BBS 04-04-05 Personal Logs |
| Poole | An Even Chance |
2004 Dec 02 |
Personal Log, Audio Only Lt. Commander Poole Stardate 54577.1 "It would seem some of the apologies are going to have to wait. The people I most wanted to say something to have shipped out. That part of the healing process is just going to have to be put on hold." "Ghorev. ... For all our myriad disagreements and conflicts, he has ever been fair to me. I've only ever seen him be fair in nearly all his dealings with the crew and civilians as well. This hasn't changed the few months I have been absent." "He's offered me a chance to prove myself and taken my past, filled with ... things I'd rather not talk about at the moment, and tossed it away. He's taken me on as a fresh senior officer who has had a colorful, but somewhat bright career so far." "It's really more than fair. And I have an even chance." "Computer, end log."
|
| Harris | Changing Spaces |
2004 Dec 04 |
"Personal log, Stardate 54581.9." Harris sits in his new quarters, gently tugging items out of a box and placing them on the coffee table. "Another classified mission. More questions I can't ask. More time apart." He sighs softly as he runs a cloth over Meg's holocube to remove any percieved traces of dust. "There's so many secrets between Meg and I that... sometimes, I feel like we're sleeping in the same bed, but we're worlds apart at the same time." He pauses to gently place it next to his model of the Exeter. "I've had some... strange dreams this last week. Like nightmares, almost -- with Meg missing or being dead. I can't shake the feeling that something -bad- is going to happen, and..." Rob lowers his eyes. "I'm worried. More than I've -ever- worried before about her, in fact. I thought about asking her not to go, but that would be like trying to stop a supernova from exploding. She's so... gung-ho. I guess that's why I love her so much -- she's just as impulsive as me." He closes up the box, standing to move it into a stack of likewise empty boxes. "Still, though... I wish she was here, and not racing off to God-knows-where. I'll be here when she gets back, and I guess... I guess that's good enough, really." He frowns, glancing out the viewports. "Just come home soon, okay?" And then he moves to the log recorder, tapping it into blackness.
|
| Malloy | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 04 |
Personal Log: Stardate Five-Four-Five-Eight-Two-Point-Two. Leftenant Craig Malloy, CMO USS Aegis, Timefleet. The log finds Malloy again in his office. Still making Spartan interior design luxurious in comparison, he nevertheless seems to feel comfortable here. "So," he muses, looking down at his PADD while sipping from a glass filled with either vodka or water...or some clear schnaps. "Pipsequeak bailed as well. That would make me the only former member of the Rutledge again on this station." With a dry chuckle, he lifts his glass to the camera. "I declare the first annual meeting of the Rutledge Veterans opened. Celebrate." With a snort, he nudges the PADD away once again. "Computer, end and save log, classify level seven and encrypt using standard Timefleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner." The picture fades out, to be replaced by the standard UFP Starfleet background.
|
| Hurley | The Family Curse |
2004 Dec 05 |
"Personal Log," a uniformed Christine Hurley states somberly and looks with a tear-stained face into the recording device. "Stardate five four five eight four point three. I thought that maybe I'd defeated the family curse. I thought it was over when Tak brought me home. But.. what happened last night? Meg's ship was attacked near..." she sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest. "What *is* it with this border? Why is it that my family is always so torn apart in this area? "Where are you, Meg? Come home, please. I saw Mother deal with Father's disappearance along this zone, I've heard Grandmother talk about Grandfather's disappearance out here, and I don't think I can bear watching Grandfather deal with it all, too. Just.. come home." After a moment of silence, Christine wipes more tears from her eyes and stands from her sofa to make her way to her bedroom, leaving her log to eventually time out.
|
| Williams | Personal Log Stardate 54584.7 |
2004 Dec 05 |
Mitch is standing near one of the viewports lookout it. Through it you can see the Anomaly. He is wearing a Black button up shirt that is a little tight fitting, but not too tight. He has on a pair of Black slacks with a black belt that has a silver buckle on it. On his feet he has a pair of Black loafers. On the glass top of the coffee table you can barely make out out a compin. He is holding a eight by ten picture frame in his left hand. "Personal log stardate 54584.7" "I did it again." he pauses and continues to look out the window. "I've been relieved of duty for something stupid. My damn temper got the best of me. Why? Because, I was told one thing by Command and told another by my superior. He ordered me to stay away from the USS Aegis. I was told I was to take care of it by command, and I exploded. Now I am seeing the two Counselors they have here. I guess I needed to see them anyway." He looks at the picture and his eyes start to tear up. "God Maria, what to do, what to do. I didn't want anything to happen again. I didn't want anymore blood on my hands." Softly he whispers "I should have saved you. You shouldn't have died." He cries for a few minutes and then turns around and sets the picture down next to the combadge. and plops down on the sofa. His hands rub his face, and his voice is a little muffled, "The Assistant Counselor AND the Counselor both said, I have survivors guilt. Sometimes I wonder if I should have accepted another assignment or just resigned my commission." his hands come away from his face. "I got my ass reamed out by the XO. I know he had too, and I know his rep is very good from all accounts. But not even two months here and I already have a damn black mark against me. Well, its not like I had a clean record to begin with. I can't even do my job right." He shakes his head. "What am I going to do? I can't even tell my Dad. He is still ashamed of the last time." He pauses as his eyes close as tears flow again, "I can remember his words in the message he sent me when he first found out. What was I thinking? She wore the uniform, she knew the risks. What he still doesn't know is that I loved her. I loved her more than anything. She WAS family, more than him, more than mom. She was a sister. No woman could ever come close to the bond we had." he continues to sob, "Computer, end log, save and encrypt to my voice print Alpha-One-Niner-Five-Zulu."
|
| Ghorev | Item: One Bowl |
2004 Dec 07 |
<As always, translated, etc.> "Personal Log, Supplemental" "I hereby remind myself to place an order to Fimdari for one new fired-clay offering bowl for my shrine. I hereby further remind myself that I really *shouldn't* read work reports before settling down to my morning prayer observance." "So much for going one day without being second-guessed, argued, or harassed by a junior officer. So much for going *one day* without having to explain myself, justify my rank and billet, or repeat an order." "And I've had that bowl since my entrance exam, too. It's been with me longer than ... anything. I don't know whether to be sad or angry about that, now that the moment has passed." "Computer, end log, save under 'Reminders'."
|
| Harris | Return to Self |
2004 Dec 08 |
-- FILE RETRIEVAL -- //HARRIS/PLOGS/2285/8436.1.PLG -- -- PLAYBACK BEGIN -- 07:41:36 -- SD: 54591 -- "Cadet Robert Harris' personal log, Stardate 8436.1." A younger Robert Harris stands in front of a mirror in the tan-shouldered uniform of cadets from the 2280s, inspecting it carefully. "The docs say that my back is almost completely healed and that I can go back to the Academy soon. 'Course, they'll have to send me to another ship to complete my cruise, seeing as how Admiral... well, Captain Kirk, now, destroyed the Enterprise in the Mutara Sector. Dad says that they've commissioned the Enterprise-A, but that Commander Scott is busy tearing her apart before she's judged space-worthy." A shrug at that. "Oh, well. There's plenty of other ships in the fleet. Maybe they'll send me to the Yorktown -- dad's always saying that Captain Zapata could use a good pilot -if- I can survive the ribbing he'll give me for being related to my old man." Harris grins wryly, stretching before he apparently overdoes it and winces. "Assuming that I get through this part of my cadet cruise without needing another spinal cord repair, I'll be almost six months behind schedule on getting my own ship before I'm 35." Rob's eyebrows furrow together as he spots some lint on his uniform and he plucks it off. "Which, I guess, is alright. I can't imagine that they'll have any of the heavy cruisers availible for a young captain, so I'd end up with a Miranda or..." he shudders, once again wincing, "..an Oberth. At that point, I might as well join the Merchant Marine -- at least I'd be paid well for flying a scow." That infectious grin reappears, and both of Harris' eyebrows lift in amusement. "That would be a waste of the best pilot in the fleet since Hikaru Sulu graduated from the Academy, though, and I think everyone knows it. Assuming that the Excelsior ever makes it into full production, I can see myself in the center chair of one someday. 'Captain' Harris -- now that's got ring to it." He pauses, then shakes his head. "I wonder what Annie'd have to say about that if I told her. She'd probably hit me and point out that quarters for two can get cozy on a starship. Which..." both of his eyebrows go up, and he grins rather wolfishly, "Isn't bad at all, at least as far as I'm concerned. She, on the other hand, would have to put up with me all the time." He stretches once again, experimentally, wincing when he reaches the limit again. "Just have to get better so I can get back to school, that's all. You can't keep a good man down, and I'm one of the best men ever, if I do say so myself." -- END PLAYBACK -- -- REPEAT? Y N? --
|
| Hurley | Happy Endings |
2004 Dec 08 |
"Personal Log," Christine's somber voice lifts slightly above the soft roar of water in the background. "Stardate five four five nine two point three." She falls silent after the introduction, leaving the sound of the water to occupy the log while she composes her thoughts. "I've been back nearly two weeks." It's a matter-of-fact statement. "And I never imagined things to turn completely upside down in the matter of .." She sighs and again falls silent. "Commander Ghorev will be proud of him," she says with an almost audible nod. "He's put his duty before everything, as far as I can tell, and will in the process create a self-fulfilling prophecy of loneliness. Of course," she sighs, "as will I at this rate." "Rest," she concludes after another moment of water-filled silence. "And once I rest, back to pretending everything's back to normal. I've been through this once, I can make it through again. Everything always works out in the end, remember? End log."
|
| Nabrun | Homesick |
2004 Dec 09 |
Stardate: 54593.2 Computer, Begin Log. The scene opens with Barana sitting on the couch in her quarters. She's not curled up in the usual fashion, but sitting "properly," hands folded in her lap. "I'm homesick," she says quietly, simply, smiling a little wryly. "I'm not quite sure why, but I am. I realized today how much I miss home. How much I miss the people. I enjoy working aboard the Station and wouldn't trade it, but I also miss the..." She trails off, eyes going distant as she searches for words. "I don't know quite how to describe it. I guess the comfort of other presences and the ability to talk with people telepathically. That's what's -natural- to me, like speaking vocally is to other races." Barana sighs softly, scrubbing a hand lightly over her face. "Part of it has to do with my work, I suppose. And with my personal life." That gets a quiet bark of laughter from her. "My personal life is quite the lovely tangle, but again, nothing I'd trade. Well, except for the part where I was stupid enough to love two Terran males. Gee, do you think THAT'S a recipe for disaster? Oh, I'm very fortunate in the fact that they're friends, or becoming friends, but neither of them would tolerate anything more." A small smile creeps over her lips. "I still have to apologize for startling poor Sharra the other day. I thought she was going to come track me down and throttle sense into me." The smile fades as she moves on. "Work is work. We're a four person department with only two people to do the work. Sharra got her back up a little when Hamish declared that he and Aaron would take over any of my cases that needed tending while I was off. What she didn't know, and I have to explain, is that Hamish knows how worried I am about her. She and I are in the same boat at the moment. Only she's got it much worse than I do. I haven't been able to pry any information out of her, which worries me. She's not talking much at all." The Betazoid's smile fades completely, replaced by a heavy sadness. "Talking. I have to talk with Rob and Christine. I'm at a loss for what to say. There's been no word of Meg and it's been almost a week. Malloy found her ring, the night it happened." She stops for a moment, looking away from the camera. "I TOLD him not to do it," she says quietly. "I TOLD him to wait until the morning. I strongly advised him to wait. To give Rob a chance to rest. But no. He didn't. He only told me what he was going to do so that he'd have someone on hand to clean up his mess." Her jaw works, eyes angry as she turns back to the camera. "He asked me my opinion, professionally, then completely disregarded it. I FELT Rob break. I FELT IT." She gets up and moves out of the camera's range, movements sharp, angry. "I don't think he knows how that feels. Sharra was down for the night. I'd already spent most of the night in Ops, watching, waiting. Helpless. I had just settled down to spend time with friends and loved ones, to recharge, just a little bit. I HAD to take the call. Why? Why did he have to do that? Plausible deniability? He could salve his conscience because he called and made sure the Counselor would be ready at a moment's notice?" Barana slips back onto the couch with a cup of something in her hands, one leg tucking beneath her. "I know my job. I'm good at my job. I love my work. Something like that, like what Malloy did, is inexcusable. He could have waited four hours. But he HAD to know right then and there. Because of his impatience, coupled with everything else that's going on, I broke. What little energy I had left was poured into turning my mind off instead of preparing myself for patients. I'm worn down, which, granted, isn't his fault. It was just the last straw. The man has a God complex that's going to get him in trouble one of these days." She shrugs then looks down at her mug, the way her fingers are gripping it so hard that they've turned white. "I miss home. I miss my family. I miss the comfort and companionship, the openness. I hate this new balancing act I'm forced to perform. I just..." The voice trails off again, followed by a sigh. "I'm just tired, I guess. Tired and cranky. It'll all be better in the morning." Computer, end log.
|
| McTiernan | Letter Home |
2004 Dec 09 |
(<O The Starfleet logo fades to a field of black to be replaced by the image of Piper, making funny faces at the recorder. O>) "Hiya, Dad.. Hiya, Mom! Sounding off from Space Station Upsilon Four-One-Nine. Before you get started..I know I'm late checking in. It's taken a bit longer to find my feet then normal but I think that's because we so badly under staffed. It's like this place just survived some huge battle and is slowly coming back to itself." The camera angle shifts to take in the blue blue of the anomaly through the viewport and Pipers voice comes from off screen. "Do you *see* that? Is that not the coolest thing? I've moved my desk to just under the viewport so that the glow from the Anomaly filters right over me. It's all most like being at home.. you know?" The camera shifts again and Piper is back to it's center, a cheesy grin on her face. "Speaking of which.. There is a HUGE Andorian lodge here and even the base XO is Andorian. Every time I see him, I wince inside. It's only a matter of time before he *really* reads over my SR and sees that incident on the Reagan.. then it'll be 'We won't have that kind of tomfoolery on this station, Mister McTeirnan!' and I'll sit there wishing the floor would swallow me whole! CHOMP!" She laughs as she works polish into the toe of her boot, buffing the very old fashion way. She pauses to glance up, "I'm afraid that I've broken McTeirnan law #4." She grins then, clearly not looking to terribly sad about it. "All protests are duly noted before you send me a letter with the blast of them. It's not serious or anything.. just a fun time and it can't hurt to have a friend or two with a bit of pull, right?" A bit more polish is added before she sets it aside and picks up a damp piece of cloth, using one end to rub in the black gunk. "Tell Matty this polish is the best stuff he's done so far. Oh, and he better not be rough on my baby this harvest season. I'll seriously have to ask for leave time to come home and kick him in the .. well.. you know, Dad. I met a guy the other day that owns and runs a book store here. He's got the cutest kid and it gave me an idea for putting together a book for kids about what life is like in an underwater station. After all.. not many kids get to look at life from that view point." "My boss is mostly ok which is to say that he hasn't run me ta'ground yet for my mouth. Let me just thank you both for that little gift yet again." She gives the recorder a look that screams 'this is an old jibe'. "Though I think there is more about his story then he lets on. I just get the impression he's.. what's that term Mom likes to use.. Oh yes! He's an old soul and he's a pilot so I might actually survive working for him." Her eyes widen a touch as she points at the recorder.. only she's wearing a boot on her hand so that's what is jabbed forward. "Great Bird! I have declared a new HERO! Yes yes.. it's true.. His name is Caleb Foster. He's a TRT pilot and ooooo, cute too but you should see him fly, Dad. You'd cry, he's so good. I'm going to beg a bit and see if I can't get him to do some simulator time with me. I'd really love to get his take on my style. He's got some really hot hands on the controls.. it's a thing of beauty, I tell you!" She grins at the screen and shrugs, "I miss you guys like mad. Give everyone my best! Kisses!" (<O The Starfleet logo flashed back on screen with a warning in red :FILES ENCRYPTED TO SPECIAL SECURITY PROTOCOL: O>)
|
| Harris | The Sleep of the Damned |
2004 Dec 09 |
The red, leather-bound journal of Robert's rests on the desk in his quarters, pages held open by a pen that marks the latest entry in blue ink. "Nightmares rule my sleeping hours." The Constitution-class USS Enterprise shudders as a photon torpedo slams into her unshielded hull. Propelled by the explosion to bounce off the starboard corridor wall, Cadet Robert Harris pushes back to his feet to continue the run toward his battlestation, guided only by the flicker of the alert tracers. "Come on, only one more junction, then turn right for turboshaft C," he pants, pushing against the flow of cadets moving the opposite direction. He finds his corner, leaping into the turbolift as the doors slide open at his approach, an eruption of fire flaring from a bulkhead behind him... "Nightmares rule my waking hours." ...only to find himself stepping onto the bridge of the Exeter. "Robbie, glad you could join us," Captain Riley says from the middle chair, an easy Irish grin finding his face. "Science is getting some strange readings a couple trillion kilometers off our starboard bow. He thinks it might be caused our experimental equipment down in Engineering. Take the helm, and move us in nice and slow." Grinning, Rob settles into his chair at the helm console. "Nice and slow, aye. I'll make sure not to scratch the paint on any of the space dust floating around out there." The Exeter slowly spins and moves forward, headed for the anomalous contact... "Nightmares rule all my hours." ...San Francisco burns out of control, flames leaping higher than the skyline of the city is tall. At Starfleet Academy, shell-shocked survivors mill about the Quad, staring upward into the sky as if waiting for death to come from the Breen cruisers in orbit. At the fountain in the middle of the grassy area, Robert Harris gently tugs the half-burned corpse of a female cadet from the water and puts a finger to her neck, although the glassy stare of her eyes already tells the story of an empty shell for a soul long gone. For the first time in months, he whispers words to someone who isn't an instructor on campus... "Rest in peace..." "Morning. Night. It doesn't matter anymore." ...the station shudders under the attack of the Lithians, lights flickering with power surges as EPS taps give away. "Gotta give the Paine time to get away," Harris mutters as he puts in his access code for the LCARS terminal. A scream echoes down the corridor, and two security guards come by, dragging another officer whose legs are shredded meat from the knees down. As they race past, a feeling of relief floods through Rob for the first time in this dream. "Not Meg," he whispers... "I just want the hurting to stop." "...found her this morning on Rynka." The dour Starfleet ensign on the screen looks appropriately apologetic. "If we'd found her a few hours earlier, we might have been able to do something, but she was too far gone when we got there. I'm... sorry, sir." The dream freezes, then starts again as if looped. "...found her this morning on Rynka." The dour Starfleet ensign on the screen offers a small smile. "She's a little dehydrated, and she's got some injuries, but we're taking care of her now, and we'll have her home to you soon." The dream freezes, then starts again as if looped... "And I don't think it ever will."
|
| Krylow | Take my pain away |
2004 Dec 11 |
Personal Log, Startdate 54598.7, Audio Only. "Today I hurt everywhere. And I don't know how to make it right." "Barana thinks that I'm refusing to talk to her. I just didn't have the words. There's nothing there but confusion. I have questions, but she doesn't want to hear those right now. I can see the pain in her eyes and it cuts me so deep." "I want to tell her that I'm lost right now. I need her support and it not there. I drove her away. I don't understand what happened, and I don't know how to fix things with her." There is a pause while you hear a long breath drawn. "I feel like a cadet. I thought those days were over from my time on the Destiny. They put us through hell and those of us who could cut RRT earned our pips. I'll never forget the feeling of acceptance when I earned my pip. Now it feels like I'm back cutting my teeth again." "Trust. For such a small word it carries such weight. Hiroshi thinks I don't want to trust him, that I don't want to talk to him. I do. I've tried. I've tried to explain to him what drives me, what keeps me focused and it doesn't work. I don't have the right words." "Do I have a chip on my shoulder? No, its bigger than a chip and its getting bigger. Its driving a wedge between me and Hiroshi. Its causing problems that I don't know how to deal with. I've tried to talk to him. I'm beginning to accept the lack of trust. I'm beginning to think there is no way to solve it but bow my head and plug away for months. Someday I will earn his trust." "I wanted this position and I wanted to be part of this team. No matter how hard it is, I will earn his trust. I'm here and I'm staying the course." There is a long pause here in the log. "The Tal'kaden captured the Hannibal. They captured a Defiant class Starfleet vessel with Timefleet tactical officers on board. We don't even know if Meg is still alive, or if she was killed. Or at least I don't. I can't even ask right now." "Ordered off duty for three days. Or maybe that should read suspended from duty for three days. Either way, I don't even have work to bury myself in. I need something to do, something useful. I need to something to occupy my mind and I don't have it for another 40 hours." "I wish I could fix things. I feel so lost. I thought things were changing for the better, but there's still a mountain to climb. Today I don't have the words. Today I am silent. Today I hurt everywhere and I just want to make it right. Today I need to let go of my anger, no matter how hard. Today I need someone." "I haven't admitted that in a long time."
|
| Malloy | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 11 |
Personal Log: Stardate Five-Four-Five-Nine-Nine-Point-One. Leftenant Craig Malloy, CMO USS Aegis, Timefleet. Malloy is in his office once again for a change. Maybe he should finally get around to at least hanging up a diploma. ICU looks more homely than this place. "Oh jolly..." mutters the man, mulling over his PADD, "Alek tagged me to have a talk with Tak. Just what I need. Gotta try my 'Old Man Malloy' spiel on him. It's actually rather simple. He's gotta understand that I don't want his team, come hell or high water. I reckon for Andorians, this'd be one and the same..." Malloy chuckles softly, then looks up into the camera. "Now if this'd be the Aegis though...but it ain't. Wish me luck. Computer, end and save log, classify level seven and encrypt using standard Timefleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner." The picture fades out, to be replaced by the standard UFP Starfleet background.
|
| Lopez | Scabs |
2004 Dec 11 |
"Computer, begin recording Personal Log... what day is it? Current date and time." Ana lounges in boxers and tank on the couch-like piece of furniture in the outer room of her quarters, apparently painting her toenails, not looking at the fourth wall. "'Just talk about it.' The people on this station are real fans of catharsis, sabes? They feel better, they claim, talking about what's eating them. And they want you to spill it all too. Won't let it go, in fact." She screws the lid onto her little bottle of clear resin polish, and gives her toes a fanning wiggle. She readjusts on her pillowy cushion, leaning back with an arm stretched lazily out above her head. "Digáme, si algo le incomoda, por qué hablaría de intencionalmente de lo? Entierrelo! (Tell me, if something eats at you, why would you intentionally bring it up? Bury it!) Its not going to go away just because you've shared it, verdad?" "Be free with your emotions," she says, squinting, and shaking out her leg, drying the polish. "Tell me everything! Who cares if you don't want to talk about it? Don't you TRUST me? Rip that scab off, there, Ensign. Ana. Sweet." She puts down her feet, so they contact the floor of her quarters, and she stands up, carrying the little bottle off-screen. Presently, she reappears, and comes back to the day bed. "They mean well. I think they do, anyway. But I'd rather just forget about the whole thing. Now I catch myself pushing them from time to time, probing the wounds, and I feel like... such a hypocrite." Ana lays down on her side and confesses, "Its not about trust. If it were trust, I'd have talked to Dad, and this would have been behind me years ago. I just... I'm having so much trouble thinking rationally about it, when the moment comes to. This thing is like a splinter in me, and its festering." There is a long pause, wherein she looks like she's not sure what she wants to say. Extraño mi vida anterior... I miss my life from before! Thats enough, Computer. End log, encrypt... no, you know what? Don't encrypt. No point."
|
| Hurley | A Fond Farewell |
2004 Dec 12 |
Christine plops onto her sofa sporting a light blue sweater and contemplating a gold charm dangling from a dainty chain held in front of her. After a moment, she says to herself with a definite nod, "I need to do this. For me. For Ian. And.." She just smiles and calls out, "Computer, begin letter: Ensign Ian Winters, assignment USS Freedom." She pauses, draws in a deep breath and smiles into the recording device. "Hi, Ian. It's been awhile since I've heard from you. I think. Well, I really haven't heard from you. But, that might be because.. well.. hmm. Nevermind. It's not important. I know your father convinced you to transfer - to better your career, and knowing you, you're having the time of your life whereever you are." She pauses and glances back towards the door before turning her gaze down on the necklace in her hands. "And so am I. Which.. well, really shouldn't be surprising, I guess." With a nip at her lower lip, a nervous habit to be sure, she peeks up to the recording device, offering a small smile. "I know you had to leave for you, and I understand your concerns with your career. Trust me. I completely understand how a career can come before anything else." She pauses, sighs and turns the necklace over in her fingers which clasp around it to obscure it from view. "But, I've also seen what a career-first mindset will earn someone later in life. I can't do it, Ian. I.. I simply can't. " She draws in a deep breath and releases it, her eyes casting down to her clasped hand. "I've learned a few important lessons over the last few months. Yes, everything really does work out in the end. Friends and loved ones should never be taken for granted. And," she pauses and glances back up at the camera, "Live for today. Remember yesterday and keep your hopes up for tomorrow. But, live for today." Christine inclines her head and smiles warmly to the recording device. "I'll always fondly look back on our time together. You were kind, a wonderful singer and a passiona.." she stops, blushes and grins down to her hands again. "But, you're not here now," she notes, grin fading to nothing. "And, here and now is what I have. I hope one day our paths will cross again, and neither of us know what the future holds, but.." She stops and smiles again, "for now, farewell, Ian Winters. May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind always be at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face, and the rains fall soft upon your fields." Blinking back a couple of tears, Christine nods and whispers, "Everything always works out in the end." She stops and calls, "Computer, send letter." As the computer beeps its acknowledgement, the doorbell chimes and the recording ends.
|
| Valentine | Job Satisfaction? |
2004 Dec 13 |
"Personal log, Stardate five-four-six-oh-three point eight." There's an odd mix of exhileration and glee in Tara Valentine's voice, as she is revealed pacing 'tween desk and viewport, too excited to sit down. "We did it! Nearly a thousand lives saved. -This- is what Starfleet is all about. I didn't realize it until afterward, but I would have held on to the last second before beaming out if that's what it took. Though, admittedly, I suspect Gwen wouldn't have let it go on that long. Doesn't matter, we still had a good three minutes or so left." She pauses with a wry smile. "We. Heh. Rob. Thank God he came along to the K'lanek. I don't know if we could have done it without him." She shrugs slightly. "The man deserves a commendation, that's for bloody sure. Note to self: see Gwen about recommending that. I wonder what drove him so hard those last few moments. I don't think it had anything to do with imminent death. Well, it did, but there was something else going on there. The look on his face... I wish I could ask him about that, but I wouldn't even know how. 'Hey Rob, you had the oddest look on your face when you were trying to eject those pods, what was going on in your head?' Heh. No." She shakes her head, resuming her pacing. "The important thing is, we got the job done. That's the sort of thing that made me sign on in the first place. And who knows what might lie ahead?" Abruptly she grins. "I'm just glad we didn't know about the Paine's little distraction until afterward! Computer, end log, locked to my voiceprint only. I got work to do."
|
| Hurley | Rumor Agitation |
2004 Dec 14 |
"Who's business is it what happened on that mission besides Command's?" Christine demands of her personal log while she paces through her quarters in uniform and nearly foaming at the mouth. Yes, cheerful Christine is livid. "They have /no right/ to question what happened there. They weren't there! They don't know what happened! Do they think it's /easy/ for him to deal with being responsible for a death? What is /wrong/ with these people? THEY'RE OFFICERS! They should /KNOW/ better!" She turns a bright red face towards the camera, confessing in a soft, but clearly angry tone. "I didn't mean to start yelling at them, but.. well. They're /OFFICERS/! And..." she pauses and adds, "...and he's my Grandfather. I /know/ my Grandfather. He *would not* do something like that unless it was *absolutely necessary*! How *dare* they suggest anything otherwise! Edan, well, not my Edan, but that pompous, hot-headed Edan from the other universe tried to bait me with such rumors, too. I didn't take it from him when I was /enslaved/, I'm surely not going to listen to the rumors /here/ about *my* Grandfather from people in the same uniform he and I both wear! It's ridiculous! And Prophets forbid /they/ ever have to make such a decision." She stops very suddenly and takes in a deep breath. "I need to work on Edan's surprise. End log, and Computer, remind me to get Grandfather to the holodeck for a snowball fight later this week." The log ends with the still enraged Christine plopping down behind her desk to begin work at the terminal.
|
| Samuelle | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 14 |
"It is Stardate 54605.9," Specs begins in his audio-only log. "I have seen the station. Shouldn't take long to learn my way around with my eyes closed. Not that I would close them, mind you, it's just an expression. I have to admit, I was glad to hear I had this posting. Commander Akeen Ghorev as the XO. Read up on some brilliant things he's done. Brilliant." There's a brief clicking sound as if he's tinkering with some sort of machinery or something while he records his message. "I like my quarters. They look a lot like my old ones. Good thing about Starfleet, always know what you'll get. Like this flux interlock grid system. Same on the station as on the ship, they just get put into different energy beacon receptors than on a ship and in turn that's put into a positron coil instead of plasma coil... well, you should know where it goes from here. But the grid, it's the same. Same thing. I know it inside and out. Just because I'm in a different place doesn't mean it has to be different." "Speaking of--" *GRUNT* "--different... Tara Valentine looks older. She is older. She doesn't look old, though. Just different. A little. Not much. Still smiles nice. Like since she's bothering to smile, might as well do it all the way instead of just faking it. I like those smiles. The smile went away when a man in a black uniform came in. He was a rather... large man. Tara seemed upset by something he said to her. But he left and I had to go on duty. Didn't get to talk." "It's her problem though. She has to deal with it." There's another sound of something whirring softly as he trails off, though the whirring stops after a moment and he continues. "I don't know anyone else aside from the department head. He wants a complete diagnostic on the systems. I'm working on it. I'm even working double shifts. So I spend more time elbow-deep in wiring than I do in my quarters. Which suits me just fine. Hate the bed. Hate it. Missing the lumpy spot I had before. But it's an even number of steps from the door so I don't have to cramp my walk like I did before on the ship so I end on the right foot instead of the left. My nightstand is on the wrong side, too. So I lay on my stomach so it's to my left like I want it to be. Not sure I like that, though. Being on my stomach. Makes me feel like my back's going to be cold even if I put two blankets on." Another pause. More whirring. A sudden smile can almost be heard in his voice. "It fits now. Had to replace a modulating beam relay in the electrostatic beacon at the secondary console. Only had a micro, needed a mini. So I made the hole bigger. Now it's the right size. Now it works. I miss this. But I should finish. Must get done. Ten minutes left and don't want to end on an odd number of repairs." *BLEEP* << END LOG >>
|
| Anderson | Personal Log Stardate 54609.3 |
2004 Dec 16 |
The Federation symbol disappears and shows John staring up at the picture between the viewports. He is wearing his duty uniform. "Personal log, Stardate five four six oh nine point three" He turns toward the recorder "So much has happened since I last recorded a log. Where to begin?" he asks himself. His speach is a little slurred as if he might have had a few to many. "Well, first off, Becky and I broke up." He holds up the ring that he has been holding. He walks towards the sofa, and tosses it down on to the coffee table. His phaser is lying on the table and it lands a few inches from it. "Oh, why may you ask? Because being married to someone in Starfleet was hard for her. She is the one that left, not me." he grunts, "Good ridiance. You know, I actually understand her descision. I mean, Yes, I love her. Might always, but she wasn't happy and she made her choices. Will I get back with her." he pauses "NO." he emphisises. "What else, oh we got, actually you know what..." his voice trails off. "Computer, begin recording letter to Becky Leale, Address on file." The computer beeps twice. "Becky, Your stuff is on a transport and on the way to you. My dad has the ring. Thanks. Anyways, I didn't say it before, but I understand." he pauses "Computer, end recording and send letter." The Computer beeps in acknowledgement. "Okay thats done." He sits down on the sofa and rubs his eyes. "I was in charge of the Dispatch section for a while. As Lieutenant Novairen put it, everything but title." he smiles weakly "Mental Note, Paperwork is a killer on anybody. Want to kill an enemy, give him paperwork to do." he chuckles softly. "But we got two new people in the Departmant. Both seem nice. Lieutenant Fitzpatrick is hard to read, since I haven't talked to her much, but I am sure that will change over time. Shes going to be the Dispatch Officer. Ensign Fitzel is Junior Security. Rhia on the other hand is, well different, which I like. I like her, and I think she likes me. In what way? Good friends. I think, NO, I know we both aren't ready for more at this time." "A little while ago Commander Ghorev asked me to join them on the Thomas Paine for a mission. I jumped on Tactical, but then was asked to go down and assemble an away team. My god, I was in heaven." John yawns loudly. "Well I better get to bed before I fall asleep with this going." he shrugs a little. "Would time out and all, but..." he doesn't finish the sentance, but instead. "Computer, End log and Encrypt level six Alpha Six Niner One." The screen fades to show the Federation Symbol, then it goes black after a few seconds.
|
| Hurley | What was I thinking? |
2004 Dec 16 |
Christine's personal log displays her sitting in front of the terminal in her room, concentrating deeply on whatever she's doing. "There are times," she says to the display in front of her, "when I act so foolishly I'd like to curl up into a ball and hide under a rock for eternity." She pauses, spares a glance away from the monitor and quickly returns her gaze to it and speaks again, but keeps the majority of her concentration focused on whatever 'work' she's found for herself. "Barana told me to be careful. But I thought that was for /me/." She shakes her head and taps in silence for a few seconds that seem to stretch into eternity. "Of /course/ she was right, but.... "I don't know if I can fix this," she says with a sigh of resignation, sitting back in frustration. "I should've had this done a year ago. Well, at least I didn't *tell* Gwen I was doing this for her." She frowns and shrugs. "Why can't I fix this? This is SIMPLE! What has gotten into me?" She blinks at the recording device. "Oh yeah. Personal Log. Stardate five four six zero nine point six. Christine Anika Hurley, Ensign, Communications Officer, Station Four-One-Nine, for over a year now." She shrugs and leans back in her seat staring up at the ceiling. "On second thought, I just need a drink. A drink fit for my Grandfather. End log. And.. delete, or something." She stands and unzips her uniform jacket, mumbling, "Worthless log," as it ends and, per request, deletes itself.
|
| Malloy | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 19 |
Personal Log: Stardate Five-Four-Six-One-Six-Point-Eight. Leftenant Craig Malloy, CMO USS Aegis, Timefleet. "Hoverchair races. *Hover*. *Chair*. *Races*. In my bloody sickbay." Malloy sits in his office, cradling a mug of tea with both hands, shaking his head in disbelief. "You know, I sometimes really wonder if I am getting old. Didn't even ask if I would like to race along. Maybe those two pips CAN get in the way at times. But...well...guess that belongs to the whole 'growing older, becoming a person to be respected, senior officer' blah I am feeling as of late. And that's the price I have to pay." With a sigh, he puts his mug down. "It's kinda scary to see how much Bee is like me when I was younger, both in age and in rank. I look at her, I listen to her, and I see myself...and hear myself. True, I never was female, but the expression on her face, the determination in her voice... Sometimes I wonder if I ever was that way...and sometimes I *know* I was that way. Let's hope that she never has a rude awakening....Computer, end and save log, classify level seven and encrypt using standard Timefleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner." The picture fades out, to be replaced by the standard UFP Starfleet background.
|
| Nilee | Reflections |
2004 Dec 19 |
"Personal log, Lieutenant JG Galen Nilee. Stardate 54618.0." <An image of Galen reclining, with his feet up on the coffee table of his quarters is produced, he's got a PADD in one hand, though he's laid that hand to rest lext to him on the sofa.> "Just like that, my first away mission command is given, and then it's over. I always knew there was a lot of paperwork that went along with commanding an away mission, but somehow, I never really grasped it completely." "It was an exploratory mission. Exploring a derelict ship lost almost a century ago in this sector. A little bit of a disturbing scene, and I surprised myself with my calmness about the situation. Maybe I'm finally starting to draw on the strengths of the previous hosts more naturally... probably Tailun's... he was always good in a crunch." <Galen drops his feet to the floor squarely and leans forward towards the camera's position.> "The time away did me good. I can't believe all the people that are gone... Thea... Kusto... Nev... Michael..." <Silence falls for a few seconds as Galen stares off camera.> "As much as I miss seeing each of them... maybe this will do me good. Casting off some of the transitional memories from Galen Merus to Galen Nilee, and being able to start fresh. I always found it difficult around those I befriended before the joining, though I never would have told them that. Too many mixed feelings. Feelings of knowing them, and feelings of not. It's all so very confusing sometimes. This sounds horribly selfish, I know, but maybe with fewer of them around, it will be easier to concentrate on continuing to find that... 'inner-harmony' of symbiont and host. Something that seems to come so naturally to a trained host. I made my bed though, and as the saying goes, I need to sleep in it. I don't regret it for a second." <There's another gap of silence in the log as Galen thinks, but he speaks again before it's able to time out.> "I'm going to need to draw on every ounce of strength from the symbiont if I'm going to pull through this next year. That is, if what Dylan and Wendy said was true. I hate being in the dark." "Computer, end log and encrypt using protocol Nilee-gamma-gamma-three."
|
| Gellan | Lies |
2004 Dec 21 |
"Personal log, YaSharra Gellan. Stardate 54623.1. Audio Record Only." "Lies. It is all lies!" The Counselor's voice is edged with emotion, a higher pitch than normal, but not quite hysterical. And the voice vibrates with anger. "The Newswire is wrong. The rumors are wrong. If Gr'laH were..if he were dead..No. Just..no. I would know it. I would /know/ it. He is Imzadi. I would have felt it." There is a heavy pause, the sound of controlled breathing in the background, of a woman fighting desperately to keep her emotions under control. Then: "It. Is. A. Lie. A Sta'TORuk trick to gain access to his House property. I must do something." Another pause. "Computer. Close personal log and encrypt. Begin a coded message to Q'onos, addressed to Chancellor Martok." There's a chirp from the computer as it complies, and then nothing.
|
| Harris | Fury |
2004 Dec 22 |
"Personal log, Stardate 54623.9." Harris is in the midst of tugging off his uniform, which he has managed to get covered with dirt somehow. "Seventeen days. Seventeen days and I haven't left this damned station to go find my wife. Seventeen days and I haven't fulfilled my promise to find her and -bring- -her- -home-, no matter the cost. Seventeen days and I haven't even started." His turtleneck goes flying away. "What have I done with my time? Have I done anything to -help- find her?" Rob starts to pace back and forth like a caged tiger. "No, of course not. I've sat around here waiting... and waiting... and waiting some more, and absolutely -nothing- has come of it. The worst part of all is the -looks- people give me. 'Poor man. Look at him fall apart. I wish I could do something to help'. Or the people that think telling me that they've gone looking and haven't found anything, so sorry. Thank you. Thank you for reminding me that I'm a failure as a husband. Thank you for reminding me that yet another promise is going broken because I have a higher duty to follow than giving in to some silly desire to bring my wife or what's left of her home. Thank you for telling me that the damned Romulans are looking for my wife, instead of me. Thank you. I didn't feel bad enough already." He pauses, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself; that, in turn, apparently infuriates him even more. "And then, there's the people who think I'm in some sort of death spiral, shaking to pieces because Meg's not here to stablize me or balance me out. Thank you for underestimating me. Thank you for giving me reason to prove each and every last one of you wrong." After another few moments, he starts to pace again. "And the Tal'Kaden. Thank you for filling me with a desire to sharpen up my skills. Thank you for giving me a constructive target to focus my fury on. Thank you so much for all of that." Rob's eyes slide closed, and a low growl starts in his throat. "Now, if you'd be so good as to die." He stalks off camera, and the log times out after the required amount of time has been reached.
|
| Haven | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 23 |
*************** Recording Begins *************** Recording Only: What is clearly Haven's voice comes over the recording. "Computer, take note. This stardate.. err Stardate: 54627.4. It's official. It's finally seated itself in my brain. I get it. There is NO possible way to get ahead, to promote via rank or position on this station by following the rules, following the orders. Nope. It's all about stickin' it to them before they can stick it to you. It's all about being arrogant and self righteous and controlling and demanding and having your pieces stacked up before you attack someone else. /That/ is all it's about. It doesn't matter how much you work. How much you do. How well you test. how much honor or integrity you have. In the end, it's all about who you can stab in the back. I can't talk to Agrim or Idrani or Poole.. they are /never/ around. It's clear even my friends have taken a 'cut throat' attitude to do onto others before they do onto you stance. What in the hell was Admiral Whitehorse thinking when he sent me back here? How many hits can one person take when they are all ready down before they stop caring when the next one lands? It's worse to not have a voice to fight back then it is to take the blows. It's much worse. End log.. and delete. I'm finished. *************** Recording ends ***************
|
| Malloy | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 25 |
Personal Log: Stardate Five-Four-Six-Three-Two-Point-Six. Leftenant Craig Malloy, CMO USS Aegis, Timefleet. "Christmas. By God, is it really Christmas again already? Did a year go by that fast?" Malloy is pacing up and down in his quarters, hands linked behind his back. "Changes. So many changes. Old faces leaving, new faces arriving, turning into old faces...a year of turmoils. Good thing I have my Christmas presents stocked already. Got some nice blades from Earth for Jaylas. After all, I learned the Chaka and the Hrisal, so she can at least take a look at a few choice cutting and piercing thingies before hanging them up on the wall. Thalev gets a few holosims of Earth sports he likely might enjoy. Hockey, featuring All-Star teams from God-knows-when back. I wonder if he still snickers about that sport afterwards. Femke got a new board and a new holosim. Waikiki, I hear the surfing's choice there." With a soft smile, the Doctor turns and walks over to his hospitality section, picking up a glass to fill it with orange juice and a dash of lemonade. "As for the others. There are way too damn many. Agrim gets a copy of Sun-Tzu. After all, he finished his LoE, having this nice print on a shelf sure makes him look even better. For Lanie I have a FengShui book. She's got that many shoes now, she needs another hobby. I just hope Foster will forgive me. Foster. He gets a peg leg from me, small note attached to it 'Always keep a spare in your trunk'. Reckon he'll understand the ribbing. Especially with the box of Belgian Truffles and the bottle of French Cognac coming with it. Tak I had jotted down for a tea service. One for Western tea ceremonies, when he would like to sit down for a lazy cup of tea without having the time for an elaborate Japanese ceremony. Plus, it tastes better when it is done fresh. Krylow. Got him a nice sledge-hammer, labeled 'percussive maintenance' and a fireman's axe, labeled 'emergency-shutdown', along with a bottle of single-malt, labeled 'tranquilizer'." Chuckling softly, Malloy takes a slow, savouring sip from his drink, then starts to pace once again. "Tera. Man, she sure makes it difficult. Box of butterscotch toffies for starters. The good kind, with single-malt, along with some books, the 'easy listening' kind, just for reading, along with a nice, woolen blanket and swiss drinking chocolate, all in a box labeled 'Away time for XOs'. Green's damn difficult. I don't really know her yet, which is a shame. All so damn 'I don't know ya, but you get a prezzie anyway'. So, well, I figured I'd play it save. Women like sweets, so she, too, got a box of Belgian truffels, plus a selection of Swiss chocolates she needs to spend an extra few hours working off. She's gonna hate me. Aaron and Wendy got a nice, old-fashioned door sign. Well, two of them, still don't know how they gonna keep it on the records. 'The Park Family' and alternately 'The Park-Tyler family'. Along with four bricks and a small pack of cement. Small note to it, 'Buying my way into your first housewarming by giving you a start on your first house'. Well, why not. As for Brie..." With a grin, he turns around, looking with almost boyish glee into the camera. "First of all, she got a book about Andorian anatomy. Next, a set of two furs, thermal underwear and a hot-bottle. And so she's not too out with me, a set of my research notes on my Field Medical Library, essentially a copy of everything I did, diary, the works. I hope she likes it." With a sigh, he walks over to his desk. "Well, that's it for now. I'm not looking forward to next week's log. Either way...in the words of Tiny Tim...'God bless us, everyone'. We sure damn well need it. Computer, end and save log, classify level seven and encrypt using standard Timefleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner." Computer, end and save log, classify level seven and encrypt using standard Timefleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner."
|
| Shamash | One Year |
2004 Dec 25 |
The usual voice only entry: One year has passed. The first year of my assignment to this Station. What has happened? Was it a good year, was it a bad one? Did i evolve, did I push myself ahead? Time for a review of events I guess. When i arrived, the first person I was able to make friends with was Michael Cross. Now... he is dead. Come to think of it, Dead, missing in action, transferred off station or to a different service branch make up several of my acquaintances i managed to get to know. And looking at the current roster, I still see unknown faces or people I never spoke more than a few words. What if they are gone next, will i miss them? ...i sure will continue to try to get to know them. What has happened. I came here looking for a quiet job, and i can say, yes, where I am concerned it was quiet and nice. Granted, like i said a few minutes ago, other people did not have that much luck... but for me, they were. (pause) Except for the time I almost went insane. ..and except for the time I almost froze to death on a darn ice planet. Yes, asides from that, things were quiet. On the upside, I had breakthroughs with several scientific projects and managed to pull of a inner departmental transfer to ASciO. Yay me! And I notice i keep the best thing for last, for I also found my love on this station. She is not without edges, not without problems, but i am convinced we can overcome them. Happy holidays, Norala...
|
| Jatila | Expansionism |
2004 Dec 26 |
A young woman lies prone on the bed in her quarters, fiddling with the controls of her PADD. "Not ideal, but it will have to do." She snorts softly. "Not that you haven't ever used -that- phrase before, girl." A final tap at the device, and she clears her throat. "Personal log. Time to jot down some thoughts for future nostalgia. Assuming that I have a future. But, we shall get to that presently. Six months I have been posted to Starfleet's Station 419-Upsilon. Life has come to be... not at all what I expected. I thought this was to be a fairly simple assignment, as security assignments go. I hope I am never that wrong again in my life. "Boring, it was, at first. Certainly there seemed to be very little purpose to my being here. Nobody ever lifted a hand against the Ambassador..." Pain flashes through her expression. "Not in any way that I could prevent, anyhow, and not here on the station. I'm not quite sure what urged me to take an active role in diplomatic matters, but I will never forget the night the Ambassador was unable to attend the meeting, and the Slug looked to me for Empire business. Me. The security goon. Vastly amusing. Ah, but the trap was sprung then. Hooked, I was. Thank the Elements, the Ambassador encouraged it. I don't regret that decision..." She sighs a bit. "Though I do understand the human phrase 'ignorance is bliss' now. Another one is 'may you live in interesting times'. Ancient Terran curse. Definitely applicable, in many ways. The people here, for example." Jat chuckles wryly. "Sorry, my Father, but they -are- people. Fascinating, diverse, and... people. Well, most of them. I still haven't quite figured out that O'Rielly creature. If he is an average Starfleet intelligence officer, it is no wonder they mangled Rom'laas and Romii so badly. And of course, the Slug is... the Slug." She shrugs. "They appear to be in the minority though. Robert Harris, now... I wonder if Father went through the same thing, when Mother disappeared. Not the sort of thing I can ask, really, especially with his wife around. It is painful to watch Robert suffer. He does not like Romulans- he told me that- and I suspect that Meg Donavon doesn't either. Especially now. Which does not, did not, ever prevent them from treating me with respect. Of course, that brings up the whole Timefleet issue." Jat grimaces. "I wish I had known their true purpose, or that of the RRT, before I came to know members of that team. It would have been easy to hate them, as I suspect I should. I've tried, but I simply cannot do it. Timefleet itself? Certainly. But the individuals- Takamura, Meg, sweet Brie, Alek, Foster and all his questions, even Malloy..." She shakes her head. "It's easier with Starfleet, at least," Jat muses, sitting up. "Barana, Robert, Hamish, Dhar, Kaitlyn Lanie. Their descendants will serve us well. All people. All -good- people, with whom I gladly spend my time. Ghorev... well, he's a mystery, and a dangerous one at that. But honorable, I believe." She pauses, considering, "Would I feel the same way if the station had a sizable Romulan population with which to socialize? Am I simply that desperate for company?" She ponders that for a moment, then shakes her head, a soft smile growing. "Obviously not. Ashau, I will not need ramblings to be reminded of you, in the decades to come. Assuming..." Jat trails off, looking out the viewport for a moment. "Assuming I'm still alive." The young Romulan leaves her bed, moving to stand before the port, to stare out grimly at the clear stars. The focus of her words changes, her voice fierce. "I cannot break D'era. I don't believe my death at your hands will serve it. Yours will, however. For the pain you've given the Ambassador. For the haunted look in Robert's eyes. For the fear my beloved has for me. For the evils you have cast over the Empire and her people. If it's the last thing I ever do, you will be destroyed like the mad dog you are." Silently, Jatila continues to watch the stars, arms folded over her chest, until her PADD shuts off automatically.
|
| Foster | Personal Log |
2004 Dec 27 |
"Personal log, stardate 54636.0. Lieutenant Junior Grade Caleb Foster, Timefleet Insertion Pilot, USS Aegis." The recorder fades in on an image that is certainly not a set of personal quarters upon the station, and so, must be on the Aegis. A set of drums sits in the background, as they always are. "Kaitlyn is out for the moment, so I feel a little freer to talk. I know that probably sounds bad, but it's not like I'm going to tell my wife to leave so I can talk freely, is it? That'd be ki |