Mreh K'hal

Updated bio to reflect recent departmental changes

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Thankfully, GRB 080319B is 7.5 Gly (Giga light years) away so there was no potential for making Earth, Extra Crispy on the galactic planetary menu this time. As they said it hit a mag 5.3, which is about equal to our view of one of the outer solar system planets. (Like golf, a lower score is better in apparent magnitude, a full moon for example is in the -12s) Considering the distance, getting down to the fives shows just how much energy is in one of these bursts. Hopefully, none of our stellar neighbors will do this any time soon.

(( rofl Lo & Abe! The sign was hard to caption for but it makes a good caption in itself, why didn't I think of that? ))

"When the parking garage's sign said 'You'll fall for our low rates' I didn't think they were being that literal," exclaimed the man to his insurance agent.

Happy Birthday Jami!

Doesn't look like this one generated much, sorry about that. So, we'll move on!

This one will go to the Sams. Semaj is the winner, purely for the aside about We Energies. Kent is the runner up. Ready, set, go!

Executive: Ugh...ok...so we brought this consulting company in to update the building at work, to factor in diversity and sensitivites..and it was a disaster.

 

Wife: why's that dear?

 

Exec: All they could come up with is that we need to be catering to the depth-perception-impaired...morons.

 

(true story...an advertising consultant was brought in to update the name of "Wisconsin Electric Corporation" They came up with "We Energies"...remove the space in that title and enjoy ;) )

Let's see what we can do with this one...

Who knows if they will manage to find what they're looking for, but maybe they'll come up with something as a side-product of all the effort. After all, it was CERN and Sir Tim Berners-Lee that got the World Wide Web going as a means to disseminate scientific research and information, and where would we at STSF be without that lovely WWW? Go Science!

KSN (Kat Shopping Network):

Coming up next is the the NEW ExtendiGrip 3000! Sure to land that tweety into your belly with less stalking! Auto-tenderizes and marinates! Coils up when not in use! Rattles to help you find it! The PURRFECT gift for your mother out on the farm!

*ding* This is your Captain speaking. We've arrived a little short of our destination. Therefore we will be refunding your checked baggage fees. Thank you for flying Air France, and we do hope the next time you fly we actually make it.

Happy Birthday, O' Evil One!

May your minions grovel more than usual today! :D

The prior frame of this video shows the bag mouthing "Don't try this at home, kids!"

Obsolete already, lol

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<div class="perlog">Stardate 813.6</div>

<div class="perlog0">Lt. Sean C. Llewellyn M.D.</div>

<div class="perlog1">Personal Log</div>

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Well, my chicks have left the nest... and they took a dead body with them. <strong>*chuckling*</strong> I haven't the slightest clue what that Sarvek had imbibed down there, but it sure wasn't in the syrup I had. "Re-invigorating" a body. Pah! I certainly hope they don't mar the corpse, it'll be hard to explain that one to the family. "Oh, terribly sorry about that chaps, but an alien species, whose pancakes killed him, had this silly ritual. Being dead he really didn't need his arms anymore, but..." <strong>*sigh*</strong>

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I don't really suppose I have to worry that much. T'Mir, bless her Vulcan heart, will keep it from going too badly, I imagine. Even Dr. Chalice, bless her tidy rule-book of a heart, would have convulsions if there was any desecration going on. I imagine those straight as an arrow attitudes will annoy me more than I'll appreciate it, but it can come in handy.

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We'll see how things go with this landing party. If they fare well I may just let them handle any future jaunts. Except for the diplomatic envoy landings, of course. Wouldn't want to miss out on the buffets. <strong>*chuckling*</strong>

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<div class="perlog2">End Record</div>

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I would think the concept of the Olympics would fit well within the Federation, differences of species' physical abilities aside.

Olympism is a philosophy of life, exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind. Blending sport with culture and education, Olympism seeks to create a way of life based on the joy found in effort, the educational value of good example and respect for universal fundamental ethical principles.

Some of the rest of the Fundamental Principles as written are a little more human oriented of course, but we don't have aliens to worry about at the moment. I think they could be adapted to an intergalactic setting without too much trouble.

As far as some of the "advantages" some species might have, I would think that it would be part of the challenge for species that may be lacking in the same strength, for example, to become as competitive as possible.

I do think Vulcans would fare very well in any number of the sports.

It is very fascinating, hopefully Hubble will give us a better shot of Shadow for the yearbook :)

Now I find myself over at Galaxy Zoo straining my eyes to identify galaxies and hopefully finding a shot of Shadow's relatives lol

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<div style="width:70%;margin:0 auto;text-align:justify;">The list of disciplines is in no way exclusive or complete, instead it is indicative of the specific knowledge bases that could be called upon through the gamut of Starfleet mission types. It is often recommended personnel in either section have at least one specialty discipline as well as broad knowledge in at least one other discipline in the same sub-section. Knowledge across sub-sections is a plus on any Starfleet assignment. Personnel may be called upon to serve in either section based on need, and all commissioned Science personnel will complete basic Operations training and vice versa.</div>

Not much left to pilfer... wait, how much can we get for the hood ornament?

The Daise'Maenak had ordered him in before his duty shift, and by the time he was finished with his physical therapy Arrenhe tr'Khev's energy supply for the day was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. He could do something for the former. Indeed as he entered his quarters he headed straight for the small replicator in his room and then ordered up an energy-laden protein drink. After gulping it down, he stripped out of his jumpsuit, his injured arm hampering the effort a bit as the muscles screamed to his brain that they weren't happy at all with what just happened. Even though, the brain knew, the cause of the discomfort was "for the best." As he recycled the glass back into the system and then headed for the shower, the diminutive dheno tried to boost his emotional fatigue.

"It's worth it," he said aloud to himself. "I'd have to do this whether I was in Galae or na so that I could lead a useful life. At least, with t'Ksa monitoring the therapy, au know that so long as au follow her instructions the arm will be as good as it can get." As he cleaned the sweat and grime from his body, he attempted to ignore the weakness of his arm and look at the pain philosophically. Every ripple of thunder rumbling through his arm was a step toward progress. Seeing as most of his mind agreed with both the sentiment and the fact, it helped a little. His major problem was na in trying to rebuild his arm to functionality, but the knowledge that it was na going to be the same as before. From being a prominent musician, playing horribly difficult instruments, he would have to re-train his arm just to do standard tasks without difficulty. Certainly at this point he could na even be sure that it would rebuild sufficiently so that he could be a proper dheno.

Neither could he be certain that he had the right "stuff" to be a proper dheno, injury or na. Certainly there were other avenues available in Galae he could pursue, though because of the damage to his arm and the resultant destruction of his old reflexes and manual dexterity he did na believe he could pilot anything but a garbage scow efficiently anymore. He'd discovered over the last few days of limited duty that administrative tasks were something he could do well, and surprisingly even enjoyed. Apparently it ran in the family: his dinam being the attache to tr'Vorn; his ri'nanov being the chief of staff for his ne'Deihu di'ranov. The major difference between Arrenhe and the rest of his family was that he could never stand the politics.

That probably would be of little use to him, he figured. If he couldn't work out as a dheno anymore there would probably be no place for him on the Talon. Considering they were heading for the Gamma Quadrant for a year long mission, that didn't bode well, as he figured t'Rexan would more than happily dump him off the ship at DS9 or Camelot if she had no use for him. Trying to get back to Rihan space would na be fun in that circumstance.

As he dressed in his uniform for his upcoming duty shift, he sighed. First thing on the agenda was a meeting with N'Dak, to discuss his "other duties" while he was still doing physical therapy. While the Daise Erie'Riov was nice to look at, and oh how annoying was that, unless the N'Dak of reputation and Arrenhe's own experience had suddenly taken a turn for the generous, he could na possibly imagine getting any help from the elder Rihan in trying to find a suitable niche. Likely enough N'Dak would assign him busy work so that the maneuvering egotist could have more time to plot his next jump on the political ladder.

"Elements," he said to himself as he smoothed out his hair in front of the mirror. "This day is looking to be majorly hnaev."

Sean Caius Llewellyn M.D.

Personal Log

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Well, I had to climb down a hole with the Captain to rescue a patient. One I promptly handed over to the new addition, T'Mir. I figure that seems fair. I get sweaty and dirty and do some on site treatment, someone else can do the next step, yeah?

From what I saw with her treatment of Ksanders she seems quite competent, and firm. I'll have to admit dangling the crullers in front of the poor man was a bit mean, but it certainly showed that his condition wasn't that bad. Also, showed me what I needed to see out of the Vulcan doctor as well. I can certainly feel confident about leaving sickbay in her hands.

Which reminds me... Must be sure to have a plate of crullers ready for Ksanders when he wakes up... he's probably going to be cranky enough as it is.

End record.

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Kara Simpson was inside the Station and was a much happier woman for it. The weeks of space-walks had been grueling, and though Camelot was much better off for all the hard work she was at the point where she could care less if the exterior plating rusted and fell off. Her arms still sang shrilly from all the heavy manual maneuvers the work had required, and after all of that time wearing the EVA suit, she'd started stripping completely naked the moment she entered her quarters so she didn't feel trapped anymore.

There was still more work to do "outside," but thankfully the Sphinx crews could handle it without the need for her to clomp over the station in her grav boots. Her supervisor had apparently noticed where the chunks of hair had been torn out of her head as well, because he'd given her a few extra days off. By the Sun, Moon and Stars she was going to take advantage of it, too.

Gussied up in one of her most revealing dresses she was making her way into the Holy Grail to get toasted, and hopefully snag the eye of the hottie from medical who often came in during the evenings. She'd thus far been too exhausted to do more than smile at him from across the room to this point. After days of working in a vacuum with cold metal and snarky mechanics, she wanted to heat things up a bit and enjoy some supple organic material. With any luck, the little mini-holiday would be over before she knew it.

Sitting at the operations station, Mreh K'hal was a very occupied kitty. The two teams had left, leaving the bridge rather empty of the usual bodies and therefore much quieter. However, traversing hostile territory at just under warp three heading to a station that held Bob knows what assortment of baddies while hoping that they happen to have quality supplies to help repair the ship and restock supplies on a modern Starfleet ship of the line... The environment may be quieter but the tension level was still quite high. The situation didn't improve after the arrival, either.

Mreh had never enjoyed dealing with parts and pieces, all the way back to his days of having that duty delegated to him while in medical. It certainly wasn't any more fun now, trying to ensure that all of the cargo bays were efficiently bringing on board the new items, distributing stored cargo out to departments, and making sure that the Engineers were getting all the parts and pieces they needed for the impromptu refit of the nacelles and everything else that was still kaput. All this on top of trying to manage the comings and goings of the shoppers and their bags while dealing with the rather disorganized space around the asteroid-bound facility. He could only be grateful that he knew precisely which drug and the amount to give himself later to deal with the massive headache.

Even with all that Mreh much preferred being on the ship than having to go to the station. It sounded quite seedy, and the spotted felinoid enjoyed calm, pristine surroundings when he had a choice. Not that he had this time, but the cards had fallen in his favor again. He sincerely doubted that it would last, and in the hunt for the Crownstone he'd end up in probably worse places than Aiesse III. With that in mind, his headache wasn't quite so bad anymore.

Kitty,

For the next year may every moment evoke a deep purr and the catnip be plentiful!

Happy Birthday!

Having a strong stomach had its advantages, and Kara Simpson had often taken advantage of that in her high school days with frequent visits to the local amusement park and trips on the various roller coasters and other thrill rides. She'd grossed out her friends by bringing gagh and even less appealing dishes to school for lunch as well. It had not taken long once she'd enlisted for the trainers to notice it as well.

It was nearly two years later that she found herself in an EVA suit going over the exterior of Camelot Station. Again. Since she had the best stomach and head for space walks in the department she was nearly always tagged for maintenance of the outer hull of the station, and since the bigwigs had ordered a complete review of the exterior she'd been going EVA every day for three weeks straight now, with little end in sight. Even with the assists possible by advanced technology it was still very hard work and a drudgery, forcing Kara to admit to herself that she'd be happy with an assignment in the jefferies tubes for a while so she didn't have to wear the suit.

The section of the hull she was working on today needed some new plates. Hovering nearby was a pair of Sphinx workpods; one to snag the old plate and one to place the new one in its place. The problem with the whole affair was that the neutronium plugs that kept the plates in place had been put in wrong and weren't releasing. She'd tried everything she was allowed to do to no avail, and eventually she'd had to call for permission to cut around the plugs to remove the plate so she could work on releasing the plugs from the back.

The permission had been given, and the high-precision phaser torch had been brought out to the site and fitted to one of the workpods. The heat generated by the process meant she'd had to climb on the other workpod, perched on the machine like some sort of space cowgirl at a robotic rodeo as it made its way down to the nearest airlock so she could grab a new air pack.

Fifteen minutes later she arrived back on site as the cutter workpod began working on the next odd numbered plate. Transferring from the workpod to the station was an awkward process that meant ignoring some juvenile remarks from the Sphinx operator. After finding herself back on solid metal once again she made the rudest gesture she could manage in the EVA suit and trudged her way to the missing section of plate. Climbing into the narrow gap between where the outer plate would be and the insulation layer she squeezed in with a jack, a hyperdrill and a thermal manipulator.

She started with cutting out a five by five centimeter hole into the plug, the vibration of the process causing her arms to sing with discomfort. Then she inserted the thermal manipulator and waited until the plug's temperature decreased enough to cause sufficient contraction of the neutronium. After a few quick breaths she then retracted the manipulator and inserted the jack while praying that it would kick out the plug before it expanded once again. Thankfully the plug cooperated, but her work was hardly done. She had five more plugs to kick out on this side alone, then she'd have to head over to the other side and repeat the process. Just for this one plate, and there were nine more affected by the same shoddy construction.

It was going to be a long shift.