Cmdr JFarrington

The USS Raquel (Defiant Class) has been dispatched to intercept a transport vessel owned by the Federation News Surface (FNS). The FNS recently got wind of a prototype vessel being built in an isolated facility about ten miles away from the New Berlin colony.

Given the secretive nature of the project, Starfleet does not want its existence revealed. The transport vessel is on final approach to the planet. The Raquel’s ETA is seven minutes to the planet.

Game Master (GM) - STSF GromVik

Game Master (GM) - STSF Jami

.

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF GromVik

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - V'Roy

Tactical Officer (TAC) - TKAR

Helm (Helm) - Thompson Smith

Operations Officer (OPS) - Kathryn Janeway

Federation JAG Officer (JAG) - Joy

<FNS Producer> - STSF Jami

080212.txt

The USS Billy Mitchell (Defiant Class) is waiting for our shuttle to redevouz with it. We are on a shuttle returning to the BM after a conference on Earth. What can go wrong eh?

Game Master (GM) - STSF Muon

Game Master (GM) - Cmdr JFarrington

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF Muon

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Mreh K'hal

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Doug T

Helm (Helm) - Thompson Smith

Operations Officer (OPS) - Tia

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Professor Galen

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Dot506

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - Princess T'lak

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - TKAR

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Arch Angel

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - Michael

080210.txt

There has to be something at the center of a black hole, even if we can't see it. Quantum singularities are not infinite.

I'm thinking something along the lines of the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

Second Officer Imaj of Kirok

ISS Manticore 5108021.1

In the 10th year of the reign of Emperor Ja’affe

Many changes had befallen the Empire since the ascension of Emperor Ja’affe. Alliances had merged what was left of the Federation with other powers, but only in might and culture, not in species. Each species had its own reasons, chief among them being purity of line – at least in the houses of power. One’s line determined one’s position in the government and, ultimately, one’s survival.

Cultures blended more readily, with the more warlike posture slowly gaining dominance. The language, nomenclature, social order, and religious beliefs of other species had also woven a web around Terran culture, at least among those who wished to remain in power when the Federation dissolved.

Factions of dissenters had formed. Purists who predicted the downfall of the Empire because of what they called cultural corruption paraded through the streets of San Francisco proclaiming Live By the Sword, Die By the Sword and Live Free or Die; and the Empire was only too willing to accommodate them. During the Great Purge the dissenters who survived fled to outlying colonies to continue living as they felt was their inherent right: in freedom and in peace. Since then certain ships of the Imperial Fleet had been charged with finding and rooting out the remnants of sedition. ISS Manticore, flagship of Psi Division under Admiral Atragon-9 with First Officer Sovak of Vulcan and Second Officer Imaj Kirok was one of those vessels.

On the fourth day of the second month when the Empire should have been gloriously celebrating the Lunar New Year the Manticore found itself once again tasked with eradicating a particularly elusive colony, one that had moved from planet to planet, hiding like maggots in a rotting corpse. It had finally been located in the Omega Sector, probably their place of last resort. Anything beyond Omega was uncharted and filled with unspeakable terrors. It was a fitting place, thought Imaj, for them to end their existence, to return from the mire from which they came.

They were rebels, and as such should have been easily dispatched, but the colony’s defending ship had fought as though they had something worth defending, something worth dying for.

Pathetic fools.

And the Empire had dealt the wrong cards when Manticore had asked for replacements. For the most part they were the most incompetent, bungling, inept recruits – the Empire should not have even bothered to send anyone! By the gods, the Emperor would hear of this, if not from Atragon, then surely from First Senator Kirok, Imaj’s father.

Factor in a puny, measly storm during the battle and you had their present situation. An ion storm, of all things, nearly cost them the battle and could have destroyed the ship. Shields were down, weapons offline, power at minimum and systems malfunctioning. . . . If engineers were not so difficult to find these days, she might have taken out Chief Garnoopy then and there and put Hilee in his place. Hilee was not only proficient but steadfastly loyal to the Empire. She’d do well to have him head engineering, but it was not her choice to make.

And injured! Injured? An engineer whining in the turbolift, a bloody nose on the bridge, bumps, bruises, scrapes – what did they think they signed on for, a holiday? A feast? Did they think they were here to celebrate the Lunar New Year? Dr. Mele had more things to worry about than patching up dismal sniveling decrepit….

She slammed her fist on a broken section of railing then kicked it across the deck. “Is this crew so abjectly incompetent that a little storm will destroy order?” Imaj raged at the bridge crew, searching for someone on whom to vent her anger, but the one she would have chosen was already dead, the helmsman’s neck snapped within seconds of his mistake, by Captain Sovak. Science Chief Escher had already been reprimanded by Atragon; Chief Precip was going after the engineer who continued to whine in the turbolift.

Precip . . . ah. Even in the midst of chaos Imaj’s mind wandered from the ship to the crew to the Empire and back; it was her way of coping with abject stupidity. The Bolian Chief of Security was surely one to admire – and watch closely. He had a way about him, a quiet calculating style – and he firmly believed in swift punishment, but of the slow, excruciating, agonizing variety. He was much more refined than Captain Sovak. The whining engineer would be punished, and he would never forget the experience, perhaps carry the evidence on his body to the grave – if he survived.

Imaj turned back to the task at hand. Focus. Do not allow your passion to overcome reason, your lusts to dull your vigilance. They had a world to conquer, a colony to purge, and purge it they would. But first the ship, without which they could do nothing.

Imaj of Kirok

ISS Manticore

Stardate 5108020.1

Being a man, and therefore knowing the ways of men, her father had taught Imaj well. But it was her mother’s wisdom that sculpted Imaj into adulthood. When it was apparent her daughter was coming of age, Imaj’s mother took her aside and explained several things, chief among them being that her beauty could be both an asset and a weakness.

“Many men will be drawn to you,” she said, “as they were to me. Be cautious. Choose wisely. But they will also be distracted by your beauty; they may believe you weaker, perhaps even helpless. Because of that they will be most vulnerable. As your father has taught you to use the dagger so will I teach you to use your beauty; they are equally powerful weapons. Allow men to believe they control you, and you have won.

“Be ever watchful for anyone who would dominate you – either physically or emotionally – and do not allow it. In restraint, in reason, and in strength of will you will dominate. Allow your emotions to overcome reason and you will sink into subservience.” Not long after, Imaj began a strict regimen of meditation, exercise, and education in the martial arts, especially in the use of extraordinary weapons.

She carried on her thigh the dagger of the House of Kirok, a largely ceremonial weapon, but a weapon nevertheless, and a dreadful one at that. Razor sharp, it was not to be drawn without drawing blood. In this weapon Imaj was expert, but it was not her weapon of choice. She used the dagger on her hip as a diversion, drawing the assailant’s eyes as he expected her to use it. In that instant of distraction Imaj would, with her left hand, extract a thin 2” spike from elsewhere, then deftly jab it into a vital spot of the opponent’s body to cause excruciating pain, instant paralysis, or, when inserted into the base of the skull, instantaneous death.

Despite her mother’s teachings, Imaj Kirok, bond-mate to Admiral Atragon-9, danced precariously on the edge with personal relationships. Of her attraction to her husband she was sure: his strength, his cunning that matched her own, his virility, and his sense of purpose as well as his ferocity in battle – and in love – had bonded her to him even before their formal bonding ceremony.

Of her attraction to Captain Sovak she was less certain, but she suspected it stemmed from not only his thirst for power but his passionate attack on her senses as they engaged in an intricate contest of wills. To her it was the ultimate challenge for domination, not unlike what she encountered with her Arabian stallion when she first broke him, straddling his roiling flanks, her calf and thigh pressed into its lathered hide, the beast’s great nostrils flared in fury, snorting in rage until he finally bent to submission. It was the ultimate battle, an elaborate dance matching Sovak’s aggression with her own, his passion with hers until they parted in exhaustion. Yet neither had surrendered; instead, an uneasy armistice prevailed. Was that her fascination? That he might eventually submit?

No matter what the reason, Imaj had convinced herself that her ultimate goal was to maintain the status quo, that for her and her husband to survive she must use every resource at her disposal: her father’s position in the Imperial Senate, her intellect, and her beauty. And she must appease her husband, whose ever-watchful eye prodded the recesses of the ship with his private surveillance cameras.

At the end of each escapade, Imaj turned towards the hidden surveillance camera to dress, then gave her husband a look of disgust that would hopefully be interpreted by Atragon as revulsion. But Atragon was no fool, so she had to be convincing. If he did not accept it she would do battle with him, but on a different plane, and perhaps a more dangerous one.

Neutron Stars Join the Black-hole Jet Set

A team of astronomers including Niel Brandt, professor of astronomy and astrophysics at Penn State, has discovered a neutron star emitting an extended stream of powerful X rays, marking the first time such an extended X-ray jet has been detected originating from any class of object other than black holes.

Read the full story on Live: http://live.psu.edu/story/28567?nw=1

Hmmm...sounds like one of my plots. :P

:::head hits the keyboard:::

Well, I guess I can't say you didn't warn me :)

The human Federation President, Nam Bacco, was rushed aboard the USS Davies (Norway Class) approximately thirteen hours ago.

The President was mediating a dispute between two rivaling factions on Cyrus III when her body was penetrated by a miniature device.

The device latched itself onto the Basial Artery, immediately cutting off oxygen-rich blood from the brain. The Davies medical staff has been able to provide her with artificial blood, but the device remains tightly fastened to the artery.

One hope remains, though. A Defiant Class vessel, the USS Miller, is en route carrying a device, that shrinks objects.

SFHQ believes that if a shuttle craft, with a brave crew compliment, were shrunk, they might be able to enter Bacco's body, locate the device, and somehow disable it.

It's the last chance, though, and there's no guarantee it will work. Worse yet, there's no guarantee the shrinking array can be reversed. The Miller's array delivery is 10 minutes. President Bacco remains in Sickbay.

=======================

Game Master (GM) - STSF GromVik

Game Master (GM) - STSF Jami

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF GromVik

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Joy

Helm/Operations Officer (HOPS) - Brian T Riley

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Shane

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - STSF Jami

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - Dot506

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Tom Servo

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - TKAR

080205.txt

ISS Manticore, Stardate 61595.4

The Annals of Kirok, Senatus Primus

Imperial House of Kirok

Imperial City, Earth

First Senator Kirok stood on the balcony on which his father stood and his fathers before him for many generations. His was a glorious legacy reaching back to Earth’s first exploration of space and subsequent conquest through their alliance with the Romulan Empire. His ancestor, the great Enterprise Captain, could not have realized the heights to which the Empire and his own family would climb, neither could the illustrious Captain Kirok have envisioned that his family would inherit such power, such dignity, and such magnificence, or that his descendant would stand on this pristine marble balcony overlooking what he had known as the San Francisco Bay on this day so many years later.

And the day could not be more auspicious. A few low clouds obscured the rolling waters of the great sea to the west and those of the bay to the east. Sunrise glowed amber, then golden along the horizon. The first buds of spring promised a bountiful harvest – one as they had not had for years, according to the seers. And his daughter, Imaj, was home, and would hopefully make a decision that would warm his heart: to take her place by his side in the Imperial Senate.

Hfihar Kirok had been built of Columbia marble above compacted debris from the great quake of 2053 that leveled 90% of the ancient city called San Francisco. Several families called the dwelling home until it was awarded to Kirok, former Captain of the Enterprise and Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, for his valor during the First Imperial War. He christened it Hfihar Kirok, the House of Kirok, a double-entendre. It would accommodate the House of Kirok for generations. During the Admiral’s occupation of the house several guest houses and servants’ quarters had been added, as well as recreational facilities. Subsequent occupants had expanded and improved the buildings and land into more of a bastillion, a superb, easily defended, secluded family refuge.

They had since renamed San Francisco Bay, of course. Its original name implied submission, the heritage of St Francis, lover of animals. However, the saint had qualities Kirok had come to admire, especially his ability to communicate with animals. Kirok counted that as a form of dominance, no matter how small, how insignificant.

A soft onshore breeze brushed First Senator Kirok’s morning robes and ruffled the feathers of an immense bald eagle that perched on a marble column beside him. Kirok stroked it, caressing its sleek body, admiring its strength, the scimitar-like beak, the luster of its feathers, the keen gaze of its eye that ever watched, ever waited, piercing the morning haze, scrutinizing every inch of sky, forest, and underbrush, penetrating to the very depths of the sea.

The bird lowered its head and gave a cry, then shook its wings in annoyance. “Hungry?” Kirok whispered, his lips dangerously close to the bird’s beak as he deftly released its restraint. Without a sound the great bird spread its wings and dropped over the side of the balcony, then caught a rising air current and began a slow, steady climb over the trees that lined a trail through the woods below, soaring towards the bay beyond. Within minutes it would return, Kirok knew, its prey still struggling against its destiny, terrified of its inevitable fate as its captor pinned it between talon and sun-warmed marble, then hungrily tore flesh from bone until all life drained and the eagle’s appetite was satisfied.

“A magnificent sight, Father. A symbol worthy of the Empire.”

“Yes, a worthy symbol. And found only here. On Earth.” Kirok turned to greet his daughter Imaj, who had approached him silently from behind. She had his wisdom, but the stealth and cunning of her mother and the often outrageous bravado of her great-great grandfather Captain Kirok. And she was beautiful, especially in the early hours of the morning when her lithe body glowed from intense exercise and her hair glistened, still wet from bathing. The beauty of her mother as well, he thought as she approached to touch his cheek gently with her lips. ‘Tis a pity her mother is not around enough to see it. Then again, her jealousy may be overwhelming when she sees her daughter is perhaps even more beautiful than she herself once was. “Good morning, my daughter.” He returned the kiss, then resumed his watch.

Cinching the loose-fitting robe around her waist, Imaj turned to lean her back against the balustrade, reaching across the wide marble rail to finger the gold facing that gleamed in the rising sun. She turned slowly and ran her hands along its warmth the way her father caressed the feathers of his beloved eagle, Galae. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirok watched his daughter’s smile of satisfaction, almost greedy but not quite, and somewhat passionate.

“Have you come to a decision?” he asked, careful to keep the tone light. He was a man of few words, especially when it came to Imaj, who had a mind of her own.

Her hands stopped abruptly and one finger began to tap the gold flashing. She looked to the eagle, free on the breeze, just cresting the bay. Then she spoke. “What is to decide, Father? Surely you would not have me rot in the Senate when the colonies threaten our security with their petty demands? Surely you would not have me stay here when there are worlds to conquer.” Her voice was both playful and cutting, her eyes as piercing as the eagle’s beak. “It is my passion. As much a passion as . . . .”

“Yes, yes,” Kirok interrupted with a sigh, waving his hand and stepping aside. “As my passion for the Senate.” It was an oft-repeated conversation, one he knew he would never win, but felt he had an obligation to try. And hope.

“Be careful, Imaj, that your passions do not overcome reason, your lusts do not dull your vigilance.” A mind of her own, yes, and very much my daughter. And still she smiles coyly. In the flower of youth is an infallibility that cannot be quenched. He remembered his own youth, his own certainty of infallibility, his delusion of immortality instantly crushed with the assassination of his father.

The winged predator, a Pacific salmon writhing in its talons, landed solidly next to Kirok and began to feed with methodic precision. Bits of the majestic fish stripped away easily as the bird’s razor-sharp beak first pierced a section, then cut deeply, flaying the flesh as easily as a filleting knife in the hands of a fisherman.

As revolting a sight as it was, Imaj riveted her eyes on the scene. Something about it seemed to fascinate her. The bird’s technique? Its power? Kirok decided to let it pass without comment or question. Female she was made, but male she was in her attitudes – which would make her a formidable adversary in the Senate. Again he sighed. Formidable in the Fleet as well.

Slowly, cautiously, the landscape surrounding the main house came alive with small winged and furry creatures satisfied that they would not be targeted, at least this day.

“You are Centurion now,” Kirok continued casually, flicking away a bit of viscera that had flopped towards him from the eagle’s beak. The fish was now more subdued, perhaps resigned to its fate. “You should be looking for someone suitable to carry on our line. Have you given any more thought to the proposal from Atragon?”

Silence. He shifted slightly to see his daughter, who still stared at the great bird. But she was not thinking about the image before her, she was obviously thinking of something else, something she wished to hide? Something she wanted to share but dare not? Kirok had been the one to propose the match and her fierce independence would normally have dictated rebellion, so he had expected to see a look of defiance accompanying her sudden silence. Instead he saw . . . pleasure? He turned to face her, waiting for an answer.

She merely stood there, smiling. But not at the bird.

“You have already bonded.” He had learned long ago that the direct approach was best.

She caught her breath, dropping her eyes for the merest second. “I have . . . tested the waters,” she replied, twisting the ends of her sash around a finger, a blush that did not come from her morning exercise slowly spreading through her cheeks. “He is strong. He is….” She straightened her body quickly and looked up, her piercing eyes having returned as she fought for composure. “He is powerful, not only on Titan, but in the Imperial Fleet. He will soon take command of a premiere Psi Vessel.”

Defensive? They had definitely bonded. And the bond was not only agreeable but immensely pleasurable. So be it. Kirok was pleased. He could think of no more suitable mate to carry on the family, and that his daughter was pleased made it even more acceptable.

So it would be the Fleet and not the Senate. She would serve the House of Kirok honorably no matter where. And bonding with Atragon? It would not be long before she rose to Subcommander, then Commander. And then…. He could not imagine. She was, after all, his daughter.

Cmdr JFarrington, Atty for the Prosecution

Case 1196032: Starfleet Intelligence vs Captain Muon Quark

Sky Harbor Aegis, Stardate 5008020.2

Temporary assignment from USS Manticore

All was not going as planned. There was truth, and then there was truth, and with every means at her disposal Jami was determined to reveal truth, no matter what the cost. Sophocles said that truth was always the strongest argument, but she had no Sophocles here, she had only herself facing a formidable opponent. She was sure Admiral Forrester had his lackeys watching the trial and reporting every minute detail, including the demeanor of the prosecutor and whether she was representing him as he expected. For that reason Jami had warned Lt John Angelis, her second chair, about his facial expressions on-camera. During the recess she had also reminded him that documents passed between PADDS, no matter how close proximity, could be intercepted. For that matter, every word, no matter how quiet, could be recorded and transmitted instantly to Forrester.

Jami leaned on the desk, her elbows straddling piles of notes from the trial and dispatches from various SFIntel contacts. Was she being paranoid? She had thought not at the beginning, yet the deeper Lt Angelis dug and the more bits and pieces came across her desk, the more she realized he may not be the adversary she had conjured in her mind. True, he had clout – friends in high places – but after reviewing the Intel her skepticism grew.

One particular note from Captain Adrian Wolfe, long-time friend and former suitor, especially piqued her curiosity. Macbeth, Act V, Scene V: 30-33.

Grief, she thought, tossing it aside, her eyes at half-mast from exhaustion. Why couldn’t he just come out with it? Why did he always have to answer her questions with a quote or reference or something else equally as irritating? As if she didn’t have enough to do….

Sighing, she turned to her console to look up the passage.

Jami pushed her chair away from the console, suddenly wide awake. A connecting thought struck her and she began rifling through several notes Angel had placed on her desk a few hours before, then she stood in triumph, firmly grasping one from Admiral Gren DeJariov of SFMedical. Erring on the side of caution, he had not forwarded Forrester’s complete psychological file, but he did send a few seemingly innocuous notes that, when put together with Adrian’s reference and snippets from the trial, led Jami Farrington to a totally different picture of Admiral Forrester.

Conspiracy? Definitely. Dangerous? Probably. Filled with intrigue and complex twists pointing in precarious directions? Definitely not.

Bottom line, Forrester was a bully, plain and simple, not unlike a spoiled child on the playground who insisted on getting his way or he’d call his gang to take care of the situation. Still, gangs could be dangerous, and Forrester certainly did have powerful friends – people who, if crossed, could make life miserable for everyone involved.

So. Jami looked up from the note and stood to pace, one hand on her forehead, the other massaging her lumbar muscles, sore from leaning the wrong way over her notes. She still had to be careful. She had to play the game – and play it she would – but no longer would she be hounded by the thought of a “greater conspiracy.” Chances were that the buck stopped with Forrester, and, if everyone played it right, his “powerful friends” would let him hang alone.

The USS Fracture (Norway Class) has been tracking a cargo vessel controlled by an individual rumored to be practicing human and alien trafficking. Preliminary long range scans have proved inconclusive.

-----------------

Game Master (GM) - STSF GromVik

Game Master (GM) - STSF Jami

.

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - Brian T Riley

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Josheua

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Zertz

Helm/Operations Officer (HOPS) - Joy

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Travis Kroells

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Dot506

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - STSF Jami

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Arch Angel

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - TKAR

Chief Security Officer (CSEC) - Aurora

080129.txt

Not every academy host posts the chat log. I can hunt up the Saturday one if you'd like it.

Second Officer's Log, Stardate 5008012.7

Cmdr JFarrington, MD

USS Manticore - NCC 5852

Simple Things

Given the promises of exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new civilizations, boldly going where no one has gone before, one would think a career in Starfleet would be the ultimate thrill of a lifetime.

Recruiting posters and holovids painted a glorious picture of adventure to secondary school and college students on career days. There was no doubt in Jami’s mind that during her formative years she had absorbed a bit too much of Starfleet hype and that it may have clouded her judgment when it came to post-secondary planning and education. Of course, Great-uncle Jim Kirk had nothing whatsoever to do with her decision to join Starfleet – his stories of daring space escapades greatly embellished ad nauseum (according to her father) notwithstanding.

Truth be told, life in Starfleet could be dangerous and rife with political intrigue, but mostly it was just plain tedious and downright boring. Mapping of star system after star system, hacking through disease-infested jungles in the name of biology, trudging from dune to craggy peak in a blistering binary-star system, sinking deep in muck and mire on a godforsaken planet just to hunt an elusive microorganism – which may or may not be the answer to a plague – wasn’t exactly what Jami Farrington – or anyone, for that matter – signed up for. But it was their lot in life, so they dealt with it.

Of course they did experience occasional thrills, like Dr. Zwicky’s dark matter manipulation that trapped the ship and crew in a seemingly endless past-future-past circle of time travel. And she never thought she'd forget the black hole that, when evaded, caused a massive energy wave that destroyed all civilization on Earth. But she did forget, because when it was undone so Earth could be saved, it never happened; but that’s another story.

Things of that nature tended to alleviate their boredom. But there remained endless conferences on Federation procedure and protocol, tedious travel to and from wherever, window upon window of PADD work, and graveyard duty shifts that eventually caused one to question the aforementioned lot in life. It was during those times that Jami Farrington, Second Officer and Counselor of Manticore, reflected on the simple things that, no matter where she was in the universe or in time, made life worthwhile.

Simple things, like programming their quarters’ holowall to reflect the ambience of a snow-swept hutte high on a glacier overlooking Sognefjord, or snuggling into a down dyne by a crackling fire, Atragon’s comforting warmth draped around her, and a mournful wind outside lulling her to sleep.

Simple things.

Yet, when she awoke this particular morning, cold unmussed sheets met her outstretched arm. Atragon was in sickbay, recovering from . . . . She sighed and threw her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting to think about it. It was definitely not one of her most cherished memories. Today was another day to dwell on simple things, to be simply grateful that her husband was still alive.

Then came a chime at the door, a grab for her robe, and Escher standing meekly in the doorway. She turned, fresh coffee steaming from the cup in her hand, wondering what he could possibly want at this time of day. Atragon’s exoskeleton? Why was she not surprised. It meant one of two things: either the admiral had been released from sick bay – which she highly doubted – or he was planning an escape.

“Of course. Take your pick,” she readily offered, deftly hiding her suspicion of conspiracy.

With the closet minus one exoskeleton, Jami finished her coffee, casually washed and dressed, then strolled towards the turbolift and, ultimately, sick bay, confident that Dr. Kyle Mele’s contingency plans would impede their resident Houdini’s escape. An intense curiosity of A9’s current modus operandi quickened her pace a bit, as a surge of adrenaline at the thought of physician triumph overcame what sleepiness remained.

As Jami approached the door to sick bay she paused to listen for any hint of commotion. Since Kyle’s efforts – and hers when she was Chief Medical Officer – had been thwarted so many times before, she still had the tiniest bit of doubt that his plan would succeed. But everything seemed normal, so she entered to see her husband firmly ensconced in his private room and Dr. Mele calmly refreshing the contents of sickbay’s renowned coffeepot. Sheer bliss. She made a beeline to his office, savoring the prospect of rich coffee made with freshly-ground beans from Devron Prime, its potency derived from the copious fertilizing dung of a beetle known as the hopper.

Simple things.

A few minutes later, coffee cup warming her palms, the coffee’s incomparable aroma weaving its spell, Jami finally noticed the exoskeleton case that leaned a bit too lightly against the office wall. Empty? Of course. Kyle’s patented grin. “It's okay; I've noted the transporter activity. His private cubicle doors are now locked, and all transporter activity to Sickbay has been off-lined.”

Jami smiled. Simple things.

Shortly after that, Jami found herself sitting outside her husband’s private room leafing through the latest copy of The Journal of Starfleet Medical Division, her husband and his accomplice safely incarcerated in the private room.

A cup of joe,

A lock-ed door,

And Escher’s face pressed pleadingly against the observation window.

Simple things.

The USS Billy Mitchell is on routine patrol.

Game Master (GM) - STSF Muon

Game Master (GM) - Cmdr JFarrington

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF Muon

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Brian T Riley

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Ensign Praxx

Helm/Operations Officer (HOPS) - Tia

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Josheua

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Michael

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - Mercy Darkrose

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - TKAR

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - mestral

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Vidian Gallant

Chief Security Officer (CSEC) - Samantha Kent

Assistant Security Officer (ASEC) - Dot506

080127.txt

Cmdr JFarrington, Atty for the Prosecution

Case 1196032: Starfleet Intelligence vs Captain Muon Quark

Sky Harbor Aegis, Stardate 5008012.5

Temporary assignment from USS Manticore

Good Cop, Bad Cop

By the time Cmdr Jami Farrington and Lt. John Angelis exited Captain Halloway’s quarters on the Yorktown and made their way towards their own, crowds of protesters had begun to jam the station’s commercial concourse. Word passed quickly that Captain Muon had come under the gun and – for reasons unbeknownst to the protesters – she was up for court martial. Anyone who had a grievance had begun to gather. Charges had not been published, but protesters didn’t need a list of charges, only a cause or something they could manufacture into a cause. And, of course, the media had arrived, poised like vultures at every corner. As she and John entered the concourse it seemed to her that without Aegis’ exceptional security – built up by Captain Muon when she was Security Chief – the situation could easily get out of hand.

And she was the bad guy.

As they elbowed their way through the crowd, Jami was thankful for her nondescript jumpsuit and John’s civvies. Within a few hours their dress uniforms and UFP IDs would give them away, and, as gawkers gathered outside the proceedings, they may become the targets of ill will.

She and Halloway had agreed to play “good cop/ bad cop” and Jami was the latter. Charges would be dropped and Muon would be freed, but Jami had to keep up the scam, certain that sooner or later Admiral Forrester would outplay his hand. For now she had to focus on the trial, steel herself against the media, and ignore any epithets or items of a physical nature that might be thrown their way.

And on that note, she put in a quick call for a security escort. Just in case.

Quote of the night:

[Joy] <CSCI> <OPS> Do you think reducing the diameter of Riley's neck to improve motivation will decrease downtime?

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

The USS Greenleaf (Steamrunner class) is on routine patrol near the Ceti Alpha Star Cluster.

Game Master (GM) - STSF Sundown

Game Master (GM) - Cmdr JFarrington

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF Sundown

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Pneuma

Helm (Helm) - Ens Thataway

Operations Officer (OPS) - Cadet Praxx

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Brian T Riley

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Josheua

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - Mercy Darkrose

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - TKAR

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Joy

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - Aurora

Chief Security Officer (CSEC) - Dot506

Assistant Security Officer (ASEC) - Shane

Chat log will be posted when available.

01.24.08_Academy.doc

I deeply sympathize with your predicament as I have experienced it before myself. But the sim was interesting enough and we found an odd gravitational annomaly to boot.

 

~Brian

You booted the anomaly? Now why didn't I think of that??

Hello all. I must say I am glad to find the STSF, especially since I am an evacuee of the remnants of SFOL on AOL. I started there in '94 and served on the late USS Renegade durring the civil war (for those who remember that far back). I resigned in a huff after her captain destroyed her and helped found a rival sim group, ST: Genesis. I also spent a good chunk of time inhabiting TFL (Ten Forward Lounge). Then I took a few years off. I recently looked back in on AOL(when it turned free) and found SFOL and any remnants of that community splintered and/or gone.

 

I look forward to finding a bit of that commraderie and creative RPing that I enjoyed so much in the halcyon years of SFOL. I hope to see you all and soon.

 

Brian T. Riley

-former Lt. SFOL

-former GM ST:Genesis/ST:Federation and Beyond

-former...too many too list.

Good to see you again, Brian. Shades of Ranger -- my, my ::grin::

Looking forward to working with you.

Mission Briefing: A group of small unaligned (politically) vessels have been reportedly harassing civilian and cargo transports with increasingly hostile actions. The USS Breadnbutter (Akira Class) has been dispatched to the Selebi Asteroid belt, the last known location of these vessels, to investigate. ETA is 7 minutes.

Game Master (GM) - STSF GromVik

Game Master (GM) - STSF Jami

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Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF GromVik

Special Guest Visitor (SGV) - Schawnsee

Special Guest Visitor (SGV2) - Eagle

OPS Officer (OPS) - Joy

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Mercy Darkrose

Helm (Helm) - Dot506

FIGHTER SQUADRON:

Fighter Pilot Alpha, CAG (CAG) - Cadet Praxx

Fighter RIO Alpha (RIO A) - Josheua

Fighter Pilot Beta (Pilot B ) - Samantha Kent

Fighter RIO Beta (RIO B ) - Aurora

Fighter Pilot Gamma (Pilot G) - Brian T. Riley

Fighter RIO Gamma (RIO G) - Vidian Gallant

080122.txt

The USS Billy Mitchell is investigating the disappearance of planet MF29X. When they arrived on scene all they found was debris and a faint warp trail. We are now deciding our next move. Our only lead is that an Andorian ship was last seen in the area a few hours before.

Game Master (GM) - STSF Muon

Game Master (GM) - Cmdr JFarrington

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Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF Muon

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Schawnsee

Tactical Officer (TAC) - Jaden Praxx

Helm (Helm) - dot506

Operations Officer (OPS) - Aurora

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Josheua

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Tabor Nansk

Chief Medical Officer (CMO) - Vidian Gallant

Assistant Medical Officer (AMO) - Pace

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Samantha Kent

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - michael

Chief Security Officer (CSEC) - Mercy Darkrose

Assistant Security Officer (ASEC) - Arch Angel

080120.txt

hi welcome to stsf for more info visit howto page and also visit the schedule page for academy simulation times for more helpful tips visit the tips from the moose section subfourm on the academy board agian welcome hope to see ya around

She's already graduated, Doug. Thanks for the tips anyhoo....

And welcome aboard again Mercy! It's been great working with you in academies and hope to see you on an advanced ship soon!

Cmdr JFarrington, Atty for the Prosecution

Case 1196032: Starfleet Intelligence vs Captain Muon Quark

Sky Harbor Aegis, Stardate 5008011.1

Temporary assignment from USS Manticore

Of Weevils and Other Nasty Things

Main Entry: wee•vil

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English wevel, from Old English wifel; akin to Old High German wibil beetle, Old English wefan to weave

: any of a superfamily (Curculionoidea) of beetles which have the head prolonged into a more or less distinct snout and which include many that are injurious especially as larvae to nuts, fruit, and grain or to living plants. The egg hatches in a few days into a soft, white, legless, fleshy grub which feeds on the interior of the grain kernel. The grub changes to a naked white pupa and later emerges as an adult beetle.

Translation: Admiral Forrester

Jami couldn’t have said it any better herself. Black Ops had a name for people in Intel like Forrester – weevil – and the satchel that Ensign Garrett had just delivered had Weevil written all over it. Those who purported to work for the good of the Federation but had hidden agendas were pests whose larvae infiltrated seeds meant for the propagation of sustenance and, when hatched, ultimately destroyed the entire crop. Unfortunately the fate of the Federation often rested on choosing between the lesser of two weevils – a horrible pun, but an accurate assessment, and a more than adequate epithet. In actuality the word Classified glared back under the amber light of Jami’s quarters, but it may as well have said Weevil.

Soft. White. Legless. Yep, that was Forrester.

She’d never met the man, but scuttlebutt travels fast through Intel and Black Ops circles – especially scuttlebutt about admirals and higher – and Jami was Black Ops. Forrester was not someone she would ever trust, but not someone she wanted to cross, either. Friends in high places on both sides of the line, and all that. He hated Ferengi – for whatever reason – and several other non-human species, but beyond that she hadn’t a clue why he was out to get Captain Quark.

Jami eyed the envelope, then Ensign Garrett, who cowered in the doorway wondering what to do. Forrester had used her as a go-between because he had something he wanted to openly hide. That is, he wanted the package stamped Classified to be paraded through Sky Harbor Aegis – much as a banner would be carried before battle – but he did not want one of his own to display it so he chose one of Aegis’s most lowly, thereby furthering the degradation.

Poor kid. Engineering. Probably assigned to Aegis. Garrett looked like she’d been snatched from her chief out of a J-tube somewhere judging from the smudge on her face and the rumpled jumpsuit that hugged her tiny body. Having been ordered to deliver a classified document she shouldn’t even have known about, Garrett was clearly confused and understandably embarrassed as she finally turned to leave.

Damn fleshy grub.

So, Jami had been hijacked for a court martial while on leave. Typical. But that’s how they operated. Pressure. Intimidation. Coercion. Blind-side. Slam-dunk. Hijack an unsuspecting officer, preferably in Black Ops, and preferably a pay-grade or two above the opposition. An officer in Black Ops stood a good chance of having the same agenda as one in SF Intel, but not necessarily. It was obviously a chance they were willing to take. Forester’s only possible motive for hijacking Jami was his mistaken belief that she would rubber-stamp his agenda. Or maybe – just maybe – he wanted to drag Manticore into it?

Bad move.

The only way for Jami to survive was to do her job to the best of her ability – and to get to the bottom of the situation through discreet back-channels without blowing everything apart. Discreet back-channels being Manticore’s own SF Intel officer, who just happened to be allergic to weevils.

Given the time-frame of less than an hour before the court martial convened, she had to do some fast hijacking of her own, which on a starbase shouldn’t be too difficult. Jami figured she’d better run into someone soon, and she did. Literally. By chance? Hopefully. She wasn’t sure, but at this point she would take whomever she could get, and her previous experience with Lt Arch Angel had been first rate. And he came pretty highly recommended.

She and Angel secured their tiny preparation room and poured over the documents as quickly as possible. Failure to obey an order or regulation might fly. Conduct unbecoming – yeah, maybe. Jami had a few of those thrown at her; sh*t happens when you’re in deep space too long. False statements. Improper hazarding of vessel . . .

Conspiracy? Gimme a break.

Considering the circumstances they would ask for continuance, knowing the defense would anyway. They would also ask for an Article 32 hearing to determine the viability of the charges. Hell, they might even move for dismissal.

Nah. That’s up to defense. Anyway, it’d probably get Forrester’s nose out of joint, and Manticore didn’t need any more opposition than it already had.

A new study using results from NASA's Chandra X-ray Observatory provides one of the best pieces of evidence yet that many supermassive black holes are spinning extremely rapidly, according to a research team led by a Penn State astronomer. The whirling of these giant black holes drives

powerful jets that pump huge amounts of energy into their environment and affects the growth of galaxies.

Read the full story on Live: http://live.psu.edu/story/28039?nw=1

The USS Davidson (Norway Class) is en route to conduct minor repairs on the MIDAS array (see Memory Alpha) to enable a Vulcan science team to continue their research on micro-worm holes. ETA is 12 minutes.

Game Master (GM) - STSF GromVik

Game Master (GM) - STSF Jami

Mission Commanding Officer (MCO) - STSF GromVik

Mission Executive Officer (MXO) - Joy

Helm-Operations Officer-Tactical Officer (THOps) - Michael Carrick

Chief Engineer (CENG) - Josheua

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - Eagle

Assistant Engineer (AENG) - LtCdrFaldek

Chief Science Officer (CSCI) - Mercy Darkrose

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - Aurora

Assistant Science Officer (ASCI) - Samantha Kent

Chief Security Officer (CSEC) - dot506

080115.txt

Cmdr JFarrington, MD

USS Manticore 5108011.4

Dissection

Starfleet Academy

Stardate 5094122.6

Securely pin the living organism to a suitable dissection tray with a fitted tissue culture assay plate well. Note the condition of the dermis and epidermis – does it offer moderate to hard resistance to pinning, or are both soft and pliable? Once the organism is secured, fill the well with an approximate pH 7.0 phosphate buffered saline solution to completely cover the organism; saline keeps the tissues moist, maintaining correct osmotic conditions so the tissues will be in relatively good condition for the duration of the dissection . . .

USS Manticore

Stardate 5107121.0

Atragon lay very still, twitching ever so slightly, just enough to let Jami know he was alive . . . breathing . . . enduring whatever agony the silicon entity propelled along his neural pathways. It had wrapped itself around his brain stem. Not a good sign. And Jami Farrington – with her multiple medical degrees and years of experience – could only watch.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” muttered Commander Precip to Dr. Kyle Mele, who stood over Atragon, regarding him with a disconcerting look.

“Agreed. We cannot remove the exoskeleton, as necessary as it is at the moment.”

Necessary. It was Atragon’s own doing – his undoing – allowing the entity to use his exoskeleton as . . . as what? An apartment? A conduit? An incubation tube? What the hell was he – were they all – thinking? They needed to stay alive in a safe environment. And what about Atragon? What about his safe environment?

USS Ranger

Stardate 5096030.5

Lt. Cmdr Jami Farrington, Chief Medical Officer, stood over Lt Cmdr Topan of Vulcan, her husband, her bond-mate, as his life faded. The hand that had transferred his katra to her a few moments before, slipped to her belly, now seven months swollen with their first child. “Ashaya,” he said, barely above a whisper, then sighed as his hand dropped to hers, closing on it for the last time.

She could only watch.

USS Manticore

Stardate 5107121.0

“What if we give them something else to cling to, to feed on, to . . . do whatever they are doing? Something – anything – besides his exoskeleton?” There had to be something they could do. She would not let it happen. Not this time!

Silicon. Someone said silicon. Silicon wants more silicon. Jami spun around; Atragon was speaking. He was awake. Taken over by the entity, controlled by the entity, but awake and, as Captain Sovak so typically worded it, he was coherent. He was awake, and, through him, the entity was communicating with Kyle as to the best way to ensure the safety of both themselves and Atragon.

“We still require the safe . . . haven.”

“A safe location, such as the holoemitters?” offered Kyle.

“We simply can't give that to you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but growth would be expansion throughout a silicon computer matrix. We have only one of those here on Manticore: the computer core and its subsystems. And we can't let you into that.” Malcolm Escher was adding his feed to the mix. He was obviously frustrated, but in Jami’s frame of mind it didn’t take her long to mentally translate his frustrated expression into that of a calculating scientist. It was more than she could take, and as the conversation progressed she backed against the wall.

Securely pin the living organism to a suitable dissection tray with a fitted tissue culture assay plate well.

“You were there before, and you almost threatened to consume the entire core.”

“As before, we ask for relocation to a facility that can house us now and when we continue to develop.”

“And if we were able to accommodate that request - would the vessel you're currently in, Atragon, stay with us, or be destroyed in the waiting process?”

“The merge with him is not as invasive as with Watson.”

Note the condition of the dermis and epidermis – does it offer moderate to hard resistance to pinning, or are both soft and pliable?

“We can withdraw with nominal effect.”

“But we have no where else for you to go. Don't you see that? If the ship isn't good enough for you, what else is there?”

Once the organism is secured . . .

Jami returned to the bridge, no longer able to endure the discussion. Her husband was there, but not there. He was a mere housing for the entity. Not that those around him did not acknowledge his presence, but the immediate consideration was – it had to be – the Manticore and her crew.

The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one.

That’s how she left them, discussing the disposition of the entity, the disposition of the body that housed them. Given the choice between watching the slow dissection of her husband and his situation or tending to mundane matters, she had chosen the latter and had returned to the bridge.

Thirty minutes later Atragon was down, shot by Captain Sovak. Minus the entity, he was alive. Barely. His exoskeleton fused to his body.

Saline keeps the tissues moist, maintaining correct osmotic conditions so the tissues will be in relatively good condition for the duration of the dissection. . . .

A surreal déjà vu overcame her as she found herself pacing sick bay once more.

And she could only watch.