Sam_SemaJ

<<Captain’s Log. USS Half Moon Bay. Beta Quadrant. Cpt Alice Delise>> Tactical has detected a cloaked ship trailing us. Cloaking technology is old, it didn’t take us long to suss out the anomaly. They must have gotten up close when we stopped for diagnostics on on the experimental computer core. Tactical advantage is ours, after repeated hails we’re engaging. Expect investigation of occupants after we apprehend. <<log ends>> There were few things Shindoe hated more than an EVA suit. All humanoids are NOT created equal, and his Caitian body fit awkwardly into the one he wore. “Tail attachment my…tail”. He muttered absently. A small beep from his suit’s computer diverted him from this frustration. He looked down at the device in his hands. The compound was primed, it had worked as promised, so far. And good thing too, it had cost a pretty penny. Of course he and Bud had good support on this little quest of theirs, so he wasn’t necessarily on the hook. Turns out a lot of people with a lot of latinum felt the same way their group did. Shindoe carefully reached around the edge of the panel he had just torched mostly off the hull of the ship. He checked his gear in paranoia, exhaling slightly as he confirmed the damper was still knocking out local sensors. Bracing himself against a hull strut, he took the panel firmly and wrenched it from the ship. He could feel the scrape of metal vibrating through the panel, though no sound eeked out into the quiet dead of space. Still, years of experience coerced him into checking over his shoulder to see if someone had heard. He groaned in frustration again trying to handle all of his equipment while wedged into this tiny corner. This Norway Class ship was blasted small…barely a show of force; but a long journey starts with a single step. Gingerly holding the primed compound in his hands he slowly reached up into the wound he had torn in the ship’s skin. The angle was infuriatingly awkward and he had to be careful not to tear his suit on the cauterized edge, but eventually he felt it. A solid, cylindrical structure, pulsing with energy…he could feel the ship’s life as he touched it. He sneered as he considered this inane fuel delivery system as proof positive that the Federation had become weak and foolish. This might be the easiest ship ever to be destroyed, though certainly not the cheapest. He carefully pushed the container of volatile compound against the antimatter delivery tube until he was sure it was secure, relaxing and exhaling fully as he eased back out of the hole. Raising his wrist up to his faceplate, Shindoe’s slitted eyes went wide as he saw the blinking alarm there. Comms with his ship were severely compromised. “Blast it all!” He slapped the comm on, “Fellas where are you, what’s going on?” “___etected ____ iring on us . __Los___tenna. ____ com ___ around ___dezvous point” Well it wasn’t much, but it was enough to know what was next. The rendezvous point was 500 meters straight down from the ship…in other words, backwards from where he was positioned on the hull. If those dullards on his ship, having got themselves caught, were going to buzz to the rendezvous and then try to bug out…there was only one thing to do. Shindoe pushed off firmly from the small underside of the Norway class and prepared to slow himself again with suit thrusters. 500 meters isn’t all that far in the vacuum of space. He looked sideways and saw the glint of his ship speeding toward him in a tight evasive arc around the Federation ship. But suddenly something was following it. Burning hot pure energy cutting through the emptiness…far faster than a ship could ever fly. Shindoe flung his arms up in front of his faceplate in shock and against the blinding flash of the small craft exploding in a fiery ball of fuel and interior atmosphere. His arms blocked the bright flash, but not the hunk of debris that tore through the side of his suit a millisecond later. His mind was fuzzy, pardon the Caitian joke, and was having trouble with numbers. How long did the compound take to start a chain reaction with the warp core? It was certainly south of a half hour, right? They’ll never find it in time. He only hoped Bud and his team would be so lucky with their decidedly larger target. Shindoe wasn’t sure if the bright white light he saw next was his brain asphyxiating or the brilliant flash of a warp core detonation. The federation wasn’t prepared for this…they’re not prepared for anything…we’ll show them. <<DS17 Intership Black Box System>> …anomaly logged. Registry NCC-58291 Half Moon Bay. …lifeline check in signal cut. sending diagnostic ping. …ping failed. Critical logs retrieved. …alerting station commander, forwarding logs… <<anomaly ends>>

(For the TL;DR of original sam’s biography, he was once a test pilot in the private sector on Earth. The death of his wife in an industrial accident led him to pilot for starfleet, aboard Arcadia. From there he finished academy coursework in psychology, eventually earning his PhD and changing posts to be Arcadia’s counselor. He is generally a humble and thoughtful individual, and through a lot of plot, has come to peace with the loss of his wife) Once upon a time in % Sam Sema’J had always been sharp…always seen to the core of things. He wasn’t sure if it was all genetics or if it came from observing his talented parents, one a crack engineer, the other a studied psychologist. As he left childhood, one of the things he saw to the core of was the inherent hazardousness of the work his father did. Who would choose such a crude and dangerous path as being an engineer…a mechanic. Machines could work on machines, why even be involved? He grew callous toward his father, a proud man who worked expertly with his hands. The harsh attitude pushed Nnamdi Sema’J to work even harder to prove himself…he became a workaholic…and became somewhat estranged from his family. Sam followed in the academic footsteps of his mother. What could be a purer expression of someone who can so clearly interpret the world around him then peering into the depths human beings. He dove headfirst into his studies, having time for neither pastimes nor relationships. The values of Starfleet or the Federation weren’t really of import to Sam as he sought to understand the experience of humans. The reality was, however, that their academic facilities and resources were second to none, and it was the institution where his mother had made her mark. The brilliant and perceptive Dr. Sema’J burned through the academy. He soon exceeded the accomplishments of the elder Dr. Anna Sema’J and had produced several influential studies and taught most of the upper level courses. While he spent some time in individual instruction of to-be ship’s counselors, Sam found their approaches to be limited in their practicality: namely they were only interested in how they could improve the efficacy of the deep space crews that were at the heart of Starfleet. Sam kept this distraction to his purer science at a minimum and focused on his research. All this led to something completely unexpected for the now reclusive academic, and those of high intellect and perception don’t find much to be unexpected. A fateful communique was sent to him one day informing him that, much to his dismay, his position, tenure and research support rode on one final stipulation of his having been involved with the Starfleet Academy. ____________________ To: Samuel Sema’J Ph.D. - Starfleet Academy Department of Psychology From: R. Admiral James Kaggan, Dean of the Faculty Subject: Tour of Duty Requirement Dr. Sema’J, it has been brought to my attention that your administrative records show you have not completed a tour of duty aboard a Starfleet vessel in ongoing deep space operations. This is a requirement of all research program students and resulting staff of the Academy. You have been in tenure for 10 years and your records further show that you have been granted deferment of this requirement 5 times during that period. I’d like to impress upon you, Dr., the importance of this requirement as all of Starfleet works together to support our exploratory and peacekeeping endeavors throughout the galaxy. Any remaining refusal of this duty will result in your removal from our institution and the cessation of existing research support, tenure notwithstanding. I am now informing you Dr. Sema’J that your completion of this requirement will begin one month from today. You are being granted a field commission of Full Lieutenant due to your considerable academic accomplishments. On the date in the attached roster paperwork, you will report to the U.S.S. Arcadia under the command of Captain Arizhel and Commander N’Dak. During the ships voyage to Deep Space 27 for the commencement of it’s next exploratory tour, you will complete evaluations of the senior staff, and then counsel the ship’s entire crew as you see fit for the remainder of that tour. Please direct any questions or concerns to the Assigning Office at the Starfleet Port Authority in San Francisco. R. Adm Kaggan ____________________ Sam stared blankly at the screen for a full minute. He then quickly searched for the file on this captain Arizhel. A quick skim of the file revealed a capable and decisive commander…who accomplished such through an uncompromising, aggressive leadership style…being a Klingon. This was going to be hell.

[note: this log takes place immediately before Arcadia's departure for the "nebulans" plot.] Dr. Samuel Sema'J gazed out the window at the starfield. It rushed past in streaks of brilliant white with the occasional sparkle of color. "That sight never gets dull does it?" Sam blinked as he was called back into his surroundings. He looked across the small table in the cramped mess compartment. His daughter, Rose, smiled back at him expectantly. She was eating and engrossed in reading something on a padd, he must have been gazing for some time for her to notice his inattention. He glanced briefly back out the window. He had to admit it was a sight, though he had always preferred the ground rushing by, inertia, g-force; the more visceral effects of travel in gravity. He turned back to her and returned the smile. "It's just been a while since I've travelled at warp." A long time indeed. Two years? Something like that. The recommendation had come through a colleague of his mother's. Dorai was a planet that had quite recently achieved warp and joined the Federation. One of the planet's sentient species, the Dorai-So, were sympathic (the ability to know what someone is feeling, while not feeling it oneself). Given their sympathic abilities and history, much of the Dorai-So's academia were drawn to the studies of psychology, therapy, and psychoanalysis, some more specifically to it's application in the military, and Starfleet found itself with a massive influx of very smart, very sympathic people interested in their mental health and counseling division. While the question of whether empaths and sympaths make the best counselors might have previously been asked in passing, it seemed a worthwhile topic for hands-on study at this point. It was from this series of events that Dr. Sema'J received a recommendation for a new teaching fellowship at Starbase 541, near Dorai, to not only help set up a special academy for new counseling division recruits (while they would receive the rest of their Fleet training from military personnel on the base), but begin a research program on the effectiveness and strategies of counselors with sympathic abilities. The irony of simultaneously studying students while teaching them to study others was not lost on Sam, but given the strong recommendation and the other accomplished scholars with whom he'd be setting up this new research/training area, he had accepted. While the shift into the gear of full-blown teaching and research had somewhat jarred Sam after many years in the structured world of the military, he found he settled quite nicely into the environment, and, with his colleagues, set up a dynamic new research and education facility. A facility which turned the influx of gifted students into a significant contribution to the discipline at large, both in and out of Starfleet. Rose's eyes darted out the window at the stars, then drifted back down to her padd, "Well I haven't had nearly enough of it yet." Her father chuckled. "What's got you so entrapped there?" She mocked an authoritative voice, "An Inverted Polaric Approach to Warp Field Dynamics; Changing The Game of FTL Efficiency." That sounded familiar to Sam…it really shouldn't...but then it came to him, he had read it in the Academy a decade ago…where it had been standard reading for decades. "That's quite old, you know." She returned her gaze to him with that particular look that can only result from a teenager regarding their parent. "Well ship's engineers need to know this kind of stuff like that!" Her fingers snapped next to her temple. Sam leaned back in his seat and smiled broadly. "I don't know where you could have possibly gotten the bug for engines…I can't abide them myself…" He held his two hands in the air in front of him and made loose fists, "…was always much more comfortable with control handles and the like." This of course hadn't stopped him from getting shuffled into Arcadia's Chief Engineer position 3 or 4 years ago…but he had quickly handed this off, promoting someone who was quietly pointing out errors in his own work. Rose pushed the pad aside and returned to her meal, talking between bites, "Well mom was an engineer, right? She helped build ground cars." Rose, as someone who barely knew her mother, was quite comfortable talking about her, even about her passing at times. It had taken Sam years and an immensely unhealthy amount of sleeplessness to achieve this, and still he gave a slight pause and averting of the eyes before answering. But when he did, he did so with the kindly and assured tone which he so loved to use with his only child. "Your mother…was an artist…she was a designer by trade…but in her heart she was an artist. Whatever drove you to what you are and want to become, one thing is for sure. You, Rosie, are special." Her face flushed as she fought the grin with every bit of teenaged self-consciousness she could muster…quite unsuccessfully. "Dad, you don't have to call me that…" "Well you have no say in the matter," came his short reply. Rosie was two years into secondary school, a few classes ahead of the curriculum. This was not especially rare, it was designed as sort of a low median, flexible enough for the wide range of talents and opportunities. One of those opportunities, available once you reached your third year, was to do part-time work study in a military speciality while finishing your schooling at a qualified program joined with that military outfit. Arcadia was of more than adequate size to have such a school, and the squeal of delight which accompanied the announcement that Rose could join Sam in his return to duty aboard the ship was quite piercing. Sam was actually quite excited about this too, though he was not the squealing type. Six years ago, then Ensign Sema'J had shuttled his daughter back to earth to live with his sister, feeling that a ship in the tumult of deep space missions was no place for a 9 year old. Now the timing of his return coincided with the option of this engineering internship. Not only was he glad timing worked out, he was extremely glad to be back with her full time. At the time of his departure, Arcadia's counselor had only had a brief opportunity to look over the CV of his replacement, a graduate student named Terban Cor. At this point in his career, however, Sam only needed a brief look. Research and papers focused on treatment efficiency. A level more psychopharmacology and neural therapy courses than are needed. Extra clinical work to replace the requirement of some of the diplomatic and sociology courses that go with counselor certification. To Sam, this all distilled to one conclusion: Mr. Cor wanted to cycle patients and officers through his office as quickly as possible, and wanted to be known for it. Not only did Sam quite enjoy sitting and listening to those entrusted to his care, he was fully convinced that his doing so, and doing it well, had a profound impact on the well-being of the crew and passengers of a starship - a social environment quite unique unto itself. Nevertheless, Sam had an amazing teaching opportunity, and the Academy had determined his now-open post to be the right place for Terban Cor to do his field work. Sam bade farewell to his closest shipmates and embarked on something wholly new and different. Cor must have been significantly worse in person than even his (in Sam's opinion) egocentric research record would suggest. A message from none other than Captain Arphazad Lo'Ami had come to Sam which, in significantly more measured and professional tones, had in its subtext stated: please get rid of him and come back to us. For all his skill and his comfort with the crew, Counselor Sema'J and Captain Lo'Ami were not all that well acquainted. And about all they shared in common was the apostrophes in their names. The two had spoken on a number of occasions, from private evaluations to staff meetings to bridge banter…and that was it. All of these interactions seemed to have served their purpose at the time and not required much else. Sam had reflected on their somewhat closed relationship often, but had never felt a need to call attention to it. It was thought among many that joined Trill tended to be much more emotionally self-reliant than most, having a number of (usually) self-actualized personalities to intimately draw upon for emotional stability. This was often negated during times of new host/symbiont bonding, but the Captain had long been Arphazad Lo'Ami by the time Sam knew him. Given this relationship between the counselor and his commander, it struck Sam all the more how rocky the situation must have been to warrant a personal request for the return to his post. He had all but been absorbed into the life of an academic, shaggy hair, beard and all; and yet…he felt static. The ever-divergent life of a Starfleet officer must have changed him in some fundamental way, so that the moment he read Lo'Ami's message, he was thoroughly convinced that for all the love he had for his courses, his students and advisees, and his research, he was no longer bound to them. He was quite bound to the beard though…that would stay. The program up and running solidly enough for someone else to jump in, Sam renewed his commission, met up with his daughter, and boarded a cramped transport for rendezvous with Arcadia. Reflecting on all of this, his beloved daughter engrossed in her reading again, Leiutentant Senior Grade Sema'J's eyes were drawn back to the streaking starfield. One could get used to it…but certainly never sick of it.

Dr. Samuel Sema'J was not an anthropologist. His last class in anything like field anthropology was at Starfleet Academy. That seemed a lifetime ago. It was - he was an entirely different person now. Since that time he had come to grips with the loss of his wife, established a military career and established an even more fruitful academic career. While psychology ran somewhat parallel to anthropology, they were quite distinct. So it was not necessarily with a trained eye that the newly re-commissioned Lieutenant scanned the scene around him, but it was certainly with a trained mind. While the clues of a society's inner workings might be readily apparent to an anthropologist, Sam had to work from the inside out, observing individuals' interactions and behaviors. In most circumstances, Sam tended to squint when looking at something far away. This is, of course, not necessary when one has ocular implants, however the ocular muscles are designed for such a thing, and social cues tend to make them habitual anyway. In this instance however, Arcadia's counselor let the tiny mechanisms do the work, trying to observe as many things in as short a time as possible, without appearing to look at anything in particular. Aside from the non-human crew from Arcadia, a Mithraan, a Bajoran and a Trill, none of the humanoids in the densely packed trading area seemed to have traits that deviated from human physiology. Was that a more protruding brow? That hairline seems quite low. Blasted anthropology, this was getting him nowhere. In glancing back at the trading matters directly at hand, the locals did not seem phased at all by the non-humans among them. Currency…that could be it…the implants darted and focused on a transaction, then another, and a third. Different currencies all. The purveyors of goods exchanged them as if it were the work of a child's math class…and the values didn't seem constant. Though who knows when comparing handfuls at a distance? That wasn't conclusive in itself, different colonies among the nebula…different currencies. But still all human? The eyes snapped to another booth. A man trying a piece of furniture. He looked quite uncomfortable…it took Sam a moment to realize it, but the chair was not meant for a human…it bent and curved in all the wrong places. The man's…wife? Who could tell, but she had a knowing look…Sam had seen it long before. I told you so. Sam's view broadened out and he tried to achieve the mental blur necessary to see patterns in such an amalgam of activity. As he suspected, non arose. The art, food, goods, clothes…all distinct, unique. And not all looking…humanish, if such a thing could be defined. This was only the edge of this territory, Sam realized, would one find more or less variety when continuing further into this strange region. One thing was for sure…a vast variety of peoples, whether divided by species or simply culture he could not tell, trafficked through this ever-peculiar nebula. It was enough variety for one to wonder if it could all be contained within. Sam had seen much larger nebulas with much less-varied cultures. Everyone here was abundantly comfortable with the variety, this was business as usual. The other places Sam had seen this were places where people from far apart crossed paths and there was nothing to be done about it, mostly hubs of transit to the many Federation worlds. The culture of trading made sense…the technology didn't. Development seemed to have stopped at a very certain point, everything built up around the very singular properties of this nebula. Were it's residents completely unperturbed by anything outside the gaseous cloud, this could be fitting…but Sam was not yet ready to buy that story. The genetic picture showed a much longer history for these people than Ariom's story, or the scene around him seemed to paint. Sam had visited places where a very alien culture seemed to make complete sense in its own way for its own sake. This was not one of them. A vendor in a stall was shouting at the group and he turned his attention to this.

Current In Residence Staff Name: Vin'Ji Rank: CPO Species: Vulcan Gender: Female Height: 1.5m Weight: 45kg Hair: Brown Eyes: Dk Blue Education: Pre-Medical High School of the Vulcan Science Academy Starfleet Academy Medical School Degree/Specialization: MD: Clinical Care, Surgery -- Name: Torra Czing Rank: PO1 Species: Trill (unjoined) Gender: Female Height: 1.75m Weight: 50kg Hair: Brown Eyes: Green Education: Southern Province Preparatory School Southern Province Medical College Starfleet Academy Medical School Degree/Specialization: MD: Clinical Research -- Name: Teth Beilyn Rank: PO2 Species: Bajoran Gender: Male Height: 1.9m Weight: 80kg Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Education: Hill-Area High Level School New Capitol Medical School Starfleet Academy Medical School Degree/Specialization: MD: Clinical Care, Physical Therapy

Blast you, Beilyn, he silently cursed himself. Dr. Teth Beilyn scrunched his already-ridged nose as he pushed the padd away. As he did, he reflected on math never having been his strong suit. Being a child and coming of age on post-occupation Bajor was a strange thing. The older generation, of course, had fierce pride and believed wholeheartedly in their people. But their life experiences were somewhat skewed, their perspectives into living one's life had trouble focusing on much else than mere survival, preservation of themselves as a people. How had his civics teacher put it in mid-level? "In this new era, we need to show this planet, this Federation, and this galaxy that Bajorans are capable of so very much more than freedom fighting, which we've already proved our prowess at." For this reason, Teth had strived to be the best doctor he could, and he was indeed quite accomplished, save for mathematics. "Computer" he said defeated, please graph these results against the normal results for humans. The computer beeped and with an instantaneity his padd work could only dream of, a statistical curve popped up on the screen. Teth stared for a moment uncomprehendingly. If only being a doctor involved solely the care of patients. He was certainly smart enough to deal with all the surrounding scientific work, it just didn't draw his love or attention. He had failed one board exam on account of this and would be Petty Officer First Class had it not been for that. But he had this residency, saw more than his fair share of patients with the skeleton crew that ran this sickbay, so he couldn't much complain. He drew a faint conclusion from the data, but it was with the timidity of a student, desiring vindication from those with more experience. "Vin'Ji, can you come look at this, please?" Quick and sure feet made their way to the console where he stood. Sharp eyes regarded the data and then craned their way up to his face. Teth Beilyn was tallish for a Bajoran, and Vin'Ji was fairly petite. Still, for their height difference, her eyes regarded his with the stark confidence that so often correlates with pointed ears. "Strange," came the brief reply. "It doesn't follow the curve…but it's not exactly outlier data. This is from a reflex test, correct?" Teth nodded "Yeah, this is from my physical on Ariom, our guest from the nebula. Torra wanted me to do some comparative analysis on this test after some kind of discussion with the new…well I guess the old counselor. She probably could have done it, but she was obsessing over DNA analysis, so she pushed it off on me. Vin'Ji gave a single nod, "Yes…Dr. Czing's love for research is admirable…even if sometimes carried to distraction." She pulled up another few screens and flipped through them. "This subjects muscular and reflexive anatomy does not deviate genetically from the normal human model…I would say any statistical anomalies are the product of acquired traits." "Like…adaptations? To the way he uses his muscles…walks?" Teth had the point of this on the tip of his mind…he just couldn't complete it. "Well. The reason this graph is spread as such," she indicated the data on the screen, "is because of the vast variety of gravities experienced on the many worlds from which these data are taken. However, intensity is the only factor that changes, among planets gravity functions the exact same way." Teth nodded…mostly because that's what you do when someone smart is talking. For all her genius though, she was a medical care-giver through and through. It kind of amazed Teth about Vin'Ji. She had one of the most fantastic bedside manners he had ever seen. Somehow, he had not yet figured it out, she could put a patient completely at ease with neither a smile or a reassuring touch. Despite her emotionless lack of these tools, she was amazing with patients. That didn't mean she didn't nail it when it came to this kind of stuff…he listened intently. "I suspect, and perhaps prematurely," she continued, "that the gravity on this individual's homeward works in some fundamentally different way than it does on a regular planetoid, leading their populace to develop somewhat different ways of coping with balance and muscular systems." She looked at him with finality. "Alright, I see where you are going. I won't take up any more of your time, I can write up the report for Torra…thanks" With another single nod, Dr. Vin'Ji was headed back to her own work. Dr. Teth prepared himself to begin writing the report, but a message popped up on the screen before he could. [Ops>Teth, Beilyn Dr.: Please report as medical attachment to away team. Report to cargo bay 2 for assignment of special medical equipment.] Teth rested his head against the console and sighed. He then pushed himself off and made his way for the turbolift. Blasted away mission.

Sam Sema'J walked from the turbolift toward the main entrance to sickbay. He had been called back from the away mission aboard the Flying Trapeze for who knows what reason. It was unlikely that it was bad news, though, seeing as it removed him from an EVA suit and Zero-G, something he hadn't been exposed to in many, many years, and was not enjoying in the least. As he crossed the threshold into sickbay, a young woman looked up from the console at which she was working. Her chestnut hair was pushed behind her ears, revealing two wide trails of grayish green and blue spots that ran from her forehead down the sides of her neck, disappearing into her collar. The pip on her collar showed she was a PO 1st class, common for enlisted doctors. The grey stripe down the sleeve of her lab-coat denoted her as a resident, not uncommon on a ship this size, but almost always accompanied by attending or administrative medical staff, and most certainly by an officer. None of these appeared to be posted here currently, something Sam would have to ask the still-unfamiliar XO about. She was not the same doctor who had taken Ariom for a physical, so there must be a few of such residents. The young Trill doctor stood as he approached, "Sorry to bother you, Counselor…er…Doctor." Sam was familiar with this grasping for the right title, so many in academia had their demands of "doctor", professor", etc…he was just content with "Sam", but this young graduate seemed insistent on bestowing him with a salutaion. "Either is fine." he said dismissively. "I don't believe we've met, Doctor…?" "Torra," she said with a brief smile and curt professionalism. "I was looking over all of the records from Dr. Teth's physical on a Mr. Ariom, and I got caught up on his DNA profile, particularly the species identification. Teth, he must be the young Bajoran man who did Ariom's physical. As for Torra, he wasn't sure if that was her first or last name, if she was joined or not. Possibly still too young...these questions would have to be answered at a later time. Sam tried to commit the two names to memory as he walked around the desk and joined Torra at the monitor, a DNA molecule filled the screen with various unintelligible markings and notations surrounding it. "The transporter scanner flagged him as human when we brought him on board, and I believe a tricorder scan confirmed that." She nodded quickly. "Yes, well Homo sapiens has a very high level of genetic diversity, those scanners are calibrated to take a lot of genetic drift into account and still identify someone as human. That type of variation shows up as adjusted values in a small percentage of very isolated genes which mainly have to do with personal traits. This however is spread more widely; extremely minute, but uniform changes across the whole genome. The usual scanners are not really capable of pulling something like that out of context and accurately labeling it as something human…but…not. Sam gave a few nods as he listened closely, but towards the end she was stretching the limits of his genomic understanding. "So if it's "not"…then what is it? She smiled a little more freely at her own vagary. "Well, think about the isolated racial backgrounds of humanity. If someone with completely asian DNA and someone with completely Caucasian DNA procreated, you'd get someone "half-Asian", and they would likely look mostly Asian because of the dominance of those physical traits. Sam nodded, following her. She continued, "With a few generations of staying in a Caucasian gene pool you might have someone who you'd call 1/16 asian, and the dominance of the asian traits would have faded considerably by that point. The picture I'm getting from this genetic model is of someone who is very far removed from, but still a descendant of cross-propagation between human and another species. You might say that Mr. Ariom is 127/128ths human, and his human traits are for all intents and purposes, completely dominant." Sam looked at the model (not that it gave him anything past what her explanation had) and regarded her words thoughtfully. "So what is the 128th?" Dr. Torra tapped a button and changed screens, isolated fragments of DNA came up. "Well, I think I have enough here to do a comparative analysis against a complete model of the original species, however, this has not matched anything in our current database. That doesn't mean we can rule them all out, this is just a fairly small bit of data to work with." Sam regarded the situation carefully. "Well, I'm afraid that the only way you will get more information than this is for us to dig into the history of these people, get more genetic samples, find out what drives their culture and society. It's already looking to be something totally unique. But we won't get any of that data till we head into the nebula with Ariom." He looked at her apologetically. "I think you're going to have to put your analysis on hold. Is there anything else that sticks out from his physical?" She flipped through a few screens of medical records. "Well…in terms of his health, he's fairly physically fit. He's not sick with anything particularly, not right now. However his immune system does show a greater propensity toward bacterial and viral infections than we're accustomed to seeing, as well as his skin showing evidence of some fungal damage." Seeing Sam's raised brow of concern, Dr. Torra shook her head quickly. "Oh, sorry, Doctor, I'm making it seem like he's disease ridden. What I mean is…his immune system is not as far built up or not nearly as boosted as ours are…it's almost as if" Sam took this opportunity to cut her off, understanding where she was headed. "This makes perfect sense. Ariom comes from what you might describe as an early maritime culture. We're not entirely sure of the nebula's specific properties yet, but it appears that they live in a pre-industrial society, in colonies throughout the nebula. That's really as much as we know, but it explains his state of hygiene and health. His labor aboard a ship accounts for his fitness. Is there anything else?" Torra continued looking through the data. "Well, his reflex test numbers were a little outside the curve we expect to see….but they're not exactly outliers. Truthfully I'd have to analyze them much more closely to get anything concrete. I can let you know." She looked back at him with an apologetic smile. Sam thought for a moment and then nodded. "Please do, I'd be very interested in what you come up with. In the meantime, I'm going to have to do some digging in the field to answer our DNA question. Thank you very much for bringing all of this to my attention, it's all very…interesting" The young doctor nodded with a smile, "No problem, I thought you'd want to see. We didn't really interact with Terban much, he kept his appointments and kept to himself. Even kept the door blacked out most of the time, even when he wasn't meeting with people." Sam turned and looked toward the glass door leading to his counselor's office, which could be blacked out for privacy via a button on his desk, "Well…I keep it open as often as possible, lets more light in. And especially given your small staff, you can run anything by me you need to. For the moment I'm going to head back to the bridge and see what the away team is up to. It was nice to meet you Dr. Torra, let me know whatever else you find." Torra gave a more comfortable nod this time, "I'll be sure to, thanks Dr. Sema'J." As Sam turned to exit sickbay he almost instinctively corrected her with "Sam", but thought better of it…while being on a first name basis with his colleagues and civilian students had produced a great learning environment, Sam was also well aware of what chain of command could do to help provide structure where it was needed. This vast sickbay run by a handful of interns definitely fit that description. "See you later, Doctor," Sam said as he exited into the corridor and headed toward the turbolift.

Sam Sema'J stepped into his office after dropping Ariom in sickbay for a checkup. He had been back on ship for about a week and a half now, but he hadn't yet cleaned it up. A few boxes of his personal effects littered the floor, and he couldn't comfortably walk around it anyway because of the way its interim occupant had re-arranged the room. All of this would have to continue waiting as Sam sat at the desk to make use of the few minutes he had. "Computer, begin report, file in miscellaneous interviews." "beep" "Counselor's preliminary report, informal interview with guest known as Ariom. This individual was rescued as the soul survivor of a ship stuck in the nebula near our current position…computer, fill in necessary astrometric data." "beep" "The ship appears to be a maritime vessel, likely from a pre-warp, possibly pre-industrial society. Any details of how this ship came to be in deep space are completely unknown to me at this time. "Subject has been recounting the events prior to our rescue for me, vaguely a cargoing, trading voyage, interrupted by assails from hostile vessels, ultimately leaving Ariom, the ship's cook as the only remaining crew member aboard his ship, left with scant supplies. From his recounting, subject does not seem to be in any duress or trauma, however, his calmness in reporting recent events could point to evidence of mild shock. More conversation is needed. Further suspicion of this on my part is due to Ariom's casual avoidance of whatever event led his vessel to be in deep space. It is also entirely possible that he is a cook who spent all his time below decks and has a somewhat unfocused personality…and has no idea what is going on. "Subject is currently undergoing a minor medical examination by one of the sickbay residents. Interview will resume afterward, possibly in my office or perhaps during an informal tour of the ship. Guest quarters were a stuffy location and I need him to open up a bit more. "Computer, end log and file, leave a marker to attach later related documents." "beep" Sam got up from the desk and walked toward Sickbay, on the way he wondered at Arcadia's continued lack of administrative medical staff on Arcadia, difficult when on deep space missions for so long. It was something he was going to have to get used to after running an academic department for the last year and a half. He shook the concerns away as he neared the bio bed.

"Out of the Loop" Personal Log -- S.K. Sema'J SD 11103.25 <begin> It had been a while since Sam Sema'J had woken up bleary eyed staring at the ceiling of Sickbay from a bio-bed. It had not been so recently that the frequency of such a situation bothered him, so he had to rack his brain a bit to piece together how he had gotten there this time... An image of the large desk in his office heading quickly toward his face started to jog his memory. That desk had filled his memory for at least the past three months. About that long ago, Sam had decided to completely catch up on all crew-related work, and then bury himself in his dissertation and finish his doctorate. He had first set to work seeing absolutely every crew member on board, whether he had seen them recently or not. He had filed them through his office for 5-10 minute (some longer) follow-ups to make sure everything was squared away on everyone's file, and then had scheduled no office hours save for emergencies until further notice. This had of course been cleared with the senior staff, as had a reduction of his bridge duty shifts and other more administrative duties. Fortunately word had come in that the CMO position would finally be filled, as it had been long vacant and the papers (or padds) had been piling up. "Positive and Productive Approaches to Individuals and Societies Under Duress from Technologically, Socially or Otherwise Superior Parties". Since becoming exceptionally caught up in his work as counselor, this dissertation had consumed his life. The research had been done periodically over the last year or so. The original work began with situations he had worked closely with, such as Arcadia crew member [OMMITED]'s crippling inferiority complex after being coerced into cooperation by an imperialistic galactic government, and the members of a sentient race called the Hammarians who were essentially farmed by a giant corporation for mass produced foodstuffs, being completely oblivious to the situation and indirectly rewarded for their unknowing participation. These situations were used as case studies, along with previous work and accounts to form a philosophy of coping for general situations where inferiority and coersion were involved. Sam had gone on to show how this approach and these types of situations were relevant to a number of areas, from shipboard social situations and individual counseling to application of the Prime Directive (about which there was a wealth of work to draw from). When his interest had originally been piqued while working with crewmen [OMITTED], he had not seen the whole scope of the project, but it had completely drawn him in. Why did he see this flash of his desk, followed by a white flash? As Sam reached to his bandaged head it became clear to him. He had fallen and hit his head on the desk. In his hand he had held his framed Doctorate, recently replicated and ready to hang. He wasn't really one for vanity to have his credentials hanging on his office wall. But he had invested an immense amount of time in this, and had on several occasions in the past corrected people who mistakenly called him "Dr. Sema'J". Well now they could, and for this reason, when the message came from the academy that his dissertation had been accepted and his doctorate granted, he felt a great sense of accomplishment, and so had replicated the framed copy of the official document included with the message. It was during the short walk from the replicator to the wall that he had fallen into the desk. Why had he fallen? Were this half a year or more ago, a dizzy spell, blackout or lapse in balance would have been commonplace, remnants of a serious brain injury that had put him back at SF headquarters in a coma a couple of years ago. But physical and neural therapy had all but vanquished these complications and he was to the point of being able to take research breaks with long runs or bike treks on the holodeck. It must have been something that happened to the ship. What had been going on? Heck if he knew. About a day had passed between his submission of the dissertation and the message confirming his completion of the doctorate. Luckily he had finished everything else, and had submitted right in sync with the board's meeting (A board which his mother was a part of, and had sent her praises and pride shortly after reading the dissertation). The board had had the day to read the work, met to confirm it's acceptance, and messaged him immediately. What had he done that day? Whatever it was, he had been OFF DUTY, so as maybe a few shudders and a few yellow alerts...or red?...had occurred around him, he tried his best to nonchalantly go about his business. He had apparently succeeded, as he had no idea as to what was going on and what could have knocked him off of his now-steady feet. Sam looked at a console and confirmed a yellow beacon still blinking. He shook away any sleep that was still in his head and swung his feet down from the bio bed. Seeing a flash of white scrubs in the corner, he knew this was a mistake. "Sam, lie back down, what do you think you're doing? Why didn't you ring when you woke up, I need to look you over!" The flood of reprimands was instant, if well-meaning, as Nurse Ratchet's 6th sense caught him in the act of sickbay escape (which honestly never succeeds) and was bustling her way over to him, tricorder at the ready. "How long have I been out? And was it anything besides a head injury?" "You've been out for about 10 hours, and no, it was just your head. But Dr. Steele wanted to keep you under observation when you woke up, based on your history. I know you've been doing fine, but she was unfamiliar with your progress, and she's the boss now." Dr. Steele....who? Sam turned the name over in his head. It sort of came to him, a memo had flashed across his screen about a month ago...which he had obviously seen fit to ignore. From what he could remember she was the new CMO...realizing this skipped memo was actually a crew member he would be working closely with, Sam took a moment to cringe at the fact that he had actually let a whole month pass without so much as seeing her face. That would have to be remedied...but for the moment, he had had quite enough down time. He had to figure out what was going on and get back into the thick of it, he at that moment decided he would not sit at his desk again for as long as he could stand it. He looked down at himself and saw he was wearing an undershirt and uniform pants. Had they taken his uniform jacket off? No, he had not been wearing it, why wear a full uniform if you're not planning on having contact with anyone? Sam put a hand up to the nurse's prodding tricorder. "I'm sure I'm fine, and I will come back in a while". He stood before words could exit her mouth and made a bee line for his office door. "But...just let me-" But Sam was in his office already. Something crunched under his foot. He looked down and saw the shattered frame that must have fallen from his hands as his head approached the desk. That would have to wait. His uniform jacket was slung over his desk chair, he seemed to remember tossing it there about 250 pages ago. Sam grabbed the jacket and slipped his hands through the sleeves as he walked briskly into the hall and toward the turbolift. He stepped inside and spoke a word he had not dared utter for months..."Bridge". <end>

that was....awesome.

I think you all just wrote season 4 of TOS... very funny chart, Rosetto

after spending an abundance of my time watching episodes of TV shows, many of them sci fi...I've come to notice the trend of stock plots (especially in sci-fi) to the point where I ocasionally see an episode of something and say Oh...this is going to be the token "main character has baby with special powers" episode, or something like that. I think many would agree that TOS shows are 1)cheesy and 2)a source for a lot of these episode archetypes. However....my personal feeling is that the trekness and roddenberry idealismyness of TOS is enough to overcome the horrible production values and sometimes terrible writing/acting. ::transmits two hundredths of a credit to the "bucket" account::

Haha. So when I read this topic title, I thought it was in regards to being drunk in RL while simming. I have played once of twice after a big glass of wine or a couple of beers, and I have to say it's not all that much fun. It's really hard to sit and pay attention to all that text and concentrate on what's going on. So, for anyone who thinks this is a good idea, it takes the fun out of it (imo). So there's your PSA brought to you by the Federation Ad Council.

speaking of pot. A friend and I went to visit a different friend, and when we got into his hallway we were like "wow this whole place smells like pasta. when we got into his apartment, he had made turkey noodle soup for us to eat! The smell was good food for US! awesome.

Looks good! If you wanted to attempt a neatened up/updated version of mine that would be cool. I made it using sims body shop, but the export didn't end up looking all that great, somethign funky with graphics. You can base the face/hair (close shaved hair, slight scruff) etc off of what the current one looks like and put him in a post-voy era med/sci color. Grey eyes per geordi-type ocular implants. He's just under 40 years old of average hight/build.

That's not a great attitude. You can do it!! In regards to how many of us there are: I think your best bet would be to visit all the ships' websites, count their roster, and then subtract 2-4 for LOA players or players who aren't as consistent and add those counts up and you'll have a idea(ish) of how many of us play regularly.

Hi Rosetto, thought I'd chime in. I used to log quite frequently, and work on my character bio regularly, updating it based on what was happening plot by plot to my character. Now that I'm close to finishing a degree, I decided that I was going to force myself to attend sim regularly, and expect only that much each week. That is, I knew I wouldn't have the time or energy to write regularly because of RL. I think a lot players are in this boat, and though they really enjoy character/plot creation in the STSF world, they just can't commit to regular extra writing. As stated above, not all sims are as stringent on the mail/forum posting. As for the mail string, it does sound a little more complicated than it is. It's basically just mass emails to everyone posted to a specific sim. so chat logs, people's personal logs, and briefings from the GMs all go to everybody in the sim. Some sims just have everyone keep a mass list of email addresses (a little messy), others use cloud services such as google mail to mass email everyone. Arcadia is one sim where we are required to both email and post our logs, and I've observed this being held to consistently. You can check out that forum to read what you can be sure is a complete account from character log point of view of what people are writing. Another nice thing about Arcadia (not that this is an ad for that sim :) ) is that we have a wiki (open source editable) for the ship, one of the features of which is plot summaries. They probably aren't updated to the current plot, but it is a running third person account of the events in each plot that anyone logged into to our site can edit, so it's accurate to everyone's point of view. You can get to the site by clicking the linked title "Arcadia" on the schedule page. This can give you an idea of a bit more advanced out of sim writing on the plots. So as the others replies suggested, character/duty/personal logs are a bit of a hap-hazard system, variable by sim and player. So, if you feel you are really into writing and want to add to your sim's plots with an abundance of self-written material, then you should totally do it! Another kind of log is a back log where you essentially get to write about your character's past, just to write about it and round it out, those are fun. That was a lot of words, hope they were helpful :P

"A Man, A Plan, and a Difficult Decisi-an" Personal Log - S.K. Sema'J SD 11002.02 <begin> Counselor Sam Sema'J sat at his desk. His chair was the swiveling type, giving him the opportunity to spin back and forth bouncing off opposite corners of his desk. Not really a productive use of his time, but his mind was churning and he tended to be a nervous fidgeter, so back and forth the chair went. Stacked on the corner of his desk were a number of padds, all containing notes and information for the article he had been slaving over, an in depth case study of the the Hammarian society through which he was comparing similar slave-like societies throughout history. Sure all that information could be neatly organized on a computer console...but who had time for that? Today was a Wednesday, and normally for these few hours of every Monday Wednesday and Friday, Sam would dedicate himself to the research project (or try as hard as he could aboard an often-busy starship). But today he had pushed all these pads aside and had a single one sitting in front of him. The single padd was the medical file of Cmdr Zar Alces, a (apparently) joined trill who was "experiencing memory and consciousness conflicts leading to physical complications." Oh, if only there was more noted in the file than that. From the way Dr. Swan fastidiously kept her supply closet, Sam would have expected a more concise medical notation. He now understood, though, that because of the sensitive nature of the material, this is all Katherine had been willing to write into the file, which was deemed confidential anyway. He was now looking at that and Alces' joined status for the first time, one of a handful of people who knew this information. As Alces had explained, the medical file had been locked by the Trill governing council, the type of lock which Starfleet was usually in the habit of accepting for the benefit of political relations. Sam was grateful that the commander was willing to go as far as putting Sam's name as an attending care provider on this case. Being out of the loop, especially with the shards of worrisome information he had been given by Dr. Swan, had been killing Sam. Sam was convinced that anything like this was better in the light of day, maybe not the complete light where everyone knows about it...but not kept secret as it had been. However, as much as he was glad that this was now open to him, he was a bit on edge about the responsibility facing him. Now that he was the ranking care provider for the case, Sam had the right to deem or break patient confidentiality to a superior, in this case the Captain, or other person of interest to the case. The commander insisted keeping this under wraps was for the best, and from his urgency and the way he described the split loyalties the Captain might face if presented with this situation, Sam was inclined to agree with him. But that was conditional upon the Counselor getting all of the information involved, understanding the specific nature of the situation. And it was about to be explained to him. In about 15 minutes he would be walking into the sickbay offices to meet with Dr. Swan and the Commander. He had been avoiding Katherine since talking to Cmdr Alces. He figured that without Alces' corroboration there was no way he was going to convince the Dr. that he had not broken the trust of their earlier conversation. Facing her might turn out to be a bit messy at first. Sam felt quite concerned about what she had gotten herself into. Her remaining silent about the Commander's condition as well as his joined status were all going to be washed over by the political concerns involved, which she probably didn't even know about. However the mind meld and technically stolen medical supplies were still hanging there, waiting for judgement. Sam was prepared for his new confidentiality decision, one he would make upon hearing the whole story from the other two involved. But currently the corners of his desk were being bounced trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces from the other offenses. Sam had always kind of rooted for Katherine. She seemed to come out of such an impossible situation. Sure she had done some wrong along the way, but she was utterly forced into it, and she came out of the whole situation looking like an abused animal, she ducked away from or snapped at any hand that tried to pet her, not to mention the inferiority and guilt complexes she experienced about the Starfleet officers surrounding her. Sam was proud to see what she achieved in pulling herself up into a career and turning out to be an impressively good doctor. He wasn't sure she was a great Starfleet officer yet...but that seemed the harder of the two tasks. Whatever the case, Sam did not want to see her get burned for these current indiscretions. There had to be some way for it to be a learning experience for her. As Sam pondered how that could happen, his feet swung around and bumped into the corner of his desk. <end>

"...and how does that make you feel...?" Thanks Webbie, you rock.

"The Chain of Command" Joint Log -- Lt.SG Sema'J and Ensign Dr. Swan SD 10908.17 <begin> Sickbay was a fairly quiet place. The hustle and bustle of beaming Tom and Daena from their doomed trash heap in space into sickbay and getting the away team back from what was clearly a slave trading vessel had finally subsided, the chief and other main doctors had gone to their quarters for the night, the nurses and orderlies had finished their rounds and other duties and the main lights had been turned out. It was late in the ship's internal time cycle, but the sickbay area was dimly lit from two sources. The first was a set of two bio beds next to each other. Dr. Katherine Swan checked on Tom and Daena's vital's one last time. She was an assistant medical officer, but since she was on the Away team where the two officers were retrieved, she was their attending physician. All of their tests had returned positive results, and she told them they could finally be released at this late hour. She instructed them to take a day off and rest and assured them she would send a note to their commanding officers stating just that. As the two got up to leave Katherine looked into the darkened room at the rest of the bio beds (some of them temporary cots because of the large numbers) containing Hammarians from the slave ship who were ejected and subsequently retrieved with Tom and Daena. Dr. Swan put her hands on her hips and asked aloud to no one in particular, "How could they just ditch all these folks like that?" The other light source illuminating the room poured out of a transparent door to the side of main sickbay. It adjoined the counselor's office to sickbay and the light was on because the day's events were also working in the mind of counselor Sam Sema'J. He sat at his desk with several padds layed out in front of them. He was doing some light research, basically what he could dig up right after the away mission, on reciprocity and reciprocal agreements in slave trading societies. This Mr. Preto who was in charge of the slave trading ship had been quite insistent that their slave trading ways were beneficial to all parties involved, including the Hammarians on the planet. Sam of course found this hard to believe in practice, and the ejecting into space of all non-fit Hammarians taken for slavery certainly could not be ignored. Still the sociological format intrigued him and he was skimming over some research that had been done on the topic as well as records of similar societies and the results of this kind of structure. Though he would have preferred it to be the case, sociological research was not the only thing keeping the counselor up. He was mulling the actual events of the away mission over in his head and couldn't escape the irksome feeling of how Dr. Swan had handled the situation and how she had acted toward him and more importantly toward LtCmdr Marx, the highest ranking officer and leader of the away team. Sam's peripheral vision nudged him out of an account of a certain planet's history with slavery as through the transparent door into sickbay he saw Tom and Daena leaving sickbay and Katherine standing alone there. He got up and walked to the door and opened it, leaning into the main sickbay. "Dr...could I please have a quick word with you?" Swan turned around, not having been fully aware that Sam had still been in his office, as soon as he beckoned her, she knew what he wanted. She sighed and began to protest, "I don't know why you got upset earlier, I was only trying to help. It's not like I did anything bad." He beckoned silently toward his office and her shoulders dropped, "Fine," she said in a frustrated tone. Sam walked into the office and back to his desk, he tapped a small panel on the desk and the transparent doors clouded to opaque. There wasn't really a need for this as it was the middle of the night, but he was accustomed to doing it anytime someone came into his office. He sat down at the large desk and put a hand out toward the various chairs assembled in front of it. "Have a seat," he said curtly. He would usually pick out one of the other chairs and sit with the person as they conversed, the big desk was a bit authoritarian for his tastes. For this situation however, it was a little more appropriate. Katherine was a bit taken aback by this whole situation, she felt she had completely gained her composure after the entire ordeal that got her here in the first place. She had proven her worth enough that the CO had dropped the charges against her and she was feeling more comfortable with being a crewman on this ship. She did as he asked and sat down in front of him. "Alright, what's up?" "Katherine, let me start by saying that your idea, while bearing risk, was creative and ultimately extremely effective in avoiding conflict with all parties involved. In fact, it's the kind of novel thinking that makes Starfleet and the Federation what they are." Katherine smiled, "All I did was listen to what Preto was saying. It wasn't even WHAT he was saying, it was HOW he said it." Sam nodded affirmingly, "And that is EXACTLY what I'm trying to get at here. It's not what you had to say, but how you said it. I know you were given a field commission here and that it was based on your passing of Starfleet medical and basic duty tests here on Arcadia in deep space. While that's a significant achievement, it's not quite the same as going through four-ish years in the Starfleet Academy. There your professors are your commanding officers. Their educational department heads are their commanding officers. Even civilian teachers at the academy like my mother are responsible for maintaining the command structure." Katherine sat there half shocked but listening to what he had to say and thinking how she would rebut. Sam continued, "In a first contact situation like that, which also happens to be a negotiation, and further more a negotiation concerning other crew members' LIVES, it is totally inappropriate for you to step in front of two higher ranking officers and boldly state your opinion, and then go as far as to INSIST on a course of action." She sprung to a respone, "SIR, neither you or Cmdr Marx were getting anywhere. I heard how the man said what he did and you didn't. So I took action." "If you had asked for a recess when you had your idea and voiced it to me or LtCmdr Marx, the message would have gone up the chain of command and then to Mr. Preto and we probably would have been out of there with a lot less fuss than we ended up enduring. Beyond that, Marx and I would have felt more in control of the situation and I would probably just be congratulating you now instead of this. If you know something a senior officer doesn't, it is almost NEVER your job to simply act on it...it's your job to keep them informed as best as you can so that they can make the decisions and take the action, because that is the responsibility of command." Swan slid forward on her chair and chimed in, "It's a control thing?! You're upset because I took the lead?" "Yes! Not because I have a pathological need to be in control, but because that's simply the way we run things. It's the way things run smoothly on a starship and it's the way they should run on away missions. It's possible that the other side of that table might have looked at your actions and supposed that we have no control over our people, and maybe he would have taken harsher action against Tom and Daena based on that supposition. Who knows what could have happened." "There wasn't time to do the command structure thing. If you had listened, they were getting ready to DUMP their trash, we didn't have the luxury of time, Sir." "Katherine, the chain of command is a very important part of starfleet operations and your complete lack of regard for that was unnerving and confusing and it did not put Marx or me in a very good position. Beyond that, it could have had unforeseen negative repercussions. Marx was the one in command, he'll be the one submitting a report, and it's up to him if he wants to mention your inappropriate behavior or talk to you about it in an official capacity or not. But I wanted to let you know that I felt it was very inappropriate. You've made excellent progress in getting settled with this crew, and you've put a lot behind you. I think that this instance could be a learning experience for you and help you move forward. But if you hold on to only the notion that you were right and that what you did HAD to be done, then I think you're hindering yourself from becoming more of and a better part of this crew as a result of the experience." Katherine once again spoke up, "Preto called me over to him when he heard what I said and he knew we were on the same page. There was no time for diplomacy...not this time." Sam sighed, feeling he was running full speed toward a bulkhead, "I know you experienced a very bad, punishment-based command structure; it made you a nervous wreck when you came on board...we've done a lot of work together on that front, getting you comfortable with the idea that Starfleet as a military wants to generally be a force of good and remain positive at all times. I'm really glad to see your progress there, you've become really comfortable with people and procedures. I think this could be a time for you to start becoming more comfortable with Starfleet protocol and structure. You won't always be right, Katherine, and you certainly won't always have the authority to interject your perceived rightness or act on it. the fact that your idea was a good one this time was a mark in your favor. But what if it hadn't been, what if we'd lost our crewman? In that light, how would your own stepping up and demanding action have looked? If an officer in command of the away mission had ordered a particular action and it had resulted in the loss of crew members' lives, that would be on that officer's head as well as conscience. And that's the responsibility, and sometimes the burden of command. Its a responsibility you have not earned, and I would not like to see you try to seize it again in the future." Swan leaned forward further and placed her hands on the desk. "Sir, I know the structure, I obey it most of the time. There wasn't enough time to run the chain of command. He was getting ready to do away with them. I just acted as I guessed any of you would have. I know I didn't do everything by the book and I don't care if you tell the Commander or the Captain. I did what I saw needed to be done to get our people back. We ALL returned to the ship and no one was harmed. If it wouldn't have gone well, YES, I would have expected to be punished for it. Or whatever. But that didn't happen...Now if you will excuse me, I've been working with patients for hours and I'd like some sleep." Sam could see from her adverse reaction that he was not going to get any further with her. Katherine stepped back from the desk she was now leaning on standing up from the chair. Sam spoke again, "Well I'm not going to tell anyone anything, it's not my place to do so. but the way you conducted yourself concerns me a bit, and I just wanted to talk it over with you and see if you might consider some of the implications of your actions. There is nothing keeping you here in my office. Thanks for listening for THIS long." As soon as he added that last sarcastic bit, he felt he really shouldn't have. He made a motion to the door where she clearly wanted to leave. "Thank you SIR", she gritted, "And as I said this was NOT a normal thing for me. I just stepped up after the two of you were getting no where with Mr. Preto. I do NOT intend for this to be anything normal by any means. Good Day, SIR!" Katherine quickly strode straight out the other office door into the corridor and headed for her quarters. Sam sighed and put his head down on his desk. "Well that couldn't have gone worse." As if her earlier behavior didn't concern him enough, she had just shouted in his face. Sam knew that it was clearly a moot point as far as the mission was concerned. He wasn't in the mood to lodge formal complaints and get into the paperwork. He truly hoped that what she said was true, this was a one time occurrence for her. Sam decided he would keep a causal eye on her, because he truly wanted her to succeed as a Starfleet officer and more so as a member of a Federation community. He took his head off the desk. He had had enough insulting behavior from a junior officer for one day, he stood and left his office, locking it on the way, and headed for his own quarters. <end>

"Self Examination" Character Log -- S.K. Sema'J SD 10908.04 <<this log takes place somewhere between plots but not really too long ago, essentially in a time frame where Arcadia was maintaining normal operations and not in a position of "glorious strife">> <begin> "There is an unstable plasma anomoly off of the starbord bow", warned the computer. Sam Sema'J leaned into the shuttle's manual helm interface and the sleek Type 9 veered around the obstruction continuing into space. A planet approached and the computer spoke its mind once again. "Please establish orbit around the upcoming planet." As Sam neared the upper edge of the planet's gravitational field and began to nose the shuttle upwards, the computer had something else to say about the situation. "This planet's gravitational field is in a state of flux, a standard orbit is not recomended". Sam smiled to himself, it couldn't be that easy. He leaned over to the sensors and got a graphic representation of what the shifted grav field looked like, he then quickly wrote a subroutine to alter the orbit with thrusters in real time according to the readings. Once the subroutine was entered in, he went back to bringing up the shuttle's nose and at the last minute he decided to have a little more fun. He pulled the shuttle's nose all the way up till its aft end was gliding toward the planet. As the shuttle's rear was pulled into the gravity of the planet, the shuttle slid upside down, and without letting it lose its momentum, Sam gave the ventral bow thrusters a most careful bump, causing the nose to flip around under the aft end and right the shuttle. Though the inertial dampeners compensated, this florid maneuver gave Sam more than a slight spike in blood pressure. The threat of dizziness surfaced but Sam shook it off and focused on his flying. The nose went forward now from the original impulse momentum and the shuttle was now righted in orbit. "Please take the shuttle through the atmosphere, maintain all safety parameters while passing through it, then land the shuttle on the southernmost continent. Complete the landing sequence in the shortest time possible while maintaining safe parameters." Sam smiled at the computer's last instruction...he edged the shuttle downward feeling more of the planet's gravitational pull. Knowing that the shields were strongest under the shuttle's small warp core at the ventral aft of the ship, he moved the manual controls forward swiftly, cutting the aft thrusters, the back of the shuttle dropped into the pulling gravity and the strong shields began being buffeted by atmospheric friction. In seconds the shuttle had passed through the upper atmosphere and was free-falling toward the surface. Sam quickly switched the control interface so that the left stick controlled stern impulse engine and the right controlled the bow. He gunned them both, the rear far more than the front, leveling the shuttle from it's quick, stern-first drop. As the horizon flashed into view Sam again felt himself tense and his visual focus begin to waver, but again he forced this physical reaction to pass. Immediately after leveling the shuttle, Sam glanced at the safety screen insuring that the shields and IDS had not been excessively taxed; they hadn't. He switched back to thrusters and nudged them intermittently as a nearly imperceptible bump announced touchdown on the planet's surface. Glancing at the time readout, Sam observed that it had been just under 10 seconds since he was in upper atmosphere. He grabbed a checklist padd off the console and began shutting down systems on the shuttle. When finished, he walked to the back of the shuttle, opened the hatch and disembarked. As he did this he spoke aloud. "Well that was more fun than the test with the computerized console interface. Computer, transmit test data and end program". The planet and shuttle fizzled into a holomatrix and Sam walked into the corridor and headed for his office. He was a little worried about his momentary lapses in concentration, but assured himself that he had passed the physical stress examinations under Dr. Tynte's supervision and this would be factored into his test results. -- It had been a few days since Sam had completed his exam simulations. He awoke at his normal early time, despite this being his off duty day. He could never seem to sleep in when he had a regular schedule. As usual he had set up his coffee machine to prepare the drink right before he awoke, he hated when busy events on the ship forced him to replicate coffee. He grabbed his cup and neglected to shave; as long as his superiors didn't have an opinion on the matter, he didn't mind a day or so shadow on his face. He and his cup of coffee sat down at the small desk in the quarters main living space...not that the small quarters had any more than one room and a sleeping alcove...but he was happy to have offered up his larger family quarters to a crew member who needed it when his daughter, Rosie, returned to live on earth. He clicked on the console on the desk and raised a brow to see two messages awaiting his attention. The first was no surprise: Rosie and her caretaker, Sam's sister Jadyn, had written to recount the weeks events, as was their usual custom. Sam skimmed over the details of their week, smiling broadly to hear from his family. The second message also elicited a smile, one of surprise. The message was from LtCmdr Steskovsky, Sam's academy advisor and the assistant chair of the academy's piloting division. This was a pleasant surprise and Sam got onto reading the message. ------------------- From: LtCmdr Igor Steskovsy, Starfleet Academy To: Lt(sg) Samuel K. Sema'J, USS Arcadia NCC-1742-E Subject: Your Flight Clearance Exam Sam, First off let me say that I apologize that we have not been in contact since you were released from medical leave and returned to join the Arcadia Crew. When I heard your physical therapy had reached a point where you had decided to attempt to renew your flight clearance, I asked the flight office at Starfleet Headquarters if I could personally review your test results, they were happy to oblige. Before I get into the technicalities of the test itself, let me say that not only did you perform with excellent proficiency, you did so with the creativity and finesse that I try to instill in all my students, and that I've come to expect from you personally. I was somewhat surprised, though, by your flashy orbital summersault...I would have marked you down for it had I not taught it to you. Now onto the results themselves. Stage 1. Your written examination was flawless. Your understanding of Starfleet flight protocol, as well as your problem solving and adaptive strategies are completely on par with what we expect of Starfleet pilots. For this stage you received 100%. Stage 2. Your physical stress examination did not produce such a perfect result. It's obvious that the medical conditions you've dealt with have produced difficulty in the physical stresses that pilots encounter as part of their duties. However, your extensive recovery period and the physical therapy you've undergone have helped you to deal with these issues. Dr. Tynte assures us that you performed within satisfactory safe parameters for this section of the test and that your performance in this area will only increase with time. For this stage you received 85%. Stage 3. Your simulated fight test with computerized controls was satisfactory. You followed the computer's instructions, avoided obstacles and completed the objective. However, there did not seem to be as much of the care and attention to detail I've come to expect from you, and this is reflected in your time, which was a hair blow average. I can only hypothesize that your personal preference against the computerized interface tainted your performance. For this stage you received 92%. Stage 4. As discussed in my personal note above, your simulated flight test with manual controls was not only sufficient for the test parameters, it was inspiring in its finesse, creativity and it's time, which was impressively short. Your extremely creative use of the warp shielding to facilitate a quick free-fall and your subsequent break of said fall into a controlled landing not only gave you an impressive test time, it impressed the entire staff, myself and Cmdr Daren included. The bio-sensors did record at least two instances where your either the concentration required for the exercise, or simply your flashy piloting style aggravated the neural difficulties that resulted in your original flight grounding following your accident. However, you endured through these near-lapses and as discussed above, you did pass your physical examination. Taking all of this into consideration, and show-off maneuvers notwithstanding, your excellent performance earned you a 100% for this stage. These four stages contribute to a composite score of 94.25% for your Flight Clearance Exam. This score is well within the accepted boundary for Starfleet Regulations, and I'm proud and pleased to personally inform you that you have once again been cleared for all forms of atmospheric, stellar, and interstellar flight for all Starfleet craft, a "Full Certification". Congratulations on successfully removing your flight grounding. This change will be added to your personnel file and forwarded to your commanding officer. I hope this letter finds you well, and again, my personal congratulations to you. Regards, Igor Steskovsky ------------------- Sam finished the letter with a broad smile, partly from the test results and mostly from the personal touch from his old friend and mentor. It felt good to be flight certified again. The natural first thought that came to his mind was his posting...the feeling that he could now take over his original Arcadia position of Helm officer. Taking the wheel of the big ship for alpha shifts, being first on call for shuttle missions, he did miss it. Though this was the knee-jerk reaction, he wasn't certain it was the right way for him to go. For starters, he had had a bit of bouncing around recently anyway. When he came back to Arcacia, he was one of the engineering staff, soon he had been shuffled into the Chief spot, a position he had to admit he was not comfortable with. He had requested his transfer to Ship's Counselor and had been settling in quite nicely he thought. He felt he was doing his job effectively and efficiently, he was helping out with sickbay shift rotations and paperwork, and ultimately he felt like he was making a difference. The opportunity to monitor situations from the bridge without another posted duty to distract him offered both insight and the ability to offer suggestions and advice to the bridge and command crew. He also usually took this opportunity to observe behavior and situational responses among the crew. All in all, Ship's Counselor was proving to be a great autonomous position, much like helm officer, with abundantly more academic content and interest. He felt the crew was becoming comfortable with him, even crew members he had been closely aquatinted with in other positions were becoming more at ease talking to him as their counselor. Sam felt like he hadn't really broken the ice with the Captain though. When he studied Starship Social Dynamics as part of his psych certification, there were a lot of references that seemed to suggest that many starship captains came to rely upon their ship's counselor as a confidant and moral and ethical sounding board, in addition to the reliance they had on their first officer. While Sam felt he had a good working relationship with Captain Lo'Ami, he wasn't sure they had reached a completely fluent exchange of feelings and reactions to given situations and as of yet the captain had not approached Sam outside the boundaries of his initial psych interview and meetings pertaining to ship's business. Sam theorized that with the memories of his symbiote's previous hosts, Lo'Ami had all of the counsel he might need. Though Sam had certainly done all of the required study on Trill psychology, he had no practical experience in the subject. Aside from some strides still to be made gaining a completely comfortable professional relationship with members of the crew and the captain, Sam had to say he was more than comfortable in his position as Ship's Counselor. While his re-certification as a pilot was certainly a satisfying accomplishment, the time for change was most definitely not now. Sam blinked at the starfield he'd been staring at during his rumination. Strange, usually in the morning he chose to look at something brightly lit and colored, the dark of space made him feel like it was night time. He looked down at his cup of coffee and realized he had filled it and had a second cup without even noticing. He shook off his zoned-out feeling from sitting and thinking and walked over to the replicator. He replicated a framed copy of his Starfleet Full Certification pilot's license and picked it up. He walked out the door and took the turbolift to his office...it was time for some decorating. <end>

You know I think that Precip got to the heart of it here, the heart of why I really didn't like the plot and sci fi shown in this movie. I did think everythign looked really good...but it just wasn't good trek in my opinion, or good sci fi, and I think I mentioned it before but I've become addicted to Stargate in the last couple years and I'm always really satisfied with their use of science concepts for fiction, new Star Trek really didn't do it for me, and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with this whole reboot the saga thing. Sam

I just hope the writers talk to some SCIENTISTS before they write this movie...sheesh

Here's my big problem with the time travel...even if the means or explanation were corny sci fi deus ex machina....ok. So future Nero goes back in time to seek revenge for his preset's romulus being destroyed by destroying vulcan in the past. Here's all starfleet has to do...and this would even put this movie back on track with canon because it would deleate all of the non-canon stuff that happened. 1. Secret Op. go execute Nero's parents. Not very federationy...but this keeps that person from being around to seek revenge in the future, all but eliminating the possibility of him having come back. Does this magically pop vulcan back into existence? I'm not sure because the time travel setup in this movie is already really messy. 2. Immediate plan to save romulus in the future, not involving red matter and black holes. This keeps the vortex from ever being formed. I don't know...I just really found the whole thing unsatisfying from a sci-fi point of view. Like I said in my original post...on the whole it was a good movie experience.

Hi All, I know there are a lot of places in this forum with a lot of movie talk already. I thought it might be nice to start a fresh topic for all to share thoughts *after* seeing the movie. If this already exists and I missed it, Just direct me there and delete this one :P I'll start. First off, I think the actors all did a superb job. Second off, I think that the sets were great! Outside and inside these ships had a modern looking, but *very* functional look, and struck a perfect balance between how far SF ship tech had come at that point and where it was going. As for Starfleet itself, I thought that they depicted the military aspect terribly, and it was really distracting throughout the whole movie. The lack of definition of cadets vs. ncos vs. the officer ranks, and the off the cuff "you're captain now, recent graduate" was just really irritating, I miss undiscovered country era military Starfleet. At first I was really uncomfortable with all of the canonic misses, destroying Vulcan, Killing Mrs. Sarek, etc. In the light of them reseting for plots to come, I'm alright with it. But time travel? This was a pretty awful representation of time travel theory. Lightning wormholes that pop you out the other side in a different time? Really disturbingly bad sci fi going on here. I hate to say it, but becoming a hardcore Stargate fan has dimmed my enjoyment of Star Trek as good Sci Fi. That's not to say I don't still adhere to trekian ideals. Did I think it was a good movie? Yes, definitely. Great acting, ok script, great effects. Were there things that really irritated me about it? Yes! Glad to have some time to be on the forum again!!!