Tia

Hmm.... Tia would be pretty good in the Astral area, with the specialty being singularity physics and the unusual effects one finds near a black hole's event horizon. After years of flying close approach missions, she would also do well under operations, flight control. She has the very odd specialty of life sciences (Giant Space Amoeba.) She does OK in mathematics and theory of warp drives.

Excalibur Internal Communique To : Laarell Teykier From : Tia Lyrenna CC : Tristan Xenatos, Ah-Windu Corizon, M'Vess JoN's Subject : BOGANARY NOMENCLATURE I believe the proper terminology would be "bogeymen."

Subject : Notes From : Tia To : Laarell CC : Tristan, Victria I have more conjecture and questions than solutions. Some puzzles I am considering. Boganary technology levels extremely varied. Shields very poor. Fighter drive systems capable enough to run down Excalibur. Warrior cultures typically favor offense over defense, but the speed of the fighters while still having offensive capability is unusual. Boganary course was intercept from an extreme distance. They were coming straight at us from the moment of first contact, and we located theme at extreme range because of their jammers. How did they know our position and course? 1) Their sensor capability is very very good, comparable or better than Federation, which would not be expected of a warrior culture. 2) They have a picket system, ships or sensor buoys, that picked us up as we entered their space. 3) They knew we were coming from non-technological intelligence. The Boganary seem unfamiliar with ‘all big gun’ ship design. Most species implement only a few weapon systems on any given ship. Most try to have a light speed weapon suitable for sublight battle and rapidly dispatching small craft, and a FTL system to cover battles at warp. Larger numbers of weapon systems reduce the space and power available to make the few systems decisive. In addition, their emphasis on offense over defense just does not seem effective against traditional design. What sort of environment and culture led them to their multi weapons doctrine? How is it that they have not been handled by a race favoring a more traditional design? There is a sort of symmetry in the Satarimi asking us to retrieve the ‘crownstone,’ the ‘Parein.’ As a condition for their help in restoring the Dominion’s gods, we must first restore their own godhead? What type of people do they think we are, that they ask this of us? Do we want to know? What is the Federation thinking? Is the Federation thinking?

Well, first I’ll note that Tia isn’t a conscientious objector in the classic sense, here. She is reasonably well trained with a phaser, and would be willing to put extra time there if others think this would balance a lack of hand to hand skills. She has applied to act as fighter crew, and would have no problems with either training or flying fighting missions. The problem is telepathic ethics and training. From Tia’s perspective, one should not do anything even vaguely like a mind merge without full control and mutual consent. In character and out, Tia and I have strong feelings on telepathic ethics and discipline. We know where Tia is supposed to go. She isn’t going to divert from her values lightly. One thing Tia will propose is holodeck hand to hand training. She’d have no problem with hand to hand training itself, if the opponents don’t have live minds. She just ranks her mentalist training as more delicate and more important than the ability to win a fist fight. She perceives of herself as a mentalist much more than as a warrior. As to larger issues, the problem might be theme. If the season climax and many episode climaxes are going to be fist fights, space battles or covert ops jobs, then the theme of the movie, TV show or role playing game is that violence ultimately resolves conflicts. If the hosts portray the lead characters as expert warriors, and the bulk of the players follow suit, the bottom line theme is one of the triumph of violence. This being Trek, we are supposed to be giving ‘violence is the last resort’ more than just a tad bit of lip service. Are we, though, really? Tia was concerned last sim that Corizon hailed the opposition after doing all he could using maneuver and showing off the ship’s ability. He seemed to be thinking as a warrior first, diplomat as a last resort, and indeed his values reflect the situation the ship was in. Tia has been bothered that much of the command staff and crew are from predator and warrior cultures. She definitely feels out of place on Excalibur. I too have created a warrior / predator species, and am considering pulling in one of Tay’s distant kin in, except on steroids, darker, more violent, as this seems to be what Excalibur calls for. I’d like to try a bit longer to see if I can make a character based on traditional Star Trek values work. Tia is going to be a misfit, but can she be a constructive and contributing misfit? If the hosts are going to be pushing conflict driven plots and everyone is going to show how well they can role play warrior culture and values, is there room for a Betan/Deltan/Vulcan to question this? Will the questioning be futile because given the violence based themes the violence centered characters will always have their values and culture justified? Do we want to create a fictional environment slanted to glorifying violence? Will the players get into a habit of not role playing with NPCs because they know they are just straw men to be shot at? Will the attitude be shut up, already, and let’s move on to the combat scene? In character, Joy addressed this much more articulately than Tia should be able to at this point in her career. I’ll post again one of her more defining speeches from The Federation Council sim.

The first decision was whether to change into workout clothing. Doing so admitted the possibility of failure. It weakened the importance of was truly important. Still, the orders were rather explicit. In addition, it had been some time since she had attempted unarmed conflict. It was possible that her shielding ability had improved. She might just possibly be able to do this, not that she wanted to do this. Tia entered the security gym and hesitated. Her nose and her mind told her much the same thing. The smelled of sweat and aura of competitive conflict made this place home to those who seemed to enjoy pain, to causing defeat, to hurting others. Tia reconsidered. Did she want to be wearing clothing that identified herself as one of them? There were no classes in session, but several officers were taking full advantage of the benefits of exercise. Victria stood slightly apart from them all, her expression neutral as she studied technique and form. These were not her trainees and none of them had asked for her critique, so she was perfectly happy to stand motionless and say nothing, even when she saw several foolish moves. Her nostrils flared slightly as the door opened and let in a brief burst of fresh air. Eyes shifted to Tia, though she said nothing and remained where she stood. She was waiting to see if the young officer would bolt. Tia didn't bolt. She did recognize Victria as senior present, and approached, attempting some semblance of the emotionless mask her Vulcan instructors had so prized. She paused in front of the Gamma native and waited "Lieutenant," Victria acknowledged. "I had my doubts about your willingness to attend." Shifting from her stance, she paced around the waiting officer to appraise her physical condition. "As I understand it, you are not the fighting type. I was surprised when I was given orders for a special training session to introduce you to the basics of self defense. This idea did not come from you, I assume?" "This is correct," said Tia. "I am not sure where it originated. On Earth, I was given exemption from close combat training, and I believe this whole idea is a mistake. I am an empath and touch telepath. My mental control is... far short of perfect. In Starfleet, one is generally exempt from activities which result in involuntary breech of mental privacy. The mental training should be completed first." "Perhaps some feel that it is time you have a better grasp of those mental facilities. Better that you experience it in a controlled environment than to happen upon it in the field or on an away mission where you might be a danger to others," she replied calmly. "What do you experience when you come into contact with others?" "This depends on my control, and the intensity of the emotions both are feeling. There is a leakage of emotion, primary my reading of the other, that does not require touch. If the other has any telepathic abilities, touch brings thoughts as well as emotions into play. If you judge this lack disqualifies me from field or away mission, you should note this to my department head. I will accept this duty limitation." "Do you think it disqualifies you from field work or off-ship missions? Do you consider your special abilities a liability?" "An untrained special ability can be very much a liability. At the very least, it breaks concentration and focus. I do not believe it a serious liability save in highly emotional and highly crowded environments, or when contact with other telepaths, hostile telepaths, is likely. Others reviewing my circumstances upon my entering Starfleet agreed, and approved my membership in Starfleet, and my close combat waiver. Someone, seemingly, believe they can overturn this judgement." "And yet, the ultimate issue is that we never know when a highly emotional or highly crowded environment or situation might erupt, or when an investigative team might encounter any number of telepaths, hostile or otherwise. Which means you should be prepared to have your abilities and control tested at any possible opportunity." "That is your opinion. Yes, I understand no away team is without risk. This does not imply that Guaranteed rights to privacy may be ignored by Starfleet officers such as yourself." "No one is denying or ignoring your right to privacy, but someone obviously thinks that you should know at least the rudimentary basics of protecting yourself so that officers like myself are not always encumbered with your safety. If you are sent on an away mission, it is your duty to be self-sufficient when at all possible for there might not be anyone to spare for your defense. Would it not be prudent to grow accustomed to the strain on your mental abilities rather than attempting to escape at every possible opportunity?" Victria asked pointedly. "I have been attempting to control exposure to stressful conditions, and to slowly increase my control. Just being on the bridge with the highly aggressive and emotional senior officers of Excalibur provides a wonderful training environment. If there is any qualified telepathic instructor on board, I would be pleased to participate in a more formal and traditional approach to mental training." She paused. "But it is the culture of aggression and dominance that concerns me. This ship does not represent what I understood what Starfleet and the Federation was supposed to be. That I am standing firm attempting to get my way is against my core culture and values. That someone else is attempting to force their own aggressive and competitive culture on one who doesn't want to embrace it is part of the problem. This ship is top loaded with alpha predators. I have no desire to become an alpha predator. I resent attempts at forcing me to become such." "You seem to find affront at every possible opportunity," Victria said with a snort. "Learning self defense tactics is not an aggressive practice. It is strictly for defense and should be used as such. I have no desire to teach you to combat techniques. You could never be a predator and it would be ridiculous to force you into imitating such behavior." "With every protest, I understand slightly more about your nature," she paused, regarding Tia curiously. "It seems to me that you are content to make excuses. You do not enjoy being forced out of your comfortable, familiar ways. Is it that you are not confident in your abilities or do you honestly fear the experiences that others might put you through?" "My parent's peoples seek to avoid causing others pain, in great part because they feel other's pain themselves. I also trained on Vulcan, where it is held as deep truth that one must master emotion before giving way to violence. These are deeply held values in their respective cultures, and should not be confused with the personal failings of an individual. That said, I have not mastered my mental abilities, and have a deep conviction that walking the path of violence before such mastery is achieved is error. High error. It would be a taboo similar to one of your race betraying her people and fighting against them. One does not do such things." "And you are still of the mind that protecting yourself is violence? You would let another cause harm you, perhaps even slay you, to prove that you are and will never be an aggressor? If I were to attack you, you would let me? If your people did not have the instinct for self-preservation, you would have become extinct long ago." "I did not say I will never be an aggressor. I only said that mixing uncontrolled emotion with violence is a bad idea. I said my control is not yet at the point where I may tread your path. My parents people, and the Vulcans, are doing quite well, thank you, as is the Federation, with their concepts of Guaranteed rights and rule of law. And, yes, you may strike me. You may cause pain. You may shed blood, if this is your way, if this is how you and yours settle disagreements. I shall do nothing to stop you. You shall then learn something, perhaps, about Guaranteed rights and rule of law. That would be your choice. I would not particularly recommend it." "I have read your rights and rules, but have also discovered that the Federation sets them aside when it suits their own purposes," Victria replied. "Careful that those laws to which you so tightly cling do not slip away and leave you unsupported." "As you were assigned to me and are now under my supervision," Victria continued without pause, "I am firmly within my rights to do as I see fit to fulfill my orders. And those orders are to make certain that you can and will protect yourself as needed so that you may discharge your duties as a member of this ship, of Starfleet, and of the Federation. Your failure could mean the loss of countless lives. Your unwillingness to attempt training could very well bring pain to untold numbers of innocents." Her face remained passive, but the blue of her eyes intensified. "And no, I will not strike you… but you were put in my charge, so I will test you." Faster than most could react, she reached out and took hold of Tia's bare arm. Her grip was firm enough to hold the woman captive, but not constricting enough to cause any physical pain. The vampire had been correct in one thing. Once upon a time, her parent's people did have to live with predators, had been victims, had to deal with those who dealt in blood. They had learned to cope, and their defense had been to share their pain, to induce the predator to seek other prey. Victria was causing no physical pain, not that pain would have mattered to one who had walked Vulcan's Forge. What she was evoking was emotion. Fear was a small part of it, but also contempt and hatred, not so much of this one predator who held her, but at all the vampires, scorpions, cyborgs, soldiers, cats, dogs and blood cultists attempting to spread their cultures by force, who cared for their own ways of violence, and did not respect other paths. Tia fought to remain herself. That meant control. That meant not attempting to flood the attacker with deterrent emotion, which would have been the more effective defense than the physical, or rather a slightly less ineffective defense given the vampire's lack of concern for the values and feelings of others. And so she fought for control, to not unleash her emotion, to keep her emotions inside herself. And she knew she was not succeeding. She knew that despite her best efforts, her feelings were leaking into the other. And so she raised her voice slightly, minimizing emotion content in her best pseudo Vulcan manner, but speaking loudly enough that the walls might hear. "Computer. I received a waiver from participation in close combat training as part of the process of my entering Starfleet. Victria has been informed of this, and is disregarding this, and is laying hands on me without my consent. I hereby protest her action, and request that she cease and desist, and I request that her action shall be reviewed." Then she met the other's eyes. "There is more than one form of defense." "Spouting Federation law will not help you repel actual attacks," Victria replied without sympathy as she released her hold. "That which you lock inside just might if you ever have the courage to embrace that part of your nature." "Yours was an actual attack. Is an actual attack. As you say, the Federation sometimes disregards its own rules. We are absorbing too many violent races, too quickly. We are losing touch with the ideas which put us in a position to absorb such races. On this ship at least, and in Section 31, Starfleet Intelligence, and assorted other covert operations branches, we are making a classic mistake. We are bringing in barbarians to defend civilization. In the long run, that does not work. Kirk's logs aside, I remain very dubious about your notion that my inability to win a fist fight is apt to seriously change anything. As for courage, the best part of that is knowing what to defend. At the moment, ideas need defending more than my poor body. Certain ground should not be given without battle."

Obsessed. They are all emotionally addicted and obsessed...

Sickbay may also be able to treat that too, but, really, some degree of mental control and discipline should be sought.

But it is a very simple drug treatment. It is clearly the logical thing to do!

Wings Lt. J.G. Mreh K'hal & Ensign Tia Lyrenna Mreh was feeling slightly better after a quick mauling session in the holodeck; the randomly generated Trill males didn't know what hit them. Relieved of his very primal urges, he decided he'd better check on Ensign Tia, as she'd seemed quite upset, much more than he'd figured the tiny woman to take on. JoNs had mentioned that he'd been going pretty hard on her; he hadn't been, at least not on purpose, and he could only assume that the Commander had misinterpreted one aspect of an ongoing conversation. But if the usually very observant JoNs could make that mistake, he wanted to make sure that Tia hadn't. From the holodeck he made his way to the sciences section. Popping into the science lab just to be sure since it was on the way, he didn't find her there. Having heard her say something about Stellar Cartography, he walked there and entered. The door had opened. Tia decided it would not be logical to blame the door. Attacking the door, hardly less so. Attacking whomever caused the door to open? Perhaps that would not be logical, either. She would breathe. That, at least, would be logical. She would breathe deep, from her center, and seek stillness, peace and quiet. The probability that the person who had entered was an angry warrior? Perhaps 94.38 percent? But perhaps it would not prove necessary to attack. She would breathe. Deeply. From the center. And perhaps cower a bit down behind the chair so he or she wouldn't see her. The room was pretty dark, and the central holosphere was busy updating with the newest scans of the unknown space they were traveling in. He couldn't see her immediately, so he took a good sniff. She was there, no doubt of it. Following his nose, he walked around the ring, his eyes sweeping the space as he transited. He was about to consider his nose faulty as he reached the far side, but then he saw the shiny dome of her head crouched down behind a chair. An ear flicked to the side in concern and some degree of amusement. He stepped up behind the chair and looked down on her head. "Mreh?" He was one of the good ones. Why did it have to be one of the good ones? Why did she want one of the bad ones? She glanced up, making eye contact briefly, then quickly closed her own eyes. Amusement? Did he consider her funny? Was it logical to attack one of the good ones? No. The anger was not from her. It was not hers. Where had she left her goggles? Eyes still closed, she felt around the floor near where she knelt. "Hello, Tia. Drop a star down there?" He asked wryly. Moving around to the side so he could see her better, he leaned against the nearby console and crossed his arms over his chest. Looking her over as she felt around the floor for something, he sighed. "I wanted to drop by, be sure that you knew that my venting on the bridge wasn't aimed at you. Commander JoNs thought I was being an 'ass,' and that's a direct quote. Now that my head's a little clearer, I can say I haven't seen you that upset before, or expected it of you. Are you all right?" "Not a star," she replied, reaching around with her hands until stumbling eventually into 'just where I left them.' She lifted her goggles into place. Using eye movement and blinks on the menus projected on by the goggles, she rapidly selected the default scanning mode that told her where he was, but not in enough detail that her mind started leaping towards reading his emotions. She breathed again. Properly. From her center. "I have an hypothesis," she stated. "I am all right. The entire ship, as a whole, is mad." She paused. "Literally." With a nod, he chuckled. "Figuratively as well, I guess." Those goggles again. Since she seemed to see just fine on her own without them, he wondered what they were really for. "It's been a tense time on board lately. Then we have way too many big egos, too many exuberant personalities, most of both tending to clash with each other. Not to mention sexual tension. It's like a mass session on a trampoline; you can never tell who's landing on whom. So, there's bound to be emotional instability more often than not. I guess your empathic abilities are really humming right now, eh?" "I don't think 'humming' is quite the right word. Pressure? Too much anger? Should I be angry?" She paused. "Do you think they searched my quarters too?" "Everyone's quarters have been searched, Corizon and JoNs' included, which is another one of those tensions." He took a nearby chair, settled in with his feet resting on a console, and shook his head. She obviously had more than the standard empathic talent, that was certain. "Your emotions are your own to feel. If you want to be mad about everyone else being mad, that'd certainly be understandable. I suppose you don't have experience in having to vent this much emotion." She paused. "Vent? I do not vent." She paused, considering. "I... Um... Run away. I don't suppose you know where I can find a nice lifeless mindless desert?" Stellar Cartography was a poor imitation. "I hear we're heading to a Class M for a short leave, perhaps you'll find a desert there. But Ensign... Tia, we're on a starship, and likely to be in that boat, literally, most of the time. You'll have to find a way of coping when you can't access a desert. I find ripping creatures to bloody ribbons with my claws to be quite cathartic." He grinned, fangs in full view. "Holographic, of course. Obviously you're not equipped to do that, so perhaps you'd be better off with a weapon. Or yelling. Yelling is always good." "Is that why everyone is yelling lately?" “Physical manifestations of emotion often help to dissipate them. Doesn't solve the whole problem, of course, you still have to deal with the base root of the situation, psychologically. In your case, unless you plan on hosting group counseling sessions, you can't deal with the root yourself, since it doesn't belong to you." "I... don't know. I have never found holodecks satisfactory. Holo-persona... are empty. They fool the eyes, but not the mind? If I am going to 'vent' as you say, I would have to vent on something I can feel. Something I can sense. I'm also not sure of group counseling sessions. I am not ready by a long reach to be a counselor, and sitting down in a room full of people with emotional disturbances... And... Venting isn't logical. Anger should be kept under control, not released?" "It takes a lot of skill to internalize emotion completely, not to mention extraordinary psychosomatic control that most species don't have. Vulcans, of course, do.” He paused and then waved a paw in her direction. “You certainly take a very Vulcan approach for someone with that tell-tale shiny pate of yours," he said, smiling. "Not to mention your empathy seems to be beyond the usual Deltan level." "My father is of Betazed. I fear I could not tolerate Betazed. Too much emotion. Too much projection of emotion. They love swimming in emotion. I got lost in it. They sent met to Vulcan, where there is far less projection taking place, and where they tried to teach me control, discipline, and... dare I say... logic." "Ahh," he said, rubbing a paw under his chin. "That explains a lot." After looking at her a moment, organizing this thoughts, he continued. "You said 'tried' to teach you the Vulcan disciplines. I take it that it worked, but up to a point?" "Up to a point. I passed many of their early tests. I can walk across a desert with nothing but a robe and a knife. This seemed important, once. It is still, I think. But I cannot master my emotions to the point that a true Vulcan would wish to mind meld with me. I am no Vulcan. The higher disciplines are closed to me." "Which is logical, in its own way," he said. Leaning forward in his chair, Mreh smiled at her sympathetically. "It's not just your own emotions; it's the reaction to everyone else's with whom you come in contact that you have to control. Given similar talents, it would be difficult even for a Vulcan to master that high quantity of feelings." Tapping a finger on his knee, he thought a moment and decided being direct would be much better suited to her, especially now. "You've been entirely too logical in approach to a completely illogical situation." "I am a completely illogical situation." "If you are an 'illogical situation' why would the logical approach of not venting your anger work?" "I take it you have not studied Surak?" "My knowledge of Surakian philosophy is limited only to what helped me treat Vulcan medical crises," he admitted. "Though even treating Vulcans for anything other than standard trauma was an oddity." Tia sighed. "Yes, their control would be too perfect for anything else. It had to be perfect. You can't imagine how much there is between those pointed ears that needs to be controlled. Allowing anger and aggression to hold sway would have resulted in self immolation of Vulcan. It would result in perpetual anger, endless squabbling, chaos, war, hate, improper searches, and helm officers refusing orders from conn that make perfect sense. The only proper and logical thing to do is... run away and hide. So said Surak. Could Surak possibly be wrong?" Unfortunately, Surak had not specifically warned that one should lock doors when one runs away and hides. "Ah, but that's the problem here. The Vulcan brain has naturally narrow connections between the emotive center and other centers of their green-blooded brains. That's what makes their emotion so powerful and intrusive; also it's what makes it possible for them to exert that control; they can keep the emotion in its base and not let it leak out. Betazoids and Deltans neurological profile is much wider in that area. Betazoids specifically. You said they 'love swimming in emotion.' Their brains are built that way. Neural connections to the intellectual center, memory, even their sense processing center is able to access the emotive base without filtering through other areas. "So, was Surak wrong? For Vulcans, it seems not. For Betazoid/Deltan hybrids... maybe Surak's approach is a good start, but not the be-all and end-all of getting through the day," the Caitian suggested. "I do have some plans," Tia commented. "I hope so, we can't have our brilliant scientist hiding under the furniture every time Captain Corizon and Segami butt their hard heads, Victria and Commander Teykier start squabbling, the medical department reanimates the dead, or I want to start shredding senior officers," Mreh said with a grin. "Oh, I can handle any of the above... one at a time. It's when they are all going at once while...” Tia hesitated, ‘tasting’ the ebb and wash of emotion permeating the ship. “I think everyone but security must be mad at security, and security is even madder a someone else? There is also a streak of mischievous malevolent glee?" "I do believe there was a search ordered by the Captain. The Marines searched security quarters, and apparently a few of the privates weren't terribly neat or considerate of other's property. So our shooting groups aren't happy with each other. I heard some gold-shirt swearing up a storm with one of his comrades about it on the way down here." He leaned back into the chair and put his paws behind his head. "The fact that all of the above didn't send you on a mass killing spree is a good sign of your temporary control. The fact that I find you hiding in Stellar Cartography trying to control yourself instead of mapping space isn't a good sign. Even if it doesn't involve maiming holograms or yelling, you really need to find an outlet." "Fine. Who is really and truly responsible for this? The captain? Should I go hit him? Or is random violence really the answer? I should attack whomever is maddest cause they make me mad? Or I tried really hard to find some bad guys hiding in that ion storm, so we could go kill them. Non-random violence, then? Whenever I can't maintain self control, I should look to find a nice war to fight?" Damn. Vulcans don't cry. She wasn't supposed to lose control. Breathe deep? Hit Mreh quick, before the tears show? She couldn't hit him. He was trying to be logical. "I don't think you'd want to attack Corizon... he's too mean and has claws." he chuckled. Mreh extended his own claws so that Tia could see them, and grinned so his fangs showed. "Obviously, I come from a species still very close to active predation. Violence is the most expedient release valve for me. An outlet doesn't necessarily have to be violent though, or instantly accessed. Some people turn their emotional turbulence into art. Check out Van Gogh if you haven't already. I had a patient once on Earth that told me that when he felt the desire to smack his co-workers senseless, he'd hold it in until he got home and put that energy into building model vehicles." "Ramson is looking for pilots. Space is even emptier than a desert. I... used to be a pilot. Would wanting a real vehicle be greedy of me?" "Hmm... that may be an ideal situation for you. It'd give you the space you need, which would help your control re-establish regularly. You can use any of that emotional turbulence to push yourself into becoming a better pilot and doing something both physically active and intellectually intensive... If I were prescribing, which I'm not otherwise Pilot would throw another hissy fit, I'd say that would be a good drug to push on you." Smiling, he ran a paw through his mane. "Not to mention that if you have to take the helm again, the more active piloting experience you have the better I'd feel with you driving my ship." "Your ship? I thought ships were owned by the chief engineer, and loaned for occasional use by the captain?" "Oh, the pilot and chief engineer have an equal share that we constantly squabble over. No one would go anywhere without us. Obviously we're capable of action without a CO, or even an XO. We had an idiot security officer making decisions, after all. He may have put is in a position to crash and die horribly, but still we went." "Still, we went." Tia leaned back, activated a menu series through her goggles, and blinked her way through a series of options. Connect local. Link to holo theater. Set shifted the perspective of the tank from a distant abstract to a close in rapidly moving projection of the area around the ship. Execute. As she removed her goggles, the giant holo display zoomed in, showing Excalibur arcing away from the edge of the ion storm towards freer space. "Still, we go. Think they can manage to avoid hitting things without us?" "Stranger things have happened,” he said with a shrug. “We're likely to hit something though, that's for sure. This may be a new Akira class vessel, but with Corizon in command, the Excalibur has a tendency to find trouble." He looked at her, pleased to see her a bit more in stride, and the conversation had also tempered his own mood a bit. Though he still planned to go to his quarters and burn an effigy of Segami. He then checked the holo-projection of nearby space. "Looks like the space is pretty well clear on our course to the planet. Still planning on finding a desert?" "I'll start with a desert. A forge. Maybe I'm not a Vulcan. Maybe I don't really belong in a desert." She glanced again at Mreh, meeting his eyes very briefly, then looking back at the speeding stars. "But I'm not a fighter either. I don't want to fight. Mreh? I want to fly..." He too continued to look at the stars while he smiled. "You already have your wings, Tia. You just have to start using them."

Innocents? But wasn't this was Victria and Kallah? (Quietly puts the order for the new Excalibur Department of Necromancy letterheads, t-shirts, coffee cups, boxers and thongs on hold.)

Sarok I seem to be a veteran now. It also seems humanoid foes are not so different from impersonal event horizons, or even starving giant space amoeba. While I’m technically both operations and science, for the most part I have been on the science side. I run scans, make calculations, give evaluations. Today, the Ops Chief was on away team duty, the CAG officer decided to lead her own flight, and the helm officer maxed out his chair time. It was the first time I was really allowed near the operational consoles, and even then it wasn’t that I was allowed. No one else in the department was there to say nay or yea. So there I was, Ops, Flight Ops and Helm. No sweat. We had a plan. Launch fighters. Watch fighters make attack run. Recover fighters. I thought I’d still get through it without touching the Ops / Helm console. There is an ancient, cynical and wise saying about plans. It proved wrong. Things went down the drain even before first contact with the enemy. Emotionally, was very much like RS 433. Back when I was flying the event horizon science missions, I wanted to be safe back in the station. When I was safe back in the station, I wanted to be flying the probe. Flying the probe, at least one only has to deal with one’s own fears. In the tower ‘watching’, I had to deal with everyone else’s fears as well. Discipline. One has to do the logical thing. I still find this difficult when being washed by various flavors of determination and fear. Fortunately, at least on Excalibur, the determination was dominant. This made it possible. Four raiders coming out of the dust straight at us looked like bad guys, especially given that they chose to come out just as our own fighters committed to attack runs. Displaying them in the brightest red on the color pallet was an easy call. So was making two quick one word comments. “Bogies!” “Shields?” A bit harder was deciding if the fighters should be told about them. I decided no. New and essentially not actionable information just as they were entering their core missions seemed inappropriate. I know I wouldn’t have been appreciative being told about station technical difficulties when skimming the horizon. Thus, I thought about evasive patterns. At any moment, I expected an order for evasives. That was the first hard part. Flying the event horizon, at least the early phases, you have an ever so choreographed flight plan. Everyone knew what was to be done, in what order, at what time, until things flew off the wall and one hit the appropriate recovery plan. Well, the well choreographed flight plan in this case called for us to sit stationary in a fixed position with shields down, I hadn’t heard of an appropriate recovery plan, and wasn’t sure I had the authority to initiate one. So, I waited on orders for shields and evasives. Except, shields wasn’t my job. That was the CO and TAC. They were two big mean scary hairy veterans of the Scorpiad wars. In the textbook they make one expect a certain ritual. See enemy. Orders to raise shields. Shields raised. Enemy fire splatters uselessly away. That’s how it is supposed to be, right? Instead, see enemy. Enemy fire hits home. Shields raised. Orders come to raise shields... I just couldn’t keep my fingers off the master mode switch. The captain’s order for red alert was drowned out by the klaxon going off. I’d like to think that I ‘heard’ his intention before he had time to verbalize it. If so, it was subconscious, lost in a wash of others desperately wanting something to be done. Once we got going, the fight was straight forward enough. We were outnumbered by more maneuverable opponents. We had better straight line speed, acceleration, and far better shields and weapons arrays. The captain designated targets more than micromanaged maneuvers. I leaned towards a boom and zoom approach. Turn to face the designated target. Approach at the fastest speed which gave TAC time to destroy the designated target. Blow by the other targets to give the enemy a minimum time to fire back. Use pure speed to not let them stay on our rear shields for long. Turn to face the next designated target. Repeat. Three head on passes. Three targets gone. Once we got going, TAC was not being subtle. You don’t defeat RS 433’s event horizon. You just survive it. Sentient enemies can be defeated. Far away, I could not feel their minds. This is just as well. The wash of emotion from fellow crew members was bad enough without having to deal with the enemy. I may have then spoken out of turn. The surviving raider fled. In returning towards his base, he was also heading roughly towards our returning strike fighters. I thought it appropriate, as our people’s attack runs were over, to warn the fighters. The CAG asked for intercept vectors, but the captain forbade another attack. He thought the attack was a probe, to learn our strength. He did not want to show any more of our capabilities. Meanwhile, to my knowledge, neither faction in this fight seems to be attempting to communicate with the other. In Gamma Quad, they apparently win the war first, and find out what they are fighting about after. A black hole is a much more comfortable enemy.

No problem. I thought your timing was fine! Tia

Tia considered her brilliant scientific suggestions that the warriors had thus far been unenthusiastic about. Drive the ship into the mine field, wait for the mines to come, pick them off with phasers, and hope they didn’t miss any. Brute force. Risk involved. Perhaps there was a reason for a lack of enthusiasm? Jammers not targetable as they are shielded behind large asteroids. Answer: blow up the rocks. Less risk. A lot of brute force? Apparently, the mighty warriors wanted something more subtle? Less brute force? Not satisfied with recommendations of larger explosions? Tia reviewed her scans, trying to think through the stalemate. Dust everywhere. Jammers behind rocks projecting energy into dust. Mobile mines shifting position in the energized dust. Something needed to penetrate well into the dust and mines to target the jammers. The mines programmed to move towards big ships, ignoring small objects such as probes, runabouts and perhaps fighters. Jammers very targetable as they are screaming out energy, while the passive mines were much harder to spot. Fine. Something too small to be selected as a mine target, but still able to take out a jammer. She needed... a sensor package capable of homing on jammers... a propulsion system suitable for medium short range... and weapons system. A nice little matter-antimatter explosion would do nicely. Brute force, yes. Somehow, a little bit of brute force seemed appropriate. Tia called up her probe configuration package again, then checked her attrition rate. Thus far, she had launched two probes, one of which was lost. 50% Two jammer targets, requiring two more probes? This was not going to help her attrition ratio.

Sarok I am zero for one in Starfleet. My very first probe failed to survive its initial mission. After probing a black hole all those years, one would think a Class M planet wouldn’t be so difficult? How hard is it to determine how advanced a civilization is? We have learned they are advanced enough to detect and destroy probes. They do not sound friendly. It seems logical to assume they do not like being probed? Is it logical, if one is wondering how advanced a civilization is, to ask them? Tia

Sarok The desert is heat. The desert is pain. By human logic, or lack thereof, emotion is a guide to behavior. One should seek to gratify pleasant emotions, while avoiding painful and difficult emotions. Thus, by human logic, one should avoid deserts, as deserts are hot and unpleasant. By Vulcan logic, one should seek out deserts, as in deserts one can acquire strength, learn discipline, and not allow mere pain to alter one’s decisions. I believe I have discovered a Deltan logic. Pain, shared, vanishes. As with all my Deltan kin, another’s pain can be felt, and with a touch can be made to fade. By Deltan emotional logic, when one encounters pain, all come together. The burden is shared. The burden is made to vanish. This is not the logic and discipline of Vulcan’s Forge, but it feels correct. Is pain to be embraced always? I am confused by Orion emotional logic. I am working near an Orion woman who is in pain, but does not seek relief from that pain.. My offer to relieve it was refused. Perhaps as I declined water in crossing Death Valley, in echoing the kahs-wan, she wished to keep her pain. But not in seeking discipline. It feels as though the pain is being used to nurse a wish to hurt another. I am not sure I have the correct words, but it almost seems as if she is feeling ‘hate’ or desires ‘revenge.’ As a desert can bring discipline, it seems that pain can bring strength? And it is not just one being. This Federation ship carries many who consider themselves warriors first, including some marines, and a wing of fighter pilots. They have crossed their deserts. They have their disciplines. They have a pride in this, and yet have not learned that all pride is false pride. There seems to be a satisfaction in carrying death, in wielding fire, rather than in walking a fire unburned. What is the path? Does one douse the fire, heal the pain, give and take comfort? Does one embrace the fire, accept the scars, allowing the pain to make one stronger? Does one build walls, recognizing danger, keeping it away, maintaining one’s soul intact? I do not know. Tia