BBS Archive of Personal Logs

King

Personal Log

2005 Mar 30

<Typed Entry>

Stardate54860.3

I proposed to Sae a few days ago. After a day or two, she said yes. I was the happiest man on this station. Still am somewhat, till everything comes crumbling down on top of me. Lets start at the top of what I am accused of shall we?

Going to try to see a counselor. I missed her going into the Infirmary, so I followed her in. Then she went into the CMOs office. I decided to wait outside, since she could be meeting a patient or something. Oh it doesn't matter to anyone if I was seeking Medical advice. No, not to Harris, not to anyone. I swear its like he has it out for me. You know, I was trying to get advice on Sae, her dreams have lessened in frequancy, but grown in how real they are to her. I came home, the other night and just said honey, and she sat straight up, terror in her eyes. I was worried about her. Then Doctor Pierce decides to make a few choice comments. Its known that I don't like him, but hell I am a Starfleet Officer, and was Assistant Operations Manger for this station. I made a comment to Commander Park that I deserve a little respect, and he insuanted that I don't deserve it. Then get advice for myself.

Then that little coward Kresh. You know, I had to get the ring resized and get a duplicate made. I think she wanted to keep the history of the rings undisturbed or something. So I went down to the 'Core to give it to her. And of all things, that klingon with no honor what so ever goes and calls Sae a whore and I am trying to bribe her for favors in public. Yes I said some things I wish I didn't, but what was I supposed to do? Here I was trying to give her one of the most sacred things a man can give a woman, and he calls her that. Oh, I got pissed, and why shouldn't I? You know, people are like let it drop, he apologized, but to hell with that. He can make comments and its okay, its accepted, but how dare I say anything. You know, where was the apology to me, hm. What, he didn't offend me? Klingons, we all can live without them.

You know, even if I survive this, I might resign. I am prepared to, let Sae wear the uniform. I can stay home, look after the kids we'll have. It'll be a lot safer for them and me. It is something I have to think about a lot though. It depends how trashed my career gets, and wether or not Command will move Lieutenant Takamura to someplace else. That is probably a trigger for all this, looking at being replaced, and for what, for something that is out of my damn hands. I'll write more later, I promise.

Gwen Poole

Personal Log

2005 Mar 30

Personal Log
Stardate 54860.4

The log blips on, displaying one of the Poole women, Gwendolyn specifically. Sitting before the recorder, it appears to be evening or at least the middle of her sleep cycle, given the darkness of her quarters and the nightgown she's wearing.

"I had planned on sitting down to do this log earlier. A farewell to a friend. There was going to be incense and candles. Possibly traditional Japanese music."

Sighing, Gwen leans forward and says, "Instead, I'm sitting here, my lover resting peacefully in our bed, and about to talk about my dear friend who has come back from the dead, and is, it would seem, in love with me."

"Part of me just wants to let it rest, but another nagging bit wonders, did he feel that way in the other timeline too? Did he have those feelings? Did he ever want to kiss me or hold me? Not just as a friend. Did he ever want to ask me to do the same for him?"

Squeezing her eyes closed, a silent tear starts to trail down Gwen's flushed right cheek. "How could we be that close and never say those three words, even if nothing came of it?" Head lowering, she says, "Pause log."

Blipping back from black, a Gwen with puffy pink-rimmed eyes and other tell-tale signs of crying, is back in front of the recorder.

"So instead of a farewell, I now have a friend back who is smitten with me. If ever there was a formula for disaster, that would be it. Still, he's agreed to help Casya. I can step away, as morality demands. And Casya will be protected, as my honor demands. She's more precious to me than I've ever told her... if anything happens to her..." She trails off into silence for several seconds.

When she speaks again, she switches subjects, voice becoming that much more weary, "My sister showed up on my doorstep. Or rather, someone who wears her face. I wonder if she's on the same self-destructive path my Chere was on. Is she here for me, truly, or is she here to repeat the same mistakes I've seen her make? A stream of male suitors, some of them my friends, some whom I can't stand to be in the same room as. Is she going to force this on me, after all the counseling I needed to start to recover from my own illness? ... Or is this Chere someone completely different? Is she stronger? Can I open up to her?"

Blowing out an exasperated sigh, a sign she's getting more and more worked up the longer she goes on with the log, "I need to talk to Kaitlyn. We haven't spoken since she and Caleb left and went to their own quarters... I don't even know if she's really alright. I've been so selfish... and I'm just starting to wonder... am I losing it again?"

"Am I really all that different? ... I've been keeping private. Keeping things to myself, out of the public eye. Avoiding attention. I'm with this beautiful woman, whom I love and I know I love, and I don't wish to be with anyone else. Is this being cured? Simply waking up and getting out of bed, going about my duty, friends coming back from the dead, sisters showing up out of the blue and not knowing if history will repeat itself, not talking to my best friend, and then coming home to my significant other and trying not to cry about all the 'little things.'"

Closing her eyes, Gwen takes a long steadying breath and says, "Calm. ... Calm. I need to call Barana. I need to know that I'm not relapsing. I can't afford to be a liability to this station. Computer, end log."

Randal

White Flag

2005 Mar 30

(The following has been typed on a scavenged, barely-working PADD that has had its subspace tranceiver smashed in, and the memory chip has now been removed and secreted under the matress of the bed in Randal's quarters.)

Stardate 54860.4

I hate Starfleet. Alright... maybe that's a little unfair, but I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed with how the handled this whole "L-word" affair. It's been over a week and there's been no public announcements or any sort of explanation from the Command staff. I think they believe they can pretend the events which almost lead to the station's destruction, and the deaths of everyone on board, never happaned and no one will be the wiser. And frankly, I'm tired of fighting them on this. Let them dig their own grave.

That "interview" with Lieutenant Caeli was priceless. Not that I haven't come to expect Starfleet to put the concerns of a diplomatic envoy ahead of the rights of one of their own citizens (however unruly), but getting asked ad infinitum about whether I speculated that Starfleet did something wrong to provoke the Lithians to attack -- and that they were covering that up -- really corked it for me. I get the impression they're setting me up to take some sort of fall for "disseminating classified information." Which would mean that my guess was on the money.

I have to say I'm a bit disappointed in Meg, of all people. I tried to convince her to do the right thing and make sure Starfleet Command knows the whole truth about what's happened, but she seems to have faith in the orders of her commanding officers. I really hope she doesn't get burned by this... all this mockery of secrecy. I think the thing that bothered me the most is I got the distinct impression she was trying to play me. She does have a point -- if the Dominion War is still on in this new timeline, then flow of sensitive information is an issue. But it's nonsense for Starfleet to treat the rest of us who survived the attack like children who need to be herded around with no better explanation than "We say so."

I'm worried about Rob. He believes the same thing I do, and he's openly acknowledging the whole timeline issue with the newcomers from the time shift. (Or are we the newcomers? Either way.) I'm sure the Command staff will eventually try to beat him down for actually being honest and straightforward (not that isn't hypocritical for me to criticize someone on honesty, but these people are supposed to be Starfleet). It bothers me that, if Command knew just what lengths he'd went to to make sure as many people would come out of that catastrophe alive, he'd probably lose his commission. So much for doing the right thing.

We have Klingons on the station again. I'm suprised how much I missed them... the commitment to speaking your mind, of facing a challenge head-on instead of hiding behind some tarnished badge of authority. I feel bad for them too -- I'd half a mind to clue them in on what facts I know. The Romulans too, though I could care less about them after all the trouble Jatila's put me through. Well, the Romulans seem like they know more about this anyway, and if Starfleet's willing to endanger their good relations with the Klingons by leaving them in the dark, so be it.

Anyway, like I said, I'm tired of fighting these people on this. I've been threatened at the point of a phaser more times in the past week than in the past year, and it doesn't seem to bother them to lock me away in my quarters for days at a stretch if I get restless. They want us to pretend like there's no such thing as Lithians and timeline shifts and whatnot? Fine. The truth will out, eventually, whether they like it or not. As far as I'm concerned, I'm part of the new timeline now. And I have better fights to pick.

Ghorev

A Thing of No Small Consequence

2005 Mar 30

<As always, audio only and translated from Ghorev's native tongue.>

"Personal Log, Stardate 54860.6."

"Now the battle is done, and the time of recriminations is at hand."

"The rumors fly, the citizens who live on this station are howling for answers, and demand satisfaction, and justice. They want to know who was responsible, they want heads stuffed and mounted on walls. They want the truth. But Six Hundred Gods forbid Station Command lift a finger to punish anyone. Oh, no. Then the past doesn't matter, what's done is done, and this is a time for songs of mourning and honors to the living, not of crime and its punishment."

"The remaining officers of Timefleet, both the TRT and the nameless, faceless, rank-and-file officers who simply guarded Aegis' airlocks and served as relief crew during its downtime, think we have it out for them. How can I explain to them the difference between blaming them for the conspiracy and blaming them for their own actions in furtherance of that conspiracy? I can't, because with one or two exceptions, they're unwilling to listen. Lieutenant Green understood, thank Borva. At least *one* of them understood."

"She understood it's a matter of trust, which is a thing of no small consequence. She understood what Alyna Nuvar can't, or won't, or simply doesn't: Yes, yes, *OPRATHA* and so-mote-it-be, Lieutenant, perhaps you balked after that treacherous no-account son-of-a-sea-demon used lethal force on Hiroshi Takamura. Yes, I will grant you that you did balk ... *after* he used lethal force. After. Not before. Had Colombo not let his zeal get the better of him, had he stuck to non-lethal force, a heavy stun setting, you would have been perfectly content, I think, to fire at us, and drag us to your brig, and drag us 50 years in the past, and repeat this madness all over again. You would have been perfectly willing to march in formation and do this -- and, oh, yes, you probably would have had a momentary twinge of guilt when you looked yourself in the glass later for it. But you'd have done it. And since our challenge was made, and our authority as Starfleet officers to make an arrest on a non-temporal violation of the Prime Directive was openly, publicly, and firmly stated, and it did not make you flinch, I think you're being a self-serving, deluded little she-beast to sit on my couch and wring your hands and say 'But, Commander, we were following *orders*, Sir!'"

"You would have shot me in the back, by ambush, while I was trying to make a lawful arrest, of the General Order which by its very name, The Prime Directive, takes precedent over all other orders you could have received. Had Colombo not betrayed *himself* with his betrayal of you, you would have shot me in the back while I was openly, publicly, clearly defending the Federation's highest law, and then you have the sheer and unmitigated gaul to take offense when I ask how I can trust you. To the worst of the frozen watery hells with you, then. I have no time for you."

"Thank Borva, then, for Lieutenant Green, who understands that it *is* a matter of trust, and speaks openly of her uncertainty in being able to repair that trust, but her willingness to try."

"And I swear, if I hear that gossipy buzz about Casya's heroic actions again, I'm going to roar. It's Dylan Golden and the Rynkans all over again. Ignorance is no defense in this, damn it. A woman who fought so hard to be recognized as a qualified teacher has no business *not* knowing the difference between a contingency escape plan for a possible escape and a pre-planned, definite plan to kidnap the station's children and get them aboard Aegis to drag them back in time as part of this plot. Even if she did *not* know the goal, a professional teacher is expected to know enough about the laws and regulations on custodial relationships with minor children to know the difference between acting in the place of their parents to keep them safe in an unforeseen emergency and suborning their parents with a secret, premeditated, concisely hatched plan to hie them away to a starship without their parents' advice or consent at the first sign of a given, definite act."

"An act for which I must now decide how heavy a book to throw at Gwen Poole. That woman ... Every time I hold a hand out to her, to forgive her transgressions and promise her a second chance, or, like last time, a fresh start, she ends up making me eat my words. A fresh start I promised her, I won't hold your time in a psychiatric treatment program for your mad and unrestrained behavior against you. And the first thing she does? Engineer with Wendy Tyler a conspiracy to kidnap these children. And since Gwen *knew* about the time loop, there's even less of an excuse. It's amazing to me how the Captain and I can at least once a year openly and seriously debate behind closed doors whether Gwendolyn Anne Poole is worthy to wear the uniform and *still* she's next behind me in the chain of command! And she's likely to get away with it again, because Starfleet Command will get a headache over temporal mechanics involved ... but, Gwendolyn, my old once-upon-a-time-friend, there's a word for when an officer, as you have done, goes behind the back, and without the approval, of Station Command, to give orders as if they come from Station Command, and subvert the chain of command's authority. And that word is 'mutiny'."

"Treason. Conspiracy. Kidnapping. Mutiny. And yet *I'm* the villain for asking the hard questions. Cry the masses on one side 'You, Evil Starfleet Command Person, you have betrayed us, and kept secrets, and we do not trust you!' But woe betide me for saying back to these people, 'Yes, trust is the key, and you are a pirate, Randal Thorne, and I could not trust you to tell you the truth, because every time you have had the advantage of an honest Starfleet officer, you have *taken* the advantage of that honest Starfleet officer. No, Uhlan Brutae, I cannot trust you to carry a weapon, because you have already proven to me you will obey someone else in the use of it. No, Jatila, whom men mock as 'To'kar', I cannot trust you to speak honestly and openly with me, because your own D'era says you have the right to lie and cheat me with impunity, so I am simply going to tell you nothing rather than lie to you'. But then, you see, the right to trust is one sided. And I am the villain."

"And no, cry the multitudes on the other side, this is all Yesterday! Look at our intentions! We meant to save the Federation! Surely you see that! Surely you see our good hearts and clean intent!"

"I say again, as I have said for the past five years: You. Cannot. Save. The Body. While. Cutting. Out. The Heart....."

"And, madness and folly, the same souls who preach forgiveness for Casya Cross, Alyna Nuvar, Gwen Poole, and the dozens like them? Are the same ones who openly spread the rumors of Timefleet's role in what happened. They openly share the gossip of blame, but then deny the blame that falls on their loved ones. And they think I can't tell? They think my antennae aren't sharp enough to hear, to discern? These hypocrites conspire even now to foil justice by the politics of the mob ..."

"But, no, I am the villain. Because I insist that actions have consequences, and one of those consequences is penitence."

"And so, because of this, because of this simple thing of no small consequence, the time of bloodshed is over, and yet the bloodletting itself has just begun."

"Computer, end log. Standard personal encryption." .

Nevaren

Perspectives

2005 Mar 30

"Nevaren's Personal Log, Stardate 54860.8, audio only."

"I don't know what to make of this place. This has to be the strangest assignment I have ever had, and thats saying a lot considering I once had to take a deep diving team to salvage a downed Dominion transport in a sea that had the consitancy of lime jello."

A sigh

"I've met more then a dozen people who knew me.. this other me. Oi, this whole timeline thing is confusing me. Quantum Mechanics was never my strong suit. Truthfully, it bored me at the academy. All that theory. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy theorie, though when it's applied to Engineering applications, but Quatumn and Temporal stuff makes my head hurt."

"I think my biggest probelm with all this is... I don't know what to expect from people. I don't want to be held against this, uhm, other Nevaren. I'm not him. I will never /be/ him. He never existed here. This is my timeline. My universe. SOme people seem to treat me as if I am some strange visiting oddity, but I'm not. /They/ are the visitors, or exiles."

"I have made it as clear as possible, and in as friendly a way as possible, to my subordinates and associates that I will not be judged by or against this other Nevaren. For the most part they agree with me and for that I am eternally grateful. These are good people, for the most part, who have been very accepting of me and my daughter. I just want to be sure they are accepting me for whom I am, not for whom /he/ was. I don't want to have to fit into their frame, nor should I have to. This /is/ my universe after all."

"But at the same time, I cannot belittle their experiences in their timeline, for they surely did happen, if only to their perspective. For example, I met a Bajoran last night. A nice young man who I thought was a Prylar, by his earring. Turns out he was a Vedek, promoted by the Kai. But that was in /his/ timeline. Not here. Now he seemed apprehensive about where he stood. He wouldn't even conduct services until his status was finally determined, afraid he would cause the faithful to maybe stumble."

"I guess I'm just one of those people that can't let something lie. I told him my perspective on his dilemna. I told him that no mater how different this unverse was, his past was still important. That he had earned his way to Vedek. Did he think that just because details had changed, that the Prophets or his own faith had changed as well? I told him, to me, that it didn't matter what the details were. All that mattered was Heart and Pagh and his faith that his path here, to our timeline, was just part of the Path the Prophets had shown to him. And that I would be proud to call him Vedek, no matter what /this/ assembly said."

"Oi, he called me /wise/. Please. /Me/? I'm just a glorified grease-monkey. But at least I made him feel better, I think and hope, and maybe gave him some confidence. Funny, /me/ affirming a /Vedek's/ faith. That has to be a record somewhere."

"But not all my meetings have been so good. I am still... confused by the Second officer of this station. I'm not sure if I beleive some of the stories I have heard. I have purposely not delved into this stations records. I have purposely not pressed to much for personal information regarding me and/or her. Partly because it doesn't /matter/ now, does it. All it can do is probably make things awkward and that isn't a good thing in a proffesional environment."

"But also, partly, because I am scared. I don't want to start second guessing /myself/, like the Vedek was. I am me. That should be good enough."

"Prophets preserve me, I'm not sure I /want/ this full briefing from Commander Ghorev on the status of the respecticve timelines. Because of my fears and reservations, and because of the fact it doesn't have any bearing on my duty. It doesn't make me fix the station faster. The best this whole thing could turn out to be is a mild distraction. The worst....?"

Another sigh.

"Who knows. Oi! It really sucks, pardon to human parlance, to be comfortable on moment, and confused and uncomfortable the next. Oh, I'll deal good enough. I always do. Very little gets me down. I just hope that doersn't change."

"I think this is going to be my most trying post.. Ever."

"Computer, End Log."

Harris

Duty, Honor, Country I

2005 Mar 30

"Personal log, Stardate 54860.8."

Harris sits at his desk in his quarters, slowly shining his boots. Yes, that's boots plural, even though he's only got one foot to wear them on. "It's been almost two weeks since we beat the Lithians. The timeline ended. A new one is running in its place. We are the victors; and yet, we are the ones who lost the most."

"My department is filled with good people. Good, good people. I am proud of each and every one of them, save for one -- and that one doesn't seem to understand what it means to wear the uniform that we wear, and to perform the service that we perform." Left boot is placed on the floor. Right boot is lifted. "If I thought he would listen to me, I might impart some advice to my department's young miscreant, but as it is, I'm content to let me thoughts air here as he watches his career burn."

"Duty: noun. 1. Moral obligation: acting out of duty. 2. The compulsion felt to meet such obligation." Harris pauses for a moment before lifting a brush and moving it over the surface of the leather. "When I joined Starfleet, it was the waning years of what they now call 'The Golden Era'. We were at peace with our neighbors, however fleeting that peace may have felt to be at the time. Our ships were expanding the limits of mapped space every day." He pauses. "So, why did I join Starfleet? There's the usual lines about family tradition, great education, seeing the galaxy as we knew it at the time -- but that doesn't hold water. I went because I needed to serve my family, my community, and my Federation. I needed to be a positive force for the future, and to exert my own little bit of change in that which I could influence. What you fail to understand, Mister King, is that Starfleet is not about finding the perfect girl, or drinking coffee with exotic alien species, or even being content in your life. It is, at its very core, about effecting as much positive change in the world around you that you can. It's about upholding the laws of the Federation to the best of your ability, save for when those laws are unjust, and working to change those laws when you can. It's about service to a higher principle of right and wrong. Our duty, as Starfleet officers, is doing what's right for the people and the country that we serve. That is our moral obligation; that is our higher calling. That's why we are here."

"Honor: noun. High respect, as that shown for special merit; esteem." The brush is set aside, and replaced with a soft chamois, which gently trails across the leather. "When you wear the uniform of Starfleet, you are instantly the representative of everyone -- old, young, law-abiding, criminal -- who is a citizen of the United Federation of Planets. They place their trust in us, as their duly appointed representatives, to do the right thing." He pauses for a moment, then continues to rub the boot. "In return, it is for us to represent them in the best possible light. Does that involve insulting the Klingon delegates, or making Counselor Nabrun feel uncomfortable to the point of fearing for her safety, or disobeying a direct order from a superior officer? No, Mister King, it does not. You took an oath upon commissioning, in which you swore to uphold the image of the United Federation of Planets. Perhaps Kresh was in the wrong, but you were even moreso in refusing to let the matter drop after he issued an apology. A Terran philosopher twenty-three hundred years ago had this this to say on the subject -- "But if any one strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also." Perhaps you felt the orders placed upon you were unjust. Perhaps you did not mean to make Barana Nabrun fear for her safety... but, on the other hand, perhaps you did not realize the consequences of your actions. Perhaps you did not care. In either case, you have brought dishonor upon the uniform you wear, the Starfleet you serve in, and the Federation that you protect, and if I have to see you busted back to freshman cadet to learn that lesson, I will."

"Country: noun. 1. A nation or state. 2. The territory of a nation or state; land. 2 The people of a nation or state; populace." Harris opens a small tin of black shoe polish, dipping a small corner of his cloth in the cream before he begins to work it into the leather. "This is self-explanatory; I'm not going to cover it in depth. We serve the United Federation of Planets. We put a face on the ideal. I do not claim that it is perfection; if anything, the events of last week prove it to be not so. It is our higher moral obligation, however, to agitate for change. If something is broken, it is our duty to fix it. That is the nature of the uniform we wear, Mister King... that is the very pulse of the Fleet we serve in." There's silence for a few moments as the boot works its way to a mirror finish, then is gently set on the floor.

<Continued>

Harris

Duty, Honor, Country II

2005 Mar 30

<Continued>

"When I graduated from the Academy, Mister King, my father wrote me a letter which I have since lost, but his words -- and the words of Douglas MacArthur which he quoted -- will never be forgotten by myself." Harris pauses, his eyes sliding closed. "That I should be integrated in this way with so noble an ideal arouses a sense of pride and yet of humility which will be with me always: Duty, Honor, Country."

"Those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying points: to build courage when courage seems to fail; to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith; to create hope when hope becomes forlorn."

"Unhappily, I possess neither that eloquence of diction, that poetry of imagination, nor that brilliance of metaphor to tell you all that they mean. The unbelievers will say they are but words, but a slogan, but a flamboyant phrase. Every pedant, every demagogue, every cynic, every hypocrite, every troublemaker, and I am sorry to say, some others of an entirely different character, will try to downgrade them even to the extent of mockery and ridicule."

"But these are some of the things they do. They build your basic character. They mold you for your future roles as the custodians of the nation's defense. They make you strong enough to know when you are weak, and brave enough to face yourself when you are afraid. They teach you to be proud and unbending in honest failure, but humble and gentle in success; not to substitute words for actions, not to seek the path of comfort, but to face the stress and spur of difficulty and challenge; to learn to stand up in the storm but to have compassion on those who fall; to master yourself before you seek to master others; to have a heart that is clean, a goal that is high; to learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; to reach into the future yet never neglect the past; to be serious yet never to take yourself too seriously; to be modest so that you will remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. They give you a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, a freshness of the deep springs of life, a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of an appetite for adventure over love of ease. They create in your heart the sense of wonder, the unfailing hope of what next, and the joy and inspiration of life. They teach you in this way to be an officer and a gentleman."

Harris falls silent for a long moment afterward, then moves to tug his boot on. "Whatever you may think, Howard King, I do not hate you. It was my goal to teach you to become a better officer; in that task I have failed -- but that does not mean that I will stop trying to teach others the same things. Computer, end log, save, and mark for transmission to Howard King upon my death."

The log snaps to black.

Donavon

Personal Log

2005 Mar 30

Personal Log
Stardate 54860.9

My written testimony.

Who can I turn to these days?

The day after the attack, I spoke at length with Lieutenant Commander Dakin. The air was cleared. My objectives known. Amends made. He trusts me.

I procured information from Dulcais. Handed it to Senior Staff. I learned of my death. That, too, I handed to Senior Staff. I spoke again with Lieutenant Commander Dakin for a formal statement issued forth by Station Command.

No response. A chance for Station Command to step forth to the plate, state THEIR case which, in turn, former Timefleet officers will come clean, to be on the same page. If we speak now, no one will believe us especially without the support of Command...of Starfleet.

What is maddening are the rumors which are spreading. People are spilling classified material as idle gossip. Does no one see how potentially dangerous this is?

Changelings could possibly *still* be amongst Starfleet Command. What if this information got to them? The Dominion has Occa. The very place with the Iconian Doomsday Artifacts. The very place I lost three teammates.

What if it got back to the Romulan Star Empire? To the very cretins who were responsible for attempts on Lieutenant Golden's life? In wrecking the timeline? In confiscating Iconian Artifacts to control time. We do not know if the rogue Romulan team exists in this world.

And if they don't, it'll be an arms race. Who can control time?

I'm sick of it. I joined Timefleet to hunt down those Romulans, to stop their destruction. Along the way, I discovered other culprits in breaking time. I waited. I kept my silence to protect those around me. A false step, Rob could have ended up dead like Lieutenant Idisha. Dare I speak only to ensure someone's death?

Lieutenant Golden and Tak were right to advise my silence. Lieutenant Golden was shipped out. Tak was removed as TC. All because they knew too much. I remained behind to watch the movements. To see where...the chess pieces fell on the board. The Queen was coming out. It was a matter of waiting.

That week before the invasion. Pieces were falling far too quickly. Tak was replaced by Lieutenant Command Columbo. I was put back on full active duty. My health and mind restored - finally - but was I too late? I had asked Lieutenant Commander Columbo to coordinate mission plans with Station Command. To speak openly with Station Command in order to ensure the protection of these people.

Then our original mission, the one we've practiced an entire year was changed at the last moment. Lieutenant Commander Columbo wanted us to prep the Aegis. Build things to protect the artifact. Did no one else see?

I panicked. I tried to reach Tak. He wasn't around. I sent a decrypted and vague message to Lieutenant Commander Dakin. I had hoped he would question the message, call me out without raising suspicions from the Queen. Did Lieutenant Commander Columbo talk? What was the mission plan? I would have told Lieutenant Commander Dakin then and there of all my suspicions, what I knew, but I couldn't reach him either.

That's when the invasion began. Too late. Far too late.

Talking after the fact, what good is it except as an attempt to clean slates?

People want retribution? They got it. Time has been restored at a dear cost. At least, we're no longer pawns to the Queen.

I like to think that those who perished, those who honored us by serving Starfleet and standing on that line, that in this world, the real time, their lives are much better. For Tak, I see it is. His worries and pain are no longer. Turtledove can finally be herself, warm and smiling.

I hold up my glass in a toast to those at this wake. Each face and memory will be remembered. I weep not. I celebrate their lives and accomplishments. For what they did, we are still alive.

Everyone is free.

Computer, save and decrypt using my standard protocols.

Turtledove

Transmission for Malloy

2005 Mar 30

*******
TO: LT Craig Malloy, Timefleet, USS Aegis
FR: LT Tera Turtledove, Timefleet, USS Aegis
STARDATE: 54831.5
MESSAGE STATUS: DESTROYED
******

It's quiet. Turtledove puts her half-empty tea-cup into the replicator and recycles it.

"So, this is it. I'm dead."

Turtledove looks at the recorder and grins mildly.

"I hope that you don't take it badly. I'm sure that you won't. We haven't really been so close as we could be lately, have we?"

"I mean, that's the stuff that I remember most, the early days. Everything else is so grey. The silly bets, remember? That duel that we were supposed to have, you in a tutu, me in some kind of string bathing suit? The first time that you got balled-out by station command, and you were packing your bags, the first time you shocked me --- you told me that my arm would need to be amputated, over some silly bug bite. When you met Femke, and then you married into an Andorian quad, and you were so proud. "

Her expression shifts, softening, and she looks squarely into the recorder.

"I hope that we get Femke, when we transport the kids. That is part of the plan, third priority after the children, and the team. Otherwise, you're going to be hell to deal with." Her smile turns, relaxing quietly. "If it doesn't work out, I suppose that you will hate me. Maybe you hate me right now."

Her eyes lighten, quietly.

"Alas, so have things transpired."

"I've missed you, Doc. Take care of yourself."

And the transmission fades gently into the dark insignia of the agency formerly known as Timefleet.

Turtledove

Transmission for Tyler

2005 Mar 31

******
TO: LT Wendy Tyler, Timefleet, USS Aegis
FR: LT Tera Turtledove, Timefleet, USS Aegis
STARDATE: 54831.5
MESSAGE STATUS: DESTROYED
*******

It's quiet. Turtledove stands in front of the recorder in her Timefleet uniform. Her shadow is silent against the opposite wall, her eyes are soft, warm, and quiet.

"If you are watching this, I'm sorry."

Tears well slowly in her eyes.

"Don't cry for me, Wendy. I died doing what I chose to do. I have followed what I would call 'a reasonable path to the end'."

She regards the recorder, smiling sadly at her friend.

"And yours is far from over."

"But I know that you will survive."

Her eyes flicker, quietly.

"Just do this one thing, for me, okay?"

"Try to remember the fun that we had when we were living. Those 'out of time' moments. Yes, the dopey ones. Chocolate chip cookies, and burned cakes. The horrible dating advice. The fish on the Kor ballroom floor."

"How you filled my sails and gave me something to live for."

"Just don't forget to live while you are saving the universe, okay?"

Her eyes shine, warm and bright, alas, over an underlying quiet.

"Surf's up, Wendy."

"I know that I can't make you promise me anything. But I'll always be with you, trying to remind you --- if you never let me go."

"So just don't... let me go."

She smiles one last time, a full and almost radiant smile.

"Good-bye, my friend."

And the transmission fades gently into the dark insignia of the agency formerly known as Timefleet.

King

The letters

2005 Mar 31

The scene opens up with Howards standing in front of the camera, wearing a blue silk shirt, and a pair of black pants. "Computer, begin recording message to Mr. and Mrs. Zevarin; Sigune Preserve, Alpha Centauri." he takes a deep breath, as the computer beeps it reply.

"My name is Howard King, the man your daughter has been dating. I am writing this for a reason, so please don't close this out. Some things have been happening, lately so I am not sure when you will get this message. I am hesitant to write this, but I have to." a smile, "First off let me say that your daughter is the most wonderful person in the Universe and I love her dearly." a pause, "Thats why a few days ago, I asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted."

Howard sighs, "I wanted to ask you first, both of you for your blessing, but it wasn't an option. I love your daughter with all my heart, and cherish her even more. Mister Zevarin, I know you apposed a lot of things in Saelonnas life, but please don't appose this. We love each other deeply, and this is what we /both/ want. I hope that you can see through things, and know that I want what is best for her, just like you. I hope to hear from you as soon as everything is straightened out."

"Computer, end recording and send when Communications ban is lifted." the computer beeps its reply, and he takes a seat on the sofa. "Now the harder ones to write." he says to the thin air. After a few minutes of him sitting there, he speaks up finally. "Computer begin recording message to Donald and Mary King; New York, Earth." he stays seated, and the computer beeps its reply.

"Hey Mom and Dad, its me your son." a small smile, "Well, I have some good news and some bad news." he pauses, "The bad news first I guess. The timeline shifted a little while I was here at Station Four One Nine. Nothing major, just some minor details. One of which is I never got in trouble at Starbase Twelve, and I haven't been dating Jen." he pauses, "I've also gotten myself in trouble, but I'll explain that later. I met someone here on the Station. Her names Sae, Saelonna Zevarin. And....and I have asked her to marry me, and she accepted." he grins, "She is the most beautiful woman I have met. Now for the trouble I metioned. Remember when you guys taught me to listen to my heart. Well I did, and I got myself in trouble. I'll add to this before I send it, and add it on, but I don't want to get into it right now. Mom, Dad, be happy for me, please, and when I get the okay, I want to see you guys out here. I love you guys, and please spread the message to the rest of the family."

"Computer, end recording and send when Communications ban is lifted." the computer beeps its reply, "Computer, record message to Jennifer Stone, Starbase Twelve." the computer beeps signaling its ready.

"Jennifer, how do I do this? I know you didn't want me to send you a reply, but you deserve the truth." A long pause, "There has been a shift in the timeline, and I know you know more than I do about this, remember? Main stuff in my life haven't changed just minor details. One of which is us, we were together before, but at Starbase twelve, was where they skewed. When you walked in, I did what you remembered, slugging the Ensign and everything. But, he didn't press charges, and last I knew you were happily married. There was no you and I know."

"That being said, when I went out here, I met someone." He smiles, "Ensign Saelonna Zevarin. She's a nurse with Medical and we're engaged to be married. I know this wasn't what you wanted to hear, especially from me. If you don't believe me, well you can ask your Intel wenie, and he can tell you."

"Computer, end recording and send when Communications ban is lifted." the computer beeps its reply.

Hurley

Crisis of Bounce

2005 Apr 01

Personal Log: Christine Anika Hurley, Ensign (video)
Stardate: 54863.7

"I can't do this anymore," the young woman says, looking down to her disorderly desk that she's been attempting to straighten for the past while now. She looks frustrated... among other conflicting emotions. "It's far too soon to know if everyone will have made it through this crisis or who will need to be referred to counseling. I can only imagine that Barana is burned out. I see the duty burnout in both Ana /and/ Piper's faces, but they persist on for likely the same reason I do - to try to forget. To use duty as a shield to deflect the negative emotions pouring at us and /from/ us on a daily basis."

For a moment, there's silence as Christine lifts a softball-sized water globe into view, peering at the goldfish kept within. "I haven't forgotten you, little one. I will get you an acquarium, and real vegetation. Maybe even a castle so you can be king of your own little domain. But, I have so many other promises to keep up on; so many that I fear some may be slipping from my mind because of my lack of organization anymore. You had a name once, you know. I was going to name you Edan, but... well, we both know why that didn't come to pass. Then Hope, because of the miracle of your birth and survival on that devestating night. But, I don't know that I can in good faith call you that anymore.

"Because I'm losing all hope. Even the brightest candle flickers in the dark storm - and that's how I feel right now. Just about to extinguish."

"Alek offers a shoulder. Yoshi offers a shoulder. Even Tay. For what, though? What good would it do to pour my heart out at them so they feel the need to carry my burdens /with/ their own? It's not fair. I can't do that - I could never do that. I understand why they want me to talk to them, but... I don't think they know how deep it all runs. Besides, half of the story isn't even mine to tell."

She sets the globe down on the newly cleared space on her desk and leans back to watch the poor cramped goldfish swim rather lazily. "I've lost my faith in the universe. How should I have faith in something that will eventually right itself when it leaves its children with such suffering? The very children who lost nearly everything, if *not* everything, in defense of it?

"I don't even have strength for a racquetball game tonight. Maybe... maybe tomorrow. If I actually leave Ops."

The log is ended as she reaches past the globe to tap at her desk terminal. No cheer. No smiling. No bounce. No hope.

Dakin

Personal Log

2005 Apr 01

"Personal Log, stardate 54864.6. Audio only.

"So. It's over. The Lithians are gone, Tyler and Timefleet are gone, the Aegis and the Artifact are gone... and our very timeline is gone. With Sinclaire's death, all of her tampering in the past has gone to the Fire Caves. And with it, all of our pasts as well.

"To say it's something to get used to would be the grossest of understatements. Many of those we lost in the Lithian attack... Loni Haven, Hiroshi Takamura, Tera Turtledove... their counterparts in this new timeline have taken residence here. Prophets, even Dana Rivers is back.

"It's hard but I've tried to remember that these people aren't who we once knew. Our lives outside this station prior to the attack no longer exist.

"Which of course begs the question... is Morgan still my wife? Does she even exist in this timeline? Do Jacob and Ryasharra? Given what I've seen...

"...it's very likely I have a family to mourn.

"The station is an indefensible mess after the attack. The security office... Prophets, that whole section of the Mall was blown out into space. Akeen gave us the old Andorian Lodge. To say that it unnerves me to use living space formerly used by nearly forty people now dead... well, it unnerves me. It's like I can feel their paghs lingering. Still, we press on.

"We survived. I didn't do one of those damnable 'open in case I'm dead' messages to my parents, my sister, Morgan, or the twins. We survived. We were GOING to survive. I did not see it any other way.

"As it stands now, the station's being repaired, internal security's a nightmare... largely due to Randal Thorne, who's apparently found his new calling as a civil disobedient, and life, such as it is, goes on. All said, however...

"Artifact be damned, I should've put a phaser beam through Wendy Tyler's forehead the second I saw her.

"End log and save, encrypted to my personal protocols."

Rice

Peter Pan, let's never grow up!

2005 Apr 02

The screen flashes on, and Parsley is sitting on her bed, crosslegged, with a smore on a plate in front of her. She wears Pink Pajammas tonite, with a full button up top, and a maching pair of pants.

Parsley smiles "Well, hi there diary! I had a perfectly wonderful date out tonite! It went well! We went to the holodeck, and had a picnic in a field of flowers of Risa. There was sparkling apple cider, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, it was fun! But..dating is kind of nice. Which brings me to my whole new realization here.."

Parsley slides onto her stomach, resting her head in her hands. "Well..I like this person, a whole lot. And..well, what mature, responsible-type people do, is they don't just rush off into bed. I haven't done that in over two years, but opening up to the possibility again, I think I'm going to stick with this one person for awhile, and see how that turns out. What mature people do, is they get to know the person first, and come to have a respect for them. I chose this date, so I wonder what we'll do next."

She hmms. "There was a little tiff in sciences today, but it's not a big deal. If I have to be reprimanded for it, then I do. It's no biggie. My first impulse was to raise hell to someone there. Really get the rumors going. I could probably tear into her on a subconcious level, that's so much more satisfying to see people suffer psychologically, than to just see them suffer once. But...well, that really isn't me. I'm not going to try to hurt anyone. Maybe I am getting a little more mature. I don't know. But, I'll hold off on any retalitory action. I don't really like this girl, and she downright hates me. But, maybe I could still turn her around and make her a freind. I don't know, all I can do is try, right? From what I've seen of her, she's pretty shy, and a little on edge. Everyone is edgy right now..I could probably manage to push her over that edge, but..well. That's not the kind of person I want to be."

Parsley pokes at the Smore lightly. "I want to be someone kind, and caring. Not manipulative, and incompassonate. I'm glad I didn't act on my impulses. It can be hard to let things go sometimes." She pokes a few more times at the inanimate smore. "I wonder what my parents were like? 2nd officer, and ship's doctor on a explorer ship. That seems so much different than me. They must've been responsible, sensible people. And I'm anything but. I don't think I could actually handle a command decision. There's so much pressure, and lives are always in the balance of your decisons. I'm still haunted by the day of the Breen Attack. The Breen..they chill me right down to the bone."

Parsley shivers lightly. "I didn't really think, I just acted. People died. People who I didn't drag because I helped other people, died. I had to make choices, some people were going to live, some people were going to die. It's difficult to think of the faces. What would they have became if they lived instead of the people I dragged out of the Academy? Instead of me? Maybe I overcompensate by not letting that, or absolutely anything else get to me? Though, I'd rather overcompensate and be a cheer-head than let that kind of pain get to me. Everyone carries around pain from the tough decisions in thier lives. This is how I carry mine. I am Cadet Parsley Anne Rice."

Parsley sits up in the bed, tucking her legs towards her. "I am a chocoholic. I am a cheeraholic. I am indominately bright and sunny, and I use the color yellow, and the word tottaly, gratitiously. I am smart, and I am confident. I am afraid, and I am bold. I am many colors, and I am strong. I am a child growing into a young woman. I've still got alot of bumps before I reach that goal, but..Hopefully I'll make it out not too worse than I came in."

Parsley pauses to look at her smore, putting it down below the bed, out of site. "Well diary, I've been a chatty little Parsley today, haven't I? I guess it's time for me, to go to bed. Snuggle me up, and say good night." She hmms. "Oh.." she smiles. "And if anyone should actually happen to read this log someday, go ahead. Read them all. If you can learn from me, or my mistakes or life along the way, I'd certainly want you to. Computer, end log. Save to 'Parsley's Diary, No boys allowed."

Hurley

Heavy Darkness

2005 Apr 02

Personal Log: Christine Anika Hurley, Ensign (video)
Stardate: 54866.1

A sillhouette of the uniformed Christine is sitting on her sofa, hands cupping a wine glass low in front of her. "He left without saying good-bye," she says softly, words just slightly slurred in a tone that at this point only hints at the deep emotions that accompany the dark room. "He didn't even want to see me before he left - DAYS before he left. It.. it feels like Ian all over again. Here one moment, gone without so much as a good-bye the next.

"He said he should be back in a few weeks. And... I believe him. But, then again, I believed Ian, too. So, I suppose only time will tell if this is just my own little repeat of the past." She pauses, then releases a rather hollow laugh. "Time. Oh, how I hate you, Time."

Christine drains the rest of her glass and reaches for a bottle to slowly, carefully, refill the glass for another go. "Piper's pregnant. Her own .. dark secret. Shared with me last night just before she threatened to destroy one of my stuffed animals if I didn't tell her what was on my mind. I'm not sure I'm fit to be a godmother. I can barely care for myself. But," she pauses long enough to take a long drink of the wine, "but, I know I can help with the ice cream cravings and.. the breathing classes? Yeah, I know I can breathe. I can handle that. Right. Mental note to ask Doctor Malloy exactly what I need to know about the breathing classes."

Most of the glass is drained and Christine just falls silent, staring off at the stars through the viewport. And that's how this log ends, automatically encrypting itself to her personally coded security protocols.

Arzt

Talking Matters

2005 Apr 02

"Personal log, Stardate 54867.5"

Jenell is sitting in her blue flannel pajamas that have little penguins ice skating all over them. She's curled up with Sigmund, her penguin stuffy. Her blue eyes are sad, she's looking into Sigmund's one good eye. Her voice is soft, cracked from crying again and she tries to explain to Sigmund what her problem is, "I didn't talk until I was three...people thought I was retarded, but I wasn't." She pauses, taking a deep breath, "See I when I was born, my tongue was too big for my mouth." She gives a little shrug, "It's not a big deal, in fact, you end up growing into your tongue as you get older. But when I was a kid, I couldn't say anything without tripping over my tongue..." She lightly plays with the stitching on his mouth, "so my solution was just not to talk."

"When I got old enough to go to school, the other kids made fun of me," she gives a little grimace, "Because I was different, because I spoke with a lisp and sounded funny." She sighs, "I guess I just stopped trying to talk after that." She gives a sad little smile, "My parents didn't mind, they barely noticed I existed."

She picks up a photo of a young, beautiful woman with jet black hair and hazel eyes in Starfleet gold, "Phoebe...she was different. She didn't mind that I didn't talk much," she touches the photograph, her expression clearly shows that she misses her, "she did enough talking for both of us." She gives a little smile, "I used to sit there and watch her chatter." She puts the photo back on her stand, "Phoebe liked me because I listened to her."

"It's not just the lisp either." She turns her attention back to Sigmund, "When I open my mouth, words just seem to pour out. It's like all the ideas and thoughts that I hold in just burst forth. Everything rushes forward." She stops for a moment and shudders, "That's the worst...because it makes people laugh at me."

She gives Sigmund a big hug, "I like people..." She pauses and then says in a softer voice, "I just don't like people looking at me. I feel like they're just staring, waiting for me to screw up. Waiting for me to say something stupid." She bites her lip and acknowledges, "I always prove them right." She lays down with Sigmund and finishes her thoughts, "I don't mind being around people, listening to them talk." She reaches over and looks at the view screen for a moment, before reaching over, her hand hovering over the button, "I guess part of me really wants to fit in." She pauses for a moment, "But I can't, because I don't fit. I never did."

She leans over and turns off the viewer...

Jub

One for One

2005 Apr 02

>> PERSONAL LOG, AUDIO ONLY, Sat Apr 02 20:15:09 2378 <<

"And Then there wuz one."

"Or, at least, there will be."

"Lux and 'is family got their new quarters taday. And I am sure Tlanev and 'er boy will get theirs soon enough. I'm 'appy fuir them, really I am. I know it's been a wee bit.. strange.. bein crowded inta me quarters. I know they never complained about me given em me bed and me sleepin on tha couch, though in that same instant I know they felt guilty. And I know they felt even more guilty when I gave Tlanev and 'er lad tha couch and took a pallet on the floor."

"Aye, it's been crowded the past week and more.. But never in me life tha past number uv years 'ave I been so at peace. It wuz... like 'avein a family again. I dinnae even KNOW Tlanev and 'er boy that well, but I 'ave enjoyed everyone's company greatly. It turned these quarters inta somethin muir then a place ta just sleep..."

"For a breif little while, it wuz a 'ome."

"Now Lux and Jiasha can 'ave their privacy again, which they deserve. I will miss Lux's constant complainin on tha state uv Economics in tha wee mornin. I will miss Jisaha tryin ta force feed me, while she wastes away. I will miss tha conversations with Tlanev. I will missa Muano and Nua and Tlanev's son usin me as a jungle gym."

"It will be so quiet round 'ere."

"And then there wuz one."

"Or at least, as I said, there will be."

>> END LOG <<

Taimol

Escape

2005 Apr 03

"Distance."

Taimol sits in a small, non-descript sort of room -- the kind you'd see on a transport ship. His robes are absent, replaced by a simple shirt and pair of shorts. He's staring out the window as the stars slip past in the telltale streaks of faster-than-light travel. "I do not know how to calculate the distance we've travelled from the station since we left. I know the equations -- distance is equal to rate multiplied by time. I do not know how fast we are travelling, however... so I can only guess." He pauses for a moment, then closes his eyes.

"I can feel that place receding into the distance, like a cloud of darkness that is slowly being lifted from my shoulders. With each passing moment, however far that takes me, the terrors which I have experienced during my time on Station 419-Upsilon fade further into my memory, as if they were a nightmare which I am finally waking from." Edan sighs softly. "I should be happy. I'm going to a planet that is, by all description, one of the most beautiful, to look for the mother of my friend -- -with- that friend, who is arguably the most pleasing person on this vessel to look at, and easily the most enjoyable to spend time with... and yet, I am not happy." There's a stretch of silence at that.

"I am pleased that I can help Norala find her mother. That, somehow, I can help put her on the path to healing, so that she may find her peace, at long last." He wraps his arms around his legs before resting his chin on his knees. "I am doing what I swore I would do before the Prophets; helping those who need the assistance I can give. And yet, I am dissatisfied with myself." Once again, his eyes slide closed.

"Who am I? Who is Taimol Edan? What has he done to merit his continued existance?" Taimol releases a heavy sigh. "What does he serve? Who are his friends? What does he believe? How am I supposed to reconcile myself with who he is, now that he is I and I am he?" He takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth for a moment.

"I could not speak of these things with Christine. She expects strength; I am nothing but weakness. She expects hope; I only offer despair. She expects faith; I have none. She expects love... and what I offer in that regard is, most likely, not enough." Another stretch of silence, and then he whispers, "And for that, I am truly sorry. So very, very sorry."

"Merciful Prophets... where has my faith gone?"

There is, of course, no answer to the question.

After the prerequisite period of time, the log times out and fades to black.

Haven

The Charade

2005 Apr 03

Audio only:

While I have told the others to use this medium as a way to vent their ever mounting frustrations, I myself have been slow to follow suit.

Things here are not as I expected them to be but then, there was no notification that the situation for 419 had become so dire. Why would there have been, really? I do not think I have ever see the station so.. angry or seen so much anger miss placed.

I had hoped to renew old friendships, to make new ones, to come together with my brother and Rebecca, to perhaps speak with Gwen, Ghorev, or maybe even Balin. This has not come to pass nor do I now expect it too. They know me, only it is not me. It is a woman with my name, my face, my life on a different path and from what I have read and heard, someone that gave her life for her fellow crew. I do not hold hope that they will ever see beyond the memory of one that was to the person that remains behind. This is both expected and still, oddly hurtful. I do not deserve it but how can it be other? Even Niel is the same way.

I do not understand what was on Keel's mind when he petitioned the High Council for my presence on his delegation. They do not listen to my counsel so why continue with the charade? It brings honor to no one. The situation is much different then we thought and as such, tactics should be shifted accordingly. However they plow ahead with all the grace of a lumbering targ, too drunk to know that they are stumbling about, beating their heads into a wall. They believe that because they get a response then they are moving ahead. They are not. They are, in fact, cutting off avenues to themselves that will, in time, bite them in the ass. Keel has ignored me. Kresh as ignored me. Kroth needed to be slammed into the floor to even clear his ears enough that he /might/ listen to me. So, I suspect it will not be long before I am adding my sister to this list and that will sadden me.

It is much akin to standing on the side of the roadway and watching the rain derail, heading for the wreck you know is coming and being able to do nothing about it, save wait. Much, I suspect, as the people on this station felt when the attack was coming. The civilians blame Starfleet. Most of Starfleet seems to blame station command.. And station command.. I can not imagine how they deal with this. Anger? Denial? Self justification? Does it matter in the end? I think not. What is done is done and its purpose served. And now there are only unanswered questions in the wake of the attack but those will always remain for command will not share what they feel they need to not, regardless of anyone's desire or need to know.

It is not the home I remember. They are not the people I remember. I am not what they know and remember and no matter how wrong, the expectation remains there.

I have tried to speak to their Dr Park but have been asked to wait yet longer leaving me with idle hands, something that is not a blessing for me. I has been some time since I have felt so...useless.

Computer, end this thing and tell me if any are in the Fitness Center.. I have no wish to have my babbling over heard. End recording.

Edwards

Finally Dealing

2005 Apr 03

"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 54870.2."

Michael Edwards lounges in a comfortable-looking chair in front of the recorder. His expression is blank and he looks worn, as if he hasn't slept well lately. When he speaks, it's slow and in a low tone.

"Guess it's the ultimate irony that we would pull off the impossible, succeed and stop the Lithians, and yet everthing feels like it's gone to hell."

A pause, as he rubs at his face absently.

"I couldn't do anything to save Wendy. Even if I could've prevented her murder, it looks like the rest of us would have been doomed. It looks like she was the lynchpin after all. It's just that she had to die in order to save us. Thanks, Tera. I guess this means we owe you one."

Michael has to laugh at that. But it's a shallow, humorless laugh and dies quickly.

"I couldn't do anything to save Bela. My wife. The mother of my child.
Oh, you were right, Bela. About Sinclaire, Wendy, Timefleet. They were necessary. Just not the way you imagined, I'm sure. And what... what was wrong with you? If you thought they were right, why weren't you with them, with Casya and Ally?! You should've been on the damn ship, not out getting killed!"

Now he's showing some life, as he abruptly bolts up to his feet and lashes out, knocking the recorder away. It goes flying, until it lands and displays a lovely shot of the ceiling. Meanwhile, the noise of a room being trashed is heard. It goes on for several minutes until it eventually dies down.
After a moment of silence, Michael retrieves the recorder, picking it up and looking into it. Remarkably, he looks better. Not all that great still, but less out of it than before.

"I'm sorry. Bela, Wendy. Everyone else. This should've been our victory."

Michael visibly bites back on the emotion that wants to flood out of him.

"Now it's a new timeline. A new life. Apparently I'm married to a Havaris. At least it's Jiasha." There's a chuckle, not as empty as before. "We'll sort everything out. And maybe this timeline won't be so bad...
Computer, end log."

Arzt

Good, Bad & the Ugly

2005 Apr 03

MESSAGE SENT:
MESSAGE DELIVERED: Ensign Phoebe Rogers
MESSAGE SUBJECT: Good, Bad and the Ugly
MESSAGE SENDER: Ensign Jenell K. Arzt

<<The Starfleet logo fades to a field of black to be replaced by the image of Jenell sitting at her desk with the anomaly in the background.>>

"Well, I've arrived at my new assignment, Station 419. As you can see through the porthole," she motions to the anomaly, "The view is simply fantastic." She turns back to the screen and gives a bright smile which lights up this pixie's face. "I miss you Phoebe...I miss you more than anything. And before I forget, thank your mom for the care package she sent me right before I left San Francisco." She holds up some blue flannel pajamas with hundreds of penguins ice skating on them, "I love it!"

She pauses for a moment and then goes, "Okay, I have lots to share and lots to cry about so let's move on to the good, the bad and the ugly...and considering I'm in a /good/ mood right now, we'll start with the good news." She sits a little straighter and states proudly, "You are now looking at the acting supervisor for Planetary Sciences." She giggles, "I know you're thinking, 'what the heck Nell, you only took those classes because your parents were friends with Takamura'...but really, the only reason I got this is because no one else has even the smallest background." She grins, "But I'm not going to let that rain on my parade, no sir. I'm going to take the job and run with it."

She thinks for a moment, "Other good things...let's see, oh, I made a new friend." She gives a sweet smile, "Ensign Torin...he's like me, in Physical Science." She holds up her hands, "And before you ask...no, it's not like that. I just met him. We're just getting to know each other and hopefully will become friends." She shakes her head, "I know, I know...you think I should date more. But really Phoebe, I just got here. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve like you do...that's not an insult, you know you do it. You're a hopeless romantic. So don't send Ensign Torin any letters...no match maker stuff. You did that to me the last time and it was really embarrassing. He's shy like me, so sit back and let me do my thing."

She picks up Sigmund, her penguin stuffy, and dances him in front of the viewer, "I've been getting a lot of use out of Sigmund." She puts him in her lap and sighs, "As usual I've been my typical social moronic self and managed to embarrass myself in front of my new commanding officers." She sighs, "I just shouldn't go out in public." She wrinkles her nose, "I know...I can't depend on you forever." She pauses and talks in a smaller voice, "But its hard Phoebe...I wish you were here to be my shield." She holds up Sigmund, "Sigmund just isn't up for the job."

She hugs Sigmund to her chest and quietly states, "Now for the ugly." She's quiet for a few long minutes and just sits there in front of the viewer holding Sigmund. She opens her mouth and her voice is barely heard as she tells her best friend what happened, "I had a really bad day this week...so bad that I had what's called an anxiety attack." She stops for a moment and then forces herself to continue, "I basically lost it so bad that I convinced my body that I was having a heart attack." She gives a heavy sigh, "I ended up in the infirmary and they had to give me sedatives...not to good, huh?"

She bites her lip and gives a little shrug, trying to end the letter on an up note, "Hey...don't worry about me. Over all, the good things outweigh the bad. And if you get a chance, send me a letter with all the gory details of your love life. Hey, you know I'll never have one so drop me a line." She winks, "I can love vicariously through you."

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BBS 06-02-05 Personal Logs

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