Dox Maturin

The name isn't as catchy.

Careful JoNs, crazy is contagious! Any more of this and Corizon's going to have to give us some shoreleave ::hint,hint:: Nice log!

So be honest...did you try to get stsf.com first? :)

Hmm...I don't know about having to work with a politician :)

Great log, you two! I'm just glad Laarell isn't blaming me for the messy lab.

"The Orphan" Duty Log, 0706.25 Dox crouched and pulled the science officer's arm off his shoulder and set him down into a waiting chair. Sickbay was full of injured people, some more so than others. The science officer, an ensign like himself, had only suffered a broken arm. Unfortunately that meant he would probably have to wait in pain until a nurse could come by and help him. Maturin breathed deeply, taking in the scene around him. There was something that was so comfortable about sickbay. It reminded him of something from his past, but of which of course he knew nothing about. Dox was an orphan, and apparently a troubled one at that. He woke up at the age of thirteen in an orphanage in Cornwall, England without a single memory behind him. He had been dropped off only hours earlier by a man who simply gave them a shoddy birth certificate with "Donalek Maturin" scribbled on it, and empty space where the parent's names were to be written. His DNA couldn't be traced and no one came to claim him. It was as if Dox, a nickname that his fellow schoolchildren gave him that he later appropriated as his legal name, had just arrived there at the orphanage out of thin air. But every once and a while something from his clouded childhood memories would surface; a smell, a feeling of déjà vu, or even a voice. One thing that consistently brought these feelings was the medical profession. Hospitals, sickbays, he was comfortable and familiar with them all. The injured and sick didn't bother him; he was quite at ease with it, desensitized to it even. That, however, terrified him. How odd that when faced with the sick and dying he felt nothing at all. So, even though it felt right and he had even tried to apply to medical school to become a doctor, he couldn't bring himself to it. As soon as he would try to sign a paper to commit, or attend an orientation, he would collapse in a panic attack. Here they were, in the eye of the storm having raged one battle and were on to the next, and he felt nothing for the dying people in that sickbay. Alas, his attention was focused on the little boy he saw standing next to a biobed. The boy was the one that he saw often, and dreamed of often, who would always run off if he ever approached. Another figment of his imagination. Whenever something became familiar, that little boy would appear. Perhaps, Dox always thought, this boy was someone from his past, before he lost his memory. If only he could remember. Then Dox saw the patient on the biobed that the boy was standing next to. It was Tristan. Frowning with concern, he approached and grabbed the attention of the attending nurse. "Is he alright?" he asked. The nurse nodded, flustered, obviously fatigued at the sudden influx of customers. "Yes, there was an explosion on the bridge." "Does Commander Teykier know he is here? What happened?" "I don't know," she made a few adjustments to the panel above Tristan's bed and made a motion to leave, "I have more patients, I don't know what his condition is, I can't talk now." And immediately she was gone. Dox and the little boy stood by the biobed and watched Tristan for a moment, before he shook his head, turned on his heel, and hastily left the sickbay. He stopped just outside the door and tapped the corridor panel, bringing up a communications program. He used it to write a brief message to Laarell, just in case she didn't know what had happened to Tristan. Laarell Teykier. She had called a department meeting, her first, and he had been unable to attend. Dox had been assisting an engineer at repairing a sensor relay deep within the bowels of the ship. By the time he had reached the main science lab, everyone had been dismissed. Even hours later, he still had yet to report to her, and as a new crewmember aboard Excalibur he had not even had a chance to meet her at all yet. As soon as the conflict was over, assuming they survived, he would make it right and report to her properly. Dox still wasn't sure what the benefit of combining the operations department and science department would be, although he was certainly glad to have an officer he could report directly to. What did science have to do with ops? He didn't know, and he knew less of how Excalibur did things, but he certainly knew who he could ask.

I loved this log, it explained a lot of backstory that I wasn't familiar with. Thanks! Great log!!

Big sigh of relief! Wouldn't it be fun to start an STSF club on STOL? I wonder if they will allow clans? But I don't think any virtual environment could possibly replace the text-based sim. I just don't think it would be possible to replicate.

Great log! Please don't crash into any moons.

"Mr. Granger" Personal Log 0706.12 Dox stood in his quarters, having rushed out of the main science lab just minutes after the captain made his announcement. They were heading into battle; one with little odds of success. He put his hand to the glass of the long view port in his quarters, staring out into space. Somewhere the USS Relica, the Nova Class ship he had served on as a civilian under his mentor, was out there exploring. How he longed to be back with them. "We'll be fine, Jonathan," a woman spoke from behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know that it was Claire. He just closed his eyes for a moment, hoping that if he concentrated hard enough she would disappear. But when his eyes opened she was still there, standing next to him. "We were soldiers after all," she smiled reassuringly, "11 missions in all. Don't you remember?" Dox furrowed his brow and looked incredulous at her. "I was a triage nurse. You were a communications officer. I do not believe either of us held a weapon once during our entire tour with the marines. To consider us soldiers is preposterous. And need I remind you? You died." He closed his eyes again and the memory flashed forward. Kneeling over her body in the dark, a light drizzle falling over the soaked gray rocks, light flashing overhead as disruptors and phasers exchanged fire, looking down at her open vacant eyes and the black hole in her chest. Claire said nothing. She looked out the window with him and sighed. "Not to worry," she nodded matter of factly, "he'll protect us if we need it." "Who?" Dox darted his eyes from star to star. "Mr. Granger, of course," she pointed to the back corner of the room. Dox turned his head, peering into the dark of his quarters. There sat a man in the corner in an armchair. He was elderly, wearing plain but wrinkled clothing and holding a short glass of amber liquor. His left pant leg hung limp over the edge of the chair; his leg missing from the mid-calve. It was the man Dox saw often when he was frightened. Sometimes the old man would sit and stare at him for hours, keeping him awake at night. He used to try to talk to him, to find out why he was there, but the old man never spoke. He just sat there, drank a drink that never became empty, and muttered too softly to be heard. It was Claire that had told him his name. Mr. Granger. Dox held his hand to his forehead and squeezed. "I am going mad." "Nonsense," Claire said, just as the computer terminal beeped. Dox stepped over it and tapped the panel, bringing up a brief message. "What is it?" she asked. "Science," Dox frowned, "has been merged with Operations." He tapped a few buttons and an image of Laarell appeared. "At least now we have a department head. Ms Teykier." Claire plopped herself down into a chair. "How exciting," she said dryly, "speaking of which, shouldn't we be working?" Dox chuckled and tugged down on his tunic. He spun away from the terminal; both Claire and the old man were gone. Smiling inwardly, he headed out of his quarters to return to his shift.

Isn't China planning on setting up camp on the moon? I haven't a clue what they intend to do when they get there. Build sand castles? NASA to China: Good luck on the moon, don't bring back any more rocks.

You can't have generational ships. First, there is the human rights issues. We are basically condeming an unborn group of people to a life of servitude aboard a ship. Second, there's the education problem. You put 30 scientists, astronomers, doctors, etc on a ship that have been trained on Earth by dozens of professionals. Now you have a bunch of kids learning a trade from a few select people. They may be able to be trained to run the ship or perform first aid, but are they going to have fully staffed universities to teach these kids everything they need to know to actually be productive when they reach their destination? Third, the diversity problem. Who's to say out of all those kids you aren't going to end up with a few that have physical/mental handicaps, are lazy or uninterested in learning whatever "career" has been assigned to them, or are just not too bright? Fourth, the adaptation problem. This is especially true if you have more than one generation being bred on the ship. When you live a life in a sterilized, confined environment their whole lives, why would they want to live on a big dirty planet with diseases and wildlife trying to eat them? Plus, we have to select our astronauts and test them to make sure they don't freak out in confined spaces for long periods. That won't work here, we can't weed out any agoraphobics that may have a meltdown after hopping off their ship. I say we wait for warp drive. ^_^

Didn't she drink a whole person just a minute ago? ^_^ She does get thirsty! I still think R'eln is going to make it.

^_^

"Claire" Personal Log – 0705.28 Dox hung his head low, taking shallow breaths in the smoke filled chamber. His mouth was dry, and his tongue had split open and slowly oozed blood. The silvery taste was welcomed as it moistened the inside of his mouth. It dripped from his lips and onto the floor and formed a small pool. He was strung up above it, chains wrapped around each wrist and bolted to the walls of the room, stretching him out into a Y. His legs dangled limply, unable to find the strength to move them any more. He squinted through the smoke upon hearing what sounded to be a young child crying. In one corner of the room, a Jem'Hadar soldier stood, eyes straight ahead, ignoring everything around him. In the center, just in front of him, a Vorta sneered through unclean teeth. The child continued to whimper. The side door opened and a young woman entered. She was slim in build with dark hair and a small pregnant belly. It was Claire. Dox watched her, knowing that nothing about this was right. This was not how it happened; she was not supposed to be there. Again the child whimpered somewhere in the smoke. Claire walked deliberately up to the Vorta, who handed her a small Federation issue phaser. The smoke cleared and Dox finally saw the child, a small boy of perhaps thirteen years of age sitting curled up in the corner of the room with his knees tucked against his chest. He looked up at Claire, reaching out his hand. The door opened again and a large Scorpiad clicked across the floor. While Dox was helpless, and no one else moved to stop it, the Scorpiad plunged his pincer into the child's body and tore it apart. Claire looked at Dox and smiled. "Goodbye, Jonathan," she spoke softly as she pointed the phaser at her own chest and pressed the trigger. The room filled with light and Dox sat up from the floor, opening his eyes and seeing a blur. He shook his head, trying to regain focus, the back of his mind clinging to his dream yet fervently focused on breaking from it. He was in his quarters, in the dark with only a few lights from various panels along the wall. A moment later the pounding headache caught up with him and he held his hand to his forehead, trying to massage it away. "You had too much to drink," a voice spoke from beside him. It was Claire, lying next to him as he slept, "It always gives you nightmares." Dox shook his head, trying to remember all of the details of his dream as they slowly began to slip away. The more he focused on it, the harder it became to remember. "I saw that young boy again," Dox told her, lying back down on the hard thinly carpeted floor. "I was in the interrogation chamber, just as it had been on Andaman. But you were there, still alive, and that boy, and a Scorpiad. It killed him. And then you killed yourself." "It's alright, Jonathan, it's all over," she smiled at him. "Jonathan, why do you keep calling me Jonathan? I do not even know who that is." Dox turned his head and looked at her. She was always the same, always wore the same clothing, her hair was always perfect and her smell, it was all familiar. She didn't answer him. Instead, she put a hand to his forehead, as if checking his temperature, and lay down next to him. "You drank too much again, at the Grail last night. That Tristan, he was nice. It would have been kind for you to introduce me; you always pretend that I'm not around when you're with other people." "I do not believe that he would have welcomed such an introduction." "What?" she clearly did not understand what he meant. "You have your next shift scheduled in an hour," she changed the subject, standing to her feet, "and it will do no good going out with a hangover. Come, let's get you cleaned up." Reluctantly Dox climbed up off the floor, and only then noticed that he was still dressed in his uniform. He turned to face Claire, but she was gone. He was alone in the room. Taking a moment to compose himself, he shook his head at his own foolishness and headed for the sonic shower.

I love it! Nothing wrong with a little madness now and again. :lol:

:P perfect! I think mass transit is the answer. Let Americans go back to being 1 car households while still allowing couples to work. We need a huge light rail system in all the major cities, that allow you to bring bicycles aboard, and go out to major suburbs.

Wow great log! Who's Kathleen?? :lol:

Bet you 3 strips he at least makes it to the shuttle :lol:

Texas wants to temporarily cut the gas tax with a surplus it has. Its ridiculous. As soon as they cut the tax, the gas prices will be slightly lower for a few weeks and then adjust back up to market level prices, leaving more profit in the hands of the companies distributing it down the line. I prefer just to lower my consumption, which is why I commute by motorcycle (70mpg). Except today since it's raining :P What I am looking forward to is a possible mileage war between the auto manufacturers. The hybrids are, in my opinion, a joke because any savings you see thanks to its semi-electric drive is eaten up by higher costs. On the other hand, we're finally seeing more economic hatchbacks like the Toyota Yaris and Suzuki Reno. The Smartcar is coming in 2008, with a 4-door version likely arriving a year after. All entry-level autos that start at $12k, and depending on popularity may depreciate enough to get used bargains. Then again, you could always pick up a older hatchback that was getting about the same mileage as a Prius 20 years ago...I know someone who owns a Prius and with regular driving, they will achieve 40-50mpg. The EPA numbers are vastly overrated. Oh, and it's around $3.05 here......so far :lol:

"A Day of Study" Duty Log - 0705.22 The Question Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.221. Lieutenant Copper has assigned me to oversee the sili-decim research project. I have forwarded the scan details of the Dominion transmitter to engineering, and so far they report moderate success in determining its use. After speaking with several members of the staff directly, several theories have emerged. Most interesting is that the chamber was built and operated by the Scorpiad. I intend to test this theory further. The Debriefing Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.223. With the temporary absence of chief science officer Craven, I have been ordered to lead the sili-decim research project for the science department. After checking the personnel records, I have enlisted the assistance of the newly assigned Ensign Xandrex Xoril to aid in the investigation. It is my recommendation that Xoril inquire into other departments to familiarize himself with the Scorpiad threat in addition to reviewing the available research materials. Science will be working closely with engineering on this project, and already many strides have been made. The Number Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.225. After hearing the report from engineering regarding the immense power output of the transmitter, coupled with the information that this sector had once been held by the Scorpiad, I pursued the theory that the chamber had been a Scorpiad facility, rather than Dominion. I came to realize that my interpretation of the transmitter panel had been incorrect. I believed that the transmitter would send a signal if it had not been reset every 108 minutes. This number alone was quite odd, as it was not an even or significant number in the Dominion or Scorpiad number system. Humans for example, base many of their numbers on even divisions of ten. 10, 100, and so forth. 108 in the Dominion integer table would be a human equivilent of a sixteenth place fraction. Quite a peculiar number. The Days Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.226. I cross-referenced the number with the Dominion time chart. Their days are referenced by divisions within the day, rather than successive numbers. Their official days are also quite shorter. A translation of 108 minutes could in fact be 63 days. I then considered the Scorpiad influence. If it had been a Scorpiad facility, this new clock would have been insignificant for them. However for some reason, the panels and the labels were translated to Dominion prior to its evacuation. If I recalculate to Scorpiad time from the new Dominion time, we see that the transmitter was actually set to send a signal after 854 years with a margin of error based on a whole 108 number being less precise than the retranslated year, of 8 years. I do not understand the significance of a failsafe needing to be manually reset every 850 years. There is something here that I am missing. The Radiation Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.227. Engineering reported the transmitter was creating waves of dangerous radiation. How anyone could survive working in such a place was beyond me. Could it be possible that the transmitter was not a part of the original facility? Could it be that the transmitter had been placed there only after it had been abandoned, perhaps hidden there amongst the ordinary equipment to keep it from being tampered with? What does this do to my theory that the transmitter was an emergency failsafe for the facility workers? The Evacuation Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.228. The history of Avalon is an interesting one, although most of it comes from somewhat unreliable Dominion archives. It would appear that this sector had indeed been once controlled by the Scorpiad. Many of the indigenous populations had remained however, including a subculture of the Sumatris, the architects of the cavern chamber we discovered. It is quite possible that as the evacuation took place, the Scorpiad relabeled and reprogrammed the equipment there to appear Dominion, in case it had been discovered, to avoid scrutiny. I located a reference to the mass evacuation of Avalon after incursion by Dominion forces. 857 years ago. The Transmitter Assistant science officer's log, stardate 0705.229. I have compiled my report. Our first priority must be to decrypt the message that the transmitter was sending. Now that we know it to be Scorpiad, our decryption efforts may have more luck, and I have forwarded this information to engineering. The transmitter. I once assumed it to be an emergency failsafe for an obsolete facility long abandoned, long forgotten. I was wrong. The transmitter, so out of place in the room, had nothing to do with the facility itself. It was not an emergency failsafe. It was a timer that had been counting down for 850 years. And it just sent its message.

ROFL! That last picture is hilarious :lol:

"Jonathan" Personal Log – 0705.17 Dox sat stiffly in the dimly lit science lab, his hand trembling slightly as he looked deeply at the woman seated across from him. She was a fair skinned human of medium height and thin build, apart from the motherly round bulge at her stomach. Her long black hair hung flat across her face, curling a tiny bit at the end where it drooped over her shoulders. Her blue eyes were wide and sparkling, and her face bore friendly, heavenly smile. By contrast, Dox's eyes were clouded, surrounded by dark circles of fatigue. They stared at each other for a moment, until finally her smile conquered his sunken mood and an upward curl appeared at the side of his mouth. "Is this really where you want to be?" she asked him, in a sweet, soothing voice. Dox shrugged his shoulders, looking away from her for a moment. "Xiang seemed to think it best," he told her, meeting her gaze again as if waiting for validation. "Xiang doesn't know you as I do. No one does. Maybe," she cocked her head gently, "you should return to Earth. Wouldn't you like to see home again? Wouldn't it be better than trapping yourself out here, in the far reaches of space, so close to everything that has hurt you?" "You know I do not have a home. This is where I belong." "Oh, Jonathan," she touched her hand to his cheek, "why do you keep torturing yourself? We should have ended all of this when we had the chance. It doesn't matter what that delpin may have taught you, or how logical and in control you think you are." A trace of frustration flashed across his face. "I will overcome this. My emotions are well in control. I do not understand why you continue to come here." "I'm only here because you want me to be." She smiled again, as if she had no cares in the world at all. As her lips parted a trickle of blood dripped from her mouth and down her cheek. Dox reached out to her with his trembling hand, just as the lights in the room lit up to full brightness. The doors hissed closed as Lieutenant Copper entered the science lab, PADD in hand, and stopped in his tracks. He looked quizzically at Dox, sitting there across from an empty chair. "I'm sorry, ensign. I was just coming in to review your report." Copper raised a brow. "I," he looked around the room, "I thought I heard voices." Dox stood from his chair and shook his head, "Just thinking to myself, sir." "You look a bit fatigued, ensign. Why don't you go get some rest before your next shift?" "Indeed," Dox tugged down on his tunic, his eyes darting to the empty chairs behind him, "an excellent suggestion, sir."

Yes, migration should be an option on this 3 year old poll. :lol:

"Of Avalon Transmitters" Duty Log - 0705.14 Dox settled into a tight chair in the main science lab. The panel in front of him, labeled terminal 4, showed a small progress bar from the signal it was receiving from the tricorder on the desk top. The tricorder blinked rapidly, sending the Excalibur computer the data it had collected from the away mission. They had just returned, and Dox had changed out of his bulky warmer jacket into a fresh new tunic. The information he gathered had been quite extensive. The symbols on the door, which he had immediately tried to identify when he returned to the ship, could not be found anywhere in the database. There were a few sections of the array of symbols that were similar to the Sumatris, a pre-warp civilization in the Gamma that was conquered (or rather, extracted) by the Dominion and used for manual labor. Perhaps, Dox thought, these symbols were a derivative of that language. It was possible that the room they discovered was built in part by Sumatris laborers. Unfortunately, all of the information he had only brought more questions rather than answers. The only piece of equipment he could identify, and then only because he had seen one before, was the Dominion transmitter in the center of the room. He knew immediately that it and everything else in the room was Dominion in origin. The labels and computer interfaces were written in the universal language of the Dominion, a language whose origin was unknown but likely a combination of several of the original races that made up its foundation. Although Dox could not speak it - a skill not often pursued with the great ease and convenience of the universal translator - he was quite proficient in reading and writing it. This was oddly a unique skill he had found amongst his fellow officers. The Federation had issued a language packet for the Dominion soon after the war began, but it was few who took the time to study and learn the language. Perhaps it was a lack of interest, or foresight to believe it would come in use, or perhaps it was because the cryptic nature of the language made it difficult to learn. Even so, Dox had found it useful knowledge many times before. In fact, he had been the only one in his small company on the planet Andaman to be able to read the labels on the food storage containers during their raids on the Dominion outpost. It also meant that he had been recruited to join in each raid, despite being a lowly triage assistant, and ultimately lead to his capture. Dox set his hands onto the desk and eyed his missing finger. The Vorta typically used neurological-interface equipment to extract information from prisoners. But what would a Vorta do if he had no power, no equipment, and was exhausted, frustrated, and needed to extract the strength and whereabouts of a marine platoon? There were so many things Dox would prefer to simply forget ever happened. Looking into the dead eyes of a Vorta and vomiting was certainly one of them. In any case, his ability to read the language enabled him to shut down the transmission in the cave. He also managed to get a scan of the unit itself. This alone Dox felt was incredibly valuable. The caverns they were in were rich in sili-decim crystals, a mineral formed by high pressure and heat in silicon-iron rocks, quite similar to how Terran diamonds are formed. Sili-decim is quite common in the Gamma, and while his own tricorder signal was confused by the reflective nature of the rock, the special transmitter could penetrate it clearly. Dox forwarded his scans of the unit to engineering. With any luck, it could be used to develop a new scanning method to overcome this minor shortcoming. But what had the room been used for? What was all the equipment for? Why did it have an emergency failsafe transmitter? There were just too many questions, and while Dox would have preferred they spend several days studying the room, here they were back on the ship. Waiting for something. What, Dox had not a single idea. Of course at his rank, he wasn't given much information in the first place. There was good news, however. According to the daily roster, a new officer had just come aboard in science. Dox made a mental note to introduce himself when he had the chance. There was much for them to do.