STSF_Scooter

Well...looks like VR get this round

::snorts derisively:: Makes me wonder exactly what you and Sunny D were sharing with Floyd the Caterpillar. Doc, maybe its time for some toxicology testing.

:lol: So true, VR.

Wow...that was fast. And in the vein of Jami's glow in the dark kitties-

And here we see a rare Vehiculum having completed its mating rituals with the male of the species....

Vir: Londo, this is insane! Londo: Insanity is part of the times. You must learn to embrace the madness. Let it fire you. Knives- Babylon 5, S2e17 Flashback, Part II Surgical ICU Waiting Room Tripler Starfleet Medical Center Honolulu, HI SD 2240.190 1015 local Still in her flightsuit and gear, Audraya sat on cracked vinyl couch that so many others had spent countless hours waiting to hear about a loved one. Only Commander Ichijo wasn't a significant other, just her flight instructor. And as pilot in command of the Tornado that she managed to keep out of the Pacific, she felt it was still her responsibility to keep an eye on him. An old, rubbed to parchment Tricare pamphlet was in her hands, but her mind was going over the emergency landing, like silent movie, and what should've been done better. She'd flown in on the medical shuttle with the Commander, and given a clean bill of health by one of the ER docs. The fighter was on its way Hickam, to be gone over with a fine tooth comb and repaired, by a heavy-lift assault craft. Looking up for a moment, her eyes focused on the cane that suddenly appeared in front of her. Tracking further up, she caught the cuff of a gold shirt...and the large amount of braid just a few inches above it. Oh crap! She jumped to attention. “Admiral, sir, I didn't see you standing there.” “At ease, Ensign. Have a seat,” Admiral von Natzmer said, waving Audraya back down. The centenarian admiral took a seat next to her. “You're Bob Wesley's daughter, aren't you?” “Um...yes sir, I am. How did you know?” The Romulan War veteran chuckled. “Not many Orions in Starfleet, that's how. Caused a bit of a ruckus when you decked Captain Barnett during his class. Personally, I found it amusing.” Audraya blushed slightly, while the Admiral favored her a grin. “Sir, I...” “Stifle it, Ensign. I'm an Admiral. I see reports from around the Fleet, including the Academy. What he tried to do should've resulted in a court-martial. For him. Honestly, an instructor and field grade officer should've known better. Hell, in my day, he would have been. Verdammt Flotte ist immer zu verdammt weich,” he growled in German. “Ensign, have you had a chance to get quarters?” “No sir.” “Go to the billeting office at Schofield, and get yourself a room at the Q. I'll contact your commander at Armstrong, and clear you to be here for the next 48 hours. Meet my flag captain, Captain Dumoutier tomorrow morning, say around 9, at Wheeler Hangar 1. Anyone who can deadstick a Tornado can fly what I have in mind. And bring your flightsuit, Ensign.” “Yes sir, thank you sir.” -=-=-=- Wheeler National Historic Airfield SD2240.191 0845 Local The smell of sea and mountain mingled with the alien smells of aviation oil and gasoline. Audraya walked down the flightline of full scale mockups of pre-World War 2 P-36 Hawk and P-40 Warhawk fighters, in their pre-war markings. A couple of school trips included the old US Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson and the Smithsonian NASM exhibits for history, along with her brothers dragging her to a couple local airshows made her appreciate just what kind of skill was required to fly those fragile crates. After a quick visit to the Exchange at Schofield for some necessities, and a trip to Waikiki for some leisure, Audraya's mental balance was definitely on the mend, and looking forward to this flight. “Ensign,” she heard behind her. Turning, she saw Captain Dumoutier in an old style khaki flightsuit. “Ah, good, you're early and in your suit. Come along, we have a 1000 launch clearance, and I need to go over preflight and take off procedures.” “Procedures, Captain?” “Yes. Follow me, Ensign.” Nodding, she followed the French officer down the ramp. They stopped at one airframe. “Here's the crate you'll be flying today. I'll be in the back seat, as your instructor. She's an original SNJ-5, built during the war. Go ahead, Ensign, climb up and strap in.” As she did, Dumoutier began explaining the rather sparse controls, switches and instruments the historical aircraft, as well as explaining he had 200 hours logged in the airframe. Several Starfleet ground personnel, in period appropriate uniforms, came out of the hangar, a couple dragging a large fire extinguisher on wheels out. The crew took up stations around the aircraft, as Dumoutier climbed into the rear cockpit. One of the crew handed Audraya a reproduction leather flying helmet and throat mike. “Clear,” Dumoutier called from the rear cockpit, as he set throttle, magnetos and primed the engine. “Contact,” came the shouted reply. Dumoutier hit the starter button, and with a whine and cloud of black smoke, the R-1340 engine kicked over, swinging the 9' prop at the nose of the aircraft. “You've got the airplane, Ensign,” he called over the interphone. “Roger.” With moves that dated back to the First World War, Audraya signaled the chocks pulled. The crew chief gave her a thumbs up and saluted the aircraft. Advancing the throttle, she began taxiing the plane. “Captain, I can't see over the nose.” “Swerve the plane left and right along the centerline. That'll allow you to see around the nose. Almost all taildraggers need that. Good. Taxi to the end of Runway 6. We'll be taking off to the east.” “Roger, sir.” Even though Wheeler was part of the Pearl Harbor National Historical Park, the field was still an active uncontrolled airfield, such as advanced pleasure aircraft required. The runway was all appropriately marked, there were functioning lights, and the beacon still rotated at all hours. At the runway threshold, Dumoutier pulled out the checklist again. “Brakes,” he called. “Set,” Audraya replied, standing on them. “Throttle to 36 inches.” The plane began to vibrate, as the engine manifold pressure reached the required 36 inches of mercury. “Set, and held. Instruments checked and set.” “Tailwheel locked, release the brakes. Remember small inputs to see, and don't take off too early. Let it float up off the ground.” “Yes sir.” With the brakes off, the plane began to roll down the tarmac, the rear wheel coming up off the ground within three hundred feet. Pulling back on the stick, the mains came up off the ground. “Gear up,” which was followed by the whine of hydraulics. “The aircraft is yours, Ensign. Don't do anything that either I, or the Admiral, will regret.” As they crossed the end of the runway, Audraya, a maniacal grin on her face, rolled to the right, pushed the stick forward, and leveled off, at 190 feet, pressure altitude—right over Interstate H2—and 182 indicating on the airspeed indicator. With controlled, precise movements of the stick and rudder, Audraya moved away, and ran parallel to I-H2 and Rt 99, to where they merged with I-H1. Banking hard right, she avoided the Aloha Stadium, and followed the highway, and along the Hickam SFB perimeter...and just under an inbound Pan Am Orion suborbital shuttle. “GODDAMNIT ENSIGN!” Dumoutier shouted into the interphone. “If you flew any lower, you'd need a goddamned scooter. “That's it, Ensign. When we get back, you're formally being christened with 'Scooter.'”

Take my advice and go back to the time you came from. The future isn't what it used to be. -Ambassador G’Kar, Babylon 5: Se2 Ep5 2259.365, 2230hrs The Creek’s rec hall on deck 7 was sparsely populated. For all that it was New Year’s Eve, with 90 minutes left to go in the old year, no one was in the mood to celebrate even though the holiday decorations were still up and the lights on the Christmas tree still blazed. Audraya stood near the transparent aluminium viewports, looking out into space behind them. The Missouri had shifted her position, but their future era border collie was still with them. Apparently the peace and prosperity that was talked about by the futurists never happened. Missouri was, from what she was able to tell from sensors and visual feeds, pure warship. Nothing at all like the Constitutions that were just coming on line, or some of the other larger ships, including the dreadnoughts, like the Entente, with their multirole capabilities. She began singing softly to herself, and swaying slightly in time with the lyrics. “I don't feel a thing and I stopped remembering The days are just like moments turned to hours” “Mother Used to say if you want, you'll find a way Bet mother never danced through fire shower “Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain I walk in the rain, in the rain Is it right or is it wrong and is it here that I belong “I don't hear a sound Silent faces in the ground The quiet screams, but I refuse to listen “If there is a hell I'm sure this is how it smells Wish this were a dream, but no, it isn't “Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain I walk in the rain, in the rain Am I right or am I wrong and is it here that I belong “Walk in the rain, in the rain, in the rain I walk in the rain, in the rain Why do I feel so alone For some reason I think of home” Despite the lack of rain, all Audraya could think about this New Year’s Eve, was being home; a fire roaring in the Wesley home in Pittsburgh, snow blanketing the city and suburbs, the memories of the family that accepted her, despite how and what she was raised to be--both home and feelings that she wanted to share with her lover. “When we get back,” she said quietly to herself, “I’m taking Tifa, and we’re going someplace tropical and secluded so we can be alone together. Come Hell or Crash, it’s going to happen.”

From Physorg.com:

Creek, Missouri, and the very stable rift (And playing the stable rift- The Bajoran Wormhole)

A Letter from the Future A Joint Log between CDR Audraya Wesley and Mr Wes Roberts Set during the two hour TBS (Both Creek and Aegis With the threat of the gamma ray burst past and shuttle Teach back, the Revenge had backed away the damaged Comanche Creek. Maighdin sat in the at-sea cabin behind the bridge, looking at the antique vessel...someone who would have been her great-Aunt was aboard her, and doomed to a pointless death when V'Ger assimilates the Epsilon 9 station was aboard her. Audraya, as known to Mai, was a fighter, and any death where she didn't go out in a blaze of glory would have been a useless one. Of course, Audraya could've mellowed out by then. Sighing, she sat down at the terminal. -=-=-=- Audraya, having escaped from the briefing room where Science and Engineering were having their discussions about how to get back to their century, was occupying the center seat. “Commander, we just received a text-only message from the Revenge.” “Oh?” “Yes, ma'am,” Maya said. “Only...its addressed to you.” “How...ominous.” She stood. “Is Crash in her office?” “No ma'am. As far as I know, she's not back on the bridge.” “Transfer it to her terminal; I'll take it in there.” =-= Sitting at the desk, Audraya opened up the letter on the screen, and began reading. She'd not read Low Kolari in sometime, so it took her a few tries to make heads or tails of it. -=- Vendui Auntie Dos phuul brornus Usstan ul'kas dos \"Auntie\". Ussta grandam zhahus dosst dalninil Bran. Xor a mzulst il zhahus wun udossta timeline. Maunq'a xor naut nindel kyarrin wun dossta, er'griff draeval orn tesso. Rena udos orn'la inbal mzilt ulu telanth bauth, zhahen udos ulu thalra jindurn ulu jindurn, Usstan shlu'ta er'griff xun ji wun nindol ly'ryus . Lu'ol jiv'undusen uns'aa ulu xun ji nindol i'dol. Auntie Audraya wun ussta timeline tois wun 2273, pholor l'Epsilon 9 elemmiire zig . Usstan wo naut alu wund l'details, 'zil ol orn'la plynn feir ichl verve, jhal xun naut ja'hai jala muahae ulu quarth jala elemmiire zig . Udos k'jakr telanth d'dos xuil zhennu reverence whol dosst bucking l'orthodoxy d'udossta fuma. Dosst k'lar, Auntie, zhah pholor ba'dor natha ozam, vel'klar dos shlu'ta xun l'mzilst bwael. Mareena isn't natha myar s'enar ulu nau'thal l'fuma; nixm'io eventually quaz Litasha 'zil natha rothe. Jhal l'v'dre d'l'fuma anika'mir bel'la 'zil highly 'zil Mareena. Nind orn kl'ae whatever mii'n nodven ulu muaha l'fuma's thry, 'zil al 'zil l'v'dre d'udossta lodias'. Dos shlu'ta khaless Romulans, Auntie. Jhal er'griff pholor biu individual basis. Fol mir bel'la obokur taga byrren. Nindyn ph'l'ussen dos shlu'ta khaless implicitly. Byrren, dos shlu'ta khaless pholor natha p'totis a p'totis basis, lu'thugrin er'griff 'zil verve 'zil hwuen dos inbal kkuuth l't'zaraw. Ussta m'ranndii's drada zhah Romulan, lu'zhah khalessev xuil tluin izil ulu \"xun l'ditronw klez\". Usstan'bal zhil'za telanthus ichl mzilt, Auntie, lu'xal inbal ruulk'naus dosst ulin xuil nindol de'lu'mith . Ji tlu ol, Usstan orn ja'hai ussta ap'za lu'ussta m'ranndii's sarn'elggar. Uk zhah, a mzulst, biu honorable nesst lu'Usstan xuat inbal ulu eszak bauth naut waking phor. Dosst Dalninil's Autna Maighdin -=-=- Translated: Hello Auntie You are surprised I called you "Auntie". My grandam was your sister Bran. Or at least she was in our timeline. Whether or not that happens in yours, only time will tell. While we would have much to say about, were we to encounter face to face, I can only do so in this missive. And it pains me to do this way. Auntie Audraya in my timeline died in 2273, on the Epsilon 9 star base . I will not go into the details, as it would take far too long, but accomplish not accept any advances to command any star base. We still speak of you with great reverence for your bucking the orthodoxy of our family. Your location, Auntie, is on board a ship, where you can accomplish the most good. Mareena isn't a bad sort to lead the family; she'll eventually sell Litasha as cattle. But the rest of the family doesn't hold honor as highly as Mareena. They will use whatever means necessary to advance the family's cause, as well as the rest of our people's. You can trust Romulans, Auntie. But only on an individual basis. Some hold honor higher than others. Those are the ones you can trust implicitly. Others, you can trust on a case by case basis, and usually only as long as until you have finished the deal. My husband's second is Romulan, and is trusted with being able to \"do the right thing\". I've probably said too much, Auntie, and may have disturbed your future with this information. So be it, I will accept my fate and my husband's punishment. He is, at least, an honorable man and I don't have to worry about not waking up. Your Sister's Granddaughter Maighdin -=-=- Audraya sat there for several minutes, staring at the monitor, shaken a the contents of the email. She was interrupted by the comm whistle. “Yes.” “Commander, the Revenge has just gone to warp. The Missouri is still holding station. Looks like they have repair teams crawling over the nacelle we hit.” “Understood. Tell Mr. Tauariki and Lt Belo that I'd like a progress report on our returning to our own time.” “Yes ma'am.”

Only the Time Cops will be able to tell.

A Letter from the Future A Joint Log between CDR Audraya Wesley and Mr Wes Roberts Set during the two hour TBS (Both Creek and Aegis) With the threat of the gamma ray burst past and shuttle Teach back, the Revenge had backed away the damaged Comanche Creek. Maighdin sat in the at-sea cabin behind the bridge, looking at the antique vessel...someone who would have been her great-Aunt was aboard her, and doomed to a pointless death when V'Ger assimilates the Epsilon 9 station was aboard her. Audraya, as known to Mai, was a fighter, and any death where she didn't go out in a blaze of glory would have been a useless one. Of course, Audraya could've mellowed out by then. Sighing, she sat down at the terminal. -=-=-=- Audraya, having escaped from the briefing room where Science and Engineering were having their discussions about how to get back to their century, was occupying the center seat. “Commander, we just received a text-only message from the Revenge.” “Oh?” “Yes, ma'am,” Maya said. “Only...its addressed to you.” “How...ominous.” She stood. “Is Crash in her office?” “No ma'am. As far as I know, she's not back on the bridge.” “Transfer it to her terminal; I'll take it in there.” =-= Sitting at the desk, Audraya opened up the letter on the screen, and began reading. She'd not read Low Kolari in sometime, so it took her a few tries to make heads or tails of it. -=- Vendui Auntie Dos phuul brornus Usstan ul'kas dos \"Auntie\". Ussta grandam zhahus dosst dalninil Bran. Xor a mzulst il zhahus wun udossta timeline. Maunq'a xor naut nindel kyarrin wun dossta, er'griff draeval orn tesso. Rena udos orn'la inbal mzilt ulu telanth bauth, zhahen udos ulu thalra jindurn ulu jindurn, Usstan shlu'ta er'griff xun ji wun nindol ly'ryus . Lu'ol jiv'undusen uns'aa ulu xun ji nindol i'dol. Auntie Audraya wun ussta timeline tois wun 2273, pholor l'Epsilon 9 elemmiire zig . Usstan wo naut alu wund l'details, 'zil ol orn'la plynn feir ichl verve, jhal xun naut ja'hai jala muahae ulu quarth jala elemmiire zig . Udos k'jakr telanth d'dos xuil zhennu reverence whol dosst bucking l'orthodoxy d'udossta fuma. Dosst k'lar, Auntie, zhah pholor ba'dor natha ozam, vel'klar dos shlu'ta xun l'mzilst bwael. Mareena isn't natha myar s'enar ulu nau'thal l'fuma; nixm'io eventually quaz Litasha 'zil natha rothe. Jhal l'v'dre d'l'fuma anika'mir bel'la 'zil highly 'zil Mareena. Nind orn kl'ae whatever mii'n nodven ulu muaha l'fuma's thry, 'zil al 'zil l'v'dre d'udossta lodias'. Dos shlu'ta khaless Romulans, Auntie. Jhal er'griff pholor biu individual basis. Fol mir bel'la obokur taga byrren. Nindyn ph'l'ussen dos shlu'ta khaless implicitly. Byrren, dos shlu'ta khaless pholor natha p'totis a p'totis basis, lu'thugrin er'griff 'zil verve 'zil hwuen dos inbal kkuuth l't'zaraw. Ussta m'ranndii's drada zhah Romulan, lu'zhah khalessev xuil tluin izil ulu \"xun l'ditronw klez\". Usstan'bal zhil'za telanthus ichl mzilt, Auntie, lu'xal inbal ruulk'naus dosst ulin xuil nindol de'lu'mith . Ji tlu ol, Usstan orn ja'hai ussta ap'za lu'ussta m'ranndii's sarn'elggar. Uk zhah, a mzulst, biu honorable nesst lu'Usstan xuat inbal ulu eszak bauth naut waking phor. Dosst Dalninil's Autna Maighdin -=-=- Translated: Hello Auntie You are surprised I called you "Auntie". My grandam was your sister Bran. Or at least she was in our timeline. Whether or not that happens in yours, only time will tell. While we would have much to say about, were we to encounter face to face, I can only do so in this missive. And it pains me to do this way. Auntie Audraya in my timeline died in 2273, on the Epsilon 9 star base . I will not go into the details, as it would take far too long, but accomplish not accept any advances to command any star base. We still speak of you with great reverence for your bucking the orthodoxy of our family. Your location, Auntie, is on board a ship, where you can accomplish the most good. Mareena isn't a bad sort to lead the family; she'll eventually sell Litasha as cattle. But the rest of the family doesn't hold honor as highly as Mareena. They will use whatever means necessary to advance the family's cause, as well as the rest of our people's. You can trust Romulans, Auntie. But only on an individual basis. Some hold honor higher than others. Those are the ones you can trust implicitly. Others, you can trust on a case by case basis, and usually only as long as until you have finished the deal. My husband's second is Romulan, and is trusted with being able to \"do the right thing\". I've probably said too much, Auntie, and may have disturbed your future with this information. So be it, I will accept my fate and my husband's punishment. He is, at least, an honorable man and I don't have to worry about not waking up. Your Sister's Granddaughter Maighdin -=-=- Audraya sat there for several minutes, staring at the monitor, shaken a the contents of the email. She was interrupted by the comm whistle. “Yes.” “Commander, the Revenge has just gone to warp. The Missouri is still holding station. Looks like they have repair teams crawling over the nacelle we hit.” “Understood. Tell Mr. Tauariki and Lt Belo that I'd like a progress report on our returning to our own time.” “Yes ma'am.”

Crash, I don't think we're in Kansas any more...

UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS STARFLEET COMMAND STARFLEET PERSONNEL COMMAND -=/\=-RECORD ACCESS-=/\=- NAME: Audraya Wesley RACE: Orion SEX: Female AGE: 42 HEIGHT: 5'9" DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Numerous scars on back, Black Kris slave brand on her inner thigh RANK AND PAY GRADE: Captain, O-6 ASSIGNMENT: USS Comanche Creek, NCC-214 DUTY POSITION: Commanding Officer NEXT OF KIN: Wesley family, Pittsburgh PA, USA, Sol III Currently in a relationship with LT. Tifa Kvar, Communications Officer USS Comanche Creek -=APPEARANCE=- Audraya is a typical Orion female, with a lighter skin tone and bluish-black hair worn up on duty. There are numerous scars across her back, which she refuses to discuss in official Starfleet documents. -=CAREER HISTORY=- Graduated Starfleet Academy: 22 June 2240 Assigned Undergraduate Pilot Training, 24 June 2240 Assigned Advanced Pilot Training- Hawk, 24 November 2240 Assigned VMF-214, 1 January 2241 Transferred to USS Ark Royal 2243 Promoted LT(j.g.) 2244 Transferred to USS Federation 2245 Promoted LT 2246 Promoted LT(s.g.) 2251 Transferred to USS Farragut 2253 Promoted LCDR 2257 Transferred to USS Entente 2257 Survivor, Battle of Vulcan 2258 Promoted Commander Transferred to Border Patrol Assigned USS Comanche Creek, NCC-214 -=PERSONAL & SERVICE HISTORY=- Audraya was born in the Orion colony on Beta Rigel II, however much of her personal history is concealed in the shadows of Orion slave society until freed and adopted by LCDR Robert Wesley. After finishing an accelerated secondary school education, she entered Starfleet Academy, sponsored by her stepfather. Her history at the Academy was tumultuous, resulting in numerous demerits per month. Upon graduation, she was assigned to Undergraduate pilot training at Randolph SFB, followed by advanced pilot training at Armstrong Base, Luna. She was then assigned to VMF-214, officially to cross-level an empty fighter pilot billet, but rumors circulating around Starfleet Headquarters indicate it was to get her away from then-Captain Barnett. Disciplinary proceedings brought against then-Ensign Wesley report a self-defense and sexual harassment case that was initially brought up the chain as insubordination, striking a superior officer, and conduct unbecoming a Starfleet officer. The court-martial board president, in consultation with both prosecuting and defending JAG officers, recommended that then-Ensign Wesley be assigned to a Marine aerospace wing, located on the rim until "tempers cooled". Assignment with the Marines, where she received her callsign "Scooter", and follow on assignments on various other ships tempered Audraya abilities and command style-let the personnel skilled in their tasks perform the mission, but provide guidance and direction as needed. Her survival at the Battle of Vulcan was assumed to be "being in the right place at the right time". She was directing damage control actions aboard the USS Entente, when the ship was ripped apart by the Narenda. The section she and her damage control team were in had sealed blast doors, and was able to maintain atmospheric integrity long enough for the main fleet to arrive from the Laurentian system and conduct rescue and recovery operations. -=QUALIFICATIONS=- Audraya is qualified on all small arms normally carried on a Starship, and is proficient in the use of firearms. Small craft qualifications include Goshawk/Tomcat/Eagle/Hornet fighters, shuttles and skimmers. -=OTHER SKILLS=- Due to her upbringing as a pleasure slave, Audraya trained as and is a skilled singer, dancer and musician, able to cover a large range of song types and is classified vocally as a dramatic mezzo-soprano. (http://en.wikipedia....c_mezzo-soprano) ((OOC Note: I consider the Orion women as portrayed in the ST:E episode Bound as non-canonical, and use how they were portrayed in TOS/TAS Prime as canon))

Updated age, added slave brand

Out of frame- Yoda> Weak the force is in this one. Train her, I will not.

So do I, Mr Neufeld. However, I will keep my comments to myself, as this *is* a family friendly board..

As Task Force Alfa was patrolling their zone, less Enterprise, something odd was being recorded...a unique spectacle especially for a regular Fleet ship. On the dorsal hull of the Bozeman, a maintenance access hatch slid open as a lift carrying two spacesuited figures rose up to hull level. One was carrying what looked like a golf bag; the other had an argyle sweater vest over his spacesuit. With careful steps, they walked off the lift and towards the edge of the hull. The caddy set the bag on to the hull, activated the electromagnet contained in the base, and retrieved the driver, a ball and tee. "Target, bearing 23, mark +10." "Adjust, and bring us relative." The Bozeman altered in pitch, while still in formation. "Target solution, sir." Captain Dodge placed the ball and tee on the hull of the warship, took the driver from his caddy, and slipped the safety lanyard around his wrist. As the ship passed a random, he squared up, and swung. “Wow,” Ensign Pulver exclaimed, as sensor telemetry on the ball registered it entering a small crater. “Now, can we go back in before our suits get hit and depressurize?” “Of course, Ensign. I just couldn’t afford such an opportunity to slip by,” Dodge replied, as they made their way back to the maintenance lift.

Armstrong SFB Tranquility Colony SD 2240.190 “Ensign Wesley, you're up on trans-atmospheric interface training tomorrow,” Lieutenant Styles said, looking over the roster, before looking up. “Ensign Wesley?” He looked over towards the Orion, and noticed her she wasn't paying attention...and in fact was busy watching one of the other female cadets. “Ensign Wesley.” Nope, still didn't pull her eyes from Ensign Vergara. “ENSIGN WESLEY!” Audraya's eyes snapped front, amid a smattering of chuckles. “Sir!” “Thank you, Ensign, for allowing me to provide you with your assignment for tomorrow. You have trans-atmospheric interface, with Lieutenant Commander Ichijo as your instructor. Report to Ready 2 at 0530 for your briefing.” “Yes sir.” -=-=- Audraya sat waiting in the Ready Room, alternately looking at the Dash 1 for the TF.5 she was taking up and the clock. As she got up to pour her third cup of coffee, a voice called out “Too much coffee can be a bad thing, Ensign. Especially confined in a fighter for an extended duration patrol.” Setting the pot back on the burner, she turned. “Commander Hikaru Ichijo•. I'll be your instructor for today.” “Sir.” “Have a seat, Ensign.” Ichijo moved up to the podium. “We'll be doing trans-atmospheric insertions today, over Barking Sands Range...” The rest of the briefing covered frequencies, velocities and emergency procedures. “Any questions, Ensign?” “No, sir.” “Good, then let's get to the hangar, and get aviating.” The walkaround ensured that there were no panels hanging open, FOD* in the shuttered intakes of the RR fusial turbine engines, and the craft was in serviceable order, before Audraya signed for it from the crew chief. A direct descendant of the venerable MRCA**/Tornado from the late 20th Century, the TF.5 wouldn't look out of place in a Tornado squadron. Both Audraya and Hikaru climbed up, settled into the ejection seats, and were strapped in by the crew chief and his assistant crew chief. With guidance from the aircraft marshaller, Audraya fired up the turbines, lowered the canopy and began taxiing towards the launch tubes. “Pre-launch check. Wings,” Hikaru called over the intercom, beginning the “Before Launch Checklist”. “Locked back. Flaps, slats and spoilers locked.” “Life support” “Operating, 100 percent.” “Radios.” “Set.” “Navigation.” “Set.” “Tornado 57, stand by for launch.” Both Audraya and Hikaru saluted the launch control officer, who then fired the maglev catapult, hurtling the fighter out into space. The fighter climbed away from the lunar surface, zipping away from Moon at half the speed of light. -=- Approaching Barking Sands from the west, the cockpit of the fighter was filled with the unfiltered light of the sun rising to the east. “Ok, what's our altitude?” “Angels† 260, sir. Heading 106, relative to magnetic. 2 thousand kilometers downrange.” “Ok, good. We'll be beginning our...” One, then another loud bang filled the cockpit, as the fighter began yawing out of control, followed a loud crack. Master Caution and Master Alarm lights illuminated both the HUD and panel, as klaxons replaced the subharmonic roar of the turbines. As Audraya fought to regain control of the fighter, and not turn into a charbroiled Orion, the vernier control jets began almost continuously, in conjunction with her stick inputs. “gotitgotitgotitgotit...don't gotit...gotit...don'tgotit...gotit! “Wings, full extension, and locked,” she began reciting the litany of the emergency checklist. Her left hand left the useless throttles of the dead engines after pulling them to IDLE/CUTOFF, and pulled back on the wing sweep lever, sweeping the wings out. “EPU...enabled. Life Support...checked.” Flames began to lick around the transparent aluminum canopy as friction began to build. At the same time, the fighter's control surfaces began to bite into the air, which was a good thing because “LOW FUEL” began to flash on the HUD, even as the fighter still tumbled through the air. Of course, the computer began up its litany of bitching “Overspeed/Stall. Overspeed/Stall. Overspeed/Stall”, which proves that Bitching Betty will never die as long as there are fighters. “Shut up, Betty,” Audraya growled, as she swept the wings back to an intermediate position. Her hand then punched up 7700 in the transponder, to give air traffic control a warning that she was in an emergency situation, and Honolulu Center on the radio. As the air got denser, and the altimeter began to stop unwinding like a watch with a broken spring, the fighter began to let aerodynamics take over, and began to glide. “Ok...three options. Glide to Barking Sands, try to reach Hickam, or bail out...” A couple of quick calculations on her kneeboard, and a decision was made. “Barking Sands is the best bet...if not, a dip in the Pacific, and hope sharks don't enjoy Orions... “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Honolulu Center, this is Starfleet 887, type Tornado TF 5, declaring an emergency.” The radio squawked to life. “Starfleet 887, this is Honolulu Center. We have you weak but readable. State the nature of your emergency.” “Center, 887. I have a dual engine failure, main power failure, and my instructor pilot may have unknown injuries. Currently at Flight Level‡ 500, passing over Tern Island. Attempting to glide to a straight in approach to Barking Sands.” “887, Center. Copy. We have you at FL485, 73 km east of Necker Island. Barking Sands Tower and Coast Guard notified of possible ejection or radio out approach. Come left to heading 045 degrees, and cleared for straight in approach, Runway 6. Altimeter at Barking Sands 30.12, winds 270 at 6.” “Come left to 045, cleared straight in Runway 6. 30.14, winds 270 at 6, Starfleet 887.” “...ad ba...ec...” The radio died with a wash of static, as the HUD, panel and navigation lights went dark, as the last of the hydrazine emptied into the emergency power unit, and the generator spun to a halt. “Zhennu. Fridj vith'ez zhennu,” she muttered in Low Kolari, as she trimmed the stabilators for 10 degrees down. “At least I still have my back up instruments, and hydraulics for the controls.” As the sun lit up the darkened cockpit, she could finally see the runway lights and emergency beacons at Barking Sands. “Two thousand feet. Assume the altimeter is still 30.14 and winds 270 at 6. Crosswind landing, great. “No flaps or slats. Full extension on the wings...check.” Her left hand pulled back on the wing lever, before going to the manual gear handle. “Gear...down. I hope. No lights. “1500...1000...500...400...300...200...100...runway threshold...” Already, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles could be seen in cockpit mirrors as she settled down onto the pavement, keeping the nose up long enough to slough off speed and letting it come down on its own. “And brakes, brakes brakes.” The Tornado settled down and slowed to a stop, with a little left steer to clear the runway. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- USS Comanche Creek SD 2259.360, 0340 hrs Her eyes snapped open. “Familiar ceiling,” she muttered, and looked to her right. Tifa's brown hair was nestled up against her shoulder. “Its been years, since I had that dream. And to think, two chips of paint from an old Soviet RORSAT, traveling at 28 thousand kilometers an hour didn't get swept aside by the nav deflector and punched through both engines. At least Commander Ichijo was only knocked out by the impact. I wonder where he is. Styles was an ass of a cadre member, but at least Ichijo tried to make you feel more human.” _____________________ • Hikaru Ichijo- Borrowed from Super Dimensional Fortress: Macross. Also known as Rick Hunter in Robotech: Macross Saga, Sentinels and Shadow Chronicles. * FOD- Foreign Object Damage, anything that can be ingested by the intakes and destroy the turbine engine. Otherwise known as “How to bring down a multi-million dollar fighter with a 10 cent nut.” ** MRCA- The planning acronym for the multinational (Germany, Britain, Italy) Tornado program- Multi-Role Combat Aircraft. Also known in the RAF as “Must Refurbish Canberra Again,” in case the Tornado program failed. † Angels- Term meaning altitude in thousands of feet, used to limit altitude information, or with USN controllers ‡ Flight Level- Used when talking to Air Traffic Control, term meaning altitude in hundreds of feet, and begins at 18 thousand feet, pressure altitude (29.92 in/Hg).

Comanche Creek will be running at our normal times on 26 December and 2 January along with a special sim 30 December at 10pm.

Audraya was in her quarters, her M-1911 in pieces sitting on an old towel on her desk for cleaning. Bing Crosby’s voice filled the room, as the terminal shuffled through several old Christmas albums. Christmas is coming, and I need to get Tifa something. I also need to talk to Doc about her. She snorted, picking up a tumbler with Maker’s Mark on ice. Sipping the bourbon, she sighed slightly. My biggest concern for her is her mental well-being. Morohtar was right, the bastard. She is soft and fluffy, and cuddly, everything I’m not. But that’s why I love her; she compliments and completes me. I’m hard because I was brought up in a slave society, fought the bullies in my high school class, dealt with both Captain Barnett and Marines during my first postings along with Klingons, and I’m the disciplinarian aboard the ship. Its not like there aren’t times I want to put my hair down, and relax, Lord knows I’m tired of the front I have to keep up. Hell, its not like I even care what the rest of the crew thinks about Tifa and I. And, yeah, Crash was right, I was thinking with my emotions, and I do every day I see her. I see the young woman I want to be with, spend my off hours with, and maybe even spend the rest of my life with. And it damn well was worth it breaking regulations and going off on my own after her. Morohtar’s no longer a thorn in my side, and I got Tifa back hale and hearty. She set her glass down, the ice clinking, and hit the intercom on her desk. “Commander Wesley to Doctor T’Aral. Doc, I’ve got a question for you.”

Its strongly recommended that you use a name without rank, as every promotion would require you to email the admins to change your rank. Once you're assigned to an advanced sim, your fellow players will know what rank you are, and you can always put what your rank is in your signature line.

"Number 2, stay. The rest of you can exit."

Oh dear...she better watch out for Will...

I've had my share of "down n' dirty" TYVM. I'm going to remain where I can stay...clean. And have my bed linens turned down, and be able to visit the breakfast buffet. "Starfleet- If it isn't catered, we don't go."