T'aral

Medical Personnel on board USS Comanche Creek ( Author's note: this list will be gleefully corrected, should players wish to take active roles. ) ------------------- Chief Medical Officer: T'Aral, LNP - Leutenant ( Vulcan, Female ) Staff Surgeon: Farrell, B. James, MD - Leutenant ( Human Male ) Staff Pharmacologist: Jackson, Douglas, MD - Leutenant ( Human Male ) Staff Attendant: Baliss, Gina J., LNP - Leutenant J.G. ( Human Female ) Nurse: Khole, Xessech, RN - Ensign ( Alien ( Other ) Female ) Nurse: Ellis, Gabriella, LPN - Ensign ( Human Female )

Let's just get this one over with: "I'VE FALLEN - AND I CAN'T GET UP!"

After perfecting his design for hermetically sealed long johns, Herbert discovers that he has to wee.

Spectators watch as a giant metal worm comes out to devour an abandoned car in a spectacle of evolution.

That was one very angry, very large pigeon.

The winner of this particular round: Ensign Rosetto for creative attention turning from the gentleman in the chair to the chair itself.

T'Aral was formally engaged in the activities requested by the Captain - checking in with medical stations throughout Primos Major to determine if any required additional supplies. To their credit the Primos colony's material distribution system was a model of efficiency, ferrying the medical materials to a central hub where resources could be sent throughout the planet within hours - within minutes if truly necessary. Then a call came in from a remote outpost. It seemed that the Neuberlin co-operative had a medical emergency - unspecified, but they particularly requested T'Aral's presence. As she prepared for immediate transport, she wondered what the need could be; although experienced in her own field, it was unlikely that there was any particular skill that she could have which could not be better served by a local doctor. It was no matter, though. Refusing to help would be, at the least, undiplomatic. As in all of her other efforts, she wanted to see the Captain's assignment succeed. Her co-operation with the locals would be unquestioned. When arriving at the indicated co-ordinates, however, T'Aral looked about curiously. There were no medical personnel to greet her, and the location appeared suprisingly abandoned. This did not make sense, as the ship's databanks indicated that this was an active outpost. What also did not make sense, though it was forming a disturbing pattern, was the arrival of Crewman Stavn, followed shortly thereafter by Suav, Sasin, Soniv, Sret, and T'Sasa. T'Aral's eyebrow arched dangerously as she frowned: they were seven crewmen from a ship of over two hundred. It was most illogical for the entire Vulcan contingent of the Comanche Creek to arrive at the same place at the same time by chance - someone had planned this. Clarity came to T'Aral as two dozen figures rose out from the shadows, each wearing paramilitary garb. T'Aral recognized them as uniforms of the Primos Operational Organization, though she did not assume that they were acting officially - or even that they were Primos agents. She assumed nothing, other than a loosely defensive stance as she waited for the coming explanation which would no doubt clarify the purpose of this gathering. "I know your kind likes things complicated - well, for us things are simple. There were over five hundred Vulcan technicians serving these colonies; they were key people in key places. Then, without so much as a by-your-leave, they all abandoned their posts and took off. You may think you people have problems, but that don't give you the right to pull the rug out from under us. "These folks are really unhappy about that - and we're going to let all of you know about it." The crowd closed in, armed with clubs and knives. Thankfully phasers were rare outside of Starfleet, but that was of little comfort. All of their opponents had holstered chemical-drive slug-throwing weapons; no doubt a personal need of individuals in outer colonies. There was a danger in this, but also an advantage. As the Vulcans circled about preparing for the oncoming assault, a plan was whispered among them in their native language. With luck, none of the humans spoke ancient Vulcan. They allowed their opponents to charge, opening with the Navorkot initially to weave through their foes. Most of the opening swings of the attackers connected with others in their group rather than hitting the Vulcans, creating confusion among the opposition while the Vulcans maneuvered through the group with almost clockwork precision. Within moments the largest of the attackers had fallen prey to nerve pinches, and it wasn't long before the group of thugs had dwindled to half its original size due to more agressive counter-measures. In the meantime four of the Vulcans, including T'Aral, had managed to remove pistols from their opponents - they were now armed. Quickly regrouping, the armed Vulcans laid down supressive fire to clear a path to a side alley where T'Aral could send up a signal for an emergency beam-out. The delay in response from the Comanche Creek resulted in a brutal exchange in gunfire while the cluster of crewmembers waited for the ship's sensors to break through local interference. They were eventually successful, but not before Soniv was shot in the back while escaping. Upon arriving within the transporter room, T'Aral immediately broke out an emergency litter to bring Soniv to Sickbay. Thankfully whichever would-be assassin that fired at him assumed a relatively human anatomy, hitting Soniv near-squarely in the middle of his back. He suffered a deep puncture in his primary lung, but his secondary was still operable and the bullet had missed his spine as well as being nowhere near its intended destination - his heart. Surgical care was immediate, and T'Aral expected that within two weeks of proper care he would make a full recovery. With that addressed, she then turned her attention to the various cuts and bruises the gathered Vulcans had gained in the fight. While efficiency would've allowed for other members of the medical staff to aid, each of them waited in turn for T'Aral's care. The whole episode was disturbing, and as illogical as it may have been ... they preferred the attention of one of their own. Returning to her quarters after hours of work and filing a preliminary report, T'Aral settled into relative darkness. There were few statements in her record of events - only the absolute facts. Much was left out, pending a proper discussion which would allow the young Vulcan to properly curb her responses in a manner best suited to avoiding a diplomatic incident. She decided to settle into meditation for an hour, and then she would lie down for some proper sleep. There was nothing to be concerned with: the crewmembers involved responded with the heights of restraint. Their gunfire was supressive in nature and none of the injuring or killing maneuvers of the Suus Mahna were applied. There was no doubt that, despite their relatively successful withdrawl, the restraint they used meant that they took the worst of the injuries. T'Aral was carrying a few spare bruises herself, but was just too tired to tend to them or even have them tended to. It was no matter: if she couldn't handle the matter herself, Leutenant Baliss was both trustworthy and discreet. Even though she settled evenly into her meditative state, there was one distressing thought that plagued her as she sought the harmony of logic: the certainty that she had failed in her endeavors dispite her best intentions. The Captain was not going to be happy about these events.

<< FYI - I will choose a winner on Saturday and announce at the Red Star Lounge. >> I was worried that the picture wasn't good enough: thanks everyone - these are really good.

I heard a rumbling, there was this burning guy on a motorcycle, then flames, and then ...

T'Aral looked up, observing passively as a young Vulcan walked into her office. Crewman Stavn had been with the Comanche Creek for less than a week, and he was having trouble adjusting to life outside of the orderly nature of Vulcan society or Starfleet crew school. Looking at the young medical officer uncertainly, Stavn's straight posture softened once the door closed. "I need ... counceling. I am told you are someone I can turn to." Without a word, T'Aral secured the door, de-activated all visual com's, and then drew out a hooded shawl from a cabinet drawer. Wrapping the ends about her shoulders to produce a properly wrapped collar, she finished preparing by drawing out an elaborate necklace made of unevenly shaped stones. Settling it about her neck, she turned back to the crewman. "It is illogical to attempt to carry a burden alone when help is at hand. Share what troubles you, and in doing so resolve the conflict." It was a traditional greeting between a cleric and those she was charged to care for. Within the confines of councel, the normal rules of Vulcan manners did not apply: a confidant was allowed - even encouraged - to calmly express their feelings. It was the first step in regaining control. "The Captain's message ... we are to be transporting cattle to outer settlements. There the animals will be confined, used as a resource, then ultimately ..." Stavn's face briefly shifted a shade greener. "... slaughtered. Lady: I know we are to see humans as our equals, but it all seems so illogical. If it is not necessary to cause pain to another in order to survive, why do so? How can we view such a species as our equals?" T'Aral nodded. "It would seem illogical. Still: such is the fate of most developed species. Humans are omnivores - as are Vulcans. Our biological systems are suited to take in nourishment from a variety of sources, and relatively few humans have qualms about the source of that nourishment. It may be of some comfort for you to know that, in their dealings with their food sources, humans have become more sensitive to the care of their livestock. They live better lives and ... " She paused, sensing distress in Stavn's manner. He looked downward. "We are taking these creatures to their deaths." T'Aral paused, considering her next words. "That is the purpose for these creatures. It is unfortunate, but it is true: they were born for this purpose, raised for this purpose, and thankfully they are not sentient enough to consider life beyond that purpose. It is enough that we see to their good health, and allow that they are made as comfortable as possible. To bear the weight of knowing that purpose - that is our burden. "If they do not fulfill their purpose - if we fail in our duty - then children will starve and systems will be thrown into chaos. In this, as in so many things, there is not a good or bad decision; merely a choice to be made. To fulfill our duty is logical, even if it is unpleasant. As for the humans, it is as I have said: their manner of survival is based on decisions of their culture. It is neither superior nor inferior to our culture - merely different."

As T'Aral scanned the incoming bovines for general health, she came to understand Stavn's apprehension. While not particularly attractive, these creatures were among the most benign species that she had ever encountered. It was, perhaps, an emotional need of most rational beings that a creature needed to somehow earn its death. Preying upon inoffensive creatures seemed inappropriate. Yet T'Aral saw past the emotionally superficial. The bovines were a prey species, and like so many creatures of their kind they were wholely inoffensive. It was the nature of most prey species to be so, almost as if there was a grand design to the cosmos - a curious archetecture which kept repeating itself on world after world. T'Aral could see past such emotional tendencies. It was, in fact, why T'Aral was omnivorous in contrast to most of her race. It was biologically logical for her to be so. Any aversion to the carnivorous side of her diet would be the result of an emotional reaction, which she had trained herself to avoid. It was simply logical for her to include an acceptable percentage of her diet to be animal products. It was logical for her, it was logical for the humans, and although their choice of using the Commanche Creek as a transport rather than an escort was a poor allocation of resources, the moving of these animals to the outer colonies was a logical action. T'Aral was settled in the ship's assignment, and proceeded to complete her tasks within it as efficiently as possible.

Ruby > Corbin - Corbin my man ... where is the robot flying the squid-guy? Corbin > Just wait ... just watch. Ruby > Corbin ... he's not going to ... no, not the meteor ... Corbin, please not the meteor ... Corbin > Yup, right into the meteor. --------------------------- ( On the screen, the final segments of Johnny Sokko And His Flying Robot. )

General Information Name : << Classified >> AKA : T'Aral of Vulcan Species: Vulcan Age: 38 Years V.S. / 25 Years E.S. Place of Birth: ShiKahr, Vulcan Skin Tone: Caucasian ( Vulcan Equivalent ) Hair: Off-Blonde Eyes: Brown Height: 5' 7" Weight: 115 Lbs Marital status: << Classified >> Education Vulcan Science Academy: Multi-discipline Technologies, (MS-Equivalent) Employment History << Previous Employment History - Classified >> Contract Repair Technician, 1 year Engineering Assistant, Merchantman Qob, 2 years Engineering Chief, Merchantman Qob, 1 week Medical History << History prior to Age 22 unavailable >> Age 23 - Medical care for deep wound, cause unknown.

THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION IS NOT AVAILABLE TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC. T'Lec, daughter of T'Lau, was born and raised in the Vulcan province of ShiKahr. Proving an apt student, she quickly mastered several disciplines of advanced technology including fission applications, warp engineering, sensor wave mechanics, and transporter physics. Her ability to convert theoretical concepts into practical applications gained the attention of Starfleet, which quickly enlisted her services under FIELD ( Federation Induction Executive Laws and Doctrines ) ordinances. Once enlisted and given basic OTS, T'Lec was assigned to the Aesus Research Center, where she was put to work on a project meant to solve the issue of transportation through deflector shields. Starfleet assumed that the logical nature of the Vulcans would prevent T'Lec from considering escape; however, the nature of her research and her own observations of the Federation's "benevolence" led her to the conclusion that aiding the Federation would be counter-productive to the principles of peace and inter-species harmony. Instead, she would be aiding the efforts of a subtlely tyrannical human empire. Having no desire to do this, T'Lec constructed a device which would temporarily muffle the signal of her telemetry implant. With this accomplished, the Vulcan scientist fled the research facility using an experimental warp-sled ( See Memory Alpha: Vulcan Long Range Shuttle ). Arriving at a border colony system, T'Lec rigged the warp sled to detonate after releasing the escape pod to drift towards the colony world. With no ion signature, it appeared that the warp shuttle exploded due to a systems malfunction and had taken the cabin module with it. Activating the engines only upon contact with the planet's atmosphere T'Lec managed to navigate a successful emergency landing, at the expense of the shuttle's flight capability. Once upon the world T'Lec took the name T'Sen. Claiming to be an escaped slave from an outer quadrant system she convinced a local physician to remove her Federation Tracking implant, taking the precaution of having the surgery done with local anastetic. Nerve-pinching the doctor as soon as he removed the implant, she then fled to a neighboring community and changed her name and story again. This time she was T'Aral - a merchant engineer who was a survivor of an exploded freighter. Under this alias she had the removal scar tended to, then began a career as a repair technician for hire. Serving brief stints on approximately a dozen vessels, T'Aral eventually settled as a minor technician on board the Qob. Becoming content with the position, she has since began a slow process of upgrading the vessel in an effort to make it a suitable shelter against Federation interests.

Some boys want a football for their birthday, others want an exotic animal as a pet. This boy goes for the whole schmeer.

As T'Aral started her day, word reached her through rumors from the hold regarding their next mission. So: they would be hauling supplies to outer colonies: curious, given that such an assignment would be better managed with a series of transport tugs with the Comanche Creek providing escort. Starfleet, however, never seemed to have a good grasp regarding their resources. While ship's maintenance prepared for livestock in the hold, T'Aral called the medical staff together. Although she was certain that all animals, grains, and medicines would be certified before they received anything T'Aral was determined that the ship's staff check it again. If anything was wrong with the inventory when it was delivered she had no doubt that they, and Starfleet by proxy, would be blamed. She wanted none of that. It was a formidable task to say the least. All animals would have to be scanned for general health to confirm incoming certifications. Grains would have to be checked for molds, mildews, or other biological infestations. Medicines would have to be checked for purity. It wasn't that the tasks were that difficult: tricorders were already being loaded with the necessary programs. It was just the scope of the work which was forbidding. No matter: the medical staff of the Comanche Creek was the best kept secret in Starfleet. They would endure this latest challenge, they would prevail, and the Captain would receive all the credit. Another officer might have considered this unfair, but T'Aral was not another officer. She was a Vulcan; her only interest was the success of the mission.

With matters regarding the Captain and XO addressed, T'Aral returned to her quarters. Like most Officer staterooms it was divided into two sections, but unlike most these sections were distinctly different. The living area was mostly stripped of furnishings except for an outer ledge which included a wok and grilling surface built into a cabinet top. There was also a small food storage area, which was rarely heavily stocked. There were things within it, however, allowing T'Aral occasional privacy to indulge the occasional eccentricity. This evening it was a wok full of Pancit Bihon. An hour later found the Vulcan indulging herself in a personally cooked meal, with a wok of rice noodles and vegetables. Often she would include some form of well cooked sliced meat, as T'Aral did not believe that it was logical for an omnivorous race to unnecessarily impose on itself the challenges of veganism. This time the dish was vegetarian, though, for that satisfied her hunger without being heavy; important as she prepared herself for ritual meditation. A sonic shower and a clean robe later and she was ready; extinguishing all light in the stateroom except for a single candle on the floor, which she settled in front of. She meditated on the flame for an hour before letting her body settle in position, closing her eyes and allowing her mind and body the contentment of being. There were no problems, there were no troubles or concerns. There was no ship, and there was no universe. There was just T'Aral, and she simply was. In this state was perfect peace and serenety, and all was a pleasantly quiet darkness. T'Aral remained in this pose and state for a full eight hours in a state of ultimate relaxation, until a soft sound could be heard from the far room. It was music - a strange human music which was both meditative and energizing at the same time. She unfolded from her pose slowly in choreographed motions, each awakening a part of her in a logical sequence which steadily increased blood flow after hours of perfect stillness. The movements of T'Aral's body was the result of a meditative stretching sequence she developed herself after studying several different physical disciplines and adapting them to her own use. The first song stopped, and the second started: a much different tune that awoke a different part of T'aral's conciousness. Far faster and more energetic, T'Aral had a much different set of motions she went through as the song progressed - all based on Vulcan Suus Manna martial arts. As her body awoke, she responded smoothly with kicks, blocks, rolls, and blows all perfectly sequenced to the music playing. More than merely meditation, this routine was a daily assessment of her own physical condition. Instead of a scan or monitor check, T'Aral simply ran herself through a kind of 'test sequence' to see if every part of her was in proper condition. As the song ended T'Aral returned to a standing pose, with her face settled in a perfect state of passivity. She was satisfied that her own health was optimal, and the health of the crew was being tended to. She was prepared to face the concerns of the coming day without any reminant of previous challenges. With a final shower and a fresh uniform her mind, body, and spirit were renewed with the new day. It was time to begin. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Credits: Above and It's Time To Start by Blue Man Group.

"The Ensign's scans, vital signs, and biometrics are consistent with those taken prior to her assignment. There are no signs of a change in medical condition since her last full-spectrum physical, therefore Ensign Skyler Akade is cleared for active duty." As T'Aral finished notes on the new young Science Officer, a ping came in from the bridge. She had paged Dr. Belo in order to perform her physical. It was a formality, with T'Aral more than most, but like all Starfleet regulations it was one which needed to be carried out. This, however, became problematic as Tifa's message from the bridge came down to Sickbay. "I'm sorry, T'Aral, but she says that it's against her religion to be physically examined." This raised the Vulcan's eyebrow considerably. As a priestess, she did make a point of examining many of the interstellar religions during her time at Starfleet. It was a rare opportunity to expand her horizons and to learn about other cultures. She encountered a number of unusual belief systems, but none which banned a person from seeking medical assistance - save for one or two human conventions, and they were largely discounted except by a core of strong believers. There was, however, one specific field which obviously was the Leutenant's choice of beliefs. A quick scan of her records confirmed one thing: the doctor was not one to co-operate with medical procedures. Other officers could get by T'Aral's medical exam with a simple scan to make sure they were still in the same condition as when they were assigned. Doctor Belo didn't have a proper baseline, so T'Aral needed far more than to just do a maintenance scan. Doctor Belo was going to be introduced to every inspection technique the Comanche Creek's Sickbay had to offer. Setting aside her equipment, T'Aral stepped out of Sickbay and entered a turbolift. Signalling for the bridge, the Vulcan straightened her tunic and waited patiently for the lift to take her to her destination. Once arrived she calmly stepped out and located the new Science Officer. "Doctor Belo: you are to come with me to Sickbay immediately. Please be advised that I do not acknowledge Scientology, and will not accept the idea that you have been 'audted' and are somehow healthy because you will yourself to be so."

The delay between T'Aral's encounter and Innogen's decision to finally comply with regulations allowed the CMO time to think - to consider the situation and to develop a rational course of action. It was clear that the new officer was testing her, or she carried a bigotry against Vulcans, or she was simply a hostile emotional being. In any case, her hostility would bear its own consequences. In order to reduce the potential for conflict, T'Aral decided to assign one of the alternate physicians to Innogen's case. The antagonistic behavior that Dr. Belo demonstrated reflected many encounters that T'Aral had to endure through the Academy; bigots, racists, and other prejudiced people who could not be content to respect all beings equally. Clearly if T'Aral examined Innogen herself there would only be more friction and conflict, and creating conflict was not the intention of Starfleet regulations. All the same, T'Aral did order that an extensive battery of tests be performed - far beyond the normal Starfleet physical. Stress tests, psycho-reactive tests, blood tests, DNA tests, hormone tests, bioscans, musculo-skeletal scans, neuro-reactive scans, and an additional directive that the examining technician perform any additional tests which may reveal details of Innogen's physiology. More than a normal physical, the order was for a thorough examination of Dr. Belo's biology. The assigned technician paused and asked for confirmation before accepting T'Aral's orders. They were acceptable per regulation, but highly unusual for a Comanche Creek introductory physical. Typically T'Aral was quite relaxed about such encounters: they were less a broad examination and more a chance for T'Aral to socialize. Introductory physicals, after all, weren't for the benefit of the patient - it was known that they were medically fit before they were assigned. The regulation physical was for the benefit of the doctor: to introduce them, to develop a rapport, and to determine if there was anything particular the doctor should be aware of regarding her patients. Typically T'Aral did little more than a cursory scan and a conversation with the new crewmember. In Innogen's case, however, T'Aral would have to sign off on her without a personal meeting. That required the wealth of data, and there was the question as to why Innogen refused a simple physical. The scans would most likely come up without significant variance from normal readings, but the complete record would be necessary. From a personal level, T'Aral already learned all she needed. Dr. Belo had no regard for her as a professional or an individual, and she held Starfleet regulations in equal contempt. Because of this, the CSO's medical needs were better handled through intermediaries. T'Aral assigned Leutenant Baliss to her; she was quite capable and, as a human, would perhaps be more able to tolerate Innogen's beligerence. Either that, or the racism she demonstrated against Vulcans would not be a factor in her medical care. This was preferable. There would probably be consequences, but those could not be helped. T'Aral's efforts on board the Creek were progressing smoothly; she wasn't about to have those efforts derailed by antagonism. There were many other ways to deal with such things. Especally in cases where emotionally-driven beings seemed determined to create confrontations, distance and buffers were T'Aral's preference.

"... no more than one hour, and the ship's primary systems must remain dormant." T'Aral nodded to the guardian. "Understood." With an escort of two armed troopers, the Vulcan engineer made her way into the Qob and immediately began work. With her was a small cannister with cryptic markings on either side. With troopers on either side of her, she opened a small access panel and proceeded to twine her legs about a crossbar, allowing her to drop headfirst into a deep, narrow accessway. Hidden from the troopers were three large machines, each about ten feet long. The first and third were three-foot diameter cylinders, while the middle one was a rather large egg. Within minutes of T'Aral's first action, the first cylinder began to light up. The guard became nervous; "Hey - what's down there, anyway?" "It is called galu-dahshau-folayek, and is simply a maintenance device." Rising up from the accessway, T'Aral closed the panel and cleaned up her tools. "That is all that was necessary - I am ready to leave." As the contingent left and sealed the Qob, lights continued to shine in the dark bowels of the obsolete vessel. It had taken T'Aral three days of continuous work to obtain two liters of isbad-tukh, and she was concerned that one day the work she did for those who aided her would someday come back to bite her. Yet it was the only way: the first cylinder was a portable converter, working and shaping the elements into fuel cylinders that could be fed to the reactor it was tied to. Once prepared, the reactor could could-start the Qob within ten minutes. All they would need was to get on board; that, and the captain's permission to initiate a fission reaction. T'Aral wondered briefly if he would be suprised to find his vessel running on converted atomic weapons, but it provided so much more power than the fusion reactors most starships had - even if it was a thousand times more dangerous.

I hope people actually -listen- to the songs I post on Red Star Lounge. It's a lot of work thinking of new titles. Oh, and where do all these CGI Avitars come from?

T'Aral's face bore typical Vulcan passiveness as Leutenant Belo explained herself. This, however, did not in any way mean that she was about to allow a Leutenant to dictate how things were to be done on the Comanche Creek. From the expressions of the people on the bridge, she could tell that the Captain was probably in trouble. She was not about to give Starfleet Command any additional reasons to repremand Caelstorm. Any inspection of the medical department would find all things in order, according to regulations. "Leutenant: Starfleet regulations may grant allowances for a variety of conditions, but as an officer and a department chief you should be well aware that personal preference is not one of them. We all have our assignments, tasks, and obligations according to regulation. It is my obligation to conduct physicals on incomming staff, and it is your obligation to comply. "It is not my intention to debate the validity of Starfleet regulations. I am a starship medical officer, and I have my orders. A physical is required, and as a member of this crew you are required to submit to it under terms dictated by the medical staff. You have a variety of choices: you may report to sickbay and comply with regulations, you may request a transfer off of this ship, you can accept a suspension of duty until such time as you submit to a full examination, or you may resign your commission. If you have not made a decision within twenty-four hours you will be logged as medically unfit for duty, and your non-compliance will be reported to the Captain and Executive Officer for disciplinary action." T'Aral turned and calmly returned to the turbolift. There was nothing more to be said, and in this matter she had no patience for the personal opinions of emotional beings.

The Comanche Creek was again moored at the New Topeka colony, and once again they were off-loading survivors for transit to other destinations within the Federation. Once again T'Aral found herself working with Leutenants Daniels and Baker, and aclimating herself to their unusual mix of efficiency and bureaucracy. It was the most curious sensation: T'Aral couldn't decide if they were efficient despite being bureaucratic, or if they were bureaucratic despite being efficient. She shook her head to clear the thought. It mattered little; the colonists were on their way, and she had a few hours to herself. Moving to a nearby lounge she stared out towards a window. Anyone observing would simply think she was staring out into space, but the fact was she was pondering her own reflection in the glass. She examined her image at length: focused gaze, straight posture, and long hair which drapped randomly about her shoulders. Beyond cleanliness T'Aral never gave much thought to her appearance, but now it struck her - the oddness which she was often greeted with became apparent. She was one of the few Vulcans who wore long hair. During her service she had done her best to keep it from becoming a distraction, but looking at it now she couldn't shake the thought that it appeared ... untidy. It was easily and acceptably explained away; she focused her attention on other things besides her looks. Surely this was beneficial, but viewed another way it was undisciplined. T'Aral needed to have the respect of others, and those who needed to confide in her needed to know they were dealing with a professional. Exiting the lounge, T'Aral made her way through the colony's commercial district. It didn't take long to locate a styling salon. Upon stepping in, she was cheerfully greeted by a young lady in a colorful apron who led her to a styling chair immediately. "It's so rare to see a Vulcan who looks, well, different. Your hair is beautiful - I wish more Vulcans would think about letting things grow. So: what are we going to do today?" The stylist's comments burst upon T'Aral's trained indifference like waves upon stones. "I would like to return to something more traditional. Since you are familiar with Vulcan appearance, this should not be difficult." Fifteen minutes later T'Aral left the salon and the saddened stylist, looking very much like every other Vulcan female. The crop was very short, and the stylist insisted on something called 'layering' to avoid what she called the 'Soup-Bowl Haircut'. No matter: the result was what T'Aral wanted: short and professional. Blonding ends which had seen too much sunlight gave way to darker roots. It was curious the difference a simple style made. She was Vulcan now, with no compromises. A contentment was within her, and upon catching a glimpse of herself in a window reflection, an eyebrow raised in approval. The long hair may have shown a greater focus on important things, but this presented an appearance of discipline. T'Aral was determined that she would maintain that discipline to the betterment of the ship's crew, of her service, and of herself.

Deep within the Qob a Vulcan engineer scanned, tweaked, and prodded various systems to try to identify the single or multiple causes which kept the old Klingon vessel on the ground. Joe was counting on her, and more importantly she needed to keep her current employment. So much had happened: so much that she hadn't told anyone. The Federation, her escape, her effort to hide herself ... so much could be for nothing if she didn't come through. She used to be content: a subordinate engineer and technician who kept minor systems running smoothly. Then the ship's engineer had to get drunk and get himself barbequed, and she found herself put in the hot seat. How much did the captain know about her? Nothing - in truth, he didn't even know her real name. If she didn't maintain her mental disciplines, it would be entirely possible that she would've forgotten it. Yet it was important that she didn't forget, for if she ever did it would be possible that she might let her guard down. On that day she would soon find herself back in the hands of the Federation, or worse. The plasma conduits were cold: a re-charge was needed. The dilithium crystals were also destabilizing - they were de-crystalizing. If she didn't find a way to energize them soon, they would need to be replaced. In some ways more possible than than re-crystalizing, but definitely more expensive. Given the general disrepair of the ship there were far too many things that needed attention, and money, for them to be shelling out those kinds of credits. Absently, T'Aral looked back at a storage alcove. There was one or two pieces of technology within this vessel that were worth a considerable sum; both of which had seen hours of careful Vulcan attention over the last year or so. However, T'Aral wasn't sure the captain knew about her personal projects. If he didn't and she revealed them, how would he react? Either one could get the Qob impounded, but that was neither here nor there. The fact was that her Vulcan logic forbade her from sharing anything she knew until she could predict the outcome of the conversation. At the moment it didn't matter anyway; the ship had far too little power. She went back to work, coaxing reactions out of dormant circuits and error-checking every system. If there was away to re-energize the ship's internal systems, the captain would either come up with it himself of have her devise it. When that time came, everything needed to be in perfect working order.