Tachyon

“The Wrong Man for the Job” Stardate 0603.29 Lieutenant Arthur Dent --------------------------------------------- Synonyms sprang to Dent's mind, a cumulative overreaction from the events in the past few hours. “Disaster” was one; “spectacular failure” was yet another. After laying in a course back to Aegis, he indulged himself in some self-pity. He had been in command of the Pandora's Box at the advent of the battle with that pirate raider, and now the Pandora's Box was heading back to Aegis rather than continuing its investigation. Anyone might have told him that it was not his fault. He could not help the fact that a pirate raider had appeared and started a fight, nor that the Pandora's Box had incurred some damage. That did not help Dent reconcile with himself, however. He felt as if great trust had been put in him to competently direct the Pandora's Box to the Cyremba system. Instead, they were limping home to Aegis with an injured Lieutenant Commander Brown. It had not been a good day. Dent wondered if he were just naturally incompetent or if this were just incredibly bad luck on his part. He had never particularly like command—his Kobayashi Maru had been, to put it lightly, disaster, and his professors often used words such as “diligent” and “reliable” to cushion the fact that he was not exactly a leader. Dent had known this long before them and had always been waiting for someone to break the news without sugarcoating it. Consider the news broken.

That's right, the 2006 Spacey Awards are here! Vote for the best in science fiction and fantasy. My picks: Favourite Movie: Serenity Favourite TV Show: Battlestar Galactica Favourite TV Ensemble Cast: Stargate SG-1 Favourite New TV Character: Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell Favourite FX: Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (I didn't vote for either Favourite Video Game or Favourite Action Sequence because I saw none of the games/movies nominated.) Choosing my favourite TV show, in particular, was tough, since Battlestar Galactica, Stargate SG-1, and Doctor Who were all nominated. Eventually I chose BSG, however, since although I find SG-1 enjoyable, BSG is just . . . awesome. I chose SG-1 for ensemble cast partly because I hadn't voted for them as best TV show, but also because I like SG-1's cast a lot. It was either Mitchell or Vala for this one, since I don't watch Lost and Milton Fine (aka Brainiac) isn't, in my mind, my favourite new TV character. I chose Mitchell because he's a nice new thread that joins the rest of the SG-1 team together now that RDA has gone. So . . . go vote. Go now. :lol:

“No-Entry” March 26, 2156 Lieutenant Dave Grey ------------------------------------ Dave was so tired that the bright lights from his console had all smushed together in a fluorescent haze that dazzled the eyes and fried the brain. He could really use some sleep, but he was reluctant to give up now, when he was so close to an idea, a solution of some kind. He had been poring over the research that Lieutenant Xiang had come up with, along with his own thoughts on the aliens and the sensor data that they had. If Challenger was going to combat whatever designs these aliens had on the ship, they needed a defence. And it was up to Dave Grey and the science department to come up with one in time. Grey was actually enjoying this conundrum. While he found the aliens' apparently lack of regard for the conventional laws of physics to be vexing, to say the least, he at least relished the use of his abilities to solve this particular problem. After all, it was a physics problem. No one was asking him to classify animals or shut down a massive alien weapon. He finally felt . . . useful. The stakes were a bit less too; this time they weren't dealing with a particle that could destroy subspace or anything crazy like that. In the back of Grey's very cluttered mind, sandwiched somewhere between his sensory apparatuses and the little tingling thing that tells people when they are running very, very late, an idea started to form. It took root near the tingling thing and spread outward slowly but steadily through the rest of Grey's brain, taking the opportunity to rearrange some of the more disorganised bits before drawing attention to itself in the form of the proverbial light bulb over Dave's head. Subspace seemed to be the answer. Used for faster-than-light communications and faster-than-light travel—basically faster-than-light everything, Grey supposed—subspace might hold the key to stopping these aliens from showing up without an invitation. If he could find a way to generate a subspace field around the ship, one just strong enough to block these aliens, then perhaps the ship would be safe. It would be very, very difficult, of course. To generate such a field would require—well, it would require a field generator, and Challenger had no such generator. In fact, Grey was pretty sure that such a piece of technology was beyond Starfleet's capabilities thus far. They would need alien technology then . . . Luckily, Challenger had alien technology aboard . . . alien technology that happened to generate subspace fields anyway.

I am actually hoping to write one, but I've been quite busy with other stuff lately and the right inspiration for a character hasn't come along yet. Sorry, Images, but I'm still hoping to get one done soon. ^_^

“No Question About It” March 18, 2156 A Joint Log by Dr. Jas McCellan and Lieutenant Dave Grey --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The doctor was in sickbay, treating the officers that had just been gassed in the brig. For the time being the immediate crisis seemed over. As always after the time of crisis, sickbay became a recovery room, and a tenuous peace lay over it. Grey closed his eyes in the dim sickbay light, yawning a bit. He had just had a very harrowing duty shift, but it wasn't over yet. He looked up at Jas as she continued treating people. She had handed him a hand scanner for a reason that had, up until now, succeeded in escaping him. Jas put away all the hyposprays she had used. The gas was no longer a threat in the officers' systems. She looked at Grey silently, wondering what he was daydreaming about. Grey realised after a few moments that Jas was looking at him and said, "Um . . . what am supposed to be doing again?" He held up the scanner and waved it about in a distracted fashion. Something was clearly bothering him. She blinked slowly. “Scan for the byproducts of the gas they breathed in, they should be eliminating it by exhaling . . . should contain mainly carbon and nitrogen oxides.” “Ah.” He went to work scanning, but the silence didn't last long. He worked it in quite casually, starting off with, "So I've been reading the research you showed me. . . ." "Oh," she replied, wave her own scanner around Moore's head. She had almost forgotten about that in the chaos of the past few weeks. Needless to say, she waited for Grey's next, inevitable statement. "And I've been thinking about its . . . implications. But I need to know what you think, Jas. You're the expert, after all. If I did this—it's a big decision. It's a dangerous one too. There would be no going back." "Yeah, I. . . ." The doctor's thoughts were split in three directions. She focused on the first, treating her fellow officers. "I. . . ." She sputtered. Grey raised his eyebrows expectantly. "You . . .?" "It's a big decision, you shouldn't ask about what I would do in your place . . . you shouldn't. . . ." She took the scanner from Grey and read it. "Don't shut me out. I feel alone enough as it is. If I did this—well, what do you think as a doctor? Do you think it could work? It's revolutionary. From what I understand, the entire procedure would cure her of the neurological condition . . . it could restore her body from its debilitating state." Jas passed the scanner back to Grey. “I. . . ." She tried to smile, but then her fears on the surface of the planet and possibility of this procedure began to pronounce itself. Her head drooped; her dirtied hand braced against the biobed. "From a professional point of view. The outcome from this is not questionable. I believe it is a viable treatment. . . ." Grey looked over at the monitor hanging on one wall. It displayed a human brain scan, rotating in three colours. "Then it becomes a question of ethics. And a game of risk. Because somehow I don't think there are 'proper channels' for what I have to do." Jas looked up. "No, but the outcome can determine what is right or wrong. I. . . ." "You, know, I've always played by the rules," Grey said in an apparent non sequitur. He handed Jas the scanner after looking at its results. "I've always been the good guy. The one who finishes last. But the universe isn't fair. It's stacked against you, and sometimes you have to push your way through its metaphysical red tape to get things done." He returned Jas' reluctant look with one of uncharacteristic passion. "I'm getting tired of this, Jas. I'm tired of the dead ends. I'm tired of torturing myself over every decision." "I . . . don't think your sister deserve to die. You literally are holding her life in your hands. . . ." The scanner that they had been passing between them during this conversation finally gave up, emitting a single, undignified beep of annoyance before shutting off entirely. As Jas shoved it back into Grey's hands, he moved from where he had been standing, and it clattered to the floor. Grey walked up to the monitor on the sickbay wall and the multichromatic human brain, looking at the icon and thinking. "It was never a question of yes or no. The universe doesn't work on binary. You're right, Jas. There was never any question of yes or no. There was never any question at all." He said this all without looking at her, without taking his eyes off the monitor. A pause. And then, "I just wish that I realised this sooner. . . ." Then Grey turned and stalked out of sickbay. "Grey. . . ." She whispered silently.

“Proximity Alert” Stardate 0603.18 Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------------------- 1.42569999999 seconds. A lot can happen in 1.42569999999 seconds. Universes can begin, end, and begin again. Ideas can be born. Ideas can be suppressed. A single, powerful decision that can change the world could be made. Infinite possibilities expressed as a repeating decimal. For Tandaris, those 1.42569999999 seconds turned out to be an unnatural lull in the action. A momentary glimpse into what could have been, if only they had been less oblivious, more prepared, more ready for their encounter with this new enemy. As it stood, the enemy was far more powerful than anything that the Federation could muster. Even Excalibur's defences proved little match for their technology. As far as he was able to determine, the enemy was the same one that had heavily damaged the Morningstar prior to their arrival at Al-Ucard. The weapons matched; the energy signatures were identical. This worried Tandaris is more ways than one. Firstly, he had very little idea how to counter those weapons. Secondly, he had very little idea how to strike back. The enemy had two fairly dangerous weapons in its arsenal as far as he had seen so far. There was a quantum pulse, a forceful discharge of singularity energy that could literally tear through a ship's shields as if they weren't there. Tandaris had a kernel of a thought about defending against these pulses, however. The trouble came from the sheer amount of energy that such a pulse contained. He needed to modulate the shields properly so that the energy would be spread out across the entire shield area rather than being absorbed in one spot. The second weapon was some sort of beam. The quantum pulse, being a singularity itself, was dangerous. This weapon was practically insane. After all, subspace weapons were banned by the Khitomer Accords. These aliens had never signed those accords though, so they felt perfectly justified in peppering the freshly-painted Excalibur hull with subspace distortions. The beams literally tore subspace, making warp travel perilous at best. Tandaris did not want to find out what would happen if one of those beams hit a power conduit that led to the warp core. . . . Of course, those were just two weapons. There was no reason to assume that the enemy had thrown everything they had against the Excalibur. In fact, there was every reason to assume that this was only a fraction of their capabilities. They weren't dealing with a new brand of pirate here—no, they were dealing with a very competent, very experienced species, a species who had the advantage of time, technology, and foreknowledge. Tandaris felt a bit like a puppet. These aliens danced in the shadows, pulling the strings that controlled the battle, while Excalibur threw back shots in the dark and hoped to hit something important. They had no knowledge of this enemy's wants or needs or weakness, but the enemy seemed to already know their weakness. Worse, the enemy definitely knew what it wanted. In the space of 1.42569999999 seconds, the enemy demonstrated yet another impressive technology to Tandaris: the ability to totally disregard the laws of physics and beam through the ship's shields. This had been done before, of course. The Borg had done it before starships learned to randomly rotate their shield modulations. But the enemy obviously had a knowledge of subspace physics that would make a Vulcan jealous. This wounded Tandaris in the place it wounded every engineer when their toy fails: his pride. His skills, so carefully nurtured, were rendered useless in a moment. Oh, and the fact that the bad guys were beaming directly into engineering had nothing to do with it, he was sure! Tandaris had time for only one thought in those tense 1.42569999999 seconds. Only one image flickered into his mind as he saw the huge forms materialise around the room. He closed his eyes, just to blink, and when he opened them again, he groaned. Why, why did their new enemy have to be— ***** Several decks up, Tandaris' quarters were empty. He had managed to put them into order since arriving back on the ship, and everything was put away neatly—well, almost everything. A few items were out on his desk, as he had been fiddling with them the night before when he had had trouble sleeping. On the desk were some tools, a tricorder, a PADD, and the alien device that Tandaris had found in the thrift parts store on Al-Ucard. Even as the ship rocked from enemy quantum pulses and intruders phased into engineering, Tandaris' quarters were silent. The lights flickered as the deck lost one of its primary EPS conduits, but emergency lighting soon came back, casting everything into a dull red glow. Then the device, which had heretofore been inert, came to life. A tiny light started blinking, and the rim around its edge glowed a fluorescent magenta. E.T. phoned home.

“Relapse” March 11, 2156 Lieutenant Dave Grey ------------------------------------------ Dave Grey had woken up today without feeling very bad, although he had not felt particularly good either. It was a so-so day, a day when the world could go either way. It was only as the day went on that he realised the Universe's grudge against his very existence had not at all lapsed in intensity. It had, if anything, grown stronger and more pronounced. The radiation signatures, those tell-tale last straws, had broken Grey the camel's back. They were so similar to what he had seen a few months ago that his jaw almost dropped open. The hardest lesson he had to learn back when he first started on Challenger was that everything was cyclical, apparently. Nothing they did was finished; it would continue to affect them for the rest of their mission. Grey had made the mistake of thinking that their experiences with Rufus and Quantus, once over, were over for good. Now those same radiation signatures were apparently manifesting all over Challenger. Grey knew that they needed to develop a defence, if possible, or at least try to make sense of what was going on. All the while his mind was echoing the mantra, Why me? Why me? Why me? He didn't like the response that he got: Why not? Why not? Why not?

“Time Lapse” Stardate 0603.11 Lieutenant Arthur Dent -------------------------------------- “Curiouser and curiouser,” was the mood of the hour. Dent's investigation of the debris in the cargo bay had yielded mixed results. The hull had been in orbit for at least a year. The data recovered was at least that old. Yet the biomatter analysed by Dr. Pavillion was weeks old at the most. That meant that whatever this biomatter was, from wherever it had come, it was an extremely recent occurrence. Dent did not think it was a coincidence either—that the ship had been found so recently, and that this biomatter was so new. What was it, though? What significance could it hold? And the data . . . fragments of sensor logs, a transporter log, and the last half of a distress call that had been super-accelerated. Most of the data was garbled junk, but these had been recovered and restored. Maybe they would provide clues. Dent certainly needed some right now, because like any mystery, this one was just getting more and more convoluted. Dent rubbed his head. His brain hurt. It was rude of mysteries to make his brain hurt. He decided that he would wait on the sensor log until they were back on Aegis and he could compare it with historical logs of the region. The transporter log though . . . he did not know how it could be important, except that he wondered what they had been transporting. A distress call implied they had been in some sort of trouble. If it had been recent trouble, or a trouble that had only recently revisited the area and left behind quantities of biomatter . . . Dent did not want to stay around and wait for it to show up again. He had no desire for the Pandora's Box to be found five years from now, hull fragments in a decaying orbit, hurting the brain of another poor operations officer.

I have to wait several more weeks before I get to see it. ^_^

"Joined" Stardate 0603.10 A Joint Log by Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran and Ensign Atticus Segami ----------------------------- Atticus stared at the warp core, its flashing glare almost hypnotic. It was a few moments before he snapped out of his trance to study the occupants of engineering. Gazing at all their faces he looked for something, namely anything out of place. In the beating heart of the Excalibur, the actions of an enemy saboteur, an alien intruder or even just a hot-tempered crewman could spell the worst. It would sound slightly paranoid to hear these motives if Atticus wasn’t taking his standard patrol and they hadn’t just left a bustling space station, an easy place from which adversaries could gain access. The Ensign examined them one by one and nothing seemed suspicious. Everyone seemed to be attending to their duties in a regular manner. It was only at a 360 degree turn of his head that he noticed a particular engineering officer working at a console. The pips on this man's collar told Atticus he was a Lieutenant but the distinctive dark spots trailing down the officer’s face told him more, that it was a Trill. The ensign was not overwhelmingly surprised; many of his kind had served the Federation honourably and were present on starships and bases all across the galaxy. But it was just that Atticus was not aware of another Trill onboard the Excalibur. But there was more than what met the eye of a casual observer, it was in the way the engineer moved and how his eyes looked intently at the workstation. It was an aged stare, as if those eyes had seen much more than a man of his age possibly could have. Atticus had a feeling in his gut that the Lieutenant was not just a Trill but a joined one at that, like himself. And with only a few hundred symbionts currently being hosted it was quite a lucky coincidence to bump into one. Tandaris was completely oblivious to Atticus' presence in engineering, let alone the attention paid to him. He frowned at the computer console. Mere hours now, that he had been on duty, and already he had lots to do. The Ensign walked up behind him and coughed to gain attention. Tandaris nodded in acknowledgement and continued to blithely track down the computer error. It was only when Atticus spoke that Tandaris looked up with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. "Excuse me sir?” Atticus asked. “Might I inquire as to your name?” "What?" Tandaris blinked several times before he realised he was looking at someone else, at another Trill, and the question ran through his brain. "Me? Oh, I'm Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran. And you?" He looked the officer up and down. An ensign, clearly either a security officer or an engineer. Tandaris couldn't remember seeing him in engineering before, so he took the chance that he may be a security officer. The fact that he was another Trill didn't seem particularly unusual, but it certainly stirred up feelings of homesickness. "I'm Atticus Segami", the ensign replied. "I've recently been assigned to the Excalibur security staff." The Ensign patted the phaser holstered to his side as if to make the point clear. "I apologise for interrupting your duties of course but you're the first other Trill I've seen in at least a few months and just wanted to take this chance to greet you sir. I've actually heard of the Admiran symbiont once or twice before...well one of my previous hosts did. Its nice to meet you in person, even if it is in a next life." Atticus held out his hand in offer of a handshake. Tandaris gripped his hand firmly and said, "Is that so?" These sort of "meetings" between Trill occurred more frequently than one might suppose. Although joined Trill did not often associate with other Trill from previous lives--indeed, this was frowned upon--it was not uncommon for one symbiont to have heard of another's accomplishments in a previous life. Tandaris' mind filled with Admiran' memories from another host; he too recalled the name "Segami", although he couldn't quite pin down where. "I'm a fairly new addition to Excalibur myself," Tandaris said. "I was on it for literally only a few weeks before the . . . incident that crippled the ship and caused our reassignment to the Morningstar. Wow . . . it's hard to believe that we spent less than a year on the Morningstar; it seems so much longer. I guess the events that we encountered have that effect on people. Suffice it to say, it's good to be back. "Did you join Excalibur just before we left Camelot, or were on Morningstar for our final battle?" asked Tandaris. "Oh I was there during the battle all right sir, manning one of the phaser turrets. I got quite a nasty bash on the head for it too." Atticus said, rubbing the area above his right eyebrow that had collided with the ship's deck. "I came onboard the Morningstar when it last left Camelot but I wasn't officially signed in as part of the crew until we were turning tail and running back. The Morningstar was one tough little ship, but like yourself I'm still pleased to finally be on Excalibur, the vessel I was actually assigned to. Tell me sir, do you know of any other Trills onboard?" Tandaris said, "Enough of that 'sir' thing. You could be older than me, for all I know, and I never liked it much. Anyway . . . I believe that the Admiral's Yeoman, Perfect, is also Trill, although I can't say I've met her. The last few days have been very stressful, especially considering that I missed most of them when I was unconscious in sickbay." He briefly related his involvement in the battle, and his subsequent injury, to Atticus. Then he deftly changed the subject to matters at hand. "Tell me, what do you think of these surreptitious yet deadly attacks on the Dominion territories?" Tandaris asked, since that was where they were going now. "Frankly an enemy that can completely wipe out a Dominion outpost with such ease and secrecy scares me." He had no desire for the Federation to become embroiled in another war, particularly one in the Gamma Quadrant. The Ensign gained an expression of coldness. "I don't know. Speaking as a Starfleet officer and a representative of the Federation, I think these attacks are detestable, and as keepers of the peace it is nothing less than our duty to investigate and eliminate the insurgencies as quickly as possible...but...speaking just for myself, I sometimes wonder if the Dominion is simply getting everything it ever deserved. That instead of risking the lives of our brave men and women on the front to defend those genocidal Founders we should wave goodbye and watch them rot." Segami sighed as he realised how harsh his icy words sounded and tried to put them a better way. "Does the power of the hundred scare me? Yes. Will I do everything expected of me in our encounters with them? Definitely. But don't you perhaps think Tandaris, that we're getting involved in someone else's fight? That sorting out this mess isn't our job?" "Oh, certainly," Tandaris appeared to agree. Then his expression deepened, his brow furrowed, and in a slightly less confident voice, he said, "What worries me is . . . if this 'new' enemy is powerful enough to knock the Dominion flat, what's to stop them from going through the wormhole and attack the Alpha Quadrant next? The enemy you know. . . ."

I don't know whether I should be flattered or insulted. But it's better for my blood pressure and my ego if I go for the former. . . .

“The Fruits of Our Labour” Stardate 0602.28 Lieutenant Arthur Dent ---------------------------------------- Dent stopped at his quarters to grab a change or two of clothes. Before he left, he noticed a message. It was from Tristan—as Dent obsessed with work over the past few days, and the mystery of the Archer, he had sorely forgotten to give his uncle that tour of the station he had promised. Dent frowned and told Tristan that it would have to wait until he returned. The Pandora's Box was leaving in less than half an hour. The ship looked ready for departure when he arrived on its bridge, having stowed his baggage in what would be his quarters for the duration of the voyage. He looked around the command centre. After more than a year on the station, he could only recall being on the Pandora's Box twice or so, and now he was on it again in less than a month. He liked it; it was a nice ship. It reminded him a bit of why he preferred the stability of station life, though. Dent went to the ops console and checked systems status to make sure everything was ready. He wasn't really anticipating any problems, but he hoped that the mission would be fruitful. The major problem in the investigation was that of time. They were dealing with debris that could be years old—and those years of exposure to other objects, radiation, even perhaps people, could have done any number of things to the debris that would interfere with scans. They didn't know if the ship had been destroyed in that system, or if someone had brought the debris there. There were so many mysteries, and Dent felt like he was trying to do a puzzle with several of the pieces missing.

“That is the Question” February 27, 2156 Lieutenant Dave Grey ------------------------------------ “Dave. Dave, I know you can hear me. You know you can hear me. So pay attention. You're running out of time, Dave. Even with the coma the clock is still ticking. How much longer? A year? Two, at the most. You can't put off the decision forever. And then it will be too late.” Harriet's voice had become his conscience; it had become his constant companion. They say that stress can do weird things to the human body. Make you feel sensations, experience entire trains of thoughts, that you might otherwise never notice. Right now Grey felt like he was outside of his body . . . as if he were a stranger, watching as someone else manipulated his zombie body into doing its daily tasks. He sat back and let this stranger take him for a ride. Sometimes it was nice to just give up control. Not that Harriet had that option. She was trapped. Too sick to get better, too well to slip from this world and into the next. She had no more options; she had no more hope. Grey's reservoir was quickly running dry. And just when he thought he would drown in the desert, someone tossed him a life preserver, and his mixed metaphor existence disappeared. Nothing comes without a price though. This life preserver, which was more like a weight around his neck, came with a rather large price. Sure, it could save her life—but at what cost to him? To her? Could she live knowing that her life had been purchased at such expense? For Grey, that was the question to which he sought an answer. Grey somehow knew that the more he thought about it, the worse he'd get. But when he did finally arrive at an answer, when he finally made a decision, he knew it would be the right one. He knew that whatever conclusion he came to, Harriet would have agreed. Would have. Should have. Could have. Didn't.

“A Chen by Any Other Name” Stardate 0602.27 Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran --------------------------------------------------- Admiran had seen death before, far more times than he cared to remember. Death was the only constant, the only bottom line, the only true point of no return. So many species have obsessed over cheating death, preventing death, reversing death, that they developed elaborate measures to avoid it. Even the Trill, through the use of the symbionts, found a way to preserve the essence of a person even after death. Admiran had never attended the funerals of his past symbionts. For one thing, they usually occurred before he had fully acclimated to his next host. For another, it was frowned upon by Trill culture. To associate oneself with past relationships. . . . He liked to think that he felt each death, though. That, even if kilometres separated them, he felt when their life ended. How could one be bonded with another one, so intimately, and not feel when their existence gets abruptly terminated? Death doesn't feel like anything. Some describe it as a cold, lonely sensation. Others claim it's warm and welcoming. But when it happens, it isn't anything remarkable. It's an ending, not a revelation. It's a transition, not a scene of the play itself. Tandaris had only known Lieutenant Commander Chen for what, in his terms, would be considered quite a brief span of time. Yet Chen had been likable. He considered Chen a good colleague, maybe even a friend, although they hadn't had much of a chance to really talk. And overall, Chen had gotten the job done. Even when he was only on a coffee break. He knew the stages of grief, no matter the names assigned to them by human or Andorian or Trill pyschologists. He knew that he was feeling strong emotions, such as anger, over the injustice of Chen's death. He missed Chen. He wondered how it was possible for the universe to allow such a thing to happen. “Oboe Quartet in D Major – Op. 34” played softly in the background. Tandaris, returning to his quarters after the funeral, lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Time, death's partner in the dance, that most linear of entities that limited corporeal species' perceptions, would now take over in death's stead. Time doesn't heal all wounds, but it at least obscures them. Newer, fresher wounds take their place. And the band is still playing. It had been Chen's favourite song. That much Tandaris knew. It only made him regret how little he knew about Chen in general. It made the tear running down the side of his face feel a little less alien, though. They say that you cry because you're sad, or you're grieving, or you're mourning the loss of a loved one. But that isn't it at all. You don't cry for those reasons—you don't cry for any reason. You just cry. When you do, when you reach that cathartic climax, you feel better. The music crescendos; the audience applauds; the music stops . . . and the musician takes his final bow.

“When the Lights Go Out” Stardate 0602.23 Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran ------------------------------------------------------ Tandaris felt like a drunk Nausicaan had brought a metre-by-metre ceiling plate down on his head. His entire skull felt two sizes too small, and he could hear his heartbeat pounding through his ears. It took him several moments to realise that the low groaning noise he could hear was his own feeble voice. In the chaos of the epic battle, Tandaris' memories were few and far between. He remembered power overloads from the tactical systems, EPS ruptures, and eventually shouting. Tandaris remembered getting up from his console and running across engineering. An explosive force knocked him flat on his back, and a ceiling plate fell and knocked him out. Now he was lying in his quarters on Excalibur, safe and sound. Not critically injured, but having only a broken arm which was easily repaired and a splitting headache, Tandaris had been discharged relatively quickly. While everyone else took care of the battle's aftermath, he had to slowly ease back into regular life—this time aboard Excalibur, it seemed. Tandaris had only recently learned the details of the actual battle, and his mind was still having a hard time processing everything. Chen's death, for instance. He'd only known the chief of science for a short amount of time, but he had respected Lieutenant Commander Chen. Now, to have him ripped away from them because of a stupid thing like a plasma rupture—well, Admiran had seen a lot of people die in a lot of ways over the last three centuries, some of them uglier than that. But none of them less deserved. Tandaris looked out his window at the stars outside. The other piece of news that he had received was just as disturbing. Unknowns attacking Dominion outposts? The Dominion has an enemy in addition to the Hundred? What sort of quadrant is this? He hoped to have those questions answered, but he had a gut feeling that he wouldn't like the answers when they found him. It felt good to be back on Excalibur. From an engineering viewpoint, the Morningstar had been a sort of fast-paced dream. Every engineer desired to work on a prototype, refining and testing it. However, using that prototype in the field could be a technical nightmare. Excalibur, fresh from a refit, felt like an old friend and a new acquaintance. And Tandaris was still a new guy to the Excalibur. He could only imagine what any of the senior officers were feeling now. It was definitely a time of mixed feelings for everyone. Mourn the deaths of friends, the loss of starships. Celebrate the defeat of the Hundred, the return of the Excalibur, and the restoration of hope. Wonder over the accumulation of questions that continued to brim, unanswered, as mysteries became riddles lost amongst political squabbles that were ultimately meaningless. Tandaris looked over at the possessions which had been salvaged from Morningstar. On his table, the contents of one box had been unpacked and tossed around. Umb, his stuffed animal from his loving brother. A random PADD that seemed to have no value—he wondered who had even bothered packing it into his stuff anyway. The piece of alien technology that he had picked up from that Al-Ucardian shop but hadn't had time to analyse. A set of 12-dimensional algebraic puzzles that his mother had sent as a birthday present. He did a sort of half-turn and faced the doors of his quarters. Now, he supposed, would be as good a time to see engineering again as ever. He'd step out of those doors, Starfleet badge at his chest, and out into a corridor. One foot in front of the other. One heartbeat a time. The stars over his head, shining brightly. Winking out one by one.

Sky Harbor Aegis Internal Communique From: Lieutenant Arthur Dent To: Department Heads CC: Command Staff Subject: U.S.S. Archer Background Information ------------------------------------------------------------------ Enclosed is my research into all information relating to the U.S.S. Archer. Hopefully it will help with the investigation. General Ship Information Registry: NCC-47204 Type: Excelsior-class heavy cruiser Commissioned: 2295 De-commissioned: 2331 Re-commissioned: 2368 Commanding officers: Captain Suran (2368-2374) Captain Christopher Blake (2374) Executive officers: Commander Christopher Blake (2368-2374) Commander Delilah Andrews (2374) Ship History The Archer was constructed at Utopia Planitia in late 2295 and served for thirty-six years as part of Starfleet's deep space exploration fleet. During its time on the deep space exploration mission, the Archer encountered a reported 120 spatial anomalies and made first contact with three space-faring species. The Archer was decommissioned in 2331 during a phasing-out of several older starships. Following the Battle of Wolf 359 Starfleet saw the need to rebuild its fleet strength. As a result, the mothballed Archer was recommissioned and refitted in 2368. After being certified spaceworthy, the ship was assigned to patrol within Federation space under the command of Captain Suran. In late 2372 Starfleet reassigned the Archer to Deep Space 6 due to the emergence of the Dominion threat. The U.S.S. Archer protected cargo convoys during the brief Klingon-Federation war from 2372-2373. In early 2373, an attack on a convoy left the Archer crippled and dead in space. It was towed back to DS6 and repaired in time for the beginning of the Dominion War. During the war, the Archer participated in numerous skirmishes and incursions into Cardassian space. The Archer participated in the Federation defence of Betazed in late 2374. Although the ship itself was not damaged, Captain Suran was injured during the course of the battle and died shortly thereafter. Lacking sufficient personnel to appoint a seasoned commanding officer, Starfleet promoted then-executive officer Christopher Blake to command of the Archer. Shortly after the fall of Betazed, the Archer became one of four starships in a task force dispatched into Cardassian space to destroy a key Dominion shipyard. The overall mission was accomplished, however, the Archer did not return home. The sensor data from the other three vessels recorded the Archer heading deeper into Cardassian space. There was no further contact with the Archer after the battle. Present Status Starfleet officially lists the U.S.S. Archer as “Missing in Action”. Starfleet Intelligence has an open file on the starship's suspect disappearance, but investigations have not produced any results and with the conclusion of the Dominion War, Starfleet has bent its resources toward restoring stability in the Alpha Quadrant. Wreckage from what is thought to be the U.S.S. Archerappeared in orbit around a gas giant in the Semphren system, near regular shipping lanes. A transport conveyed the wreckage to Sky Harbor Aegis for further investigation . . . . . . and you know the rest of the story.

“Bring Out Yer Dead” A Joint Log by Ensign Sean Xiang and Lieutenant Dave Grey ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In the non-existent science lab, Grey made last-minute calibrations to the scanners and analysis units. He fine-tuned a molecular resonance unit and reset the parameters for the DNA resequencer. Ensign Xiang would be arriving in any minute with the sample of cellular residue they would need to compare with Grey's data from the planet. Ensign Xiang walked into the science lab, the door closing behind him. This was the first time he had stepped foot in the place. Taking it all in, what there was to take in that is, he walked over to where he saw Grey. “I have the samples, sir,” he said, producing a small data chip from his PADD. Grey took the offered chip and plugged it into the analysis unit. He had already entered his data into the computer, so they were ready to begin. “All right, let's get a full scan of each genome. Then we'll run it through the sequencer for any anomalies.” He motioned for Xiang to start the scanning process. Taking his place beside Grey, Sean began typing on the keyboard. The machine whirred to life scanning the data at a molecular level. It hummed as it compared the amino acid configurations and catalogued each base sequence, completely recording the entire genome in its memory. “As I told the captain,” said Grey while the scanner worked its scientific magic, “I think that we'll find an altered genome—a significantly altered one. Those tombs down there looked anything if normal. Has your uh . . . research . . . been able to shed any light on that?” “From what I can tell, the Alliance developed some sort of 'Super Warrior'. Strength, agility, intelligence . . . you name it, it was altered.” Sean watched the screen as the computer worked. “How they accomplished this I have yet to figure out.” He paused considering his words. “On a side note though, I do believe I know why they did it.” “Oh?” asked Grey, his mind recalling Earth's own experiments with eugenics back at the turn of the 21st century--and its disastrous results. Or, more recently, Enterprise's encounter with contemporary “augments”. Human history was rife with examples of selective breeding for particular traits. “The Bo-Fang were many, they had the backing . . . however they attained it.” He sighed. “The Alliance had no choice . . . they were out numbered . . . they had to make their people count for two, three, even four of the Bo-Fang warriors.” Sean said as the computer completed its task. Grey watched the results on the screen. Both genomes had successfully been analysed and computed. He now instructed the computer to compare each genome and inform them of any discrepancies that were not natural mutations. Then he turned to Xiang. “Still seems like a pretty bad idea, if history is any benchmark. Any indications of how these super-warriors turned out, socially?” “Not really, we must remember history is written by the victors. It is hard to believe any faction such that of the Bo-Fang including great stories of their enemies greatest warriors.” Sean monitored the comparison along with Grey, genetics had not been his best subject, but he understood it well enough. Grey had no love of genetics. He had been skilled in biology, but the sheer organic components to it had thrown him off from the start. As the codons flew past and comparisons made, all of his old genetics courses began to come back in stark detail. Then, just as abruptly, the were banished by the dull tone emitted from the computer console as it finished the comparison. Grey leaned forward simultaneously with Xiang to see the results. “Intriguing.” Sean said, as he read the words scrolling along the screen. “I must say, I find myself wondering how the Bo-Fang won the war. Look at those genetic markers. If I am reading this correct, these Alliance 'super warriors' were exponentially stronger and faster then their Bo-Fang counterparts. . . .” Grey's voice was deadpan as he replied, “Well, the only way I can think of beating an enemy with stronger manpower is . . . stronger equipment and stronger . . . weapons.” He shivered, not wanting to run into any more L'Traisan weapons. Tone shifting slightly, Grey looked at the results again. “Looks like our suspicions are confirmed, though. Let's inform the captain that we have a match.” “Indeed.” Sean replied. He stood there for a moment, staring at the screen. Then finally he said, “After you, sir.” As the two walked towards the door, Sean paused for a moment. “Sir?” He said, in a tone he worked hard to keep level. Preoccupied with permutations and possibilities, Grey nearly walked into the wall rather than the through the door. He stopped in time and managed to ask, “Yes?” “Sir, are any of those people on the surface. That is, those in the tomb.” Sean swallowed. “Are any of them...still alive sir?” “What? Oh, no, certainly not,” replied Grey reassuringly. “As things stand right now, the only beings who call Nequencia III home are ghosts.”

“Fight or Flight” Stardate 0602.05 Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran ----------------------------------------------- Tandaris didn’t like this at all. The sensor network was the first thing to go as the fighting began. Hundred ships, in the Expanse! Had they something to do with the mysterious disappearance of the Aquaran? The freighter had been destroyed in the firefight, along with any chance of discovering what had definitively happened, unless some evidence survived. He didn’t know what was going on though. From his console in engineering, Tandaris could only monitor the sensor grid as it destabilised. The Morningstar’s computer, already overworked by trying to process the feed from the probes, was now called upon to fight against enemy ships as well. As the probes became casualties of enemy fire, Tandaris sighed and started to free up system resources and devote them to the battle effort. It occurred to him that the Morningstar had yet to go somewhere without getting into a scrap or conflict of some sort. At least this time, however, Commander Corizon wasn’t aboard. So they couldn’t blame it on him. . . .

“I See Dead People” February 5, 2156 Lieutenant Dave Grey ---------------------------------------- They were preserved . . . bodies. Grey had never been one for archaeology. The history of ancient civilisations had always interested him, but he had avoided tombs and such for precisely this reason: there were dead people. Now they had to leave, in a hurry, and get back to Challenger to figure the rest of this out. The busy and disorganised matters of the past week had left him dazed and confused. He had no clue what work had progressed on the sickness; he had no idea what Challenger's status even was. In other words, Grey gathered that the next few days would be catch-up. Time to resynchronise and get back into routine. Recover, hopefully, from his ordeal down here on Nequencia. In time for whatever the universe would throw at them next.

“The More We Get Together” Family Ties, Part III Lieutenant Arthur Dent ---------------------------------------------- Dent sat at the table in the Very Nice Looking Restaurant. He nervously waited for Tristan Talgart to arrive, hoping the man had found his way across the Midway without getting lost. Dent stared at his cold cup of unfinished tea as if the swirling, murky depths could reveal the answers to his questions. It was tea, though, not a prescient drug, and had none of those answers, so Dent’s staring frankly disturbed and annoyed it. When Dent looked up again he saw Tristan standing there in full Technicolor. Dent’s mouth opened slightly. Tristan was short. His brown hair, which had hints of grey at the temples, was coiffed to one side. Tristan sat down in the chair opposite Dent and ordered the soup of the day from the waiter—which he would later decide was a very bad move. “So,” he said, “I guess you have a lot of questions, such as, ‘Why is this crazy fellow calling me his nephew.’” Dent nodded slightly. “A few, yeah.” Tristan looked around the restaurant and remarked absently, “What a very nice looking restaurant,” before turning back to Dent. “Where to begin, eh?” he asked rhetorically. “So much to tell you. I guess you’re probably wondering . . . what happened.” The truth of the matter surrounding the Eridine IV colony had never been so heavy on Dent’s mind. “I would like to know, yes,” he said slowly. “At least so that I don’t have to wonder anymore.” “Well, I don’t know anything definite,” said Tristan, “but let me explain to you what I do know.” Tristan ran a private investigative agency based from Alpha Centauri. He specialised in finding people and items that had gone missing. While by no means uniquely talented, Tristan was mildly successful at what he did, to the point that his competitors often wondered if he were completely legitimate. Five years ago a data chip had come into Tristan’s possession as part of a payment by a client. The chip had information pertaining to the Federation’s colonies along the Cardassian border. It included information about the former colony of Eridine IV, which had been mysteriously destroyed some twenty-two years ago. The chip included information on the USS Matterhorn’s involvement in the salvage operation. In one, single paragraph, mention was made of two survivors taken aboard by the Matterhorn. Tristan’s brother—Dent’s biological father—had been one of the colonists; a geneticist, Marcus Talgart experimented with plants to produce more agriculturally diverse specimens. Naturally when Tristan learned of survivors of the disaster, his interest was piqued. “Of course, I didn’t know you were the survivor until quite recently. But I was curious now, because after the incident, the authorities only told me that the colony was gone. The rumours were a Cardassian attack, but no one wanted to admit it officially. I got in touch with the captain of the Matterhorn, who then put me in contact with Louis Pastrel. And that’s when the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place.” Tristan was starting to look pale. The soup of the day definitely was not agreeing with him. Blanching slightly, the man continued, “So I decided to contact you. And now here I am.” Dent didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t know how to address someone who had just shattered any idea of self-identity that he had built up over the last two decades of his life.

“It’s All About the Process” Stardate 0601.27 Lieutenant Arthur Dent ----------------------------------------------------- The Pandora’s Box had returned to Aegis and the transport survivors had been conveyed to sickbay or the cargo bay, but that did not mean that the worst was over. In fact, the work had just begun. With that many survivors on board, both station and flight operations would be busy adjusting schedules, rosters, manifests, and all manner of paperwork that accompanied people these days. Dent himself stared at the names of the individuals they had managed to identify. Name, birthplace, place of residence—and a flag next to each one that indicated whether they were living or dead, and if the former, what their prognosis was. Those were just the ones who had been identified. Dent processed the paperwork even as he contemplated the scheduling of expected shipments. He wondered if these recent “pirate” attacks would affect shipping in the area. The Hazelwood had been delivering part of Aegis’ tri-annual supply when it was attacked. Now a new freighter had been dispatched to deliver that. Dent’s eyes flitted quickly to another console where the docking schedules were laid out in stark pink on black. It would not arrive for another two weeks. Other things would arrive in the interim. Like that Rear Admiral Goran who had arrived recently. Dent wondered what was going on—first Admiral Meve departing and then an Admiral Goran arriving. Pirate attacks and elections and defense system deployment delays. It made his head spin. He wondered why when things happened, they happened all at once.

“A Lesson in Humility” Stardate 0601.22 Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran --------------------------------------- After he completed work on the deployment of the networked probes, Tandaris turned his attention to the information on Romulan cloaking devices in the expanse. According to the data, the Romulans could theoretically operate their cloaking devices within the expanse due to an adjustment in the EM oscillator, a minor component of the cloaking system that detected EM fluctuations around the ship and adjusted the cloaking field to mask, thus allowing the ship to remain invisible to sensors. The oscillator would normally never be able to discriminate amongst the thousands of EM emissions created by the expanse. Adjustments to it allowed the device to differentiate amongst more EM emissions—and thus, theoretically, make the cloaking field more effective. Tandaris shook his head. There was one thing the data did not describe, though—how were the Romulans able to keep the field stable? So far the Morningstar could establish neither a warp field nor a shield. A cloaking field was inherently similar to those fields, so Tandaris wondered if a cloak would actually work in the expanse. Even if they could find a way around it—perhaps some sort of subspace bubble?—it would be prohibitively expensive, and Tandaris doubted that even an AQS would power it for long. He shrugged. The effectiveness of a Romulan cloak within the nebula was not his concern—the sensors were. Tandaris turned back to the data and looked at the computer screen in front of him. If they reprogrammed the lateral array as an EM oscillator, it would effectively increase the sensor resolution. That combined with the input from the probes would allow them to search the expanse much faster. Tandaris set to work. The conversion of the lateral array went quickly enough. He hit snags soon after, however. The loss of the array decreased the net capacity of the sensors—and of the probe network—and increased strain on the already strained computer processors. He also had trouble with the resolution increase—it did not make up for the lost capacity and increased processing strain. He sighed and thought about it for a few moments. Basically the advantage gained did not outweigh what they had to give up. Was there a way to make up for the loss in capacity? Tandaris decided to try using a narrow-band filter to the oscillator to increase its efficiency, but no luck. Ultimately he decided that the loss in capacity was not worth it and restored the lateral sensor array to their network. Immediately the overall performance of the sensors returned to their sub-par levels. The probe network had boosted sensor performance by 45%. Tandaris decided that it would be sufficient—not the best outcome, really, but one could only be a miracle worker every so often before it caught up to you.

I'm already a member of Aegis, so I'd just have to show up an hour earlier. I do enjoy Academies, but lately I've just not had the time to participate in them--I used to go to the Tuesday night ones fairly regularly. Friday represents the end of the week for me, with less obligations school-wise because I have a weekend ahead of me, so I might just show up that hour earlier and have some extra fun. :lol:

“Another Step Closer” January 6, 2156 Lieutenant Dave Grey ------------------------------------ They were another step closer toward figuring out this alien weapon. It was, Grey believed, a major breakthrough. It turned out that the button labelled “Projection” caused the holographic projection to appear (and did not, in fact, fire the weapon and cause irreparable damage to something in orbit). As a second stroke of luck it also turned out that Ensign Xiang could understand, at least in a limited form, the alien language being spoken. The universal translator could not make heads or tails of it, but the dialect was apparently similar to something Xiang could speak. Xiang took up a dialogue with the interactive projection in search for answers. So here they were. Grey, Giovanni, Connor, and Xiang . . . in the control room of a massive alien weapon, with an interactive holographic projection that apparently could not control the weapon itself. They were at least one step closer to solving this problem.

“Distress” Stardate 0512.31 Lieutenant Arthur Dent ------------------------------------- A lot of things went through Dent’s mind as the Pandora’s Box arrived on the scene of that desiccated freighter. He thought firstly of the people who had been on it . . . their lives destroyed just because they had been unlucky enough to be on that freighter and carrying that cargo. Next he turned to identifying the freighter and its cargo, and then why it had been attacked. Such losses were inevitable parts of life, he supposed, but that didn’t make them any better. Dent had thought his week was going pretty well until this distress call arrived. At least there were no injured or dead to deal with . . . no corpses that would need to be examined, next of kin to be notified. Somehow, the image of that burnt out wreck rotating in space was easier to deal with than actually seeing real people affected by this tragedy. In that way they were reduced to a statistic. Mollification at its best. The aftermath was not pleasant either. They needed to find out who did this, although somehow Dent thought they might never know for sure. They would have to examine the freighter wreckage, make analyses. It would occupy his mind for weeks to come. In a way that was okay, though. Because he knew that the only reason it would not bubble to the surface of his mind would because something worse happened. And that would be bad.