Col. C.E. Harper

Academies 'reset' at the end of the game, so if you 'die' it doesn't matter. You're almost always playing a different character each time anyway. Death in an advanced sim is more permanent and has to be handled carefully, but it does happen.

Acting Captain MVess JoNs waited patiently for the communications to go through, her claws drumming idly - the only outward sign of her internal agitation and worry - on the arm of the command chair. But, the process took a bit longer then usual what with both Fleet Command and Starbase One compromised by the Soltan attacks. When the picture finally came into view, it was of a blank wall, and... lopsided? Yes, standard Starfleet paneling did not run at a thirty degree angle. There was a brief clatter offscreen somewhere, and then the image tipped slowly back to square. The face of Agincourt's commanding officer entered the frame. "Sorry about that," she said, taking a seat. "Anything not bolted down..." A small smile split the normally dour Caitians panther-like face. "... ended up halfway across the room and in several pieces? Aye." Her expression then went a bit more serious, but not so much as to be off putting. "Acting Captain MVess JoNs, of the USS Yellowjacket. I'm pleased to make your acquantance, but...the circumstances..." the feline trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Gods, the whole universe was fragged. Harper frowned briefly, then her face lit up. "You're related to my resident furry pain-in-the-rump, hmm? Glad to meet you as well. I wish we could be doing so at a cafe somewhere, but we don't have time to swap stories now. Where do we stand?" Left Ear chuckled, the purring sound quite pleasant. "Don't make me laugh, it'll ruin my reputation. Aye, that would be me, and it's all relative." The feline then went into report mode, regarding Harper seriously again. "The Yellowjacket intercepted a communication from one of the joint marine/security contingents dealing with the clean-up on Earth ...to state the obvious? It is not good Colonel." A nimble brown paw entered a series of commands into a data padd. "I'm sending you what we have, but basically, the ground forces are scattered and making the effort to hook up with one another and co ordinate efforts." The Caitian ships commander ignored her personal feelings as best she could and concentrated on the impromptu meeting between fellow ships commanders, but it was difficult; she wanted to ask so badly how the kitten was doing. The colonel's gaze shifted to the side, watching the data stream come in on another screen. She nodded. "I see. How's the Yellowjacket?" JoNs looked away from the viewer for a moment, and then the cat's gaze went back to focus on the marine commanding officer. "Bad. She was retrofitted a few years back from a forty officer capacity to a one hundred and fifteen personnel capacity... we lost ninety crewpeople, including the captain and first officer, and we're pulling help from other ships in the area." Her ears drooped with sadness. "How are you holding up? I'm sure as a ground pounder taking command of a ship, especially during a cluster frag such as this is a bit of a shot to the head? A rueful look crossed Harper's face. "I've had a bit of practice, the past months. Alpha's all right, Gamma took a bit of damage. Beta's the problem -- we had to put it under tow for a bit there. But we won't be in once piece for a while, I think." She ran her hands through her hair -- she'd given up trying to keep it tied back an hour ago -- and sighed. "I'm planning to drop Beta to a skeleton crew while its stabilizers are repaired. If you need more hands, I can send you some. Otherwise they're for dirtside." "I appreciate the offer, but to be quite honest, Earth planet side is where they are needed .... the digital and scanned photos in that information packet are really unsettling." "Once the crew gets the Yellowjacket back up to a working capacity, being a Sabre class, chances are we will be doing supply runs or personnel transport runs. Mainly a support capacity as opposed to patrol runs and such. You need anything Colonel? Just holler, and we'll get it for you ASAP, you have my word on that." "I appreciate it," she said honestly. "We pretty well depleted our torpedo supply, I can tell you. But then I doubt we're alone in that. " "Oh, there is no doubt of that, not with the way this black was lit up. Sadly though, I'm starting to hear of and getting some sketchy reports regarding a few incidents of friendly fire or detonated torpedo explosions that did not go as planned ... those Soltans really caused some bloody havoc here in this solar system with taht little sneak attack of theirs. Overall though, the response fleet got in their and kicked some tail." Her own tail lashed, punctuating the statement. The colonel hid a smile behind her hand. "Uhm, yes. Yes, they did." She cleared her throat slightly. "Heard anything about where the Earth cleanup is being coordinated?" "Well, the sporadic communications that certain ships tuned to the correct frequency pick up basically convey that whats left of Fleet Command is mobilizing any available security or marine squads, and the planetary goverments on the local level are also enacting any reserve civilian units." The brown Cait shifted in her command chair a bit and ran a paw through her hight and tight mane. "I also keep hearing rumors that a chunk of Australia was blown away, so I can only imagine the level of devastation across the entire planet ..." It started lashing again. "... children are gone." "That rumor's a bit exaggerated, fortunately," Harper replied. "But, er... Sydney's harbor is a lot... rounder, now. The city's in chaos, of course. Paris hasn't been this bad since the third world war. And I'm told the Presidio doesn't exist anymore." "... Colonel, I am sorry for your loss. You have any family planetside?" She shook her head. "No-- I'm from one of the colony worlds. But... I'm sure I knew plenty of people at HQ. And the Academy -- stars." She swallowed hard. "I haven't been able to bring myself to look at the personnel lists." "Don't. And if you do, don't eat anything before hand or you'l just make yourself sick." JoNs jumped in at that point, allowing her own fear to get the better of her. "Colonel Harper, my cousin only managed a brief text message to my brother on the Okinawa. Is the kitten alright?" "She's fine. Probably banged up and refusing to go to sickbay, if I know her, but alive and well and breaking sections of my ship." She found a smile from somwhere for the Caitian. Captain JoNs nodded, and wanted to say "Thank you", but the words got stuck in her throat. The serious feline blinked rather rapidly, and her jaw worked. She let loose with a low growl, looked away again, and put a wide paw up in range of the viewer. The gesture was equal parts "wait a moment" and an apology to Harper for momentarily losing it at the happy news. Pretending not to notice, Harper busied herself with a few padds, signing off on the various repair estimates and reports slowly trickling in from all over the ship -- or was that ships? Left Ear finally shook it off. When her gaze swung back to the visual feed linking the two commanders, her eyes were bright and clear. 'Thank you Colonel. And what of your ship sections? will you be remaining here at Earth or moving further out in system? With Command compromised as it is, it would seem we are all on our own with regard to orders and the interpretation of any orders that happen to come over the comms." "With Beta damaged, we can't link back up, so I think we're better off staying in-system for the time being. We can go where we're needed." She pushed the stack of padds aside. "Once we get back in one piece I'm sure we'll wind up doing escort duty." "With your permission? I'll contact your respective commanders of the other Agincourt sections as well, let them though the Yellowjacket can stand by as a supply runner for anything they would need, as well as putting them in touch with the other response ships who will be ferrying supplies or replacement personnel. Those of us with the smaller ships will probably be functioning in this capacity." She nodded briskly, and was quite proud of the fact that her lips didn't so much as twitch. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Commander. Thank you." The brown furred Cait waved a paw. "Not a problem. And please call me Left Ear. We both work for a living." Harper chuckled. "All right, Left Ear. I'll let you get back to that work." "Good luck Colonel." JoNs gave a nod and made a gesture to someone off screen, and the visual link up on her end winked out of existence.

Earth cast a long shadow across the observation lounge of the Excalibur-C. Admiral Ah-Windu Corizon kept his eyes away from the ceiling-to-floor windows and their view of the once pristine blue-green marble that smoldered in ruin. Though not his homeworld, Earth was his adopted planet and to see the once idyllic planet wasted caused even his cold heart to ache. He couldn't imagine how the woman on the other end of the line was even able to speak, let alone have a coherent conversation. It was that strength, though, that let him continue on knowing the Humans would survive, that Earth would endure. "And then we rode their wake here," Harper finished, sighing and reaching up one hand to rub the stiff muscles of her neck. "If we'd gotten the propulsion -- but then we didn't know they were coming here." She shook her head, wincing slightly. "How's the fleet look?" The silver haired Dameon nodded slightly as Harper finished recounting their journey. His thin lips formed a delicate frown at the question. “The home fleet is, for lack of a better description, FUBAR. “Most of the first responders are burning heaps of ruin... place looks worse than the second round of Chintoka.” In truth though, the last time Corizon had seen a scene as bleak as this was the first Borg engagement at Wolf 359. The frightening memories of buckling bulkheads and the immense feeling of helplessness and failure as he and his shipmates watched the cube sail away from the graveyard and towards a defenseless Earth came to his mind. He shuddered slightly. "And the sector fleets? Is the 4th still in?" She watched him, knowing she looked as bad as he did; haunted and tired. "Not that I think they'll be back -- hit and run seems to be their style. But this would be a very bad time for the scavengers to start circling." Nodding, Corizon glanced briefly to the status monitor to his left. “The fourth is gathering at Alpha Centuari as we speak. The rest of the fleets are mobilizing as quickly as possible. We're still trying to get through to Admiral Halin and the rest of the Tenth...” "Half the local relays go through Command or Starbase One," Harper pointed out. "Communications are going to be spotty for days. Have Jupiter Station send the messages; their array won't need relaying, not as far as Centauri." She flicked an errant strand of hair out of her face. Two more fell in its place, and she gave up. "As soon as we can loose Beta from our tether, we'll join the rescue efforts." A small smile appeared on his face as Harper told him what he already knew, but given the situation, he let it slide. “Good,” he said with a nod. “We're brining in three more medical ships in a few hours... I just spoke with Nechayev on Vulcan, she's placed me in command of Sector 001 for the immediate future. We're still trying to round up what's left of the Council and Admiralty...but it's a mess down there.” She nodded. "We've seen the news feeds. The media, eh? Can't get a line to the president's bunker, but you can watch the evening news." She sobered slightly. "Speaking of the president... have you heard anything?" Corizon knew his expression was grim and he didn't try and hide what he'd been hearing through special channels. “I heard that they're still digging through the rubble, but the bunker took a pretty good hit... how they hell the knew where to look for it...” He stopped and shook his head. “It doesn't sound good Charlie.” She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "And the Council? Tell me they weren't in session, at least." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back for a moment, taking in a deep breath before speaking. “Unfortunately,” he said soberly, “the Council's been in session all month with meetings on the readiness of Starfleet to respond to the threat of enemy invasion.” Her head dropped into her hands, and she was silent for a long moment. Finally, in a voice muffled by her fingers, she said, "Did we have any good luck at all?" “We got you back,” he said with a slight smile. “Your knowledge of their weapon systems will be invaluable as we go forward. I am already having every ship modify their weapons. “If that doesn't perk you up, then how about our facilties on Luna and Mars are pretty much untouched? We're going to setup shop on Mars as soon we get a list of who lived and who didn't.” "Planitia will be busy," she said, forcing herself to lift her head. "Antares too, I shouldn't wonder. I suppose they'll want to move the Council somewhere 'safer' after emergency elections are held?" “The secure off-site, yes” he said. “I am not cleared to give that information over any channel, but it's pretty safe. They're bringing the facility on-line now.” Harper snorted ironically. "Which one?" she asked, then waved it off. "No, of course, you can't say. Rhetorical. But honestly, Ah-Windu, don't you think they're more likely to hit a new target than one they've already blasted?" “Depends on if they've heard of the Hydra or not.” "We have cultural files. Not that anyone has time to look at them at the moment." “I fear, however, that these marauders are the least of our problems right now.” Her heart sank. "Oh, no. What did we miss?" “The Romulans are about to have elections, this will likely only strengthen that warmongering N'Dak's positions... the Klingons still don't have a chancellor... we're still trying to figure out how the Vacitu, VDC, and this attack are all related... and then...” he paused and sighed heavily. “How long have the Breen been waiting for this, or the Tholians, or the Gorn... take your pick.” "So the quadrant's been packed into the handbasket again." Leaning back in her chair, she sighed. "I suppose it was naive to hope we'd get a few decades of peace." “I've been around a long time Charlie, and it's never naïve to hope, just naïve to expect it.”

Recaps forthcoming, but rather than create a new thread for every plot, here is a thread for the whole season. Have at it, folks!

Saturn was slipping by the wide viewports, its dancing system of rings and moons arrayed in fine form with the warm light of Sol shimmering over the slowly revolving debris. But not a single eye was turned toward the scene. No one noticed that the fleet of small craft usually found darting through the mini-system was absent, or that even the Academy Flight Range, barely visible in the gas giant's immense shadow, lay near-abandoned. The cluster of humanoids gathered in the Agincourt's mess hall had their various visual organs fixed instead on the single large viewscreen that usually displayed some bit of entertainment chosen by Recreation. Today the feed was linked into the ship's main sensor feed, as was nearly every screen not needed for critical systems monitoring. The view was split; half heavily magnified visual, half tactical map. Both showed the same thing: Earth, surrounded by a ring of red-marked hostiles. On the tactical map the familiar Starfleet parabolas closed steadily on that ring. Inside it were a few of the Earth-orbit vessels and whatever ships had been in Spacedock or McKinley when the Soltan fleet jumped in. Those, however, had been winking out at alarming speed. The vessels of the Mars Defense Perimeter were just barely coming into range now, positions shifting as they grouped up into attack formations. A few more signals were crossing through the asteroid belt -- or more accurately, over it, unwilling to be slowed by dodging rocks. That would be the outer ships so conspicuously absent here by the Jovians. And then, lit in blue on the tactical map, Agincourt herself, heading in-system at the fastest crawl her cranky abused engines would permit after her subspace jaunt. Farther out still, so far away the tactical map only showed markers at the screen edge with a vector notation ticking down ETAs, were dozens of Starfleet ships from all over the sector, all of them responding to Agincourt's call, all of them rushing headlong toward the besieged Earth. All of them far too late. Standing at the threshold, unnoticed by the crowd, Harper knew what everyone in that room knew, however unwilling they were to admit it: Earth was taking the pounding of its life. The plain visual was too small to resolve the battle as more than flashes of light, even at maximum magnification, but the tactical readouts told the tale in vanishing transponders and red-lit energy wave readouts. And everyone there could do the simple math -- the Federation ships inside the Soltan perimeter were outnumbered ten to one, which left far too many ships free to turn their strange pulse-weapons on Earth itself, those weapons that Agincourt's shields had been helpless against. It was even-odds whether the local planetary shields might hold up better against the onslaught; certainly the ships' were not. A ripple of movement stirred the gathering; the visual blinked off momentarily, then reappeared in a different form. One of the news stations was broadcasting, sketchily, video scattered with static that did nothing to obscure the horror of the images displayed in deathly silence. It might have been anywhere. It might have been one of the old history vids, the ones from London after the Blitz, or the scraps of records made after the Third World War. Building materials have changed, but synthcrete and plasteel are almost indistinguishable from brick and steel when they've been reduced to tumbles of smoking, burning rubble. The image panned slowly, jerking and flickering now and again, to take in more of the street, the devastation wrought with no concern for niceties like civilian-military differentiation. A figure lay crumpled in the roadway among a welter of broken synthcrete blocks. The poor image quality mercifully obscured any details; it might have been man, woman, child; might have been alive; might have been a charred corpse; might have been nothing more sinister than a display mannequin. The camera panned up, as though the operator could no more stand the sight of that still figure than the huddled crowd in the mess hall. At the end of the street, behind the smoke, hovered some tall structure, indistinct as a mirage. Then a gust of wind whipped the smoke, clearing the view for one breathless moment. "La Tour --!" someone breathed, somewhere between a moan and a prayer. Only a Parisian could have recognized that form so quickly: the graceful curves of the tower were twisted and warped, the top of the monument half-missing, and one side melted into a formless mass of iron rivulets. The watchers huddled a little closer, as if seeking a warmth that had nothing to do with body and all with soul. The screen dissolved into static, then reformed. This was clearly a new feed; worse quality, barely functioning at all, flickering in and out of existence. But for all that, the images were clear enough. Clear enough, that is, to a room full of people who had lived and worked and played among the buildings that lay in ruins among obscenely untouched manicured grounds. It zoomed in jerkily on a blue flag still flying bravely in front of a building that was nothing but a smoking crater. A sob burst out from the tight little knot, loud as gunfire, as was quickly strangled. "Screen off." Her voice sounded odd to her; surely she hadn't decided to give the command? But the viewscreen obediently blanked itself, and heads were turning her way; wounded, curious eyes begged the question. Gently, very gently, Harper said, "Don't torture yourselves with it, people. We have work to do now." She waited a moment, until the hunched shoulders began to square against the bright uniforms, the backs to straighten infinitesimally, the eyes to look less watery, then commanded simply, "Stations."

Now what could make you think that? ::looks innocent::

I use a Javascript converter ( http://steve.pugh.net/fleet/stardate.html ) into which I plug the Gregorian date for Agincourt. But, I'm obsessive and actually know what day it is in Agincourt's timeline. (Well, at the moment I don't, because I'm 2 months behind on tracking, but usually I do.) Most people are not nearly so, er... odd. :lol:

And as for samples, the ones in the advanced sim boards are a wealth of samples. :lol: Some ships do periodic log awards; if you're looking for a model of what a "good" log is, you might want to look at the winners of those.

personnel @ stsf dot net

The whole plane, maybe, but you have to make the windows or the armor faceplate out of something...

Cover letters are mandatory in every industry, even if they don't say they are. No faster way to get your resume tossed in the circular file than to send it without one. I've never been entirely happy with mine, either, but I get compliments. (Actually, usually on the order of, "And you actually knew to include a cover letter! That's so wonderful!!" See? Mandatory.) Basically, you want to try to tailor the letter to the job. Pick one or two things about the job position or the company that you can point to and say, "I'd be really good at that!" and in your letter try to give an example that would show you'd would be good at it -- phrase it as you being helpful to the business. I'm afraid that's not much help, but it's really hard to give general advice. Which is why all those websites aren't much help, either.

You want it to happen on a weekend -- Saturday night into Sunday -- to minimize the disruption of "oops, forgot to reset my clock" on the business world. So it has to be "the Nth Sunday"

The blitz, on the forums. The blitz, at rest. Ag112807.txt

Hey look -- light at the end of the tunnel! Ag112107.txt

Drowning you in chatlogs since 10pm Pacific... Ag111407.txt

Blitz continues... Ag110707.txt

Spooooky. Ag103107.txt

Let the catch-up blitz begin! Ag102407.txt

::grins at the enthusiasm:: I should get you to write the chatlog-website mission summaries for me. :)

Wow. This is a great log, Sorehl! I love it!

The silly XO was at work, so the Romulans just hung out until about half past. Maybe next week the stars will align.

After the excitement over the bear subsided, Charlie leaned against the entrance of the cave, watching the rain fall in cascading grey sheets. The lakeshore had turned completely to sucking mud, and she smirked a little, remembering... 2382 – Solaris III Solaris, Harper reflected, was not living up to its name. There was nothing comfortable about the wide expanses of brambles, vines, rocks, and mud. Lots of mud. Green mud. Exactly what made it green she wasn't certain. Some odd mineral configuration. What made it mud was pretty obvious. Three weeks they'd been here so far, and it had stopped raining once. For about two hours. By this point, every thing they owned was green – either from mudstains or mold; no one was wholly certain which, and no one really cared to investigate. Being dry was a pipe dream: their uniforms were wet, their boots were wet, their packs were wet, their bunks were wet, their chow was wet… which actually might be an improvement in some cases. Exactly one person on the team had been pleased with their miserable mudpit – that is, their base camp – and he was Gemarian. It rained four hundred twenty-two days a year on Gemaris. Towards the start of the second week – 'round about the time everyone ran out of dry socks – when he was still insufferably cheerful, the rest of the team had conspired to haul him out of his bunk and dump him in a particularly nasty bit of swampy mud. By the time he'd managed to clear all the goop out from under his skin folds, he was as grumpy about the conditions as anyone else. "Hey, Charlie!" Corovis, her partner, whispered to her. "How about this one: two slime beetles meet on a log –" "Shut up, Rover, before the enemy hears you," Harper hissed back. He only grinned, teeth bright in a mud-smeared face, and she hastily added, "Or the Lieutenant catches you again." The grin vanished, and he nodded. Harper dug her binoculars out of a pocket and checked the post they were supposed to be watching. There was still no sign of life, even in magnification. She wished they'd move. Waiting wasn't fun under any circumstances; waiting while lying in mud under prickly vines was worthy of at least Dante's fourth circle. And her left leg was cramping – she'd move, but it squelched. Corovis poked her arm, rather more sharply than necessary, and pointed. She looked over the binoculars and spotted a small party approaching the outpost. Quickly she refocused the viewer on them, and grinned, flashing a thumbs-up to Corovis. He pulled a small laser out and flashed a signal to the other fireteam. Harper looked up in time to catch the response, two short and two long flashes. Time to move. *** Smoke made her eyes tear and her throat burn. She ignored it, concentrating on her phaser sight; squeezing off another round at the two barricaded behind the torn-off door. “Charlie!” someone yelled. “The scout!” She whipped around and saw, vanishing into the woods, their opponents’ rear scout. Cursing, she jumped up, trusting her teammates to watch her back, and dove into the damp foliage on the other’s heels. Immediately she lost sight of – him? her? couldn’t tell – the forest here was thick with draping mosses and those prickly bushes that seemed ubiquitous on this world. But she could hear him; he crashed through the undergrowth with no attempt at stealth. She followed hot behind him, and it wasn’t until a topaz blast left a smoking gap in the moss that she realized the same would be true of her progress. Grimly she ran on. He led her a merry chase; she was well and thoroughly lost before long. She would have been more impressed if she’d thought that he had any notion where he was going, himself. As it was, she was just annoyed. Indulging, since stealth was pointless anyway, in a little grumbling about idiots who took the drill too far, she shoved through another set of hedges and promptly found herself sliding downwards… Splash! Icy water cascaded around her; she was half-sitting up to her chest in it. She’d come out on a stream bank, the sound of the water masked by the ever-present rain and the two marines’ headlong rush through the woods, and the waterlogged bank had crumbled. She knew better than to try and climb up at the same point. Once the bank began sliding, it would continue to do so for a while before it resettled. Instead she sloshed a few meters downstream and began hauling herself up the bank there. She got halfway up before it crumbled. Back down she went. Swearing under her breath, she struggled to her feet and continued downstream, watching the banks for a good spot to try again. Phaser fire spattered into the mud wall beside her. Yelping, she leapt for the opposite bank, pressing up against the rise where anyone trying to shoot her would have to hang over the edge to get an angle. Where had it come from? Warily she slid along the bank, trying to move smoothly enough to hear an enemy above the froth of the stream I have got to get out of this creek, she thought grimly. Mud or no. *** Her quarry had gone to ground. Taking care where she placed her feet, Harper crept towards the little stand of trees where she suspected the other of hiding. The phaser blast a moment later pretty much cemented that theory. She threw herself to the ground, reflecting wryly that the other needed to put in more time at the target range. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the lapse. On her belly to avoid presenting a target, she patiently circled around, spiraling in towards the trees. At last she could nudge her rifle through a gap and peer through the targeting scope. It showed her a back as muddy as her own, hunched over a rifle extending through the foliage, sweeping carefully back and forth – but not behind. Idiot, Harper thought, shifting her aim to the back of the neck, where vest and helmet gapped. Does she think I’ll stay under her gun sight? She fired. The Marine stiffened, then slumped to the ground. Limping, Harper struggled over to haul the unconscious woman face-up. "Sorek," she murmured, swiping a gobbet of mud off the slack features. A quick double-tap on Sorek's commbadge. "Confirm kill: Harper." That would register the outcome of this little cat-and-mouse game with the scanners that tracked them. Normally the officers in charge of these exercises recorded such things, but they were way out of the assigned exercise zone. "And we'll probably catch hell for it, too," she informed Sorek's comatose form. With a sigh, she settled in to wait for the stun to wear off. At least they could make the trek back together. *** By the time they trudged into base camp, both women were liberally coated with mud. It worked itself down collars and up cuffs, slopped into boots, and Harper didn’t even want to think about getting it out of her gear. She already counted it a minor miracle that her rifle still worked. They were, indeed, met by unhappy officers, but the expected reaming was not forthcoming. Instead, lips twitching, the captain ordered them to their bunks to clean up. Too relieved to question good fortune, Harper hightailed it to the barracks. The rest of her squad was already there, as clean and dry as any of them could manage on this mudball, relaxing in their racks. Heads turned as she entered, stomping on the mats to try and avoid tracking too much mud into the room. It started with M’vek. She made a strange, choked noise, and when Harper turned to her, frowning, ducked her head, clapping her hands to her mouth. Kiral buried his face in a pillow, but it did little to muffle his laughter. Newbridge didn’t bother hiding hers, and Corovis managed, “What happened?” before collapsing in mirth. She glared at them all generally, and tromped past to the showers. The door shut off the sounds of hilarity. But Harper hardly noticed. She was transfixed by the sight of her reflection in the mirror above the sinks. Green from top to toe, the mud blending nicely into the camouflage pattern of her uniform, and streaks of it across her brow and cheeks. Her hair was crusted with the stuff; braids long since tumbled from their pins, locks straggling free from the braids, and all of it going in a every conceivable direction, stiffened by the green muck. By the time she’d bathed and changed, the squad had decided on ‘Medusa’ to commemorate the occasion, and so it remained, sticky as the mud of Solaris III.

At least there was no flea bath involved

Day waited until Troll left, still grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. After a moment, the grin faded, "We still have a problem, though, Charlotte. I'm concerned about the computer system. Kansas called for Medical, which means she probably somehow access the record of what I did... plus they were somehow able to override the lockdown. you take that in addition to the recent holodeck problem, and I'm afraid we may have a bigger problem than we realize." Shifting from grinning to grim instantly, Harper replied, "You think we have a saboteur?" Paradox shrugged, "I don't know. I haven't heard anything official on the incident involving Megan & Buddha. And I don't know if they are related incidents, but if we were in Fleet territory, I'd want us in for a complete overhaul. At the very least, out here, I think we should change our command codes, and have Lt. Kassem do a through diagnostic once we're through the nebula. It's entirely possible that it's just some weird radiation in this particular place, but... " She trailed off, shrugging again. "Better safe than sorry," Harper agreed. "in 36 hours, we'll be through the nebula -- assuming nothing else happens -- and we can have a complete check done then. We'll find someplace quiet to sit and take sections offline, if we need to." Day nodded, "Good. I hope it's nothing but paranoia, but you know what they say." "Paranoia keeps you alive?" she replied wryly. "No; I agree. Maybe we can put JoNs's hacking skills to good use checking the systems, too." "Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you," Day clarified. "I'll get in touch with Kairi and get her working on it. Harper nodded. "Thanks, Paradox." "No problem. You know she's up for promotion pretty soon... with JoNs demotion, perhaps we should consider her for second officer," she added with a shrug. "At some point. When we're not under the gun." "Worth considering," Harper agreed. "We'll see how things go." Day nodded again, standing. "I think I'll go meditate a little longer... Kind of undid all the good of the last hour. Either that, or I'll just go straight to medicate instead." "Sickbay's been busy enough; try the meditation." She rolled stiff shoulders. "I might try that myself, later." T'Loren smiled more calmly, "You're always welcome to join me. Anything else?" "I think that's it, until more information comes in on the holodeck." "If I hear anything, I'll let you know. Good night, Charlie," Day said, heading for the door. "Night, Paradox."

Day had just finished a long meditation session--she'd been really out of sorts a bit in the last few days and needed to calm herself-especially after the mind-meld. No sooner than she had finished, however, than the computer informed her that there had been a violation of her lockdown order. Well, so much for calm! Day threw something across her quarters, as she exited. A moment later, stepping into the turbolift, she spoke in a low growl, "Location of Colonel Harper." "Colonel Harper is in the Ready Room," the computer's perpetually pleasant voice replied. "Then Bridge, you..." The turbolift engaged, and deposited her at the bridge a few moments later. A quick glance from one of the crewmen on duty had that person quickly devoting his FULL attention to his duty. Day crossed the bridge, hitting the chime on the RR, and nearly determining to pry the doors open if Harper took too long to answer. "Enter," Harper called, blanking her terminal. She had a good idea who was on the other side, and had in fact been expecting them since a certain report had popped up on her screen earlier. Day entered, the fury on her face going before her. "I'm going to keel-haul BOTH OF THEM." "Keel-hauling loses it's impact without the water," Harper replied grimly, "or I'd help. In the meantime..." She sighed. "I've smacked them and sent them to their rooms where they can't -- I hope! -- do any more damage until we've dealt with the latest." "The latest? They done something ELSE? And I beg to differ... going to warp would give a good impact." "The "latest" is the hacking they engaged in to gain brig access, and subsequent report on what little intel it gained them." Harper looked up at Day. "Which is what brought you here, I assume, since I don't THINK they've done anything else recently." Day took to pacing, "Yes. Do you know that JoNs ordered medical up there, too? Which defeats the ENTIRE purpose of the lockdown, really. And Condacin... she's a fine one to cry 'insubordination'.. and then commits it herself. The difference is that Driscol's wasn't premeditated." "I didn't know that," Harper said, frowning. "I suppose it's too late to countermand it. And yes. Pot. Kettle." "If we countermand it, they'll wonder why. Though perhaps we can .. it would be too much to ask to hope that they send Troll. I think he'd be willing to look the other way more than Levy. She strikes me as a little more rule-bound. But what are we going to do about those two? This is not the first time they have shown flagrant disregard for the Command Staff." Day was still pacing... in fact, was that smoke coming out of her pointed ears? She answered without hesitation; clearly she'd been thinking about it already. "There's not much we can do, out here. Can't court-martial them, can't throw them in the brig -- we need them on-duty. Can't take their departments away; as much trouble as they can be, they're the best for their jobs. So we're limited to less extreme measures." With a forced exhalation, Day nodded, then finally sat down. "However, we have to find a way to make sure they understand the seriousness. As I said, this is not the first time. They're acting like they're from the bloody mirror-universe. And you can add that we can't demote Condacin--it'd be a reward for her." "True," Harper agreed ruefully. "Maybe we should promote her?" As an attempt as humor, it fell flat. She rubbed her forehead wearily. "It doesn't leave us many options. Confinement to quarters, extra work, unpleasant work... I've put them on report, but we both know exactly how much good that does." Day held one hand pressing lightly against the side of her head, "Can we cause them the same headaches they've give us?" She signed, then continued, "Well, with JoNs, we can demote her. Perhaps that would give her a clue. With Condacin... perhaps if she has to start peace-tying her knife again, and is confined to quarters when not on-duty?" Harper glanced out the viewport. "Her knife's broken," she said quietly. "The rest has merit, though." Day raised an eyebrow, "I see. Well, then any other she might acquire, or simply do not allow her to carry except on away missions. I doubt she has the ability to repair it here, so limiting her access to repair facilities isn't even an option." "Agreed," Harper said. "And agreed on confining her to quarters, though I still think it lets her off lightly." She leaned back in her chair, wearily. "I wonder if we could forbid them to associate? Individually they don't get into half so much trouble." "If they are confined to quarters off-duty, that will limit their association. And we can tell them that one will be transferred once we get back to the Federation if anything similar happens again.. and they may be referred for court-martial as well." Taking a deep breath, Day continued, "Marines are so much easier." "Well, we weed out the troublemakers earlier." She smiled ruefully, then it took on an edge. "We could put them through Marine basic." Day grinned broadly, "Oh, let's! Troll's been a drill sergeant. I'm sure he could handle it. We can temporarily assign them quarters in the barracks... Which would make the confinement to quarters all the harsher.” Harper started to grin. "The battalion would eat them alive, Paradox." Day grinned even bigger, "I know. Can you see them? All bluster... " She smothered a guffaw. "Shall I call Troll up here?" "Let's." A wicked light entered her eyes. Day tapped her commbadge, "Paradox to Troll. Please report to the Ready Room as soon as possible." Troll, in the armory, with the laser torch. Upon hearing the call from Paradox, "On my way, duty uniform is a touch scruffy right now. Shall I change first?" Paradox almost giggled, "Oh, no, that's fine. You'd best hurry while we're in a good mood." Troll raised an eyebrow at the odd tone to her voice. Interesting, he thought. "On my way!" Troll deactivated the torch but decided to keep it on his tool pouch, as he headed out of the armory on his way to the ready room. Closing the channel, she laughed outloud, "Oh, this is going to be GOOD." Harper was grinning broadly. "We'll have to record it." Day chuckled again, "Which part? Telling him? Or telling THEM?" "The whole training. For later blackmail or entertainment purposes." "Ahh... Yes, definitely. And as a deterrent for the little uppity Fleeters that think we don't have claws." "Their mistake," Harper replied grimly. Day nodded. She's plotting something, again, Troll thought to himself as he stepped off of the lift, heading to the ready room doorway, and ringing the chime. "Enter!" Harper called, laughter in her voice. Day's expression was one of suppressed laughter and wicked amusement as she motioned him in. On the bridge, she caught a glimpse of the same crewman, who once again took one look then decided duty was much more interesting. As he entered the room, he glanced at Harper, "Medusa, you are in on whatever this is too?" Day wiggled her eyebrows, "Of course she is. Have a seat... Sarge." Her grin flashed out again. "Oh, yes. Troll, we have a little assignment for you..." Troll tensed at the reference to his past, then began wondering at the grins he was seeing, as he sat himself down. Day turned to face him, "As the marine commander on this ship, I have a few new duties for you. Which entail you picking up an old title... We need you to put a couple of officers through Marine Basic." Harper watched, unable to stop grinning. This was going to be very good. Troll was surprised! "Marine Basic, or OCS?" "For our purposes, it'll be a blend of both. Your 'candidates' are Fleeter Officers, who need to learn a little discipline." Day was nearly shaking with suppressed laughter. Troll grinned, then stopped in thought. "Man, I hope a certain general doesn't hear about this." he commented somewhat sourly. "He'd never let me live it down." "How's that?" Harper asked, intrigued. "Don't worry, David. We won't let him steal you away. Please arrange for quarters for two female candidates in the barracks, and standard issue equipment." Day paused to look at Harper, "I suppose that means we have to allow her to carry." "Only during training," Harper replied. "Under supervision. That'll bite her." Day nodded agreement, liking the provision. The ribbing she'd get for not being allowed them off-duty would be quite a… deterrent as well. Troll asked them who the miscreants were. "Oh... didn't we mention?" Harper replied. Day grinned even bigger, "Lt. Commander JoNs, and Lt. sg. O'd'yl Condacin." Trolls voice rose slightly, indicating his great surprise. "Say what?" He paused, then added, “"Well, this should be interesting. Ah, yes sirs. Right away sirs?" Harper nodded. "Soonest begun, and all that." "I don't know that you need to know the details of the incident, Captain. But if you can get yourself assigned to be the one sent to check on the prisoner, I'd be grateful." Day hoped he didn't immediately connect it back to her. "I can arrange that,” he said, then added, "One last question, how long do I get them and do they get to return to normal duties and rooms between sessions?" "Normal duties, yes. rooms? no. hence the need for space in the barracks. They will fulfill their usual shifts. After that, they belong to you,” Day told him. "So I get them for the other two shifts each rotation?" Merril asked. Day nodded, still grinning. "That's correct. You are welcome to pull in other personnel if you need them." "How hard and or impersonal do you want me to be?" he inquired. "Very, on both counts," Harper said. "Don't go easy on them." “To help in training, that is. And as hard and impersonal as you were as a DI, of course. It wouldn’t be basic otherwise," Day added. "So treat them as marine newly entered?" Troll asked, to which Day answered in the affirmative. "Understood, anything else?" he asked again. Day glanced at Harper then shook her head, "Oh, no, I think that's quite sufficient.. Oh, wait.. program their replicators for standard marine basic fare, will you?" "Heh only for starters! after that its survival rations!" he responded. Harper made a face. "Paradox, that's cruel." Day grinned, "Yes, Medusa, it is. Isn't that the point?" "Medusa, you've been away from basic too long," Troll commented. "Well, yes, but we want them trained, not mutinying." Harper leveled a look at Troll. "Once was enough, thank you." Day grinned again, "You're dismissed. You have preparations to make, Captain." Troll got up and exited the ready room, with plenty on his mind.