NDak

They're named after her :D

Just because the Arcadia had docked at a starbase did not mean that everyone could go and play. On the contrary, docking at base meant Security had to work harder. Koshic didn’t know how many times he’d read reports of ghastly activities occurring on starships after they’d docked at a starbase. Koshic glanced sideways as he walked past an airlock. The security officer stoo at attention. Good. Doing their job. Koshic knew how hard it was to watch everyone else go off and fraternize, especially with so many other ships docked at the starbase. But such was the life of security. The ship’s safety trumped all others, and Koshic intended to keep the ship that way. He rounded the corner and headed to the next deck. Patrolling empty corridors relaxed him, allowed him to think. “Chief,” someone’s voice called out. Instinctively he flexed and tensed, turning to see who’d called to him. Ensign Hughart approached. Koshic sighed inwardly. Hughart reminded him of a lovesick puppy. “Yes,” Koshic said flatly. “Chief, I need to ask a favor.” Koshic’s eyes narrowed on the young Halian. “Oh?” Hughart shifted his weight nervously and pursed his lips, unsure of himself. “Its….ummmabout….” “If this involves giving you leave so you can go off on an attempt to secure a date with Crewman Thomas….” “Oh NO sir!” Koshic folded his arms and narrowed his gaze yet further. After a few moments under ‘the look,’ Hughart reluctantly confessed. “There will be plenty of time for that when you’re off duty, Ensign.” “….Yes sir.” “Now run along.” What they taught Cadet’s these days, Koshic wasn’t entirely sure. ~ ~ ~ The doors to Koshic’s quarters slid open and the slight rush of air whistled past him. Smiling as he entered, he noticed the blinking of a light on his desk. Unzipping the duty jacket he shrugged it off and headed over to the glass desk. He pushed the small ‘accept’ message button. It was text only, and a reply at that. His eyes flickered over the message; a broader smile went across his lips—starkly contrasting his hard, well etched facial features. Glancing down, he looked at his watch. Thirty-seven minutes. He made his way to the closet with a grin. He slid open the doors. What to wear? His gaze ambled across the garments. Just because he was a Starfleet officer, did not mean that he’d lost his fashion sense, he was after all Betazoid...a relative of a Lawaxanna Troi at that. Running his hands over the hangers, he took in the feel of each material. Mentally assessing which outfit would be the most appropriate. His hand stopped at a soft, delicate fabric. He pulled it out and looked it over. He fastened the last of the walnut buttons and looked in the mirror. The silky back kimono jacket fit him snugly, but in a good way. The light crème undershirt barely showed, and his the simple silken black pants made him seem taller. He put his feet in a pair of slip on caramel-brown leather loafers. Hand-made, they fit like Cinderella’s slipper. The cool caress of the real leather felt good against his sock-feet. He gave his sandy-blond hair a last zuzge, making a mental note to make an appointment at the salon and headed out the door. The wide-leg pants swished against each other slightly, the smooth silk lining rubbing against his legs as he walked. He didn’t notice the glances coming his way as he strolled down the corridors. He stopped at a small vendor on the promenade of the station. He glanced over the flowers the elder lady had arranged in decanters. He leaned down, checking them over. “Something I can get you?” The old ladies voice was warm and comforting. “Yes,” he said smiling. “I’d like a solitaire iris.” She returned the smile and set to work on his request. A few minutes later she produced a magnificent blue-bearded Iris. He took it and went for his pocket, but the old lady held up her hand. “No need,” she said with a smile. “Thank you,” he said nodding. He looked down at his watch again, and headed towards his final destination once more. He finaly arrived and entered through the swanky doors, stopping at the maitre’d. “Koshic N’Dak.” The man of around 40 glanced up with a welcoming smile, and then down at the reservation book. “Ah yes,” he said looking back up. “Your companion arrived not to long ago and is in the bar. Your table is ready, if you wish to be seated. Javier will collect her for you.” Koshic nodded as the Maitre’d summoned someone to lead him. The lighting was low, and soft gentle music played in the back ground. He glanced at the name of a menu as he passed. “El Cuarto De Collonade.”

Bolians...they make good house slaves ;)

Warning: This Log Contains graphic images that some might find...unnatural The darkness of the Talon's interrogation room pervaded the thoughts of the young Arrain inside it. Destorie N’Dak watched carefully on the monitor. The young male was sweating and nervous, and obvious. This would not take long. Destorie entered the room, “Jolan tru…traitor.” The young officer said nothing; he merely stared down at the floor. “Ahhh…the strong quite type, na?” Again…silence. N’Dak had been in this position when he was about the age of the man before him, it seemed longer ago than it had been, but nevertheless it was a memory forever seared in his brain. He took a seat in the only chair in the room, he’d left the young Arrain more or less hanging on the wall. “Au know,” he said dubiously. “We can do this io of two ways.” Silence still. “Either au tells me what I want to know,” N’Dak said devilishly. “Or I just slowly kill au, then au family and every io else au know until we get answers. And if it is na me that does the yy’aing…it will be the Tal’Shiar…and we both know how much pleasure they get out of ruthlessly torturing those who oppose them.” The young man looked up, but still said nothing. “Ahh…I have your attention…Mehnka.” “I will tell au na thing.” “Perhaps,” N’Dak said smiling. “But au will wish that au did. Au will suffer until the last.” “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK.” Destorie lifted his eyebrow. “Au dare give a Galae serial number, as if au were worthy of such a thing?” “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK.” N’Dak smirked, this was so familiar. Standard Galae training, say nothing but your name and serial number. Apparently that was standard training for most militaries, though he wasn’t sure it had any real affect. After enough torture…your were willing to say about anything, or wished that you had. He stood up and walked across the room, opening a small closet that was integrated into the structure of the wall. The shiny luster of the objects in the closet glinted in the low light and flickered in his dark steely eyes. He placed his hand on one of the sharp objects, gripping the cold metal in his hand. He turned around and walked towards Jaetrel. The knife glinted in his eyes as N’Dak stepped closer. “So tell me…tr’Praetic…what was au position on Firestorm?” “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK.” N’Dak cast a dismissive glance towards Jaetrel and shook his head. “Au really do na think that actually works?” “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK.” N’Dak sighed lowly. He really hated to send the boy back to Maenek after they’d just fixed him, but he supposed other options weren’t available…at least that’s what he planned on telling t’Ksa. He stopped just next to Jaetrel. He’d been hung to the wall, spread with each limb to the side. Uncomfortable to be sure, and if he was left hanging long enough, he might just die of suffocation. Destorie took the knife’s sharp edge and hacked off Jaetrel’s tunic, leaving him bare-chested. Below him, air began blowing from the floor…cold air. Goose flesh formed all along the firm and muscular upper body of Jaetrel. Truly he had no intentions of killing the young man, firstly because a dead man tells nothing, and secondly because in all likelihood he had little responsibility in the sordid affairs of the Firestorm. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to suffer, just not as badly as he would had he been the Enarrain. Click, click, click. N’Dak walked with purpose out of the room. Leaving Jaetrel behind. He twitched in his restraints as the cold air blew in his face. After about 20 minutes, he resolved to close his eyes, which were watering from their dryness, and his lips had cracked and started to bleed. Thirty-five minutes in, it was beginning to drive him crazy. His lips were bleeding now, he was cold, and he couldn’t even open his eyes. Forty minutes later—a seeming eternity—N’Dak finally returned to the room and the cold blowing air finally stopped. Blessed Relief, was written allover Jaetrel. “Au lips look parched, would au care for some water?” Jaetrel could only nod a simple yes. N’Dak produced a water bottle and sat it on the chair. “Oh that’s right…au can’t really hold it can au?” Jaetrel could only look sadly at the water bottle. N’Dak opened it and placed it to his lips letting the liquid flow out of the spout and into his mouth. Gulp, gulp, gulp…soon the contents had slid down his throat and into his stomach. “Ahhhh….refreshing drink really…” Jaetrel glowered. All he could think about was water. Or any liquid really. His lips and throat were so dry, breathing was painful. “How about this,” N’Dak said wiping the excess water off his mouth, “Au tell me what I want to know and au get a drink of water?” Water…dear elements that sounded good… “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK,” though obviously labored. Green blood caked his lips and mouth. Dried tears clogged his eye lashes, this was so frakkin uncomfortable. “Yes, yes I know,” N’Dak said taking a seat. “Au name is Jaetel tr’Preatic, son of Raenek and Lluve tr’Praetic. Au have a younger sister and an older brother…and pet canine named Ru’Fuss.” He’d made up the last part…but the rest of it was true. Jaetrel blinked…well as best he could. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get down to business.” Jaetrel could only guffaw. If this Galae Erei’Riov had been able to find that out so easily, the Tal’Shiar would assuredly be able to do the same, and then they would all be dead. N’Dak stood and walked over to the closet, opening the doors again. This time he removed a wheeled cart from it and brought over to Jaetrel. He removed a small pointed object from the top that had a long string attached to it, with a sharp triangle piece on the other end. “I will ask you one more time,” pausing for dramatic effect. “What was Firestorm’s primary mission.” “Arrain Jaetel tr’Preatic, L90-560-HGK.” N’Dak nodded his head. He took the ‘needle’ and placed it just below the restraint on Jaetrel’s right arm. He pushed it into the skin, penetrating the epidermal layer. Jaetrel twitched and his muscles reflexively constricted in pain. N’Dak pushed the needle all the way in until it fully submerged beneath the skin. Slowly he pushed it till it poked out of the skin right at the elbow. Jaetrel gritted his teeth. Pain just started to describe what it felt like. But the fun wasn’t over yet. N’Dak pulled the needle out of the skin, leaving the string behind. He gave it a tug and pulled it through till the triangle submerged below the skin. He tugged purposefully on it, and it did it’s job, hacking and slicing away at blood vessels, tendons and muscles…and doing so painfully. He gave it a final yank and pulled the triangle out. He looked up to see Jaetrel whimpering, softly. “Perhaps au wish to re-think au answer?” Nothing. N’Dak placed the bloody triangle and needle back on the cart. He looked over the toys for a moment. His eyes caught a very small and delicate knife, almost like a pen. He picked it up and thought for a moment. “Since au seem to like au serial number…so much…” With a devious grin he placed the pen like knife to Jaetrel’s chest. Slowly, carefully and through the soft whimpers of pain, N’Dak carved Jaetrel’s serial number into his chest. When he finished, he looked up at the young man. He was whimpering, crying and generally in pain. N’Dak sighed…nothing more could he accomplish by torturing the young man. He probably didn’t know anything anyway. He placed the knife down on the table and rolled it back into the closet. Returning, he removed the restraints on Jaetrel, letting him down. The thought of resisting did occur, but he was so miserable and weak he couldn’t even try. N’Dak motioned for him to walk in front of him. He gently directed him out of the room and into the narrow corridor that lead back to the br’tehh. Once back inside his solitary cell, he lay down clutching his arm. The D’Heno stationed at the Br’tehh looked curiously at N’Dak. “Send for a medic to tend to his wounds, but I want the scars on his chest to remain…” he paused looking at the pathetic man in the cell. “And go ahead and give him his rations for the day, he may have extra water.”

Colonel Maec tr’Aieme glanced out the window of the Sheliak vessel. Over four hundred vessels had assembled in the sector, nearly two hundred in the system alone. The Federation was unprepared for such an onslaught. Not since the days of the Dominion War had such massive fleets assembled with such truly sinister notions. Long had tr’Aieme waited for this day, the Day the Lloann’na would bow down at the feet of the Empire and beg for mercy. But yet…just as victory seemed so…perfectly attainable, just with in the grasp of mighty Empire he so loved. One woman held the fate of the entire operation in her hands. He’d received a report from his General tr’Llak that the prisoners were being transported to Camelot and would soon find their way to ch’Rihan. Of course, he knew as well as tr’Llak did that they would never make it that far…the Lloann’na would not stand idly by as their precious soldiers were taken to be tortured, questioned and ultimately broken before the hammer of the Tal’Shiar. No…they would fall right into the carefully in-laid trap. And when they did, they would be crushed beneath a torrent of deception. It truly was possibly the finest trap ever conceived by the Tal’Shiar. Still…there was N’Kedre. The wild card…the one factor the Tal’Shiar could not account for…who’s side was she playing? Long a voice of dissent, she was a useful tool in setting the stage. She provided a respected voice that the Federation and Klingons trusted. And she came so cheaply too…restoration of the House of N’Dak…a house long since forgotten by the Tal’Shiar…a house whose better days were long since forgotten. But where did her heart truly lie? Could she possibly be deceiving the Tal’Shiar? The thought almost horrified Maec. After all his plotting and deceiving…his literal years of planning…could one woman rewrite the destiny of the Empire? From his experience with her, he knew she was capable of it. She, unlike the others he’d encountered in the Gamma Quadrant did not fear the power of Tal’Shiar or willing accept his jurisdiction. Strong of spirit and will. It would be on ch’Tal’s shoulders to prevent her from derailing his perfect plot. His attention glanced out the window once more. Soon….soon….fruition. The completion of his destiny…his people’s destiny. The Ascension of the Romulan Star Empire would begin.

As Nemesis continued his preamble, or just amble… Koshic’s thoughts drifted. Anger did not come to him, despite an urge wanting to, he couldn’t. For if he gave into his darker elements, his dark side which he’d buried deeply could emerge from the depths. “I am sorry you feel that way…” He said, turning and walking out of the brig, leaving Nemesis behind. How could the loss of one soul, so affected him? And why now, after all he’d been through did these raw and sorrowful emotions surface from the oblivion they’d been abolished in? A wise cleric told him after his father’s passing, that soul mended itself, as long as we allowed time to heal. He caught his own reflection in the shine of the corridor wall panels. Softness to his eyes, a softness he’d not noticed before. How far he’d come, only to regress so quickly. Perhaps he’d been too harsh on Nemesis, expecting him to fit in so quickly after such radical changes. In someway, Nemesis was a link to past he couldn’t get too…a way to revive memories. And in that, the darkness in his soul emerged. For a moment, time stood still around Koshic. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. For a minute there, he lost himself, lost himself. For a minute he lost himself…one minute. Order….he needed order. Then as quickly as it went…it came. Order came back. The darkness swirling around him vanished back to whence it came. He walked a lonely road, he was far from home. But he would conquer his inner demons. What had been done was done. The past was written for all time, and even if he could—he didn’t want to turn back time. He turned the corner. Deep breath. The doors swished. “You want to talk Nemesis?”

No wonder you fit in with the Klingons... :lol:

N’Dak had caught the glare tr’Psichore shot him as they dematerialized on the Oira of the Firestorm. He’d also saw the look of utter contempt in his eyes as he glared at N’Dak just before passing out due to blood loss, shock, and general trauma. Not that Destorie had na ever saw such a look before, in fact he’d gotten rather used to such glares. To tell the truth, he frankly could care less if tr’Psichore was angry with him. Na thing N’Dak had done was severe enough to warrant major retribution on tr’Psichore’s part. The man had froze at a pivotal moment and nearly cost the lives of three crewmen, and if any report was filled about his own actions, he’d be sure to include that little piece of information in his report, at least he’d been decisive in his actions. As he strolled down the corridors with his newest Diserhn in tow, t’Aehjae’s latest insurgence against his authority weighed heavily in his mind. She was correct, tr’Psichore would have likely been dead had he not been transported directly to Maenekan. However, N’Dak felt that given tr’Psichore’s own lack of respect for the lives of others, perhaps turnabout would have been fair play—besides he really didn’t care if that man died or not. He couldn’t imagine that t’Rexan could dig up anyone more ill tempered than tr’Psichore, so who ever would be next would have to be an improvement. Then there were the survivors of the Firestorm. t’Rexan would want them alive, and would want to question them herself. However, that did na mean N’Dak wasn’t going to do some questioning of his own, assuming the lived through the Maenek staff. The thought of them dying before they could be properly…handled…irked him to know end. The only factor that had kept N’Dak from going into one of his little fits of rage had been that they’d actually almost succeeded for a change with minimum losses, not to mention he’d managed to make it through an away team and not get injured…a personal best. Perhaps the Elements finally decided “Pick on N’Dak” was na longer a fun game to play…though he figured they had just taken a c’offee break. Of course, being done with this mission only meant they’d be shipped off again on some half-baked Galae mission. Ah, the life of a Galae’Sahne. In retrospect, he knew know that he should have listened to his parents and went in to politics, at least then au do na get shot at nearly as often, and when au do…au usually know who’s pulling the trigger. But, he’d chosen this path and traveled too far to turn back now. He glanced over his shoulder and the young female Diserhn walking a few steps behind him. “She hasn’t a clue what she’s getting into…”

Actually you can, all you have to do is bribe webby :P At anyrate welcome to the fleet :)

And from what I recall from HS physics ramscoops are useless because of the relative ( lack of) concentration of "Bussard" particales in space :P

"See if you mess with Adam We again!"

"I think I am drowning, Asphyxiated. I wanna break the spell that you've created, you’re something beautiful, a contradiction...and you will be the death of me." I left Nemesis in Security about an hour ago. To be honest I don’t think he’ll do anything stupid, but you never know…I’ll deal with that later. Right now I’d rather not think about that…or him… It’s good to be home…back in the right dimension, and even if this isn’t exactly the proper dimension, I could careless. Koshic stood looking out one of the large windows in the observation lounge on the Arcadia. Seeing Nemesis had sparked something inside him...nostalgia. He’d began to think about all the people who he’d served with over the nearly two years he’d been aboard the Arcadia who weren’t part of the family anymore…Garnoopy, Marx, Jaruq, Telano, Quest, Ziggy, Black, Anika Pierce, Ruca, Honeycutt…and of course…the name he’d tried hardest to forget—Hans. It all seemed so long ago. Sometimes, he couldn’t even see their faces, sometimes that’s all he could see. Especially Hans’…the look of agony…the feeling of pain, thank the Great Goddess he didn’t see him die. As he looked around the room, he saw so many young faces…so many new people. He was a relic, along with Trichon, Andrea, Lo’Ami and John Anderson…the last vestiges of an old order on Arcadia. He leaned his head against the bulkhead. Why had it been Hans and not him? He’d never truly come to grips with that question…he probably never would. He’d managed to suppress the images, the questions…the doubts…for so long…but now…Nemesis had retriggered those thoughts memories. Serenity…peace…calm….free the mind…free the spirit… He had to admit…all things considered it could be worse. The crew had lived through some pretty harrowing experiences, and yet somehow they always managed to survive—find a way to live on. Like the crew, he’d have to move on. Eventually, but then he’d never been good at that. His fathers death still haunted him; memories of torture on the RES Talon…Trichon’s thoughts…Moose’s Nightmares…Hecua leaving him…he really had never dealt with any of that…or at least that’s what Andrea always said… He’d never dreamed of breaking this fixation. He couldn’t burry it any longer, smother it in his psyche. It was about time he came to grips with his reality, and move on letting the past go. If he had to go another morning of waking and seeing a face in the mirror that wasn’t his…he might go crazy. He wanted freedom, not bounds and restrictions…but he’d been trapped. It was squeezing the life out of him…and the time had come to end it. Just as he’d purged himself of the evil lust that tainted his soul, it was time to take out the skeletons of his closet.

Welcome to STSF ;)

I think he was killed...as he should have been... ;)

Even so, you'd only get thrown a few feet at the most under normal circumstances. Besides if an alien ship appears out of no where are you really going to remember to put your seatbelt on? And in situations where you did have a chance to (going into a combat mission) I'd probbably want to be able to move around quickly with out having to fuss with seatbelts.

::remembers nearly blowing up the Reaent:: ;)

And while your at it, Can I have this one changed to "Evil Incarnate"

::shameless plug for dog boy::

How could I forget about that one!

To Respond: Yes we sometime interact. But not on a regular basis. Talon has done Joint Sims with the Arcadia and another with the Reaent , Republic did one with Aegis, and the Arcadia did one with the QoB/Lakota. But these things take a lot of coordination and planning, not to mention are hit or miss on pulling off. Oh, and there is another ship in the Gamma Quadrant; the USS Excalibur is set in the Gamma Quadrant. :lol:

“This is an outrage!” “Calm yourself Rentirr.” “I do na care…” “Au should, au impulsiveness will be the death of au.” “Aur io to speak, Destorie.” Destorie N’Dak, Supreme Commander of the Galae stood next one of the large floor to ceiling windows of his office on ch’Rihan. His sister, t’Revhil Rentirr, mistress of the Tal’Shiar stood a few feet behind him holding the latest report from their covert operatives placed deep within the ‘Coalition.’ “They are building an army.” “So are we,” Destorie chided. “They’re of no consequence to our plans. We’ve a full years head start on them. Not to mention technological superiority.” “Au are to confident in aur vaunted Galae.” “And aur not enough.” “Perhaps,” she said crossing behind him. “But that still does na change the fact that the Lloann’na and their allies are constructing a warfleet.” Destorie nodded. “Ie…” “And they have gotten better at preventing our spies from gaining information.” “I read the reports…” “I know that,” she said defensively. “But what can I do about it, the Warfleet won’t be ready for another four months, at the least. And we can na risk showing our hand until we can back it up.” The two seemed to contemplate that thought for a few moments, then in a sudden burst of scary Rihan plotting, the two turned to each other in unison, “A Warning.” “Ie,” Destorie said nodding. “We will send them a warning. A warning that further development and expansion will na be tolerated by the Rihans.” “Openly?” “Of course na.” “I will begin planning the project.” “Na…” “Na??” t’Revhil Rentirr seemed taken aback by this. “Au do na wish the Tal’Shiar’s involvement?” “Ie, I wish to test the Galae against them. We will be able to tell how much more work we have to do before we can crush them.” “Very well then,” she said looking at her chrono. “I have an appointed with several Deihu…I must be leaving.” “Hann’yyo,” Destorie said nodding to his sister. “Bedah.” Shw bowed respectfully to her older brother and left the room. When she had left, Destorie tapped his t’Liss. “Get me Riov tr’Lkeha.” “Sseuj-ha!” came the receptionist voice moments latter. ~ ~ ~ “Au wished to speak with me, Daise’EnRiov?” “Ie, sit.” Riov tr’Lkeha, commander of the newest Romulan Battleship sat down across the spanning desk of Destorie N’Dak. He’d never met the man, but he’d heard plenty of stories about both him and his sister, as well as his other siblings—all of them well placed throughout the Empire. These were not people who messed around long, or were to be trifled. If Daise’EnRiov had called him into his office, something pivotal was about to happen, tr’Lkeha gulped as he took his seat. “I am sure au are wondering why au have been called before me,” Destorie said continuing after a momentary pause. “I have new orders for au.” tr’Lkeha nodded, though inside alarms were going off—the most powerful man in the Galae had summoned him a lowly starship commander before him to personally assign orders…indeed something was up. Destorie slid an ISD across the desk. “Au are to report to au vessel at once and make way. Na questions. Quii au need is there. H’Nah…khoi with au.” ~ ~ ~ The brand new RES Vengeance sparkled in her berth. Docked along side 20 of the newest t’Liss class vessels, she was part of the massive effort the Rihan Galae was making in expanding. Equipped with the latest technology, the t’Liss-class Warbird was armed with energy shields, disruptors, photonic torpedoes, an ion cannon and of course most importantly the newest Stealth Shielding, the Vengeance and her sister ships would make up the bulk of the new Rihan Fleet. Floating above her in orbit of ch’Rihan and ch’Havern were nearly 20 more warbirds nearly complete themselves. This was the pace the Galae was holding steady at, right around 20 vessels per every 2.4 Standard months. It was indeed a sight to behold. Meanwhile at other facilities across the Empire, the aging warships that had faithfully served the Empire during earlier conflicts with the Vulcans, Klingons and Orions were being updated to face their new threat—the combined forces of the Coalition. On board the Vengence, things were starting to get exciting; it had been less than one hour since the Riov had returned from his meeting with the Daise’EnRiov, and even less since he’d given the order to prepare for departure. “All Hands,” he’d said over the comm. “We have received orders from Galae Command. We depart in less than io hour.” True to his word, the RES Vengeance slowly backed out of her berth along Galae Command Station and motored out of the system at half impulse until she’d cleared the last planet in the system. Originally, the t’Liss-class design plans had called for a M/AM engine system similar to the Lloann’na warp drive. However, because they lacked large enough dilithium deposits to meet the needs of the massive fleet being constructed, Galae Command chose to use the antiquated yet reliable Fusion-Driven Warp System that powered all other vessels in the fleet The Vengence was no different. As she crossed the outer boundary of the system, she paused as her Fusion-Core built up enough power to cross the threshold into warp. For this newest vessel, the Rihan Engineering Core had made vast improvements in the Fusion Drive, unlike older systems where a warp jump could take 5-6 hours for a vessel her size, the t’Liss-unit required only a few minutes to launch into Warp, making her much less venerable when it was time to retreat. After the needed five minutes, the Vengeance leaped into warp with a flash, accelerating to Warp 4.6…best possible cruising speed. On the Oira, Riov tr’Lkeha watched out the viewscreen nervously.

Sadly yes, we GM's have real lives...I know scary. ^_^

And they said you'd never learn... ^_^

How Blu releaves stress: Killing Me. ^_^ :D B)

:pats Fred on the Back: Good Fred! ^_^