Irene Mincine

Irene Mincine awoke in a darkened room, her head spinning. She tried to clear her disorientation – remembering where she was and how she got here. The darkened room – that was where she was spending the night planetside on Risa. It was one of the suites in the resort the commander had managed to reserve during the conference. It was spacious, more spacious than the captain’s quarters aboard the Excalibur. Irene was in the bedroom, which was separated from the rest of the suite by a sliding partition. She remembered going to a club that someone recommended. Pounding beats were the soundtrack to a fun evening she spent with a Deltan woman, Kasmati. Eventually, she took her back to the resort room. If they didn’t find jamaharon, they got close. But she awoke with the bed empty. Kasmati must have gone home at some point, she figured, but it was still dark out. Irene sat up in the bed, nearly falling back down. “Must have drank more than I thought...” she mumbled as she swung her legs to the floor. She needed to pee really badly, so she figured that was true. The suite’s bathroom was on the other side of the partition. Irene managed to get to her feet somehow, holding her head the whole way. Little early for a hangover, she still felt the effects of all that Aldebaran whiskey. How long had she been asleep? Irene looked at the digital readout on the wall clock – 04:30 local time. Barely an hour! She slid the partition open and stumbled through. On the other side was Kasmati, looking quite surprised. “Oh, hi, Irene...” A Ferengi voice kicked in from a communicator. “10, 15 bars! Easy!” It didn’t quite register through Irene’s semi-sedated state. “What’s... ugh... what’s going on?” “Nothing, go back to bed.” Kasmati said, warmly, yet somehow deceptively. The communicator kicked in again. “What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” Irene blinked, trying to clear her head. “What are you doing with... all my stuff?” She finally came to the realization that something wasn’t right, taking a defensive posture. “I told you the sedative wouldn’t work on her, she’s part-Klingon...” Kasmati growled into the communicator. “Hold it!” Irene fumbled for her phaser on the table, dropping it. Kasmati dove for it, most of Irene’s belongings in a bag over her shoulder. “I’m getting you out of there! Give me a second to bounce the transporter signal off the enhancers,” the communicator barked, a computer bleeping in the background. Irene and Kasmati fought over the phaser, with Irene not ripping Kasmati’s arms off and beating her with them only because of the sedative. The phaser fired into the ceiling, narrowly missing Irene’s head. “You idiot! You just set off every alarm in the building!” Irene and Kasmati, still brawling on the floor, disappeared with the flash of a Ferengi transporter... only Irene’s combadge was left on the floor.

Personal log, Ensign Irene Mincine. We’re off to Risa. That’s a good change from 3 days in a holding cell, isn’t it? When the commander came to bail me out, I was sure I was in for it - instead I got appointed as her personal trainer! I was really confused by that but she said she doesn’t really trust the security heads to not make fun of her behind her back. Understandable, I heard from someone in engineering that she broke three fingers punching out the captain’s lights. Maybe I can learn a thing or two about operations while we’re on the holodeck. The cats are settling in on Excalibur fine. I’ve set up a storeroom as a little house for them. I got permission to turn up the inertial dampeners in that section to keep them from getting hurt if the ship hits turbulence or... you know, gets shot at. Some of the other science staff are looking after them, too, but they seem to be good at taking care of themselves. I’ve never been to Risa. I’m looking forward to it, though. Hopefully we get some time to ourselves to... well... uh, computer, delete that last line. I understand we’re ferrying some VIP around, and I’m not security, so... should be a fun time. As long as... Issaha... stays away from me.

(Recorded the morning after the last sim ended. Issaha involvement courtesy of Cptn Swain.) Personal log, Irene Mincine. So we're on leave on Starbase 39-T while they sort out our next assignment. I'm excited to see where we're going next. More excited than I am to be in another Starfleet holding cell. I didn't know we had a Romulan on board. Let me get one thing out: I do not like Romulans. P'Lor told me about all the times they've covertly and overtly screwed with the Empire, plus she's blown up a few Warbirds in her day. When I got back on Excalibur, and I found a Romulan scientist, I was ready to blast him myself. It's a good thing I didn't, because he's both rich and an exchange officer... who's rotating to planetary sciences soon, he says. I'd better talk to Lt. K'hal about that. Anyway, he invited me out to the starbase since we’re both on leave. I took him up on some 2359 bloodwine in a moment of weakness. We weren’t there for 10 minutes before he was all over me! What a creep. After one particularly lecherous act (which I will not describe), I socked him in the mouth, leaving that rich idiot on the floor of the bar. Security hauled me off to the brig and him off to sick bay. I think I’m banned from the station now. Could be the bloodwine talking but it was totally worth it. Anyway, I'm stuck here until someone from Excalibur comes and bails me out, so I've got a lot of time to think. This probably wasn't the smartest thing to do but it felt pretty good. Formal charges may be no good for my career, though... (sigh). And I'm not looking forward to the inevitable lecture from Commander Hawthorne.

(Recorded during the tow home.) Personal Log, Irene Mincine. The captain is back! Our travels in the Large Magellanic Cloud are over and we’re going home... well, being towed home. I’m glad to be getting off this rust bucket Miranda back to a clean, modern starship. I’m a little anxious, though, because when you go from a skeleton crew of 10 to a crew of 500 it means you get lost in the shuffle pretty easily. I hope I don’t end up back in my lab for the rest of my tour of duty. I’m really enjoying the increased responsibility (and regular spot on the bridge!) of the Lugh, even if it’s falling apart. But mostly I'm glad that after ste--*ahem* taking her... for a little longer than expected... we're not ending up in the brig until the end of time. Anyway, Commander Hawthorne put me in charge of our new passengers once we’re back on the Excalibur: a pair of radiation-absorbing warp-sensing cat-like creatures we found in the captain’s yacht. The Caitians would probably have been a better fit, but... they really seem to like me. Oddly, they don’t like the captain. When he returned, they were very angry. I’ve never seen them act like that. I wonder what he did to them. Or what they can sense in him. I'm starting an exobiology report right away once I get back to some proper equipment. I really think I’m trying my best not to stand in my own way. I can only hope that the captain and commander are impressed enough with my work so far to keep calling on me for these tasks. The sooner I make lieutenant, the sooner I’m out of bunking with Ensign Malcolm of Gasbag Prime and into my own quarters. Uh, also, note: Cats do not like feline supplements 31, 32, or 33. Must get more Caitian recipes from Lt. K’hal.

Vek’s was a popular off-campus hangout for Starfleet Academy cadets. Run by a popular Ferengi bartender for as long as anyone can remember, it featured everything a young officer-in-training could want: Cheap drinks, company, and free dom-jot with the purchase of 2 drinks. Behind the bar was a mosaic of some of Earth’s great commercial sites, including Wall Street, Florence, and the Chronowerx tower. In the corner was a silver plaque proclaiming Vek’s as an official cultural exchange project between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance… along with conversion rates between Federation transporter credits and bar credit. Third year science-track cadet Irene Mincine took up one of the open spots at the bar, looking even surlier than her half-Klingon face makes people assume she is. Vek, on duty and washing a glass, spotted her and made his way on over, pouring her favorite drink, Aldebaran whiskey, into a polished metal shot glass. “My, you’re looking unhappy today, Irene. Anything you want to talk to ol’ Vek about?” The bartender intoned, knowing the answer. Irene gulped down the whiskey and slammed the polished metal shot glass down, shaking the bar top. “That Komachev! He almost got us both killed in flight training, again!” Vek looked thoughtful. “Oh, was that what that announcement earlier was about? Isn’t the big Academy air show next week, too?” Vek poured her another shot. Irene glared at Vek but gulped down this drink as well. “Not for us. They can’t overlook it this time, my shuttle almost went down. There’s going to be a hearing. And even better, my flight recorder broke when the nacelle got fried!” The Ferengi bartender looked puzzled. “What about his flight recorder?” Irene chuckled. “I’m sure it will show that he didn’t do anything wrong. It has a funny way of doing that when you’re the son of an admiral.” She gestured for another shot. Vek hesitated until Irene shot him a look. He backed down and offered her one more, adding it to her tab. “Synthohol after this one, Irene. You know the rules.” Irene was about to vacuum down this shot as well when a different, cocky, confident voice came up behind her. “Mincine! Fancy meeting you here!” She swiveled on the barstool and her face contorted in anger. Standing a few inches taller than her, with the close-cropped hair and youthful look of a fellow cadet, was Artemy Komachev himself, wearing the red-striped shirt of a fourth-year command cadet. “Komachev…” she growled, eliciting a laugh from Artemy. Vek, sensing the tension, quietly excused himself. Cadet Komachev continued with the pompous speech of an upperclassman. “You rammed into me, Mincine, and you know it. I’m going to miss the air show thanks to you. The best pilot in Nova Squadron, a no-show!” She was not amused. “You rehearse that in front of a mirror, Artemy? Best pilot? You have no business being in the squad! You can barely take off and land without the flight computer! The only reason you’re here is because—” “—because why… p’tak?” Artemy interrupted. * “To students of any academy, military or civilian, it seems like whatever is going on in your life is the most important thing in the universe. Cadets bickering over who’s the best pilot in the training squadron, for example. It doesn’t really mean anything outside the institution, does it? “But to Cadets Mincine and Komachev, this was a matter of honor between two driven individuals. And thus it was no surprise when Cadet Mincine struck Cadet Komachev, breaking his nose. The fight spilled behind the bar. The proprietor, Vek, called for Starfleet Security, who showed up and arrested both cadets.” The two cadets were in dress uniform, sitting in the defendants’ booth at the formal hearing. Other officers and cadets filled out the room, with three admirals at a bench in the front. The admiral in the center, a middle-aged woman and clearly superior to the others, continued speaking. “The board’s conclusions are as follows. On stardate 29485.5. Cadet Flight Squadron 6, popularly known as Nova Squadron, was performing low-altitude formation flying exercises over the Napa Valley. At 1343 hours, Cadet Mincine and Cadet Komachev began executing a high-G turn around the fourth waypoint of their flight plan. “Data recovered from the flight recorder of Cadet Komachev’s aeroshuttle indicates that the two aircraft collided. As a result, Cadet Mincine’s right engine nacelle was damaged. This caused a power surge which damaged several systems, including the flight recorder and navigational controls. Without Cadet Mincine’s recorder, we cannot determine who initiated the contact. The data from Cadet Komachev’s flight recorder is inconclusive.” “Of course it was,” Irene thought. Artemy sat stone-faced. “We therefore rule that fault for the collision is shared between the two cadets. Cadet Mincine and Cadet Komachev are removed from flight status for a period of thirty days or until their instructors are satisfied of their ability, whichever comes last. “In addition, there is the matter of the assault at the bar, instigated by Cadet Mincine. This is a serious breach of discipline and must make the board question Cadet Mincine’s judgment. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” What was she supposed to say? ‘He started it?’ ‘He’s not fit to fly a hover-dolly?’ Irene decided it was best to remain deferent. “I have nothing to add, Admiral, and I am prepared to accept whatever punishment the board sees fit, sir.” The admiral nodded. “It is so noted. Cadet Mincine, it is the decision of this board of inquiry that you be confined to the brig at San Fernando for a period of no less than ten days. Additionally, you will be removed from Flight Squadron 6 and reassigned. Your academic standing will remain intact pending the completion of 90 days of psychiatric counseling.” Irene sighed. It could be worse, right? Thrown in a jail, not for the first time, and she’s still a third-year cadet in good standing. Counseling, though? A Vulcan or Betazoid talking about her feelings? She didn’t even listen when Komachev got a fraction of what she got. Admiral’s son, indeed. “This inquiry is closed,” said the center admiral, ringing a bell.

Recorded while Irene was taking the kitties from Engineering to the main transporter room... Personal Log, Irene Mincine. I know I'm supposed to be keeping these regularly but I haven't had much to talk about since I got to the Excalibur... Lugh... whatever. Personal log, Irene Mincine, I grew some potatoes. Personal log, Irene Mincine, I planted some radishes. I remember when I wanted to join Starfleet. Mom was sure that I'd be killed in some no-name battle against the Dominion, maybe not even in this quadrant or defending anything of value. That's how wars go for Klingons. But the war ended while I was in the academy, and to be honest? Maybe I wanted to die an Honorable Klingon Death like that at some point out of spite. (Sounds of hands and feet on a metal ladder.) I didn't want to live in obscurity, toiling away on the lower decks of a Galaxy for the next 40 years and publishing academic papers nobody would read. Don't get me wrong, I love botany, but who doesn't want to command a starship? Commander Mislat always said that you have to take risks if you want to get anywhere, to be seen. Well, I sure was seen in the academy. Made and lost Red Squad thanks to my own stupidity and arrogance, thrown in the brig for 10 days, mandatory Vulcan meditation classes, it's all in my record. I'm sure along with a note about how to never let me off of Deck One Million. (Irene loudly manually opens a heavy sliding door.) I've tried to be the best junior officer I can. Not complaining about not being told why the captain is missing, because you're not told everything. Not complaining about growing vegetables in the mess hall of a hulk older than my grandfather, because the senior officers have their reasons. Ensigns don't complain, at least not publicly. But on the inside, I've been stewing. I know, it seems silly to think like that when you've been on the job for 6 months, right? Why would I think it would be different? At least... that's what I thought until they really needed a planetary scientist for an away mission. Funny how it seems like everything can turn around for you with one decision by someone you've met once or twice. Now I've gone from potatoes to climbing through ancient ruins, chasing radiation-eating cats through Jeffries tubes... things I never thought I'd be doing when I joined. Scientists like me sit around collecting samples and stuff! But... I think this is really why I joined Starfleet. (A smaller, lighter door slides open.) Transporter room, OK, let's get going, cats. I hope this is just the start. End log.

Name: Irene Mincine, daughter of P'Lor Species: 1/2 Human, 1/2 Klingon Age: 29 Sex: Female Place of Birth: New Stockholm, Proxima IV Ht: 6'0" Wt: 170 lbs Eyes: Brown Hair: Long, black and wavy, tied back Identifying marks: Long scar on her ribs. Vulcan script tattoo, right forearm. Rose tattoo, left shoulder. Father: Adam Mincine, 64. Minor government official on Proxima IV. Mother: P'Lor, daughter of Ressa, 83. Formerly Klingon Defense Force, now a consular official, Proxima IV. Brother: Zefram Mincine, 25. Cargo shuttle pilot, Proxima IV. Starfleet Service Information 2384-2388: Starfleet Academy 2388: USS Excalibur-C Rank: Ensign Assignment: Junior member, science staff, planetary sciences. Specialist in exobiology and exobotany. Starfleet Service History: 2384: Enrolled in Starfleet Academy. 2386: Earned master's degree. Specialization in biological studies. 2387: Awarded position as a Nova Squadron pilot. Removed from program due to continued disciplinary issues. 2388: Graduated Starfleet Academy, top 30% of class. Holds top certifications in shuttle, runabout, and small craft piloting. Trained in basic starship bridge operations. Education: - B.S., Exobiology (minor in botany), Cochrane University, Proxima Centauri IV (2384) - M.S., Genetics, Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth (2386) Medical History Various sports injuries on record. Right shoulder reconstructed by Dr. Maryse Dubois, 2018.10. Long-term effects expected minimal due to patient’s outstanding physical condition. Space Service Readiness Examination: Passed. Psychological Examination: Extremely high ambition and drive, but also willful and defiant at times. Recommend re-examination for command track in 8-10 years. Background: Irene, daughter of P'Lor, always gravitated more toward the Klingon side of her family than the Human side. Personally she forsakes the name Mincine in favor of the Klingon matronymic, though in Starfleet she goes by Mincine. Despite this, her mother discouraged her from a career as a Starfleet officer (or Klingon warrior, for that matter) because she wanted more for her daughter than to die for vague ideals of honor that her people discard for political concerns when expedient. (P'Lor's outspoken political opinions had led to her reassignment from the Klingon Defense Force, where she held the rank of Commander and third officer on a Bird of Prey, to pushing papers in the Klingon embassy on Proxima.) Instead, Irene was fascinated by... plants in space, studying exobiology and exobotany while at Cochrane University. She also pursued athletics, winning the regional parrises squares tournament twice in college, no doubt helped by her half-Klingon physique and lack of hesitation to beat the hell out of her opponents. By this time, decades of close contact had meant hybrid Klingons and Humans were more common and more accepted in the Federation, if looked down upon on the Empire. Still, Irene's explosive temper led to many fights and near-dismissals from the university. The study and raising of plants (and bees) was her main way of calming down, recommended by her Vulcan counselor. Even after she was accepted to Starfleet Academy, her problems continued. She was accepted to Nova Squadron based on her gifted piloting skills, but was kicked off the team after getting into a bar brawl with the cadet commander. She graduated near the top of her class on the science track, not being considered command material due to her constant disciplinary problems. She spends her spare time keeping a small hydroponic garden in her quarters, flying shuttle simulations when she can't get real flying time, and practicing hand-to-hand combat on the holodeck.