Flowers." A soft chuckle follows. "For some that may be such a small thing. But for me..for /him/..it is no small thing. He is a Klingon. A warrior. And..he brought me flowers." She carefully pulls one of the flowers from the vase, mindful of it's thorns. Leaning back in her chair, she contemplates the flower, the stem, turning it gently in her hands. "Bloodlotus, he called them. From Qo'nos." She traces the outline of a thorn with her fingertip. "A study of contrasts, they are. Much like himself. Much like..us." The smile flashes again. "Symbolic in more ways than just the bringing of flowers, I think. The gentle presence of the flower, protected by the harsh vigil of the thorn. And yet..they are one, the same." She shakes her head, grinning sheepishly and leaning forward again to replace the bloodlotus into the vase with the others. "I sound like a hopeless romantic. But. It is a good feeling, when I take a good look at it. Something I have not felt in..a long time." Sharra sits back again, yet her gaze does not waver from the vase. Nor does the smile fade. "Gr'laH. I have called him my steadying sail in the storm..and he is. How many times now have my feet carried me to find him, when I felt the torrent of despair around me would carry me away? I have sought out that rock of stability, and yet..he is so much more. It has been Gr'laH the poet, the orator, who's wisdom has given me direction for my own thoughts of late. Gr'laH the warrior who's strength has drawn me like an anchor, given me hope that /some/ things cannot or will not be destroyed. And for all of this..he asks nothing of me, but for me to ask him to stand beside me. To be that which I need. I told him that I would ask. When the time came. When my fear of the future ebbed away. And yet..today, I do not fear that future. Will I tomorrow?" A quiet sigh slips from her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, slouching down into the chair. "I miss him already. There was the sense that he belonged here..or I there..and now I feel bereft of his presence. But there will be time." Her head nods slowly. "There will be time. How did he put it..? My flowers are in your water, he said." She smiles again, unfolding herself from the chair to stand up, and reaches out a hand to gently touch one of the flowers. "Now..I must find a way to make them grow." Her hand drops to her side and she turns from the desk toward the door. "Computer, end log. Save."
|
| Medes | Normal? |
Fri Sep 12 |
"Computer, begin personal log, Lt. JG Alethea Ruth Medes, audio only, Stardate 53503.3." A soft rustling of sheets: Thea's sitting in bed recording this, and she keeps her voice low. The sound of Havaris snoring occasionally interrupts her. "I fell asleep with my hearing aids on tonight. I never do." A pause. "Woke up about two hours ago because the clock was ticking too loudly. The clock. Was ticking. Too loudly." She laughs softly. "Makes me feel really strange, when I think about it. And it makes me think about what Zip said. Do I hear normally?" "I dunno. And as much as Kusto tries to reassure me that this is just, you know, nothing I need to think about, that it's all normal, that... I don't know. So much roiling around inside my head. Add to that the birth of Mauno, and how... distant. I am. From everyone who isn't Kusto, and I wonder if my tendency to turn off my ears and turn them back on is reflective of my tendency to turn on the need for social interaction and turn that off again, too." Thea sighs, and there's a rustling of sheets, the brief sound of a kiss delivered to Kusto, and a soft murmur in response from her husband. "That's not good for everyone else, and it's not good for me. I can't just... wander away from people when social interaction gets to be too overwhelming for me the same way that I turn off sound when it gets to be too much." "I just don't know any other way. But it's not right. So I'll have to learn. Otherwise? I'll just keep being a really awkward sort of friend. You can count on me in a crisis, but can you count on me for a cup of coffee?" "Bah. I'm no good at this stuff. Computer, end log and save."
|
| Cross | A Letter Home |
Fri Sep 12 |
To: David and Sophia Cross, Darby Township, Pariah From: Lieutenant J.G. Micheal Cross, Station 419-U. Hey, Mom and Dad. It's been a long time, I know. It's been over a year since I've written to you. It wasn't right of me holding off. You must have been worried sick that some starfleet officer was going to walk up to your door and tell you that you had lost your son. You didn't. I'm still here. I just didn't know how to write this. Yes, after everything that Aunt Dorothy has taught me, I didn't know how to write it. The communication array here is repaired and operational, so I lost my last excuse to myself. I'll start with the hardest part first. You know about Tina, I wrote about her in my other letters. I told you how crazy I was for her. There is no easy way to say this. She's dead. I had to watch her die and I couldn't save her. It took me a long time to cope with that. All our plans or ideas, they were all gone and I didn't know what to do anymore. I ended up leaving the Clarkstown, I just couldn't stay any longer. I got a transfer out of the Alpha Quadrant. I'm back home here on a station in the Beta Quadrant. If you stand out the field and look directly south away from the cluster and look for a bright star that is right of your field of vision I'm in that area. Not that close, but still you get the general idea where your son is. I like working here on the station. I'm the Astrometrics officer here, so I get to look at the stars. I've made some friends here. Really good friends. Maybe in the next letter, I'll tell you more about them. They have been a godsend. There is good people here and I can feel like I can live again. It feels like a home. Hopefully, I've found my stars here again and can rebuild myself a future. So tell me about home. I'm guessing by now, Dad is working on getting ready for harvest, unless he is off refurbishing someone's combine that they think they can get one more year out of. Did you get anything new of the gardens this year, Mom? I had a "Professor" here ask me about tomato plants and I immediately thought of you. Maybe you can transmit some of your techinques for him. I'm sure he would appreciate it. Tell Aunt Dorothy I'm still learning. There is something new everyday. I think that is it for now. Oh, so no one argues if you got it right, I'm transmitting a star chart to find me out here and I'm also transmitting some of my stories home. I know Aunt Dorothy will correct them, but she always enjoyed that. Until the next letter, Micheal. <<Files attached>>
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| Chere Poole | A letter to a friend |
Fri Sep 12 |
"Stay where you are. Nothing's wrong now. No panic attacks." The light face of Chere Poole slides into view in front of the camera as she curls up in the chair, drawing her knees, dressed in her slightly wrinkled uniform up to her chest and placing her chin on top. "I haven't pulled apart any computer cores yet. I think the worst is over." Chere lays her cheek against the top of her knees, her eyes looking sideways into the camera now. "I told you... not very coherently, what happened. Gwen.. she showed me me. That is.. when I was four years old. And not just me. Alec, Jonathan, herself.. all of us around a breakfast table eating. I'm sure.. I'm sure you remember my reaction from a few days ago. It was just too much.." Her head moves slightly against her leg. "I couldn't handle it.. seeing us like that.. I'd just made myself accept that it would never be again. I'd just pushed it all away after I nearly destroyed the wiring on the Endeavour." Chere smiles wanly. "You remember that, don't you?" From the look on her face, it is not an experience that the viewer is likely to forget. "Gwen ripped open that wound, that one I thought I'd closed so well. She showed me just how fragile the healing had been, how badly it still hurt beneath. I knew it was there, but.. Gwen made me acknowledge it." Chere grimaces and runs a hand through her hair. "I did what I always do when I feel something deeply. I went cold all over. Oh, I was awful to her, Brian. I couldn't see past my own wounds and hurt to see what she was trying to do. I lashed out, hurt her as badly as I felt I had been hurt." Chere shakes her head. "Well, we always knew I was a vindictive little piece of work, huh?" Chere gives the camera a very puzzled look. "But Gwen.. she didn't give up like she should have. She never did know how to do that, even when someone was a hopeless case. Even with me." Chere smiles, the first ray of sunshine in this entire message, wondering, somewhat unbelieving. Her words come out hesitantly at first, and then in a very un-Chere like rush. "We're.. we're going to try to be a family again. I haven't lost the only sister I've got left in this universe.. I thought I had so many years ago. I couldn't ask for anything more.." Chere bites her lip on what is struggling to be a huge smile. "And yet.. I got it anyway. I got a brother, too! Alec. Yes, I know, I know, the bastard I always talk about. I /know/ I can't spend more than a half an hour in his company without wanting to make an attempt on his life, but he's my /brother/. I can't let him go.. no more than Gwen could let me go. She asked him back. Gwen gave me back my brother! Dirty jerk that he is... I just.. I keep remembering now the Alec at our breakfast table who sat me on his knee for meals and sat me on his horse when we rode home from the fields." Chere gives the camera a determined look. "Maybe he can be found again. I'm going to try. I /have/ to try." "I've got two brothers now, a sister.. and a purpose. For the first time since... everything... I feel that I'm ready to heal." Chere's determined look still retains the glow of her last statements as she leans forward a bit towards the camera. "It's time to remember what it's like to just... be. I haven't been in so long." Her eyes take on a mischevious look, the first time during this whole communication. "Besides, now I can concentrate on /truly/ important things like.. all the manuvers Gwen's and another friend of mine are going to teach me so when I see you next I can finally kick your rear.. and /more/ importantly... the /fascinating/ male population of this station." She tosses the camera a broadly exaggerated, teasing wink and a playful blown kiss. "Good night, my friend. Little Cherie out."
|
| Jal'ahmi | To the Kids |
Sat Sep 13 |
A Romulan male sits comfortably in his desk chair, eyeing the the computer terminal across from him with an unfamiliar LCARS display. His head shakes from side to side as he contemplates. It seems even his own language has abandoned him for the moment. At least in print form. "Computer", he begins in slightly accented Romulan, leaning forward to read the display more carefully, "initiate personal communique, Jal'ahmi, stardate 53506.9. Encrypt, security code Lima India Alpha Romeo Alpha". That being said, the Vulcanoid leans back in his chair to simply narrate. "At first glance from the external view, Station 419-Upsilon appeared inadequate. For a man the likes of me, accustomed to business transactions numbering in hundreds and sometime thousands per day, I just couldn't see this assignment as worthy of my time or my presence. Through the words of my cousin, Ambassador to the Federation or not, I do not wish to spend my time frivolously when I could be doing so much more for my family and the Empire as a whole at home. Then again, should this venture prove promising, I have decades to see it through. And who else would be able to do a better job to reach that goal than I? Perhaps they are right, it will take an experienced merchant to cut through the many barriers between the Federation of Planets and the Romulan Empire. Your mother and I have been cleared through security with no surprises. I was mildly impressed with their security systems thus far and I'm not quite as concerned with their incompetence as I was before the move. Not to say my evaluation is at all thorough at this point, but I don't believe your Mother or I are in any sort of present danger. As far as privacy, I am uncertain whether we are being watched or not. For the moment, it doesn't concern me. I've been far too busy inspecting the more dangerous aspects of life aboard this station. We believe we have collected enough information to allow Diasl to join us, so you may depart with him at your convenience. I believe we will have our quarters properly arranged and decorated by the time he arrives. We can't quite believe how drab it is compared to our suite at the Dorvek estate. I suppose I will miss the cheery atmosphere at home and the fresh scents of the arboretum, but this will have to suffice. I'm sure both of you will miss home just as I did when I was passing my rites of Serona. I bid you well, I must return to my duties as I am sure you must as well. The Romulan then turns in his chair to look over the room before him. "Computer, save communique and send to Abilai, Kaeton and Diasl at Rom'laas". He then pauses to reflect, taking a deep sigh as he stands to his feet to begin working on the room.
|
| Cristobal | Personal Log |
Sun Sep 14 |
Text message only. Lieutenant (jg) Nathan Cristobal's Personal Log. Stardate 53507.8 I'm in the Neutral Zone. I'm surrounded by people, some few of whom I count as friends. And I'm sitting, and drinking, alone. I've been aboard the station for about ten months now, and I'm still...distant is the best word. From everybody except Churas. With her, there are no borders uncrossed. But everyone else... I blame no one but myself, for this. Others have opened themselves up to me. Kusto. Gwen. Loni. Even Gr'laH. Loni, I shut out. Kusto, I brushed off with bad jokes. We haven't really talked outside of work since then. Which didn't keep him from taking me on as his assistant department head, but the distance is there. Gwen I practically ignored. Too damn busy trying to show off my swordsmanship. Gr'laH... Let's be honest here, my relationship with my father-in-law will never be anything but adversarial. We have found it best to let our mutual respect function as a backdrop for bickering. Which works well enough. Bickering about the aspects of each other we find annoying helps smooth over the parts of each other we REALLY don't like. The closest friend I have aboard this station who I haven't shut out is Thea. And that's largely because I don't HAVE to actively build a wall with her, since she's like me in this respect. We'll never cross each other's boundaries, since we're both so used to defending our own. Re-reading what I've written so far, you'd think I was about to burst into tears of self-pity. I'm not. In many ways, I'm happier than I've ever been in my life. I accepted my lack of sociability years ago, and have greatly reduced the amount of time spent attempting to endear myself with others for endearment's sake alone. Really, if I wanted, I could go over and inject myself into the conversation Gwen and Nevaren are having (or more accurately, the conversation Gwen is having and Nevaren is tolerating) about her and Thea. I am choosing not to. I will attempt to be somewhat more open outside my marriage, but I will retain my solitude when I wish it. It's the age-old question of individual freedom versus the good of the community as a whole, on a nanopolitical scale. Christ, that's utterly preposterous. This is why you don't drink and log. End Log.
|
| Quin | She looks like Sevelle |
Sun Sep 14 |
The LCARS display turns on with a soft beep, a voice originates from someplace else in the room "Computer, begin personal log. It's my second day on the station, we've already been on an op. It was here at the station though, nothing big. We just removed some Ensign from engineering. He was holed up in the jeffries tubes. He tried to blow the place to hell when he realized we were coming in after him. The team is very cohesive" A topless figure glides past the screen his only attire appears to be a pair of loose silky olive green pants. "I think I'm going to like it here. The CO is a man named Golden, he's an operator for sure, as if his chocice OX doesn't say enough... Watching him take charge and work on this op sealed the deal. The QX is Tak. I can't believe it. It's been... what? A year maybe two sense I've seen him. He also got a promotion so he's Lt. Takamura now, not just Cadet 'mine bait' Takamura. It's good to see him again and despite having to choke down the little twinge of pride that I'm serving under a man who finished the academy three years after I did. I supose they took his time in the enlisted ranks into account too. Oh well, I'm sure he deserved the pip" Quin walks by the vid screen again, this time plopping down in a chair in front of it, he slides down in the chair and folds his hands behind his head. A light grin crosses his lips causing his cheeks to dimple a bit. "Tak is a good man though, I can't wait to get down to the nitty-gritty with him and the rest of this team. After today I'm sure there'll never be a dull moment around here." The grin leaves Quins face there is a perceptible change in his expression and attitude. He looks down at his feet then back up at the terminal. "I met a woman here who looks like Sevelle, her name is Treal. A Betazed apparently... I wish I had known that /before/ I started looking at her butt." He rolls his eyes "They really oughta wear signs or something. Maybe I shouldn't talk about this right now, I just got a letter from her and Chava wondering if I got my transfer. Apparently they just had their first son..." Quin shakes his head and reaches a hand out to the terminal The screen goes blank
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| Gwen Poole | And now for something completely d |
Sun Sep 14 |
The Elder Poole is in the middle of a dream, or rather more accurately a nightmare. Sweat pours down her brow as she stands in the middle of Operations, listening to reports of casualties coming in. Names of friends and family are read off, the last three Alethea Medes, Nevaren, and Chere Poole. There's a cold feeling in her chest and she looks down to find a sword plunged messily through her rib cage into her heart. She can't breath, there's only the taste of blood in her mouth, red-tinged spittle at her lips and when she looks up from the weapon, it's a blue crystalline nightmare staring back at her from the other end. A Lithian. The terror she is feeling strangles her scream in real life as she jolts awake, clasping her chest and breathing raggedly. Nevaren starts to wake next to her, but she just whispers, "No," and leaves the bedroom for the living room. Near tears, but not quite, she flips on the computer terminal and checks the time. She mutters to herself, "It's only been half an hour. I can't sleep, like I told Thea I couldn't," before fiddling with the terminal again. Some music begins to play lightly so as to not wake the two other sleepers in the family-sized quarters. The song is old Terran, 20th century. Placeable as a Beatles tune, 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps.' Next, she flips on the personal log, rubbing at the same spot on her chest where the rapier had been buried in her nightmare. "Another nightmare... for the love of all that is sacred, I need sleep right now. I wish I /could/ sleep, but I can't. Neither can Thea... unsurprising." "I told Nevaren that what she and I have is this symbiotic relationship. It's a natural sort of thing... if it were any closer, I'd suspect that we were somehow fraternal twins. She's short. I'm short. She's stubborn. I'm stubborn. She's quirky. I'm quirky. She wants a baby, now I can't make that voice in the back of my head shut up about having one for myself. She withdraws from everyone... And I start doing the same." "She... is like Beryl... at least to me... and I wish, sometimes, that I had the courage to tell her so, that she is ... like a part of me. When I lost Beryl it was like losing my heart. It'd be the same if Thea were gone. But, I can only say that she's like a sister to me. I'm too much of a coward to say more." Shifting a bit in her seat in front of the terminal, Poole pauses thoughtfully here and nods to herself before continuing. "Chere is becoming more like Beryl as well... much closer, and I'm very pleased about that. I can trust her... and love her and feel safe about it, because she's family. I don't know if she realizes, but the mere fact that she came here when I asked... it... I don't have the words to describe how I feel about that... and it eats me up inside when I can't tell her, even moreso when I keep things from her, like my will... leaving her as my heir should I fall, which in all likelyhood I will." Sighing breathily, she runs both hands through her hair as she continues. "It just bugs me that I can't be completely honest and open all the time... It's ... just not possible. I can only hope and pray that those I love can understand this. My fundamental flaw." This seems to quiet her and after a few more silent moments listening to the guitar playing of Eric Clapton, she turns the log off. Once the song is over she also turns that off and shuffles back towards bed, calmer than when she woke up.
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| Harris | Computer Log: Crew Quarters 812 |
Sun Sep 14 |
Activity - Stardate 53509.2 15:31:06:38: Input recieved - Program Delete Harris Honeymoon Confirm File Deletion: <Y>ES OR <N>O Y File Deleted. 15:31:06:39: Input recieved - Directory Delete Wedding Confirm Directory Deletion: <Y>ES OR <N>O Y Directory Deleted. 16:42:06:12: Input recieved - Directory Restore Wedding Confirm File Restore: <Y>ES OR <N>O Y Directory Restored. 16:43:18:56: Input recieved - File Restore Harris Honeymoon Confirm File Restore: <Y>ES OR <N>O Y File Restored. 16:55:27:02: Input recieved - File Create Apology Note 16:59:18:22: Input recieved - File Apology Note queued for transmission FROM: INBOX TO: INBOX - ENS Donavon, Megan File transmitted.
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| Lux | Executive Toys |
Mon Sep 15 |
The emerald sigyl of the Ferengi Alliance derezzes and we are left with a scene of Lux in the holodecks. He stands in his shirtsleeves on a small floating disk in a black void. In his right hand is a holographic replica of a standard FDS service disruptor pistol. "Computer begin program." He says and small coloured lights begin to whiz about the room as the thin Ferengi takes aim with his pistol and picks them off one by one. He is obviously warming up on a level below his shooting ability. As he practices he begins to speak once more. "Computer, begin log, Liquidator Lux personal log, Stardate 53511.3. I got word from the home office that Liquidator Zarp on Rynka is actually begin negotiations with General Nolhan and that apparently, the good general is all over his new cushy job description just like I knew he would be." He blasts a few more whizzing lights. "I guess I should be happy. I mean, in the end we're ultimately getting what we want but still, it would have been nice to actually go to Rynka and give this lobeless hack the wind up myself. It is my job and I'm good at it. Hell, Senator Nol'vok never would have gone anywhere near that slush fund if I hadn't convinced him that he could get away with it. Alas," Several more lights die horribly. "That was then and this is now I suppose. I should be more satisfied, I'm making money hand over fist in this little backwater station that nobody ever thought could turn a profit. I've bought out the Rynkans and I've gotten to meet the Kunra. Still...I didn't join the Comm Authority to be a diplomat who sits in an office all day drinking expensive booze. Okay...to be honest I did always sort of plan on the expensive booze part but that's neither here-nor-there. I'm a Liquidator and it's been close to three years since I've Blackscrolled anybody. A little more hands-on work would be a welcome addition to my daily routine. " The target practice routine runs out and Lux is left standing on his platform brooding. "No...this isn't working, this target practice needs something. The lights are dull...OH, I know." He says, a malicious pirhanna-like grin crossing his face. "Poor People! Computer run personal target sequence Executive Stress Reliever one-zero-niner." The disk fades away to nothingness and Lux is suddenly in a dirty alleyway in some seedy part of some planet's urban area. Suddenly in the doorways and windows of the surrounding buildings appear holographic images of people of various species in various ratty, filthy clothing. They taunt the targetter with inflammitory statements like, "Won't you please help?" or "If you could spare a slip of Latinum I could eat today." The paupers are intermingled with fat, whiney looking bleeding heart types who spout such tripe as "Redistribution of wealth is the government's chief responsibility." or "The mark of a great civilization is how well it takes care of it's underprivaledged" The latter one never even gets to finish his sentence. Lux's demeanor takes on a lighter if somewhat more hostile bent as he proceeds to send the poor folks a'packin'. "You know, I volunteered to go to Rynka to look into this slugslime but the home office said no. So I waited to see what they came up with. I stalled and I stalled and I stalled up here to buy those yahoos time..." A holographic old Ferengi woman screams "MY BABY!" as Lux vaporizes her little barker. "Let's face it grandma..." Lux sneers, "one less mouth to feed is one less mouth to feed." He continues his killing spree, "I come up with the perfect wind-up for Nohlly-boy and they don't even let me come down to Rynka to swindle him myself. I'd better head up our end of the mission to actually hand this pauper's son over to the Klingons or heads will roll. If they think they're putting /me/ out to pasture they've got another thing coming. If I wanted to sit back and be happy about the accomplishments of my peers I'd have joined Starfleet!" He pops a lean looking Benzite holding a sign which read "Will work efficiently for food." for emphasis. Lux snarls and looks for a new target. "And if one more person on this spinning /space-commune/ asks me if I've seen Havaris Jiasha's new baby or if I've seen her since she gave birth I'm going to have the Authority smuggle me a real disruptor!" As if on cue an impoverished looking Bajoran panhandler who looks disturbingly like Havaris Kusto appears in a doorway and says, "When people don't share it makes the Prophets cry." Lux kneecaps him before disrupting his head while shouting, "GET A JOB, HIPPY!!!" The scene fades to the holosuite's usual yellow grid over an otherwise featureless black room as the training program ends. Lux takes a deep breath as the disruptor fades away too. "Ah, much better. You know, I think I'm going to put this out of my mind for the rest of the day and treat myself. I'm going to go home, pour myself a drink, take a nice hot sonic shower then check my files for expendable empoyees who've annoyed me in the past 6 months and fire somebody before dinner." He smiles, "Somebody with a family, I think. Computer, end log and encrypt."
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| Lethara | A letter 'home'. |
Mon Sep 15 |
A young, redheaded Bajoran, with blue eyes which seem to be far older than her years, plops down onto the sofa in her quarters and pulls the beat-up, obsolete model Ferengi PADD from her belt, tapping in a few commands before beginning to speak. "Computer, upload and initiate encryption subroutine Lethara-Alpha from my PADD, and then commence recording, audio-only." She pauses a few moments, waiting for the chirrup of acknowledgement from the computer, clears her throat softly, and then begins to speak again. "Hello, Leora and Dolan... It's Lethara Yanna. I know, I know... it's been far too long since you heard from me, and you're probably worried sick. Well... don't be. I'm just fine. After I left the colony on the Starskimmer, I decided to stay aboard for a while, as a crewmember. Old Jonas was certainly happy to have me aboard... for more reasons than one. But you don't want to hear all those sordid details, I'm sure. After all, you're both well aware of how he leered at me, Leora, and every other female in the colony, every time he landed. "But in all honesty... it was worth it. We both know I never /really/ fit in there... I was never truly one of you, even though the two of you were both extremely kind, and took me in, and did your best to help make me feel welcome. I am who I am, and I'll do -whatever- it takes to survive, even go to lengths none of the Maquis would ever dream of. Fraternizing with the damned Cardassians. Hell.... I'll even fraternize with the Federation. After a couple of years, Jonas, his crew, and I got mutually sick of one another, so, when we stopped at this Federation station out on the fringes, by Romulan and Klingon space, I decided it was time to go. I think I'm going to look around for a job here, and maybe stay for a while. One thing's for certain... the quality of life here looks a lot more appealing than the Colony... or on the Starskimmer." Lethara holds up a forestalling hand, even though she's well aware it's an audio-only message. "Now... wait. Hold on just a minute, before you go off on me. I /know/ how evil you think the Federation is. I /know/ they abandoned their people in the DMZ to the Cardassians. But the more I look around here, the more I think that it's maybe not as bad as it seems. And if it is... well. Maybe I'll come across some info that might be useful to my old 'friends'. Even though no one but you ever really trusted me. And don't worry... even if I do decide that I like it here, and want to stay... your secret's safe with me. What little I know, will stay within me--I won't betray you to the Federation. "Of course... I'd really prefer it if you kept all this under your hat, so to speak... After all, the rest of them don't share your trust, and I don't really need them to send someone out here after me, to make /sure/ I won't talk. Maybe after I've been here for a while... my silence will prove my loyalty, and I can come back and actually be a part of the group, instead of an outsider who just lives there. In the meantime... maybe I'll see if I can't secure you some Romulan ale. Or some real Bloodwine, instead of that watered-down, replicated stuff that Jonas used to sell. Anyway... I'd better get going. I need to search for a job. You two take care of each other... I hope to hear back from you soon. I miss you. Love, Yanna." After the redhead finishes recording the message, she sighs softly, and nods her head slightly. Then, clearing her throat once more, she says, "Computer, upload and execute transmission protocol Lethara-Beta from my PADD." After a moment, the computer chirrups, and the female voice of the Federation computer system intones, "Message encrypted and sent."
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| Javits | Revelations |
Tue Sep 16 |
The Federation insignia, with its blue background, fades to reveal a uniformed Nick slumped in a jeffries tube, active tricorder held in one hand and a micro-welder held in the other. The lights are dim, with the wane illumination of a nearby light panel washing over his features, revealing faint outlines of the tube wall and an open access panel behind him. "Personal log, Stardate 53514.2." Looking to the camera, he shakes his head, frowning in a sullen, derisive manner, "It's time I admitted it to myself. Much to my dismay, work has become my life. My days are a long sequence of diagnostics, alignments, more diagnostics, preventive maintenance inspections, and silence. Even my personal logs are little more than colour commentary of my duties. Even my few counseling sessions here have been work related. While I certainly enjoy my work and I've nothing to regret in performing my duties to the absolute best of my abilities, it's the silence I can do with less of. It's time I lowered my shields and learned to enjoy life in more ways than simply taking pleasure in pursuing integrity above all else, service before self, and excellence in all I do. It's time I listened, /really listened/, to people when they start advising me that I need to relax. I've heard and summarily ignored these very words in far too many instances already. It's time to acknowledge the fact that I could very well allow myself to be a friends with people here aboard the station, even with my crewmates, and to receive their friendship in kind, perhaps even venture into close friendships." "The cat would be a poor substitute. Computer, end log and save." The view of the jeffries tube fades, replaced by the Federation insignia once more.
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| Donavon | Opened Letter to Home |
Wed Sep 17 |
Dance as if no one's watching, sing as if no one's listening, and live everyday as if it were your last Mic, I wish I could write you now, telling you that I am still following this old Irish proverb Pa taught us. The truth is as I am opening my heart and soul to one I implacably trust and love, control to specific barriers has collapsed. Meggy more and more is resurfacing despite my good intentions. I've lashed. I've yelled. I've tormented. Pride and a good front are carrying me forward. But this cannae soften the truth. This cannae erase what happened. It's my fault and I have to pay for it. So now I live out everyday trying to make up for these faults. Because..in the end, he was right. <<Message times out and never is sent>>
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| Harris | Exhaustion |
Wed Sep 17 |
"..Then hoist every sail to the breeze,/Come, shipmates, and join in the song;/Let's drink while the ship cuts the seas,/To the gale that may drive her along." A golden ring, fashioned into the shape of two hands supporting a crowned heart, spins into the view of the log recorder, impacting into the wooden base supporting a model of a Constitution-class starship before it wobbles to the surface and settles. For moments it lays there before fingers appear to claim it and whisk it away. Then the view starts to rotate - a chair, a wall covered with pictures, and finally a weary Harris on a couch. "Personal log, Stardate 53517.0." A hand moves to the bridge of the old man's nose as if to stave off a headache... or perhaps ease one in progress. "It's quiet tonight. No drinks in the Neutral Zone, no coffee in the Warp Core, no fighting in quarters 812." The dark circles under the old man's eyes only deepen as he reclines back against the cushions. "I'm alone, for the first time in days, and I can't say that I'm unhappy. I'm tired. Drained. Completely running on adrenaline and willpower, not desire to march on." Robert sinks further into the softness of the furniture, almost as if he wishes to be sucked into the cushiness of the leather that supports him. "Of course, everything would be okay if I could just keep my thrice-damned temper in check. I'm certain Meg didn't mean to throw me over the table. It's my fault, really... I shouldn't have grabbed her from behind when she couldn't hear me coming. I shouldn't have threatened, at least by proxy, to halt the wedding preparations. But, of course... I don't think of things like that until after I've opened my mouth." He grunts. "Rushing in where angels fear to tread is a bad habit that I've never grown out of, I guess." Sleep threatens to claim him, clouding his eyes and forcing them closed. "I lost my temper and caused a chain reaction that got Meg in trouble. Again. Of course, it didn't help that I, oh high and mighty Robert Harris, told her that she *would* see the counselor or I would call her superiors. Because I'm obviously so much more in touch with the world and my feelings than she is." A snort escapes his lips. "What a hypocrite I've become, especially because she asked me to leave her be, and I made up my mind to just toss her away completely. She's stayed with me through thick and thin, and I'm cutting and running at the first sign of trouble." "Coward." He fades into quiet a moment, his breathing becoming peaceful and regular until he forces himself awake again. "Thank God Alley was here to talk some sense into me. I would have walked out that door and into eternity if she hadn't been here, out of nothing but my own selfish pride." He starts to drift before a sleepy murmur adds, "What a fool I am to think I should walk away from the best woman in the universe. Robbie... you're an idiot." The drowsiness claims Harris now, tipping him onto his side on the couch. At least five minutes of silence pass before a breath of a whisper escapes his lips. "I love you..." The rest is the exhausted slumber of an old man, curled into a ball on his couch as the light from the anomaly washes over him. Just before the log times out, his hand rolls open and the tightly clenched Claddaugh ring rolls from his palm and onto the deck. Finally, the log cuts to black.
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| Zuh'raah'do | a day in the life |
Thu Sep 18 |
The scene fades in with Zuh'raah'do busy in his quarters, reading over the most recent reports from Nausicaa III on his PADD. The Ambassador reaches for a glass of green liquid, in which three ice cubes float. "Ah, Mister Heller..." he says under his breath. "It looks like we'll be making a trip home sooner than later. I hope your attention to detail is as sharp as ever." Zuh'raah'do takes a swallow, his eyes going to his glass for a moment before the old Nausicaan shrugs. "Not as good as K'net-mauri's, but any port in a storm." Zuh'raah'do sets his glass back down and thumbs forward to the next communication. If he had the ability to make his face turn red with anger, it would. But, being a Nausicaan, his displeasure with what he is reading is most noticable by the forceful, spider-like way his mandibles start rubbing together. "Kersie..." he says slowly. "Just how far do you think you can push me, you runty little speck of a Ferengi." Zuh'raah'do turns off his PADD and leans back in his chair, placing his thick boots up on his fine wooden desk. More comfortable now, and with a drink so easily in reach, the Ambassador calms almost immediately. A smile forms from beneath his mandibles. "What is it that the Terrans say? What goes around come around?" Three heartbeats pass. "For Mister Heller and Minister Kersie, that saying rings true. Too bad they won't enjoy the experience." The scene fades with Zuh'raah'do chuckling deeply in his chest, the sound of ice striking the edge of a glass quick to follow.
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| Gwen Poole | Bittersweet Symphony |
Sun Sep 21 |
The camera is facing the viewport where Poole sits on her and Nevaren's loveseat, dressed in a lovely blue gown. That it's Havaris Jiasha's handiwork is quite obvious. Gwen lays bare of feet, the wrap normally worn about her shoulders discarded and her hair worn unbound, settling down a few inches below her ears but above her shoulders. "Computer, begin personal log, activate Poole security protocol omega one." "I've just returned from a night out with my sister and Zipok Caeli," she directs her brown eyed gaze to the viewport, "They've taken to bed. Not that I care. I'm just concerned with the speed with which they are moving and the... level of infatuation Zipok seems to display. Saying you love someone when you've known them for two weeks?" Gwen shakes her head and turns a bit on her side to face the viewport. "Can't you just have fun? Without strings? ... I remember a time when I could... and it was the most marvelous thing in the galaxy." Her expression turns wistful, "Like Captain Dawson... on the Venture. I wonder if I should tell Chere that's why Beryl and I had that spat that forced me to leave?" "No, I suppose not... and, I don't think the time is yet here to tell her about Naya. It's just too soon." Losing some focus in her gaze out the viewport, Poole lays quietly for a few minutes before speaking up again, "Teaching Niel has forced me to go back and refresh in my mind those temporal physics classes from the Academy... and our discussions... have seeded dark thoughts in my mind." "I want to see my father again. My mother. Beryl. I want to be able to tell them good bye... /Why/ is this wrong? Why does the temporal prime directive stick itself up like a ruddy sore thumb in my mind? Is it so wrong to want to say goodbye? I /know/ I can't save them." Of course Poole doesn't /sound/ so sure of that herself. "I just want to see da one more time. To tell him I love him." "But... if I do it, then why can't Niel do it, to see Rebecca one more time? Or any of us to see one of our lost love ones?" Taking a deep shuddering breath, Gwen turns again so she's laying flat on her back. "One of my father's Cadets has come aboard... she's young. And green. And naive. ... but perhaps less so than most commissioned ensigns that take 419 as their first posting. Kait, I'm sure, will be a life saver in the months to come. I intend to train her while she is here... a way of thanking her for bringing me memories of my father... and for turning my questions about what she wants for her future on me..." "I told her I want Enterprise." There's a self-deriding laugh that fades into silence and within a minute the recorder times out from lack of auditory input, automatically closing the log and activating the protocol that was ordered.
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| Chere Poole | "La Vie En Rose..." |
Sun Sep 21 |
The half finished quarters of Chere Poole swim their way into existence as the computer focuses.. and yet, as little as this apartment seems to be moved into, there are fewer things around, the haphazardly thrown clothing and shoes have all disappeared for some reason. The sounds of Dean Martin's smooth baritone, musical instruments reminscient of a French cafe float over the room, the sounds of 'La Vie En Rose'. Chere Poole dances dramatically into view, humming along and occasionally breaking into song, dancing a slow dance in the style of the 1940s, one hand in the air where she would be gripping a partner's hand, the other up where his shoulder would be, and twirling smoothly around room, picking up bits of clothing and draping them over her shoulders, and placing them into what looks to be a small bag, next to her larger traveling bags. "Hold me close.. and hold me fast.. the magic spell you cast.. this is la vie en rose...." The alto of a lounge singer, is Chere's voice. It seems to take her several moments before she realizes that the computer is in fact ready. "La.. da dee.. da dee da dumm... " Chere glances to the screen and smiles. "Computer, begin personal log!" She sings that, too, not even breaking from the melody of the song. "I've reclaimed more of my life.. Granted, it isn't quite what I expected it to be... but perhaps it might be better. I'm not yet sure. Something's happened.. that hasn't happened.. well.. not since Brian. But with him.. it was never this way." Chere stops her dancing to stand at the back of her chair and look down into the camera with a bewildered look. "I'm not really sure if this is what I want, if /he/ is what I want, or even if I'm want he wants. I don't know if I'm ready for this.. actually, I /know/ I'm not ready for it, if you want the truth. I /know/ this is too fast. I know this is not how it's supposed to be done. I know it's all wrong." Chere grins rougishly at the camera. "Perhaps that's why I like it, because I know we're doing absolutely everything wrong... and yet, somehow it still turns out right. It's like, we're laughing at life.. me and my eun liath. It feels good to laugh that way. I've always laughed so bitterly, and I still do. But this.. I can laugh triumphantly for once." "Yes, this is probably going to go wrong. I told Gwen that, I told myself that. I know that letting him love me is probably a bad decision, and I'm probably going to hurt him... but for now.. I'm having far too much fun to stop. It is just fun, besides everything else. Besides.. I'm happy. Just.. happy. He's a part of why I am, besides Gwen and Alec and Jonathan and my professional life. I never could resist being adored." Chere's smile is pure and joyous at the computer. "And no matter how selfish it seems to say so since I don't know if we feel the same way, and knowing I'm probably going hurt him... I can't leave now." "Who knows? Maybe I'll turn out to be wrong." Chere smiles that enigmatic, Mona Lisa type smile that has always driven people crazy. "That has been known to happen. Occasionally, of course. I don't think I'd mind if this turned out to be one of the occasions." Chere looks out into the distance. "Oh! Time to go!" There's a long moment as she dances away again, singing gently.. ".. And life will always be.. La Vie En Rose..." "Computer, end personal log."
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| Caeli | Inverse Proportions |
Sun Sep 21 |
The laurel wreath and stars of the Federation insignia gives way to the impeccable order of Crew Quarters 803, Zip Caeli slouching in one of the whaleskin chairs. Worn is the hunter green leather jacket bearing the interlocking double C's of Caeli Cosmetics, and he shrugs it off to let it rest against the back of the chair. "Computer," he instructs, "begin personal log. Insert stardate here." There is a moment's pause as the Bolian considers his words. "I don't think I've recorded one of these since the debacle with Kearia. If anyone ever reads this it's going to seem like I just jump from one major event in my life to another. I just don't see the point in writing, 'Hi, things are great, take care, thanks.' You know?" He's fairly sedentary as log-recorders go, certainly nothing as exciting as dancing around his room. "I suppose it bears mentioning that because of my alleged gross negligence during the sabotage incident, I've got my away team certification suspended for almost a month. And waste reclamation duty. Excuse /me/ for not thinking to grill Meg over the comms when I knew the channel was needed and she was in the field. Excuse /me/ for following SOP regarding my beacon. And what's more, why in the Great Bird's name does this give Laura Novairen the right to plagiarize me in reports and start an inquisition of my section?" Zipok exhales, calming himself - or, at the very least, attempting to. "Rann says he doesn't agree with her tactics, that he knows she's out of line. And yet he doesn't do a damned thing to /stop/ her... I suppose I should get to helping Meg with Michaels, before Novairen does it and violates some civil right or another because she can." "I think my professional success is inversely proportional to my personal life - I've had a fairly good time of it here in my career since I arrived, but my personal affairs were... less than stellar. And now, as things take a turn for the worst, things start looking up on the home front." Caeli casts eyes towards the couch, first, and then the bedroom. "My quarters aren't clean. It's nagging me in the back of my mind, and I'm having trouble not going and cleaning up the mess, but I don't know where she wants her things. At the very least Gwen was right about how Chere and I would get on. She's wonderful, I enjoy every moment I spend with her - and she's got her /priorities/ straight. She knows that duty comes before anything else - because it's that way for her, too. It doesn't bother her. And that takes what is probably the biggest hurdle out of the way - I don't have to protect her when we /are/ called to that duty, because she'll be right there facing it with me." "I'm probably rushing into this. Certainly rushing into this. But what's the point in waiting a year if we only have a year left?" "Computer, end log."
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| Havaris | Mission Log: Supplemental |
Mon Sep 22 |
Mission XO's Log: Supplemental Lieutenant Havaris Medes Kusto Threat Assessment: Final Menagerie ---- Classified Level Eight: Eyes Only ---- In my thirteen years of combat experience, I have never once dealt with an installation as lethal to operatives within it as the Final Menagerie of the Second Orion Imperium. Lacking access to the technical data of the Menagerie's security systems or to the AI that controls those systems, it is impossible to know for certain the extent of the methods the system will undertake to rid itself of unwanted breaches to the asteroid's interior. We have a firm body of evidence, however, that will suggest a pattern of intelligent, layered behavior bent towards the eventual destruction of any unwanted intruders. This is a difference that must be noted from conventional security protocols and, certainly, what is known of defense perimeters of that period in history. To date, most security protocols react on a purely instantaenous basis. A breach is detected, shields are raised, weapons are charged, teams are dispatched, and the matter resolves in an immediate sense. It is not so with this installation. Intruders are brought deep into the heart of the installation, studied in an external and behavioral manner, confronted, and finally hunted down and slaughtered in a methodical manner based upon the data offered the system prior to the kill order. If the system learns that you fear the darkness, there will be no light. Or light will be offered to seduce you into harm's way. If it learns you are sympathetic towards the plight of others, it will greviously wound a comrade and leave him screaming for help to draw you into an ambush. It will find its way inside of your head, pick the trigger that will draw you willingly as an accomplice into your own demise and show no mercy in destroying you utterly. This method of defense is methodical, total, and terrifying to any rationally minded combat veteran. In entering this installation you must not only guard against the threat of the bioroid defenders, but against revealing anything of your true feelings, thoughts, or fears. The level of stress that would be presented to any insertion team would be inordinately high as a result. Communications would need to be minimal and on a narrow frequency band, if not actually non-verbal. PADD access to the installations systems must be safeguarded from counter-espionage from the system's AI as was undertaken during the first insertion of which I was a participant. The whole enterprise, if it is to be successful, would require only the most highly trained and disciplined Officers. The sort of officers, in short, that Starfleet cannot spare at this time. The Bioroids themselves are another matter entirely. Type III Phaser Rifles, Type II Phaser Pistols, neither of these weapons were capable of causing permanent or lethal injury to these creatures. Sustained bursts proved both ineffective and impractical. The ablative armor of the creatures redirected or neutralized the beams and the relatively small target area of the creatures combined with their speed and natural cloaking abilities made directing sustained fire a near impossibility, most especially in the shoot and scoot or fire-on-foot engagement methods that needed to be employed by the harrying attacks of the creatures en masse. This, too, bears mentioning. It is possible that hard-mounted Phaser Cannons or Type IV arrays might be employed within the installation, but this would require the erecting of a perimeter near a highly defensibele area of the installation. There are no guarantees that a higher energy beam would be any more effective, of course, but given the mental fatigue prolonged exposure to the installation creates, combined with the probing and harrying attacks any such perimeter would be offered by the bioroids, such a perimeter could not hope to last indefinitely. It would be only a matter of time before the creatures wore down the defenders and overran the position, either due to fatigue, mental instability, or force of arms. If drawn into the open, any Away Team would eventually face harrying attack intent on circling and whittling away at the numbers of that Away Team. That offensive tactic in and of itself is a defensive tactic of the bioroids. They are nearly invisible, present a narrow profile for fire, and move rapidly in the open. We fire at our worst on foot and on the move. These two facts combined make for an obvious conclusion: without a weapon capable of inflicting lethal injury to the Bioroids, any Away Team introduced to the Menagerie will face apallingly high casualties, mental trauma, and likely mission failure. It should be considered highly likely that any Away Team would face casualties approaching a totality of the team itself. In short, no survivors. It is my considered opinion that the asteroid be destroyed utterly and that whatever remnants remain be vaporized until nothing is left but composite molecular matter. There is no knowing how many more vessels will be drawn to the promise of riches from the 2nd Imperium, how many more crews will face their demise within the belly of that installation. And while I find it unlikely Starfleet or SI will accept this reccomendation, I have never been more sincere in my reccomendations. Assuming that this reccomendation is refused and a mission is to be drafted for a return to the Menagerie's interior, you won't have to look far for a Mission Commander. I volunteer for that assignment. Lieutenant Havaris Medes Kusto ---- Classified Level Eight: Eyes Only ----
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| Crayn | Move Along.. Nothing To See.. |
Tue Sep 23 |
Joran sits behind his desk, his dress uniform jacket in the midst of coming off and hitting the floor. "Computer, begin Personal Log: Stardate 53530.3" He looks to the camera. "I'm back.. and no.. I'm not bitching this time.. at least I don't think so.. Can't really bitch if you have no life to complain about, right?" He chuckles.. "Nothing's really changed, except that I've been focusing on work. Social life is non-existant, and frankly I like it that way... better then the alternative." He kicks off his boots. "So.. I'm working, then I work out, and then I meditate. Possibly get a drink or a bite somewhere along the line, but it's not a priority.." He sighs.. "That's about it. We're Ensigns.. the slime on the bottom of the Senior officer's boots, or, at least that's how we're made to feel. There's too many of us.. We're too green. Not worth the energy used to keep our life support online." He shrugs.. "Yeah, it was one -person's- opinion, and we all know that particular person is as stuck up and clique-ish as they come, and not to listen to h... them.." "Alright.. let's get off that subject for now.. Kearia.." He swallows.. " I haven't seen her in ages. She hadn't even left word, and frankly, I'm worried. Everyone tells me she's alright, and whatever she's doing is -official-.. Basically, they just tell me to mind my own business. And Zip.." He chuckles.. "Zip is a non-entity. It's as if he doesn't exist on this station, except for one or two people, and we all know who -they- are." He smirks.. "He practically ignores me off-duty, and I never see him on-duty, always having to answer to Meg. Not that any of that is her fault. I like her, despite the fact we don't see eye to eye a lot.. Then again, when your my size, most of the people you -can- see eye to eye with are Klingon." He chuckles.. "Well, that's it.. my so-called boring life. I'm seriously starting to wonder why I agreed to transfer here. The Pack is dead.. It's been dead since graduation. I was a fool to think we could continue from where we left off. We're all different now.." He sighs.. "Some of us more drastically then others." He reaches over..hitting a panel.. "Computer, End Log."
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| Hurley | A Letter Home |
Tue Sep 23 |
"Hi, Mother!" Christine's energetic voice calls out before she comes into view of the video recorder at her desk. As usual, her desk is a *mess* - papers, odds and ends, trinkets - even a few stuffed animals are everywhere. This doesn't seem to bother the young woman who plops into the chair and immediately brings one of her knees up to her chest to remove her boot while sitting and facing the recording device. "Just wanted to let you know that I'm doing well. But, I'm sure you had assumed that already. Grandfather Harris and I have had a lot of opportunities to spend time together lately and we've been taking advantage of those opportunities." She pauses a moment, eyeshifts away, then leans forward to conspiratorily whisper, "He's not what I expected. Well, not that I expected anything really, considering we'd thought he was dead for so many years. But! Grandmother Hurley suggested he was some sort of saint... and, well, though I'm quite attached to him already, he's *not* a Saint by any means." Christine leans back in her seat and looks towards the door for a brief moment. When she looks back, she smiles brightly again. "And I *adore* Meg. I know I've said it before, but she's really made it easier for me to settle in here." She drops the removed boot to the floor and reaches towards her other, still continuing on in her enthusiastic tone, "No romance interests yet. But, a lot of friends. And I'm not complaining a bit." She eyeshifts away briefly, then just laughs at herself. "Ok, maybe just a bit. Though, you'll be happy to know that apparently I'm seeing some Trill from DTI named 'Duncan'. I just found out on my way to Operations. A couple of officers leaving the turbolift apparently didn't see me entering, and when they finally looked up at me, they quickly left before I could ask them any questions - like, *who* this guy is." She giggles and drops the other boot to the floor and her arms wrap around the knee while she leans forward. "I hope he's cute at least. But, I suppose I should let you get back to your garden. I'm off to see what trouble I can cause today." She winks at the recording device, then blows a kiss. "I love you, and I'll talk to you soon, I'm sure. Bye!" After a quick wave, she leans forward over her knee to end the video recording, then sends it off to Earth.
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| Gr'laH | Tennis Balls |
Tue Sep 23 |
The Klingon Trefoil appears on screen, the script below reading 'Accessing Personal Log Files: Ambassador Fleet Captain (Ret.) Gr'laH, son of Go'laH'. There is a delay, and then a log file plays, a subspace communication between Gr'laH and a truly venerable Klingon Elder. Qa'rinQ of the Kang. They must have been arguing for some time before this log began. "...I do not care what 'proof' Starfleet Intelligence says it has, Gr'laH! We cannot petition Martok, the High Council, or the High Command with... with... /fairytales/ of Othan revolutionaries backed by the Sta'TORuk! They will laugh us from the chamber floor!" "We do not /require/ their support, Qa'rinQ! /I/ do not require their support. I require /your/ support! The Sta'TORuk nearly brought the Kang into their discommendation with them! It was Avok who sullied your name, not Gr'laH, and B'val before him! I have dealt with you honestly as I have always done! I have cleared your name, brought you riches--" "And /I/ brought you /yours/, Gr'laH! And you would rather chase Betazoid girls about that Station than consent to marry Kar'tik! You are behaving like a boy, and a foolish boy at that. I might listen to you more /clearly/, son, if you would consent to -be- my son. Gr'laH! An heir of Kang! Your skills, my fleets, we would tear a swath of glory across the Empire wider than any yet conceived. And you... you dally with that--" "--Starfleet. Lieutenant--" "--/WOMAN/!" "What does any of this have to do with Otha, Qa'rinQ! What does any of this have to do with the Sta'TORuk?" "Nothing! Everything! You come to me asking me to believe fairytales from across the Empire whispered into your ear, off the record, without proof, from men who live their lives in the shadows! You spurn my offer of joining my House and seem intent on being as inhospitable to Kar'tiK as you can possibly be! And for this I am to give you a /fleet/, Gr'laH? For this I am supposed to follow /you/ into Battle? Are you my Father? Are you Martok? All of this time I thought you Gr'laH, Elder of a lesser House of Warriors, retired Captain of a decimated fleet! /I/ am Qa'rinQ, the Kang, noble blooded! /TWICE/ your age! Do not forget your place, Gr'laH, or I shall place you in it!" "What, then, do you require." "Proof. And cooperation. This is no longer your war." "I have wounds that argue otherwise." "And more, yet, if you do not silence them. Q'pla!" The log ends, unceremoniously.
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| Isole | I am NOT Moody! |
Tue Sep 23 |
The CTC Emblem flashes on the screen, a Centauran Freighter silhoutted before a nameless sun. The grainy image of Isole wearing a pair of baggy bib overalls, a tank top, welding gloves, and a welding mask pops onto the screen. Apparently nobody told her that welding in your quarters wasn't a good idea. Because that's what she's doing. Bright phased energy beads the metal under her phaser welder as she works on detaching a sheet of metal from the side of an old disused terminal bank. Her quarters are literally floor to ceiling scrap. "Rumor around station says that the ADF Merchant Marine is trying to lowball the freetraders in this sector. Pressure the government contractors -- which is the majority of traffic in this area of space, legitimate traffic, at any rate -- into accepting only licensed ADF Merchant Marine traders. Rumors of Pra Thal thugs taking joyrides in Freetrade craft. I already spoke with Barsil, he says there may be some truth to it. Negosh says they wouldn't dare. But with the Ferengi boxed in at Rynka, it's not like the Federation's going to start allowing Ferengi Marauders to escort trade ships through the Sector. So the Hernes is making time for 419, and the Castellio is heading coreward, greener pastures, says Negosh. No more Orion Corridor run for them. Milktickets from Centauri Prime to the big Double Ought One in the center of the starcharts. And slag all the CTC in the Triangle." With a clatter the plate falls to the floor and Isole lifts her mask to wipe at her face with the back of her glove. She drops her torch and lifts the plate, flinging it away into a pile of similarly salvaged materials. "Pirate activity hasn't lessened since we put the Kostva Syndicate out of business. There's sector wide communications blackouts, now, caused by some subspace burst weapon. People are saying the Sandstorm housed it. So people are sifting through the plasma and the dust, and with my luck, they're going to find a square inch of something with my fingerprint on it. That's the way the Fortunes work, right? One good turn deserves a worse one. And now. They're sending in this... this... ship. A pirate hunter, trade backing, Federation assassin ship. I hate Pirates. Kostva deserved worse than he got. His entire Syndicate, every filthy hand that lifted a blaster in his name? They deserve the same. But we had to do it alone." Isole tugs off her gloves and tosses them down, yanking off her mask and throwing that aside as well before giving the frame of the terminal bank a swift kick with her boot. "We asked for help. We begged Starfleet for help, actually. We offered to turn them all in, sell them all up the river. All we wanted was amnesty. They probably would have killed us, even then. Found us, put a hole in our necks like they did to Nilee. Or Rade. If not Kostva, then Evanginor. One of them would have found us, and that would have been that. But we wanted a fresh start. Sasve chased /us/, we didn't chase her. Kostva let me go with terms. I kept them. He broke them. And when we went looking for help that wouldn't get us killed, that wouldn't land us in some penal facility for the rest of our natural lives? We got the cold shoulder. So? We did it ourselves. But now? /Now/ they're sending in the task force. The big guns. The maverick. The wildman. The USS Gladius, all shiny-penny with their advanced technology and hunter-seeker itinerary, blasting Pirates out of the void in the name of the greater good, free trade, and peace for all the peoples." Isole is quiet for a moment before hoisting up the phaser torch and employing it in a less conventional method. Beating it over the terminal tops until the surface spiderwebs wider and wider and finally shatters into a few thousand crystalline pieces. Isole's a frail little thing, so it takes some doing. But she's got quite the temper in there, and the whole fit ends with her flinging the torch as far as her spindly arms can manage and dottering about on her boots, nigh exhausted. She straightens up and slicks back her hair with a scowl, plodding off for the doorway to their bedroom. "I guess that makes it official, then. I'm pregnant."
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| Lanie | I've Arrived! Sorta. |
Wed Sep 24 |
It's obvious that the girl known as Cadet Kaitlyn Lanie hasn't yet moved into her room. That or she just doesn't /have/ anything. Either way, what she lacks in surroundings, she makes up for with her usual fast chattering, excitement shining in her eyes. The log, which consists only of her sitting there in front of her screen with an empty wall behind her, is rushed as if she's in a hurry to log everything before she forgets it. At least it's an image log instead of a mere text one like she's fond of. "Computer, start log. "Personal Log, Stardate 53532.6 "Well, tomorrow will be the end of my first week here and so far I've managed to survive it. It's actually surprisingly... well, boring. I figured a big - well, in comparison to that backwaters box I got stuck in for my only other field assignment - place like this would be all full of hustle and bustle, but mostly it's a whole lotta hurry up and wait. And reports. I swear, they document /everything/ around here. But at least it keeps me busy and me being busy means that Gwen, my CO, can concentrate on other things. "I guess I should make sure to add all those little details of the past week that I don't want to forget. Uhm, S419 is big. Space is cold. I like these hexpresso drink things. Chere is as much fun here as she was on Earth. OH! I saw this guy... Absyn or something is his name. Anyway, he's the guy who got his shoes thrown up on at Greenson's party a few semesters ago. And believe me, he hasn't forgotten it. I tried to make nice with him but he didn't seem too interested. I'm also thinking of getting my hair cut some because it's all dry and full of static because of the recycled air in here. But maybe I might keep it at this length and leave it braided all the time. I haven't decided yet. "I also have to learn to play Go. I wish I would have caught his name, but this Lieutenant and I had a pretty interesting conversation about it over coffee. He explained all the rules, but that's not quite the same as learning to play. So now that I've prowled around the station enough to know how to get from my quarters to the few places I've needed to go, I'll have enough time to really learn and practice. Maybe it'll teach me how to not come across like a complete moron, which I /know/ is how everyone sees me. It didn't help that it was my second day on duty and I'm so busy making sure I have all the right information in a report that I stupidly made the same suggestion that Gwen did just minutes after she made it. No wonder they all looked at me like I was crazy. Here I am all proud of myself and someone else thought of it and voiced it while standing right next to me and I didn't even hear it. Brilliant, aren't I? "Well, if I'm going to get a climb in before I have to report on duty again, I have to get moving. At least simulated mountain climbing is /almost/ as good as the real thing. I just wish Caleb was here. But he's off having his own adventures. Hope his are more exciting than mine have been. "Note to self: Write mom and dad, Caleb and Greenson so I can rub it in that I got the station posting and she's stuck on a orbit colony. "Computer, end log." *blip*
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| Leah | Oh, that's how this works! |
Wed Sep 24 |
The camera opens on an image of Morgan Leah, in what her boss has termed her 'mommies,' a grey pair of sweatpants and a white-shirt with a few recent stains on it. She is just setting aside a PADD whose display is crammed full of astrometrics data and lots and lots of ship registries. Taking a breather, she stands and stretches lazily, wandering across the quarters to the bedroom. There she pauses in the doorway and looks in on her infants, watching them with dark blue-violet eyes. It's another half-minute or so before she turns away and heads back into the living room of her family, moving over to a shelf and reaching up, pulling down an old PADD. She taps a button on it and starts speaking, "PADD, begin lo... Oh... damn it... how did this stupid thing work." More tapping at the PADD before she walks it over to the ODN relay and resyncs it with the station. "Computer, begin Dakin Morgan's personal log..." There's a negatory sounding chime and the computer replies, "Unable to comply... No personal log database matches name." Leah frowns and sits on the couch, thinking. "It really has been a long time since I wrote one of these..." She sighs and says, "Computer, begin new personal log database under Dakin Morgan and append the entire log database under the name Morgan Leah. There." Chime chime. Good chimes this time. "Computer, begin personal log... stardate 53532.7." Chime. "It's been forever and a half since I've done one of these... as really, there's not been a reason too. I've been so busy with Rya and Jacob it made it a moot point. ... I didn't need to record my thoughts when I've been taking enough video and pictures of them, Rann and myself to do that already." "Quiet and lonely is a place I never thought I'd find myself and... yet, here I am. But, I'm too stubborn to just let that happen, so I've started making friends... new ones. And I'm going to hunt down the old ones: Sharra and Ally. Sharra in particular, I think she might be dating the Klingon Ambassador... and I've met so many interesting people just these past three days. I simply can't wait to meet them all again." "And, I managed to get Rann and I invited over to Jal'ahmi and Liara's quarters for dinner. That'll be stellar!... And I'm feeling more confident about my skills and my ability to contribute every day. Maybe, I'm not just a mother after all. Maybe I'm an officer too." "Computer, end log."
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| Idrani | Personal Log |
Wed Sep 24 |
The scene opens with Jaylas sitting in the lodge, recording her log on a portable terminal. She is in-uniform, with the coller unbuttoned. While she records, the young Andorian works oil into the blade of her hrisal with a silk cloth. So familiar is she with this task, Jaylas scaresly needs to glance down at the weapon. "Personal Log: Stardate 53533.1. Lieutenant Jaylas Idrani, Diplomatic Attache Officer, S419. "About past time I recorded another of these. What I'm finding is that generally, I have a lot to say, yet no way to express it. Quite a prediciment, but I'll manage. "We have a new Ambassador, a female Betazoid, which I doubt is a coincidence. Perhaps she will succeed in finding enough common ground with the Captain to avoid the same adversarial relationship that her predecessor had. Of course, the downside of having another Betazoid in the conference room is that there will be the continued accusations of telepathic espionage. Not likely /open/ accusations, but implications and inferrments nevertheless. "I received a 'message' from my family. A document containing everything Keth Idrani feels is necessary for an equitable marriage contract. This document was so large that it filled four PADDs." Idrani half smiles. "Comes from having too many lawyers in the family. I've read the contract, twice. It's very thorough, as I would expect, but I've tried to look at it as the elders of Keth Claness and Keth Ivari will and I fear they will see it as too prejudiced toward the Idrani. Though the fact that it is entirely possible that there may be a human trained in my keth's secrets of hrisalinar, bearing the surname Idrani, was predicted and embraced my my kin, surprises me somewhat. That is based on the assumption that one of Femke and Craig's children might choose to become Keth Idrani. We have always been rather particular about our members. One cannot pick up a hrisal and 'join' Keth Idrani, nor can one marry into it. But one can be born into it, if one of the parent quad is of Keth Idrani. Whether all this will come to pass, remains to be seen. But it is interesting to think of the possibilities. "Otherwise, I have been morose and isolative, lately, save for little reprieves with Thalev, Craig or Havaris Jiasha's son, Mauno. The little things that annoy me about this posting have been bothering me more and more lately. Just petty little things that don't concern me, yet grate on my nerves nonetheless. I like spending time with the baby, though. It makes me wonder if I'll ever hold my own chubby little /shla/ in my arms. I try not to give up hope, yet I force myself to be reconciled with the... more than possibility that I never will. And continue to resolve that such a thing will never be used as leverage." She shakes her head, banishing dark thoughts. "Computer, end log. Encrypt and save."
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| Harris | Echoes |
Thu Sep 25 |
File Retrieval: Release Message: Harris, Robert S., Lieutenant Buoy ID: USS Exeter - NCC-1674 - Emergency Release Buoy Recovery Date: Stardate 53454.4 Recovered by: Harris, Robert S., Lieutenant (JG) Location: USS Thomas Paine - NCC-65530-C Begin Playback: "Release message, Lieutenant Robert Harris, Chief Navigation Officer, Starship Exeter." Crimson and black - the ancient uniform of Starfleet. Harris grins into the recorder as he tugs open his chest flap and plops unceremoniously on his couch. "I guess if you're watching this, someone at Starfleet Headquarters has decided that we're all dead. That, for the first time, the captain didn't bring the ship home, and that you'll be recieving a folded Federation flag in acknowledgement of our sacrifice in the line of duty." He's totally irreverant, clearly not believing that he's ever going to need this. "If that's the case, don't worry. I'm certain that we were lost doing battle with those who would try and make trouble in Federation space, and that we probably took them with us... and that's how I want to go, really. Fighting the good fight." Robert's eyes grow a bit solemn as he thinks about that, and he unconciously straightens his posture. "Making sure that we counted in the end... that's how I want to go." He's silent for a few moments, then starts into the hard part of this whole thing. "Annie... oh, Annie. I'm sorry that I won't make it home for the wedding. I should have stayed home with you, instead of taking an assignment that's taken me into the armpit of nowhere, straight into the jaws of hell, and back again." He smiles wistfully, a loving gaze directed into the recorder. "I should have asked you to marry me a long time ago, too, instead of aiming for my own ship by the time I was 30. I realize now that you're more important to me than any rankpin could ever be, and that our family is more important than the fleet, at least on the Robbie-sized scale." Another wistful pause. "I want you to move on. I want you to find happiness. I'm not gone, really... I'll always be with you. When it's time for you to leave this life, I'll be there waiting for you with open arms... just like always." He falls silent, closing his eyes. "There's so much more to say, but I don't think I can do it right now. You're my everything, Annie, and I will always love you - even if I've been thrust into the afterlife." "Mom, dad... I guess I won't be home for your anniversary." Robert's eyes reopen and focus into the camera. "And I guess that I won't be getting the d'k tagh that I picked up for you home, squirt." A rueful smile now. "I miss you guys, you know... more than I ever let on. Whenever I talk to you, I'm always homesick for a week afterward. I had hoped that Annie and I would settle on Earth and move in next door." The smile turns friendly. "Easy babysitter access... how could I resist?" He chuckles before turning serious again. "I'm out here keeping up the tradition, dad... and I gave my life making my ancestors proud." The smile vanishes, replaced by a somber expression. "Mom, I'm sorry for all the times we butted heads about me joining the fleet. You were right - I should have stayed closer to home, where my roots are... but the stars called to me, like nothing else in my life has ever called to me. I belonged here until Annie and I decided to get married, and everything changed. I'm older now - it's time to shift gears and settle down." He smirks. "Stop being your wild child." There's an obvious struggle for words now. "Matt. I wish I could hit you between the eyes with a scoop of mashed potatoes right about now, you deviant little squirt. I know you want to follow your big brother into the stars, but don't. At least, not right away. Live a little. Explore this galaxy before you go signing your life away to the fleet - it's not all it's cracked up to be. Besides... I hear you have some cute girls there in school. You can't be unhappy where you are now." The grin returns. "Just turn on the ol' family charm. It works wonders every time." He seems about to say more, but the bosun's whistle sounds over the intercom grid. "Now hear this, now hear this. All senior officers report to duty stations. Field tests beginning in ten minutes. That is all." Regretfully, Robert's eyes find the recorder again. "I've got to go now. Love from the Neutral Zone... and I will see you again. You have my word." Harris pops up off the couch, snapping his chest flap into place and wandering out of view. "Oh, what am I doing? Like I'll need this anyway. Computer, save log to the log buoy buffer. Encode with a six month reminder to record a new one." The log cuts to black, displaying a timestamp: 'Stardate 9598.7 - December 24, 2293. 13:01:19:51' END PLAYBACK. Play again? <Y>ES or <N>O.
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| Lux | Nightcap musings |
Thu Sep 25 |
The Emerald green sigyl of the Ferengi Alliance de-rezzes to reveal Lux sitting in his favorite easy chair, in his bathrobe a glass of Romulan Ale in his hand. "Liquidator Lux's Personal Log; Stardate 53534.4. Tarsis Balin himself decided to make an appearance at the diplomatic meeting tonight. Not alone mind you. He opted to do it with Akeen Ghorev and Michael Edwards in tow. He came, allegedly, to address some concerns that K'net-mauri raised regarding what he believed to be a cloaked Federation Akira class starship hovering around Station 419. Now I have no idea if Mauri's information is correct or not but I plan to look into it. It's Balin's motivations for showing up tonight that puzzle me. Of course he denied everything, any sane politician would have done the same thing, but he could have issued a denial through any number of sources though. I suppose he may have been there to read minds but in that case, why bring Edwards and Ghorev with him? Also, why not use Ambassador Dasan to do the same thing. Unless of course he doesn't trust Dasan...or maybe...." he taps a few keys on a PADD on the arm of his easy chair and continues. "Either way, bringing Edwards and Ghorev with him was a excessive show of solidarity even if he just wanted to let everyone know that Edwards had come back." he takes a long sip of his ale and shakes his head. "Ah well, time will tell, time will tell." Lux takes one of his expensive Bolian cigars from his ornate gold box and lights it. Reclining back in his chair he says. "I've also started inquiries into these rumors I hear about the Andorian Merchant Marine's plans to muscle in on free-trade within Federation space as well as their possible UNA involvement. It doesn't help matters that I hear from the UNA ambassador himself tonight that he's planning to recieve Federation colony packages from...surprise, surprise, the Fimdari colony. I hope that the official UNA party line about the packages being only a goodwill gesture from the Federation to improve life on existing Nausicaan colonies proves true." Lux takes another hearty swig of his ale. "I'm not about to let the Andorian Merchant Marine put a stranglehold on trade in Federation Space. That would be too much like being outfoxed by Klingons and Federation citizens have too great a disposable income to let slip away to alternate vendors." Lux finishes his drink and sets the glass aside. "Also, it took alot of money and lobbying to get the UNA where she is now. I'd hate to see them get too big for their economic britches this early in the game. That would truly be a shame." Lux takes a few puffs from his cigar and then snubs it out in an ashtray built into the arm of his chair. He exhales the last bit of smoke in his mouth and says, "I always liked Z'uh'raah'do. Computer, end and ecrypt log."
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| Havaris | Things Remembered |
Thu Sep 25 |
The UFP Emblem fades from the screen, revealing Kusto in his quarters, absently working a needly through an expanse of fabric on his lap. 419's Operations Manager and self-avowed bad boy embroiders things. Maybe he thinks he can get away with it. "Michael's back on station. Michael Edwards. Lieutenant Commander. Michael Edwards. I suppose I should be more officerial about him, even in my personal logs. But I don't want to be, quite honestly. Walking into Akeen's office, seeing him in that chair, it wound back the clock two years. Took my full pip off my collar, tossed me back down to Deck Eighteen as one of Dakin's boys. I could almost hear him saying, 'I like your style, Havaris.'. I could almost feel Dana giving me a grin afterwards, too." "This time I sat down with him, talked about wives and children. Possible commands. Our futures after 'this mess is all over'. He's still my hero. He'll likely always be my hero. He did more for me as an officer and superior than anyone else on this station, and he probably doesn't even know it. He showed me how to take my stripes, how to get back up again, how to make decisions, how to behave under fire, how to fight with the sort of confidence a bridge crew can feed off of. I wouldn't be the sort of bridge officer that I am now, without having served under him." "But now I'm my own officer. Akeen said that I am living in my own shadow now. I make my own mistakes and teach my own lessons. I have my own command. My own responsibilities. And there are junior officers that are looking at me. Some of them, perhaps, even see me as their idol. Their hero. Their Michael Edwards. Which makes me wonder who Michael idolized on his way up through the ranks. Or if he sprang fully formed from the ranks, a red shirted exemplar of the brash young Officer who cannot lose." "I never once saw him lose." "For a very brief moment, I saw myself on board some vessel. Serving under Captain Edwards. A commander's pips at my collar. Keeping the promise that I made to him once. That I'd follow him into the Firecaves if he ordered me to. Part of me wishes he would stay. A guilty, quiet minority of my opinion would rather have Michael than Akeen as our XO. And I like Akeen. I genuinely like him. But he's not my hero. I've seen Akeen lose, I see every flaw in him with the eye of a fellow member of the Senior Staff. Just as I do with Gwen, with the Captain. But not Michael. I'd have more hope for this, if Michael were here again." "But then there's the rest of me. The part of me that's proud of what I've become, what I've done on my own, what I have achieved since he grew distant from us. Since he and Akeen had their falling out. Since Callie and I split, since she and Michael took up their affair. Since all of that. There's part of me that wants him to go back to Dulcais and never come back. Because for all that I feel confident we might win if he were here, I feel like an Ensign around him. Fumbling through my decisions and actions to make certain they're what he'd do, rather than what I'd do. And I can't afford that sort of indecision anymore." "So I suppose I just need to stare at him until I see a crack. It shouldn't take long. I can see the worst in anyone."
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| O'Carroll | Life in the Elevator |
Fri Sep 26 |
"Begin audio personal log." It's quiet. Dead quiet. It's almost as if nobody is on the other side at all, and then Alley begins speaking, "I was talking with Jo yesterday about the current level of witch hunting going on around the station. A good amount of senior officers very much out to get the lower ranking Ensigns." There's a hissing of a door, a light shuffle of feet and Alley can be heard, "Ensign." a voice calls out for "Deck five.", followed by the humming of the turbolift.. and the hissing of the doors opening and closing again. O'Carroll continues the log, "I'm pretty sure I'm one of those Ensigns. As are a vast majority of the friends I've made since being posted here. We aren't trying to get accepted into the 'Elitest Club' they have going on. We just want to be left to our own.. we /can/ infact manage our own affairs, even if some of them can't manage theirs. Pulling rank seems to entirely too common around here. As I said, Elitest Club. Do they somehow feel threatened? I don't see how they could be, because us low grades really aren't attempting to. Maybe they have this feeling that they're a dying breed, and they're being replaced by the younger, next generation officers? Post-war, green behind the ears, still have a mommy and daddy to write home to?" A sigh is heard, and the light thunking of an object, most likely a head, aginst the side of the turbolift. "While it all may be true, it doesn't require the actions that have been taken. I can't believe the amount of 'Cover your own arse at the expensive of someone else' events that take place on this station. Yes, I'm ranting. It's just bugging me again and I haven't ranted in such a long while." "So we're green. But we're skilled. And we do our jobs to the letter, and at one-hundred-and-five percent. I'm all for aiming to one-hundred-and-ten, but at what cost? Too much riding at one-oh-five, and you're going to be at seventy-five when you need the hundred most." The doors hiss open again, and Alley chimes in with "L'tenant." this time, and is granted a vocal response of "Hey." The turbolift once again travels to Deck 5 to deposit the new arrival before Alley continues. "And I think that's a rant. Thank you for listening, Computer." "End log."
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| Edwards | First Log Back |
Fri Sep 26 |
"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 53536.5." Michael Edwards reclines in a chair in front of the recorder. He looks tired, but otherwise all right. Calm, collected, in good shape. "You know, the whole time I was on Earth, it never felt like I was at home. Then I come back to this station and I instantly felt like it's where I belonged. Home. This station. A part of me hates it even more for that. The rest of me is glad to be back." He leans forward, peering directly into the recorder. "I've spent the last two days getting reacquainted with old friends and meeting new faces. Man, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Akeen's behind my old desk. A full Commander now, and hey, so am I. But... he's still the same Akeen. There's still that distance between us. I don't think that's a friendship I'll ever recover and it pisses me off. It's just so damn nonsensical." That starts to get Michael worked up, so he stops, pausing for a moment. "Then there's Havaris. That friendship seems to be okay. Still, the man doesn't have a sense of timing, that's for sure. Otherwise, I'm glad that he's doing all right. He's a good guy. Someone I can depend on." Michael nods slowly, sure of that. "The others have been great, for the most part. Although I think Ambassador K'net-mauri still actively dislikes me. Ah well. He's a Romulan. I don't exactly expect him to have a warm, fuzzy feeling when it comes to me." "But this isn't a pleasure trip. It's business. Whitehorse hauled me out here for a reason. Sinclaire." This topic makes his expression turn grim. "They say I probably know her better than anyone. So now they want me to find out what she's up to. Great. That should be as easy as something really, really hard. Knowing what I know about her, she only seems concerned with two things: finding a way to stop the Lithians and keeping her conspiracy a secret. If she's hanging out around here, it has to be for one of those reasons. Now I just need to find out what the deal is exactly." Michael pauses. "Sinclaire... That reminds me. I still have to go see Wendy. From what I hear, she isn't all that different from how she was when I left. Still, I wonder how things have been for her lately. And I hope she hasn't moved any further on the wrong path. If she has, I only have myself to blame. I charged myself with looking out for her, then I left. Maybe I can make up for that now." Another pause. Then Michael settles back in the chair again, closing his eyes. "Back home. Back to the impossible challenges. Computer, end log."
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| Randal | A Question of Legitimacy |
Fri Sep 26 |
The image flickers into existance as Randal's trusty little jury-rigged log recorder powers on. "Personal log, Stardate 53537." There's a long pause while Randal places a folded pair of pants into a suitcase. And then a longer pause as he stops doing that, and looks thoughtful. And then, he turns his full attention on the log recorder. "You know. I'm the closest I've been to getting my ship back than I have been in almost two years." He smiles, but it comes with a sad sort of sigh. "It's not a sure thing yet. The Pulsar's been put on an auction, so there is some uncertainty involved. And I still don't know yet what's happened to the crew. Hopefully, they're safe and hopefully, they'll find me when I find the ship." "You know... until last night, when I was talking with Isole, I never even considered what I'd do once I get my ship back. I mean, it's not like the old battles need to be fought, anymore. And the new battles... I get the feeling they can't be solved by the methods I'm used to using." He chuckles. "And you know... all of my old friends seem to be 'going legit.' Nell's been accepted into a SFA sciences program. Good for her, I say... her skills were being wasted at the Neutral Zone. And Starfleet could probably use someone as intelligent, capable /and/ practical as her in its ranks." He chuckles. And then there's Lethara. Wow. I haven't seen her in... years. I'm glad to see she's doing good for herself." He chuckles and shakes his head. "I do feel bad that she's had a rough time. What the Cardassians did to her before we rescued her and the others from that prison camp... I can't even /think/ about it. And then? The Maquis can't trust her, apparantly. Oh, she's good enough as an informant, sure, but they considered her... tainted." He makes a derisive snort. "Those Maquis leaders could be awfully holier-than-thou, that's for sure. I still can't believe those people could even /think/ about resorting to biogenic weapons and still sleep at night." He pauses and frowns. "Hmm. I should probably delete that last little bit before I forget. You know... just in case." "So," Randal continues, "all of my compatriots -- the ones still alive, anyway -- are going legitmate. And so am I, apparantly." He smirks toward the recorder. "I'm sending out an application to join the Pra Thal. Of course, it's not just /that/ simple." He shrugs. "I mean, it would be nice to be able to get a modicum of respect around here. Not that Starfleet greets even licensed mercs with open arms, but at least I'll be a legal professional. But that's not the reason I'm doing it. Well... okay. It's not the /only/ reason I'm doing it." He stands and goes over to the replicator. "Coffee, black. Anyway, as I was saying... Isole tells me that Barsil's caught wind of rumors that some Andorian interest is going to try and leverage free traders like the CTC out of the sector." He rolls his eyes. "Of course, from what Isole tells me, the methods they're planning on using are 'strictly legitimate.' Lobbying the Federation to license trade traffic, and then policing the spacelanes with Pra Thal mercs to harass trade and apprehend any free traders who resort to extralegal means to make ends meet." He shakes his head. "I hate bullies. But, one of the side effects of joining the Pra Thal is giving the CTC an ear to the ground." He chuckles. "So. Am I going illegitimately legitimate? Or legitimately illegitimate?" Randal makes a face. "Alright, now, I promised myself I wouldn't let these logs get silly. End recording." And the log dissolves in a shower of static.
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| Palra | Personal Logs |
Fri Sep 26 |
I have heard a distressing rumor about myself and the Uhlan S'veralis today. It would seem that someone lacking any honor would like to have other's believe that my relationship with said Romulan is other then a working relationship. After talking to S'veralis we found out that the rumor was started by a certain merchant on station, I would challenge him to a duel except for the little problem with a zero tolerance policy here on this station. Instead I must give this miscreant a chance to submit a formal apology to myself and S'veralis. I accepted this duty station with some amount of excitement but the rude lack of manners shown by most of the Starfleet Personal has caused me to change my opinion of my time here on this station. Even though I do have a little respect for some of them and the way they handle themselves proffesionally.
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| Park | Personal Log |
Fri Sep 26 |
+bb <Audio Only> "Personal Log, Aaron Park. Computer, insert Stardate. I don't know what the /hell/ I was thinking when I told Dylan that I wanted to start doing Physical Training with the team. It sure sounded like a good idea when I said it, to be a little more accessible, start helping out a little more. Hell, I'm their counselor. These are things that I should be doing. I don't think I've worked out this hard since the Academy. I'm glad that I started doing those extra sessions in the pool a while back or I'd have really been in trouble. My body is sore in places that I had forgotten that I had, though. I'm thinking a nice, hot soak in the holodeck is just what the doctor ordered. I have a request in to Akeen to be assigned the two unused Line Officer Billets from Engineering until they fill the positions. Considering the luck we've had getting engineers, I doubt that will be anytime soon. Hopefully we'll have been assigned the billets long before anyone takes those jobs. I have yet to hear back on that, but I'm confident that we'll get them, considering we're the only department on the station that doesn't have any Line Billets. I'm just not comfortable with the idea of leading another away mission when I don't have the certification. I'm still working with Wendy to try to find a way to overcome her memory loss. She gave me a definate maybe, so I'll have to keep after her and see if we can beat this thing. Not to mention the wedding coming up and all, I've got a lot on my plate. Well, time to shower and get to work. End log.
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| Medes | Oh. GREAT. |
Sat Sep 27 |
"Personal Log, Lt. JG Alethea Ruth Medes, Starfate 53539.2. Audio only." SIlence, then, as is her wont. "Well. Isn't this. Just. /Great./ It's kind of like a joke, you know? So, this week, I'm telling Station Security about how someone in my section tried to kill us all, and how it was /definitely/ premeditated. I'm working on cleanup after the mess that was made by Michaels." "And as I'm leaving the interview with Meg, she mentions 'Commander Edwards.'" "Well, GREAT. The one friend of Kusto's I can't <string of expletives omitted> well stand. And he's back. Well. Just. Great. As much as it's all about me -- which it is bloody well not, and thank you very much I know that -- that just totally makes my week. It's like that extra little 'slag you, Thea!' from the Universe." "No, it's not like I know the man. I don't need to know the man. Not after that travesty of a holomassacre. I don't need to know him. I know everything I need to know." Stubbornness permeates her voice rather entirely at that, and then there's a long moment of silence. "What makes this most difficult is that I know how much... he. Means to Kusto. And how few friends Kusto really /has./ I know that Kusto knows how much I don't like Commander Edwards. It's not like I'm emotionally subtle. At all. So what am I going to do?" "Shut my mouth, that's what. And keep it shut. What else can I do?"
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| Cristobal | Parasites |
Sat Sep 27 |
The UFP logo is replaced by that of a man in a black robe. "Personal log, Stardate 53539.2" Cristobal sits on the couch in his room, sipping from a glass of a thick crimson liquid. "What a disgusting place this sector can be. The Anomaly is like a second sun, and the inhabitants of this station, like a planet in orbit, live with two shadows. There are creatures in each shadow. They're parasites. Like the ancient demons we once feared could suck out your soul through your shadow. They say they're not. That they wish to live in peace with you. But they won't leave your shadow long enough for you to get a good look at them. You just have to trust them. Trust the creature that doesn't trust you enough to give you a good look at it." "Parasites. All of them. They have no place in a clean house. A fumigation is in order. Speaking of orders, you'll note I followed mine you paranoid bastards. End log." The image of Cristobal disappears, replaced by the UFP logo.
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| Jiasha | An Infrequent Log. |
Sat Sep 27 |
Jiasha sits, simply. Alone in the dark with the familiar blue brilliance burning bright over her shoulder. The children are asleep. Jiasha is wrapped in one of Hiroshi's huge jackets, because it is huge and enveloping. "This damn anomaly. Staring. All the time. It's like an eye. Now knowing there -is- something in there, and watching us. Watching Mauno. They came to see him-- because of Hiroshi. I know he knows more than I can know. I can't ask him any questions. I don't know about this feeling. It's like doom-- I don't like to record these things. But I don't know who else to tell and I've just got to let the words out. Maybe I should tell someone. That it feels like warning. Like something awful is about to happen, pushing from that damn blue star. Maybe I -am- just crazy. Maybe if something does happen... and if it was my fault, for keeping the light a secret...
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| Turtledove | The knife has two edges |
Sat Sep 27 |
<This is encoded with standard Timefleet encryption, classified level 7> The Federation symbol appears for a moment, then fades into Turtledove's neat, dimly-lit quarters. Turtledove is perched on a short grey arm-chair, dressed in her uniform, sipping tea. The crisp lines of her uniform combined with the wet shine of her hair indicate that this personal log is likely the first order of business for the day. "Personal log, LTJG Tera Turtledove, Stardate 53540.4." Her eyes remain on the contents of her cup, undisturbed as she speaks in a low murmur. "I feel like I'm on the threshold of something. Or maybe I'm just lying to myself. Perhaps I've already crossed the line." "Commander Michael Edwards is back." "Apparently to investigate Captain Sinclaire." A subtle quirking turns the corner of her mouth. The gesture is slight, noticeable mostly as an inconsistancy in her otherwise stoic expression. "Commander Ghorev, with his rigorous wisdom, comes to mind. If I have been deceived, I haven't been unwillingly deceived, he claimed. That's some spiffy wisdom but, at the time, it went over my head." "At the time, I saw an unforgiving man in disagreement with the restructuring and adaptation of a beloved organization. That was 10 months ago." "Now, I look back and see something different." "A failure to consider the consequences." "That's how it works. Choices made, consequences established. Consequences, however overlooked, occur, manifest slowly, alluded towards, then are revealed with sudden clarity." "My choice, my decision. My consequence." "And so I am bound to Timefleet." She stares at her tea. Steam plumes up quietly from the lip of the cup, but her dark eyes are on the contents of the replicated vessel. "It never occurred to me that I'd be in this particular position. That a friendly piece of social reconnaissance would take such a wicked turn." "Dylan was surprised as well. And he /apologized/ for it. See, Dylan still lives by the Starfleet code, even if he isn't a Starfleet officer anymore. So, to a lesser extent, do Tak, and Malloy, and Stewart. Presumably, Seris and Quin do as well, but they are new so it's hard to tell. They haven't been tested." "Wendy, I've come to realize, has her own code to live by." "The truth is that I don't care. I don't live by the Starfleet code. Still, whatever determines my boundaries of action, it is obvious now that my conscience draws the line at deception." "Which leads to my favorite little personal dilemma. Secrets. So hard to keep without subterfuge. Friends, so hard to keep when you have secrets." "It's not so bad. Life is life. Cold or warm, soft or hard. There is no right and wrong, there are only objectives, rules, promises, reactions, feelings, hatred, love, desire, memories. It's just a bunch of stuff." "And this, Mr. Computer, is the truth." "With few exceptions." "He has never trusted me." "That makes it easier. If he doesn't /trust/ me, I can't ever /betray/ him, right?" "And in inadvertent pursuit of this, I fear that I've found more than I bargained for." "A teacher. A killer. A creator. Brutal, gentle, lover, hater. How can I walk away from that?" "His soul is as a ghost to me, and I crave it like I crave his flesh, so real, solid, remembered, through haze of cloth and memory, always remembered." "If I'd taken that promotion last year, would things be different? I don't think so. Not in that respect. He hasn't let go. And, until he does, he will remain as he is. Over time it becomes clear that it goes especially for me." "What might have been different for Tera Turtledove, LTJG, Dispatch Officer, former Rapid Response officer? Perhaps it would have been easier to have drinks with Thea, to get to know Robert Harris or Sulky, to relate with LT Havaris, muse with Havaris Jiasha, learn from Jaylas. Cheerful, trustworthy Turtledove, devotee to the appropriate cause." "But I doubt that scenario even has it's own timestream. There was no part of me that wanted to transfer to that job. No part of me that wanted to desert the RRT. I mean, I /wanted/ to want it, for the debt owed to LT Dakin and then-LTJG Havaris. Speaking as Ensign Turtledove, RRT scout, though, it just wasn't an option. Not at the time, and not ever." "...and that's the way it is. And now I've got secrets on both sides. Something to conceal from my team, and something to conceal from the good officers of Starfleet. My choices made, consequences established. I'm standing on the threshold of something..." "I think that it would've been easier if Cmdr. Edwards hadn't been happy to see me." Her features transform momentarily with a quietly melancholic expression. She puts her tea down on the table in front of her, and stands, quietly, preparing to leave, to start her day. "Computer, please clear log, and erase notice of entry." The recording, snuffed for whatever reason, fizzles, removed from the official records filed from s419 Quarters 802.
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| Cristobal | Text message |
Sun Sep 28 |
Message begins: Lt. Junior Grade Nathan Cristobal's Personal Log, Stardate 53541.2. One thing I can say is that I can no longer even /think/ about trying to restrain Churas from doing her duty. I faced that choice. On the one hand, my daughter could have grown up never knowing her father. On the other, a few people I'd never heard of might, /might/, have died. I could have put survival ahead of duty. Ahead of ethics. Could have made the choice it seems so many around here have. I would have thought it was an easier choice. It wasn't even /a/ choice. The danger was there. I did what seemed like it needed doing. My wife will do the same. The two of us will leave that other choice to those who are capable of making it. We aren't. En... No. Reading this over...it's too simple. It breaks everything down into 'us' and 'them'. It's an overreaction. It ignores the fact that some of 'them' /have/ earned my trust. My respect. Have respected and trusted me in return. Thank you for reminding me. MESSAGE DELETED
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| Donavon | Clearing One's Mind |
Mon Sep 29 |
<<Audio Log. Stardate 53543.2>> Where's the connection? Another harvest season missed. Four years since I last cultivated the earth. Each moment longer separates me from where I live. Pa in his wisdom was right. There is a reason why no other Donavon has left Ireland and its land. We are rooted to the earth. Yet with my impulsive ways, I fought against tradition and left for the Academy and the stars beyond. This Station constantly is held in place, floating in space without any firm earth beneath my feet in which to cultivate. What roots me unlike Terra? People. The people connect me to this home. Everyday I rise before the dawn, walk among the 'crops' and observe how each is growing. I look beyond the husk to notice the tiny behaviors. Some I may say are reaching potentials which were hidden beneath the surface. Robert is being put in charge of important projects and has earned the respect of the senior officers. Chrissy is impressing her superiors and finding her niche. She's even found a few suitors which honestly I'm not upset about. Just extremely worried to the point of hysteria. Rob is going to have to take the ball in that court. My past is shadowing much about Chrissy's capabilities. Hmm back to my train of thought. Mo is learning to control his rashness and showing that he IS a capable Cadet. Alley is finding herself more and more babies to fly. Cross is reaching for his stars and passed his line officer exam. Ham is striding forth to prove that he'll be a superior doctor. Zip is getting past the mess and finally finding happiness. Lt. Commander Poole is becoming less and less visibly frightened by whatever has bothered her. And yet when I watch these people and more out on the decks, something doesn't feel right. The quiet whispers in corners followed by concerned creases to their brows. The flickered worried gaze in their eyes after overhearing a bit of news. The sudden tension 'felt' amongst officers despite the peace since the war ended. I can't put my finger on this, but all of this has me worried. Call it a hunch or women's intuition but 'something is rotten in the state of Denmark.' I am in charge of protecting each one on this Station like I was protecting the crops from ruination. And yet from my experience so far on this Station, no questions will be asked. Asking causes problems. All I CAN do is wait and observe. And most importantly, I must stay on my toes and pray that I'll be an asset by going through this cross training tomorrow instead of a failure when trouble hits us. If for anything but to keep these people growing.
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| Winters | Letter to Home |
Mon Sep 29 |
TO: Captain Colin D. Winters, Starfleet (Ret.) FROM: Ensign Ian J. Winters, S419-U Stardate: 52544.7 The screen pops up to show an image of Ian wearing a black t-shirt and looking a little bleary in around the eyes. It's clear that he most likely just woke up. "Morning, Dad," he says with a modicum of enthusiasm. "Sorry I haven't written sooner, but it's been a busy week. You were right, y'know. No matter how much you prepare for that first assignment, you feel completely clueless when you first show up." There's a short pause as Ian reaches for a white mug trimmed with the usual Starfleet-issue décor. He takes a sip of the contents and continues, "So… Junior Structural Engineer." He grins, "Doesn't sound that impressive, does it? Not for an old flyboy such as yourself." He chuckles slightly and adds, "It's not so bad. Lots to keep me busy and I'm learning things they just don't teach at the Academy. I work for a fella named Nicolas Javits. Real nice fella and he knows his stuff too; And our senior chief is a Bolian named Sobota. You can tell he's reassembled a few hull segments in his time. Between the two of them, I'll be in good shape." He pauses for another sip from the mug. "So the beginning of the adventure is here and I'm trying to be useful and keep out of the way of the folks who know more than me." "The crew here is a fairly cool batch of folks. There's a strong camaraderie here among the officers. You get a sense of it as soon as you're on board. Of course, that's just an overall first impression… it's a huge station and I know I haven't come close to meeting even a fair chunk of the crew." He pauses, as if he's considering if he should or should not reveal the next part. He smiles, wryly at first, which turns to shyly and the amused, "There's a girl." He hehs softly, "Don't even get started about me only being out here a week or so. It'll do you no good whatsoever. Just trust me on this one. She's something very unique. Very special. I'll let you know more when I find out more." He leans in as if to share a conspiratorial comment, "I'll tell you this for nothing… her family is a bit, well, shall we say odd?" He nods to himself as if that'll settle things for now. "Yes, odd. Odd will do nicely right now. I have a few more choice comments to make, but you'd only scold me for being negative about someone and remind me that they've probably got their reasons and I should learn more before making final judgement. Yadda yadda yadda, dad." "Has Zack been behaving himself? How's he doing in school? Tell him big brother is watching. Literally. And I'll come home and clobber him if he thinks he's going to get away with skating to graduation. Hugs to Mom. Tell her I've checked in with the medical staff and no, I don't have the sniffles." He grins as if it's an inside joke or something. "Look, I just woke up a few minutes ago so let me get crackin' on my day. I'm supposed to meet up with Chief Sobota in a little bit to go over the daily Level Four." He grins and touches the screen. "High fives, dad. Talk to you soon." And with that, the screen goes blank.
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| Leah | WWDD? |
Mon Sep 29 |
The camera blinks into focus, zeroing in on Morgan Leah, seated on the edge of her bed in a plain white t-shirt and crisp cotton pajama bottoms as she straightens out her Starfleet Uniform. She runs her hands down it, with a sort of affection in the motion that shows -just- how much esteem she holds for the uniform and what it represents. The next second though, she has her head in her hands and she starts to sob. "What am I going to do?... There's nothing I can do... they're going to come.... they're going to come and try and take my babies. But, I won't let them. No. I know what to do with Rya and Jacob." More sobbing, and she slips off the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms about her knees as she slumps. "But I can't... I can't let them do this. I can't let them hide the truth... Dad... What would dad do?" It's moments later that she answers her own question. "Computer, make a message. Low priority to Jacob Leah, Commander retired, Boston, Earth and Marie Davidson-Leah, Boston, Earth. Hi mom, dad. I just wanted to drop a line, I know it's been a few days with no word. Things are just hunky dorey out here on 419... Dad, it's just like old times, like you told me about before Stephen and I were born. Keep an eye out for that star you used to watch, from our backyard, to the North. It's shifted, you see, to the Eastern Quadrant, going into winter. ... Do you remember your old friend? The one you kept closest to your heart back before you met mother? Well, I think he may have gone off his rocker. If you could let Stephen know, too? And keep an eye out for your friend? I think he may be in trouble... regardless, I love you and I hope this letter message finds you well. Be safe, as always. Computer, end letter and save to PADD." After getting the helpful chirp chirp from the computer, Leah gets to her feet and looks at her uniform. A dark expression clouds her lovely features for a minute, then she starts to tug it on. "Prophets preserve and keep my family safe," she murmurs to herself. "Keep my babies and my husband safe... and let me live long enough to end this." Biting her lip, she finishes dressing and closes up her collar, securing her pips. Then, with a final look around the suddenly very empty room, she exits, a dark and determined look on her face.
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| Quin | A cigar is just a cigar |
Mon Sep 29 |
"Computer begin personal log" The voice records before the visual recording begins to take place. When it does it may first appear the terminal has be turned upside down, but it fact it's Merric who's upside down. Hanging by his knees over a bar supported by a thin framework resting on the floor Merric waves in and out of view of the camera doing inverted sit-ups as he dictates the log. "That computer, is the very last bit of training information Lt. Golden has assigned to me" he points to some location off screen his face is obscured but there is a hint of excitement in his voice. "which is good, because I was bloody sick of reorientation. I swear, I read one more damn SOP 'n I'll have to be taken in for psychiatric evaluation. Supposedly I'm supposed to look it over, then talk with the Lt. about my questions, it's probably something ridiculous like the Stations regulations on cleaning a pahser rifle with a non-Starfleet issue shammy. Anyhow, I'll get it done right now. "Computer end lo... Belay that." He says mid way up, his body relaxing into the inverted position once more there is a short pause while he is apparently organizing his thoughts "I've got something else worth noting, I just got back from Kea's place, she was feeling a little shaken up about something, something she said she was under orders to not talk about. I'm not really sure though if there /were/ orders, or if it was just a pretence to invite me over to her place. She really is beautiful"he comments sort of off the subject "Where was I? Oh. Right, I uhhh... Damn." The silence is longer this time, as Merric waits for his wayward train of thought to wander home, the overabundance of blood pooling in his brain obviously taking its toll on his ability to think clearly "Oh yeah! I was just thinking that her being shaken up might have been some kind of line to get close to me... I say that because she also brought up that she was interested in me romantically. There is definately a mutual attraction. We made a date for later on in the week. I'm excited, but suspicious I suppose. Maybe I'm just second guessing things. That's what years of training to manipulate people does to you, it makes you think there all out to manipulate you." Still suspended Merric reaches over to a table off camera, he pulls his hand back into view along with a PADD, he activates and begins to read then as an after though adds. "Oh, uhh. Computer end log"
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| Graves | First Impressions |
Tue Sep 30 |
"Personal Log. Stardate 53547.1. Audio only." The faint rustle of movement in the background is punctuated by a slow sigh as the voice begins anew, "So this is Station 419, my new post and my new home. It's not what I expected at all. Not that I can truly quantify what I was expecting, but 419 is surely not it." The microphone catches small sounds of shifting and the solid clunk of cup to counter. "Gone is the almost sterile, clean environment of Deep Space Seven and in its place is something akin to an old fashioned bazaar. Sights, sounds, smells everywhere it seems and all so different. It's not a bad change, but a change nonetheless and one I will take time to adapt to. One good thing is that the medical staff here I work with seem to be top notch. Speaking of Doctor Haven is redundant with her recent honors and published works and Doctor Park, although a bit reserved for my tastes, seems a decent enough man to work under. I'm not even sure how to classify Craig Malloy. He seems somewhat beyond any words I could use to describe him, but definitely a likable fellow. Something still so odd seeing a doctor with a pistol." He coughs and audibly takes a drink of whatever it is before continuing. "The random and interesting people I have met this first week would take too long to catalog, but as the single senior officer I have run across, I must say Commander Poole is an interesting person and one I can't help but want to understand more. After that meeting in the temple the other night, well, her view of life is intriguing and as one of the main decision makers on this station...understanding her may help me understand the overall attitude and atmosphere here. Doctor Haven mentioned to me she was pregnant last night, I suppose I should make a note to congratulate Commander Poole on that, or would that be too odd, since she never mentioned it to me directly. I guess I can think on that for later." "I'm enjoying this transfer more than I realized and I guess I really needed to get away and see something new and different. It's been far too long since I've felt any sense of wonder after the routine life at DS7. I forgot how wonderful it felt and I just wish I had to courage to go out and embrace it. It is slowly getting easier to meet people. Maybe one day I won't be filled with dread when I try to speak out loud. Maybe a change of pace is all I need to finally break out of this prison I put myself in. I guess only time will tell.." "Computer. End log."
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| Hurley | Tigger's Life |
Tue Sep 30 |
"Personal Log!" Christine's sing-songy voice chimes out from off-camera, which is, as usual, seated at her massively disorganized desk. "Computer, fill in the stardate. I don't know what today is!" The excited voice breaks into a cheerful laughter for a moment before the bouncy Christine, who is getting ready for her shift, plops into the chair behind the desk, smiling brightly at the camera and hugging a rather large, bright yellow teddy bear. "He kissed me!" She exclaims, flinging her arms to the sides while clutching one of the bear's arms, which flings him off camera. But, the bear is brought back to her chest in a tight hug and she swivels in her chair with another eruption of giddy laughter. The laughter quickly subsides and she spins back to face the camera, trying to hold down the smile and cheerful expression. "No. I'm not going to get excited about this. I promised Meg I'd be level-headed and careful. Neither of us know enough about him right now to be this excited." Her gaze drops towards the bear and she considers for a long moment, her bright expression darkening ever-so-slightly. "She told me why she's worried, and... well... yeah, I understand and sympathize. I just really don't think he's going to .. well, I suppose she didn't either." With a shrug, she smiles back towards the personal log, "Anyhow. On to *important* matters. I found the PERFECT PAIR OF SHOES this morning while I was taking a walk! Black, leather, buckle strap, slight heel... I need to go pick them up later today, possibly after my shift. They were too cute to pass up!" She sticks her tongue out towards the camera and continues on, "I know what Grandfather is going to say. I know he's going to disapprove.. but! THEY'RE CUTE! He'll never even notice, I'm sure. And, if he does, I'll share that stock Mother sent me recently. That'll keep him quiet, I'm sure." Grinning for a moment, she exhales, a dreamy smile replacing the earlier mischevious grin. "Well, time will tell all, I suppose. I'll have to hunt Grandfather down and have a chat with him. And perhaps while I'm hunting down monsters in dark, mysterious dungeons, I can go looking for Lieutenant Havaris to see if I should be preparing for that cross training he offered." She sighs, looking down to her bear. "I'm not going to get excited. Eng log."
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| Crayn | Afterglow |
Wed Oct 01 |
Crayn makes his way in to his quarters, a smile on his face.. "Personal Log, Stardate: 53548.5" He smiles, laying on his bed. "All seems to be well.." He stops, then sighs as reality hits him.. "No.. it's not. I mean, personally, things have been going well, but if these reports coming across my padd are true, then something's hit the fan." he sits up. "It looks like we've got a new enemy.. One who comes out of nowhere. Kearia came across them the other night. I haven't been officially briefed on the situation yet, so I don't know anything solid.. I'm curious if this may be what Alley was referring to earlier?" he shrugs.. "On a side note, I hope life for the ensigns around here changes for the better.. I had a discussion with Her Highness, and well, she seems to at least know what I'm talking about, and she sees the problem. How much of it was lip service, only time will tell." He sighs wistfully.. "And now to the happy part.. It seems like I may be seeing someone.. maybe.. I'm not rushing into anything this time. She's young, about my age, but she's seen so much. You can tell a person by looking into their eyes, and.. her eyes are old.. They've seen things that most beings should never see. She touched on it briefly tonight, but before we could get too deep about it, I tried to steer her to something more cheerful." He blushes a bit.. "Oh, she's Bajoran, and nothing like Asarah, who, by the way, just upped and disappeared." He shrugs.. "Yanna's different.. She's so full of life.. Something you'd think she'd have lost after such tragedy." He shrugs.. "Oh well, we seem happy together, and if it never moves any further from friendship, I'll still be happy. It seems that most of my friends have disappeared, or in some other way found themselves too busy. Again, I rarely ever see Zip around.. I see Kearia intermittently, and well.." He turns quiet, somber.. "It's been quite some time since we've shared anything. That's one of the reasons why I don't feel so guilty about Yanna.. I mean, we're free to see other people? What we have right now.. merely a convenience, I guess." He swallows.. "Let's not dwell on that now.. There's enough wounds from that, no need to re-open them." He yawns, laying back down on the bed.. "Computer, end log.. and set the chime for 0500 hours. Gotta get up in time for Alpha shift." He turns and heads towards slumber..
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| Graves | Unsent |
Wed Oct 01 |
"Computer, begin recording. Message to Kendra Larucalt." Kevin Graves sits in his chair beside the desk in his quarters, his eyes are circled in a growing darkness and a few sparkles of tears can be seen on his smooth cheeks. "Sixteen years. It's been sixteen years and you pick now to contact me." He sighs loudly and looks down at the top of the desk. "Mother, you said wanted me gone. You told me to go and find a new life with Starfleet. You said I did nothing but remind you of HIM and you couldn't stand me around. Why now, after all these years do you want to see me? Why do you think I want to see you?! You didn't want me, remember?!" He stands up and the digital image falters for a moment before catching him pacing across his chambers. Volume levels fall, then balance as it catches him speaking again. "How do you voluntarily cut yourself out of half my life, then expect me to be glad you are back?" He angrily turns back to his desk and grabs his PADD, looking down at something on its small screen. He rubs a hand back through his short dark hair and seethes, his breathing erratic and heavy. "Computer, end recording. I can't do this..."
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| Gwen Poole | Dilectissimus |
Wed Oct 01 |
The camera blinks on. In view are Gwen Poole's quarters, all carefully cleaned up and spotless. Even the bedroom, which is traditionally a mess, is in pristine condition. And on the bed is Gwen herself, laying flat on her back with a pillow beneath her head, in full uniform. She has her hands clasped on her stomach, fingers interlaced there. "Computer... begin personal log, stardate 53550.4." "I did it again without thinking about it... started humming that lullaby mother taught me. She says she learned it from dad's mother... she taught me to read it. Gave me a book. But I never read it. All I remember is the lullaby." And, to emphasize this, she sings a few verses, the universal translators can't translate the lyrical words and the unique (and definately not British) accents. The song brings a smile to Gwen's face and she closes her brown eyes, resuming her log. "But now I'm the mommy. /Me/. It's my turn... and I'm terrified. I faced a massacre earlier this week. Just one of the many times in my life that I have done so... every /night/ I have nightmares. But of all of these, what has me shaking in my boots? Being pregnant." "But, I don't have anything to fear, that's entirely the point. Chere is here. Nevaren is here. Zip is here... Thea, Kusto... my family is here. Jonathon may come. Maybe Alec. For the birth. The first Poole born off of Earth in nearly two hundred years." "Naya Alethea Poole. ... she is going to inherit so much responsiblity. My daughter... Dearest." Poole let's out a breath and turns on her side, smoothing out her uniform near her stomach. "Computer, end log."
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| Treal | Circles... |
Thu Oct 02 |
"Computer, begin personal log. Insert stardate at the end." Kearia Treal appears on the video feed, still wearing her uniform, though in the process of taking the jacket off. Her shoes already removed. A glass of wine sits on the coffee table before her couch, where she settles down with a plop. "Mmm... It's been a while since I've done a log. So much has been happening, I suppose. Well, that, and there wasn't much to make note of." She grins faintly, and reaches for the glass, taking a sip. "So, where to begin? For starters, Zip's over me already. I should have realized I didn't mean a thing to him, after the way he treated me. Oh well. Live and learn, I suppose. I haven't seen Jo for a while, our shifts have kept us apart, so I haven't gotten to talk to him. Michael passed his line-officer test. That's good. I'm proud of him. I just hope he remembers the little people." "Now then. There's Merric... He's new to the RRT. And yet, it's like I've known him for a lot longer. I just feel comfortable around him. We talk. We laugh. He was there when I needed him. He even took me out on a date. A /real/ date. We went to the Twilight Restaurant. He ordered our food, and we talked more, just getting to know each other. We went back to his place and danced for a while. And he didn't try to kiss me. Not that he didn't want to, he just... He knew that wasn't a line to cross yet. It's refreshing, being able to be with someone, without the expectance of something more. I find myself wanting to get to know him better. To just spend time with him. And for the moment, that's enough." "And... he doesn't feel like he needs to protect me. He doesn't push me away. He doesn't keep me in the dark. Well, not to say he tells me anything about what he does every day, obviously he can't," she laughs warmly. "But it's nice to be treated like I'm not a child. Like I won't break if I fall down. Like I know how to take care of myself." She is silent a moment, just sipping her wine, staring off into space before her. She curls her legs beneath her, and hums for a moment. "I don't know what the future holds," the young Kea begins, "I just know, that I look forward to discovering its secrets. Merric is turning out to be a wonderful friend. If it is to become more? I do not know, I cannot say. Time will tell, and I'm in no rush. There is no Gwen Poole, Meg Donavon, or self-absorbed Bolians to interfere or influence. For now, I am content. Jo, Michael, Merric, Alley, Dylan, Rann, Evan. A small circle, but a circle nonetheless. In time, it too will grow, I'm sure. But it is sufficient. My trust in them is complete. And they are there for me when I need them, and I there when they need me. That is as it should be. That is what's important." "Computer, end log."
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| Lanie | Reality bites |
Thu Oct 02 |
>>> PERSONAL TEXT LOG >>> STARDATE 53552.3 Well, it's been a hectic week. I've finally gotten to the point to where I can find things without constantly checking the map on my PADD to figure out where it is. And I've gotten rather comfortable, settling into a sort of pattern with my days. I'm really starting to see how big the world is. It's different out here. It changes your perspective on things. I guess that's why Starfleet has us do these cruises and all that, so we can understand just what it is we're getting into. There are a lot of things that can't be taught in a classroom or by simulations. Anyway, I realized something today. I'm not a counselor. Yet somehow back at the Academy everyone always came to me for advice and I'm starting to find that happening here. Kevin came by this afternoon and was all upset. So of course I ask what's wrong and he told me about his mother not having contacted him in sixteen years since she told him she wanted him out of her life. I can't even imagine that. My family might not be perfect, but I couldn't imagine going sixteen /weeks/ without hearing from them let alone sixteen years. Anyway, I told him what I think he should do. Then it hit me. I'm not a counselor. I'm not trained to help people. So why do I always feel this urge to? Maybe I just like to meddle. Maybe I've been going in the wrong direction all these years. My father told me he didn't expect me to don medical blue just because he had, and maybe I never even considered it an option just because I didn't want to end up like him, always worried about other people, balancing hospital bureaucracy on one side and patient welfare on the other. But today it hit me that maybe I ruled out something that I shouldn't have. Of course, it's probably just me having second thoughts about life again. I wonder if I'll ever stop. ----------------- >>> END LOG
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| Gr'laH | Reasonable Doubts |
Thu Oct 02 |
The Trefoil of the Klingon Empire flashes into view and receeds to reveal Gr'laH in his quarters, seated in his throne-like seat, staring balefully down at his terminal. Upon that terminal, images and data from some no doubt pressing report. His PADD is nearby, though it displays a report in Klingon. He looks displeased, if not somewhat conflicted. "I do not know what Lor'Qalt was doing with the Gok'Qach. I have asked to be informed. I asked to be informed of such things when Kang flew to Teirra. But, as ever, the High Command -- if she came with orders from the High Command -- has played me into a corner. Had she succeeded, of course, in whatever she was about? I would never have known. And if she failed, as she has, I would no doubt have the wherewithal to pick up the pieces and salvage the matter. As I begin to do now." "Still, I cannot help but wonder why Starfleet has declared the Sandstorm off limits. The discharge of subspace interference which destroyed communications throughout the sector and beyond had its origins, it is said, within the Sandstorm. Perhaps the Federation are developing a weapon? Perhaps they hide this from us? Perhaps. Perhaps that is why. Perhaps. According to what I was told, however, YaSharra was on board the Flemming. I find it difficult to believe that she would be swept up in subterfuge and lies. she is Betazoid, after all." "She reported on the mindset of Lor'Qalt. Read her emotions and thoughts and reported on them to the Flemming's Captain in Idrani. Does she report my thoughts and feelings to Idrani as well?" Gr'laH rolls up from his seat and paces towards the viewports, adopting a lean against the bulkheads. "Were I spiteful, filled with anger or a thirst for vengeance, this matter is the sort that could end a career. For some, perhaps many, of that vessel's crew. A black mark would follow any on that bridge. Including YaSharra. Wherever she went, there would be that day on the Flemming when they fired upon an allied vessel without warning or justification." He is silent for a long moment, staring out at the field of vessels that gather in the Station's space. "YaSharra has done her duty to her Captain. She does not betray me, or my Empire. I choose to believe my thoughts are my own when I am with her. What she may know from me, I would just as easily speak if she asked it of me. The Federation and the Empire will not suffer for this indiscretion. My job is to ensure that. I cannot prevent the KDF from acting in such ways, and I cannot prevent Idrani or O'Rielly from acting in such ways, but I can prevent their actions from shattering the peace we enjoy or threatening the alliance better Officers than all of us have shaped these many years." "And I can prevent this from harming YaSharra. Even a little. And that is where my decision is truly made." Gr'laH turns back about and returns to his seat, muttering, "The things men do for--" He catches himself and finishes with a wry, "Women."
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| Gellan | Comfort zones |
Thu Oct 02 |
The Federation Blue background and corresponding seal fade out to be replaced by station quarters shrouded in dim lighting. The soft voice of Chief Counselor YaSharra Gellan is picked up from a short distance and amplified, giving the recording's sensors a location to focus video on. And there she stands next to the curtain of wild vines that obscure the door to her bedroom, covered neck to ankle in what appears to be a fur-lined robe of dark, perhaps black, softened leather. "Another personal log," she states softly. A far-away quality tinges her voice, one indicative of her thoughts being parsecs away from her. "It is time, perhaps. For my thoughts are heavier than rocks in a stream." Her hands move gently along the growth of the vine, each touch of her fingertips a caress upon a leaf. "How can one who craves peace so deeply, fail in the promoting of it? It was my misfortune to be on that ship, on what should have been a simple, diplomatic and humanitarian mission, turned so quickly to an unfortunate incident that should have been avoided. And I am not so certain that I want to examine too deeply what occured there." She steps away from the leafy curtain, over to her favorite chair, and drops into it. Legs are pulled up and tucked beneath her, and she tugs the sides of the robe together before folding her arms across her chest, hands and chin tucked into fur. Burrowing into warmth and security. It is several minutes before her voice begins again, quiet and muffled from behind the fur. "We fired on an Allied vessel. A Klingon ship. A ship who's weapons were not armed nor targeted on us. Unprovoked. Unneccessary. Their crime? Being in a classified area of space. An area so classified that even those of us on the bridge are unaware of its reason for classification. They were damaged. The ship was no threat. But because they attempted to cloak and flee, the order was given to fire. Why? Idrani is a Diplomatic liason. She could have contacted the Empire. It could have been handled through diplomatic channels. The Empire could at least have been given the opportunity to deal with it's own. But no. There were those on the bridge with .. what is the term? 'Itchy trigger fingers'. Who wanted to arm weapons immediately. Who wanted to shoot first and ask questions afterward. And even while I could sense that the Klingon Captain was not there to start a hostile act, I failed to get that across. But then, I did not come out and say that, did I. For it would have been..a guess. Based on what emotions I was able to pick up from her. Would it have prevented us from firing on her? Had I been more vocal, would it have convinced Lt Idrani, or O'Rielly, or others who's first reaction was to shoot? Questions I will never have an answer for." A heavy sigh is followed by a moments pause. "How will I face him now?" She draws deeper into the robe, pulling the fur up to her face and ducking her head into it, and her muddled voice is barely heard. "Close log."
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| Nevaren | The Light to Come |
Fri Oct 03 |
For the first time in.. well.. ages, Nevaren and Gwen's quarters are actually brightly lit. There rather eclectic decorating style is easily seen through the video pickeup of the console. In the foreground, sitting in his large beanbag chair, is Nevaren. He is most certainly offduty, as he is wearing torn up jeans and a black t-shirt. His legs are crossed, so you can see his feet are bare and instead of his goggles he is wearing a pair of bevelled spectales with emerald green lenses. But what makes the picture is his smile. It's the largest, goofiest smile you have ever seen. /So/ big, in fact, his face must be in danger of cracking in half. The half romulan sways faintly, left and right, to some music that plays softly in the background. Something happy, uplifting. "We're having a baby..." he says, barely able to contain his excitement. The albino is all but vibrating where he sits. "Gwen's pregnant and in 8 and a half months or so she will give birth to our daughter. Our first child together. I.. I still can't beleive it." He takes a deep breath and settles back, trying to relax. But it is obviously not easy for him. "I have so many fears. I'm afraid she'll be born a freak, regardless of what Loni can do to make sure my daughter doesn't inherit all my physical faults. I'm afraid that some people won't accept a human with even a quarter romulan genes, even though I feel we have comse so far in the past few years. I'm afraid Gwen's damned brother will ostracize her more. I'm afraid that Eisak will be afraid we no longer love him, which is complete nonsense. He is our child too. Our first son.. It doesn't matter if he has our blood or not. He has our heart and that is what counts." But even as he counts off his fears, his smile grows wider.. happier.. "But those fear are nothing compared to the joy I feel in my heart.. in my /Pagh/. Our family is growing. And no matter how dark the future seems, with all I know, I can finally feel hope. Great hope." He leans foreward, towards the video pickup, his fingers steepled in front of him. "And why? Because months ago I had a vision from an Orb. A terrible vision where gwen was someone elses and I was all alone. But I failed to realize something about that terrible future. Something that struck me only recently, the moment that we discovered Gwen was pregnant." He takes another deep breath. "I relaized that in this future I was /alive/. That we were /all/ alive. That whatever darkness is actually comuning to try and consume us all didn't take us. We survived! And if there is a possible future where we survived the coming dark tide and where something terrible happened to me.. then there has to be a future where we can survive and we live in happiness. Where my wife.. my children.. my friends have made it and can move onto the new future unknown with lighter hearts and hope." The albino smiles at the thought as it obvously pleases him deeply. "There is hope. I know that now. And Our daughter will be that first tangible sign. Naya, my daughter, named for a mother I never knew. She and Eisak are our future... and our guiding lights. And I have every confidence we will find that future if we try hard enough. For them! And for us." "Computer, End Log."
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| Idrani | Personal Log |
Fri Oct 03 |
Personal Log: Stardate 53553.4. Lt. Jaylas Idrani, Diplomatic Attache Officer, S419. "Computer, begin recording log. "Damn, I'm tired. I suppose that I needed a little time to think things over. Go over the events in my head again. Decide what to make of myself. Which begs the question, naturally, did I do the right thing? "The evidence was undeniable. The Klingons were where they had no business being. We were perfectly within our rights to arrest them. And perfectly within our rights to react to them resisting a lawful arrest in the manner that I ordered. "Except "My orders were not followed. My warning, my stated intent to arrest the Gok'Qach for violation of the no-fly zone was not transmitted. This affects me on so many levels that I can hardly put words to it. Should I have verified that the transmission was sent directly across, as I ordered? Should I be looking over the shoulders of the sensor operators, the engineers and the tactical officers to make sure they're following orders? I am not a micro-manager. I detest /being/ micro-managed and therefore do not do the same to those beneath me. Should I change my command style? In light of this, can I ever trust my subordinants to do what I say again? "There will be the second-guessers, the naysayers. So be it. What exactly -were- my options? I had two. Either I could allow the Gor'Qach to escape, with violating our laws so that once again, we look like a toothless bear? Incapable of action, unworthy of respect. Or, I could have reacted the same way I would have reacted to -any- vessel that tried to elude lawful arrest. If not for the matter of the message not being transmitted, this argument would be academic. "I know that if this had been a slightly different situation, should a cloaked Klingon vessel attempt to follow a Romulan vessel in restricted space, there would have been one less B'rel class scout ship in the galaxy. No... that's not quite true. The B'rel would have been captured, its crew interrogated, then quietly disposed of, but the end result would have been the same. Still, that itself is a moot point. I am not a Romulan, nor was I in command of a Romulan ship. Though sometimes, I have to envy the Romulans for their ability, for lack of a better word, to seek the most direct and practical solution to a problem. "Still, the situation I find myself in, is to defend my actions. To Station Command. To Sector Command. To the Alliance. To my fellow officers. To myself. So, how do I feel about the situation? Regretful, certainly. Betrayed, most definitely. Do I feel remorse? If I had to do it over again, would I have done things differently? Other than verifying that my warning and intent was actually sent, no. Bottom line, -they- were in the wrong. The Gok'Qach was on an espionage mission, of that there can be no doubt. Their actions were illegal, hostile and they should be held accountable for them. They had no clearance to be in the Sandstorm and no intention of respecting our laws on the matter. Moreover, -had- the message been sent as I ordered, I do not think it would have impacted the decision of the Gok'Qach. She had no intention of coming along quietly. "So, let's get back to the question I first posed. Did -I- do the right thing. My answer is yes. -I- followed Starfleet regulations and protocol. -I- saw to it that the General Orders were satisfied and -I- ordered that the warning be given to the Klingons. So I stand by my decision. But along with that comes taking responsibility for those under my command. And that is the very distinct line that separates this from being a simple resist arrest case and a violation of the Alliance treaty. So, if I am reprimmanded because O'Carroll didn't follow my orders or because O'Rielly acted like a Starfleet Intelligence agent, I will accept that. That's the price that comes along with the Big Chair. "Speaking of the Big Chair, I doubt I'll find myself sitting there again, anytime soon. But that's the price that comes along with command."
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| Cross | Muttled Stars |
Fri Oct 03 |
<Written record> Personal log, Michael Cross, Stardate 53553.7. Hello, Old Friend, It's been a while since my last entry and alot has happened. Where to started...I guess career? Awhile back,when there was an opening in the Science Department for a line officer, I decided to go for it. Well, I took my Line Officer Examinations and passed them! They were incrediblely hard, but I was able to pass them. I know what this means, my old friend. Peoples lives are now on my shoulders if it falls to me. They will look to me to know what to do. I just hope when it comes time, I don't fail them. I've been on two away missions since then. The first, I was the Science Officer on the Flemming, a Sabre class starship. We were along the Neutral Zone, when I was able to catch a Romulan starship in Federation space, while it was still cloaked! We tracked the ship and then got into an engagement with Raiders. It was my first mission being a member of the command crew while under attack. I've been in combat before, but this time, it was different. I wasn't rushing off to control a damage control team. I was busy transfering information to the Helm and to Tactical. Making sure their aim was straight and our course clear. My second Mission, we were escorting a replacement crew to an outpost in the Sandstorm, again on the Flemming. I ended up spotting a cloaked Klingon ship following us when she bounced off a plasma pillar. The Klingons were damaged and we escorted them out when they tried to go wiley, cloaking on us. I completely agree with Lieutenant Idrani's action and fire on them. I personally found them tailing us the entire way. Their ion trail showing their course. They were acting illegally and their actions could have been endangering our ship. The Lieutenant eventually talk down the Klingon Captain and I spent too much time in the bowels of a Klingon ship making repairs with Lieutenant Javits. I think that brings us to personal and friends. Alley took her time at the helm on the Flemming hard. I would still have her at the helm anytime, but I guess I'm biased considering she's my best friend, first friend. There's Mo. Ensign Torin. It's funny. When he was on the away mission, he reminded me alot like me. In the middle of the fire and he was calm, ordering out repair teams. Me? A recent event made me reconsider if I found the right stars. If there is another group out there I should be looking for. That there is signs out there that have been there the entire time. My career seems to be going well. Commander Poole says I have a gift. What about me? Should I just bag the idea of having a personal life and just be the best damn Starfleet officer that I can be? Would it interfere in my career? Was Tina's death a message all along? That I have a choice to make, a path to take? With being above my head with away missions, duty work load, volunteering in other departments and with my thoughts shifting to this because of that recent event, My head has just been swimming. I confided in Alley about it. Of course I would. Unfortunately, during the conversation, I damn near insulted her. It was unintentional, but I hated every moment knowing that I just had insulted her. I confided with Kearia about it as well. No, I didn't insult her. They both agree. Maybe they are right and I'm just being silly. I bet you are wondering what that event was. I don't think I'm going to share that, maybe just saying that actions that make you feel nonexistent can be painful. In the end, I recieved a message loud and clear. After leaving the Clarkstown, I was knocked back. I was content in finding a small place for me, maybe a few friends and simply exist. Now, I feel as if my career is screaming out to a brighter and maybe bigger future. I guess I was feeling that my life should follow as well with it. After that event, I felt like I was knocked back again. Or maybe this is my brain still so muttled and sleep deprived, I'm seeing patterns that aren't there. Later, Michael. <<Security Clearance Required for Access>>
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| Dasan | New Beginnings |
Fri Oct 03 |
Personal Log: Ambassador Majida Dasan, Stardate 53553.9: The UFP logo fades out to reveal the newly installed Federation ambassador. Her hair is pulled up away from her face, and instead of softer colors that she generally wears, she's wearing a vivid blue dressing gown. Her face is scrubbed clean of any cosmetic enhancements, and she appears to be weary, or frustrated. When she speaks, her voice isn't tired; it's energetic, full of purpose, and just slightly on edge. "I've been at my new post only a few days. It had a promising beginning. The initial reception went well, and had a decent turnout for such a thing. But then, who can blame people for being bored by state dinners? I know I am bored by them. The first diplomatic round table also went well. I established myself as no one's fool, yet kept everything friendly. The only disturbance was the appearance of Captain Balin with his former first officer and his current first officer." The Betazoid's head shakes lightly. "I understand that the news was important, and that he wanted everyone to know that Commander Edwards had returned, but I do think that it could've been handled more delicately. It seemed to be a mystery when he spoke, but I wasn't prepared for what it really was. Temporal criminals. I was quite in shock when he told me. Actually, I think I'm still just a bit in shock. In thirty years of traveling the galaxy, you hear a lot of things, but you don't necessarily believe them all either. But he was telling me the truth. That I know." She chuckles, a mirthless laugh full of disbelief and disappointment. "I had only heard of this impossibility, when I receive a report from Lt. Idrani telling me that she's fired on a Klingon vessel. When I read it I prayed it was a joke. Unfortunately, I don't think that the lieutenant's sense of humor is that keen." She brings a mug of something to her lips and drinks, a hint of steam rising from the beverage. "She fires on the vessel and another officer tried to break into the Klingon vessel's computers, committing an act of espionage and possible sabotage. What were they thinking? I can almost understand the negligence of the other officers to consider diplomacy, but what excuse does Idrani have? She is a diplomatic attaché. I do not look forward to discussing this matter with her. The station's counselor was on board, a Betazoid named Gellan. I may speak with her and get her impressions of the situation. I'm sure they'll be helpful." The ambassador closes her eyes briefly, and then says, "I wish I could speak with my sister. She would help me laugh about this and make me take it in stride. But I can't speak to her of these things, even if she were here to listen." The woman opens her eyes and takes another sip of her drink before going on, "Computer, encrypt log with pattern FDStauDasan6. Reference file Balin1 on PADD and end log." Her face blinks out, to be replaced by the UFP logo.
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| Hurley | Inconspicuous Tigger |
Sun Oct 05 |
The video feed opens, revealing young Christine Hurley seated on her sofa, her legs crossed under her while holding an iced mocha. She's smiling brightly, eyes shining with their typical enthusiasm and excitement. "Personal log," she begins, eyes lifting upwards slightly. "I was *almost* late for my shift today. Thankfully I got home and changed in time to make it... and, I even beat some others." She exhales, looking to her coffee, then back to the image feed. "Lieutenant Malloy asked me when my cross training will begin. Quite frankly? I have *no idea*. I haven't heard anything about it, so he asked if I'd created a report.... which... I don't want to irritate Lieutenant Havaris, so.. no. "He seemed to understand that, so... he suggested I casually run into Lieutenant Havaris. Like at the Coffee House. And inconspicuously just start up conversation with him." She blinks a couple of times, then just bursts into laughter which subsides to small giggles. "Riiight. Hi, Lieutenant! How are you? How's it going? Read any good books lately? How's your coffee? Have you thought anymore about giving me more work to do? Yeah! That'd be great! See you later!" Shaking her head, she bemusedly grins again, "I somehow.. don't see that happening. At least, not inconspiculously. Though, I suppose it would work anyway." She bites at her lower lip, looks away, then nods. "Lieutenant Malloy was right. It does get boring up there just waiting for a communication to come through, route it, then continue on with my happy existance." She looks back to the camera, smiling brightly, "Though, the typically slow days at least give me time to get to know others in Operations. Chat is never bad, as long as it doesn't interfere with anything. But, still." Again, she exhales and turns her attention to the iced coffee in her hands. "It all works out in the end. It always does." She smiles, then looks back up towards the camera, "Thank you, Father. Your words strangely seem to fit in every situation." She pauses, then lazily smiles to her coffee again, "Mental note: write Mother. I have some.. news.. to catch her up on." Lifting her eyes upwards, she bites at her lower lip, grins, then nods to the camera. "End log. Save with normal encryption."
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| Park | Personal Log |
Mon Oct 06 |
The scene opens with Park sitting on the aft deck of a yacht that is floating in a small harbor. It's obviously the holodeck, since he's still in uniform and was on duty a few short hours ago. Well, he's partially in uniform. The jacket has been layed across the back of a deck chair, leaving Aaron to sit in his Tshirt as he stares out at the water. "I can't believe that she had the /gall/ to threaten /me/!", he says angrily to no one in particular. "Impartial my ass. Any decent officer would have, at the /least/, tried to get both sides of the story instead of siding with Loni. So Gwen gets /her/ side of it and then threatens /me/ with a reprimand!?" Yep, the man is yelling now. He springs up out of the chair, turns and grabs the back of it and in a fit of anger, throws it off the ship and out into the water. Either Park has been working out or the rage helped him get some distance on that throw. "What the HELL is the matter with her!? Everyone else on this station can have bad things happen to them and be upset, that's OK, but I CAN'T!?", Aaron screams as he grabs anothe |