Shalin

I wonder if nature has any other examples of inter-species co-operative predators. Sure - there's plenty of predator/scavenger relationships, but canines tend to be our equals in many ways. What is called 'domestication' should be viewed as 'mutual acceptance', especially in primitive stages.

I'm boycotting this thread for two weeks on principle. Sure - I wouldn't win, but calling it so quickly means I didn't even get a chance to respond. I don't care about winning ... but I do care about being allowed to play.

The Commander was closest to what I had in mind, but V'Roy made me chuckle the second I saw his post. V'Roy - it's yours now.

I feel so ... adequate. ^_^

Not too long ago ... not too far away ... "Ensign Shalin - wait, please." Cadet Sekor had crossed the parade grounds in a very orderly sprint, as befitted a proper Vulcan. Shan's crossing bore no less haste, but it lacked any sense of purpose other than to exit a rather uncomfortable discussion. The topic was ethics, and as was true of almost any intellectual discussion Shan had just had his hiney handed to him by a cluster of highly educated minds: Vulcan, Human, and Andorian. All he wanted now was an ounce of peace and quiet; slowing down for the cadet really wasn't his intention. All the same, he paused as the younger Vulcan approached. After all ... he did say 'please'. Sekor stiffened as he approached Shan, and then bowed his head slightly. "I wish to apologize: I see that our discussion did not sit well with you." Shan waved his hand and tried to walk away. "There's nothing to apologize for. It was just a debate: you all won and I lost - simple as that." Sekor followed, determined not to leave matters so simply. "It was a discussion, and I disagree with your assessment. If anything, your stance demonstrated a clear superiority." Shan stopped and turned to Sekor as if the Vulcan had lost his mind. "Excuse me?" Having finally gained Shan's attention, Sekor offered his evaluation. "On the subject of morality, I would have to concede that you are far more developed than any of us in the discussion. In our discussion we all sought to establish defined rules for what is moral; what is right or wrong. You, on the other hand, appear to have no need to establish such rules. You know right from wrong without the need for analysis." Shan shrugged. "It's just going by feel. I doubt the others share your opinion." Sekor nodded. "They do not, but that is not important. While many of my people would disagree with me, I have found that logic is incomplete in many ways. I am not suggesting any intent to live any other way, but I must allow for the limitations of my path. Logic is a means of analysis, but it cannot guide us in every action. Any conclusion can be reached logically given the correct premises." Shan smiled at Sekor. "You sound like a Vulcan radical." "Many Vulcans prefer the company of our own people, or seek solitude. I, however, believe in k'lalatar prnak'lirli: infinite diversity in infinite combination. Growth and development occurs when our pre-conceived ideals are challenged, or when we find aspects in others which complement our own shortcomings." "You're an interesting one, Cadet. I've got to report to barracks - I'm helmsman on board the Sprocket. We leave tomorrow for a science station orbiting Aldebaran, but it's just a cargo run. I should be back in about a week or so. Maybe then we can chat some more?" Sekor nodded. "I shall look forward to it." As Sekor left, Shan mused about the young Cadet. Vulcans were all skilled and highly intelligent, but Sekor was the first one he had ever met who could be considered open-minded. True, Shan had already graduated from the Academy, but given the fact that most of his piloting assignments were related to either the Academy or the Federation's diplomatic corps he had plenty of time on Earth. It wouldn't be a terrible thing to get to know at least one Vulcan properly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A month had past before the Sprocket returned from its assignment. The scientists of Aldebaran-Sigma were more than thrilled to have company, and it wasn't until they received an official recall notice from Starfleet that the minimal crew could tear themselves away. As they approached Earth, Shan noted a series of localized hazard notices, and the planet itself seemed to have suffered some amount of damage. Another concern was a relative absence of starships; Shan had apparently missed something. After securing the Sprocket Shan made his way to the Academy, inquiring about Cadet Sekor. The clerk was patient, then more than just a little apologetic. "I'm sorry sir - Cadet Sekor is ... gone." Shan blinked twice. "Gone? Gone where?" "Sir - he had taken a brief leave to return to Vulcan three weeks ago." "So ... he's been detained?" The clerk looked up at Shan. "Sir - where have you been? Vulcan ... the planet was destroyed." Shan stood motionlessly, gazing blankly in unbelief as the clerk continued. "Cadet Sekor was on the planet at the time, and has not notified the Academy since. He has been classified as missing ... and presumed deceased." Shan stepped away, walking aimlessly through the Academy grounds. Vulcan ... an entire planet destroyed? How much more had happened? His assignment - it was a nothing job, and while he was away millions of lives were lost and the galaxy had been changed forever. How many others had died? The missing ships ... he knew some of the other helmsmen. How many of his friends were left? Shan stood alone on the academy grounds, still unaware of all that had taken place but still deathly afraid of how much he had lost. Worst of all was the feeling of being robbed - robbed of a chance to do something about it, even if there was nothing that could be done.

I have had it up to my EYEBALLS with roaring fireplaces!

The following Ensign Shalin/Captain Calestorm log is a continuation of their conversation in the 11.14.11 Sim... Calestorm eyed her junior officer, one eyebrow up. “Ensign, I know you were following your own code, I can respect that. But you went AWOL during a covert mission. What was your intention, exactly?” Shan stood straight - not defiantly, but hopefully respectfully. “My intention was to secure the Flemming, await the return of the Commander, and deliver her and any crew members with her to the Imperious as quickly and as safely as possible.” He paused for a moment, then decided to continue. “I was concerned that the shuttle would not be secure when she returned, would not be there, that something might happen to it during the return flight, or that the Commander - given that she was not in a sound frame of mind when last observed - might consider further rash actions." The eyebrow went down as Calestorm’s expression turned into a frown. “Ma’am, I was aware that I might have encountered Orion patrols, or that the shuttle would be compromised, or discovered while I was there, or shot at during retreat. I considered all these possibilities and considered ways of overcoming them. This included the fact that, while the Commander is no doubt an infinitely better fighter pilot than I am, I do not believe there is anyone in Starfleet that can out-fly me in a shuttle.” The captain hopped down off the little wall mount counter and moved to stand in front of a utility sink, her back to Shalin; she placed both hands on either side and observed the ensign though the mirror set above the sink. “Ensign Shalin, you aren’t recon, yet you still went on your own to secure the shuttle. You aren’t security, yet took it upon yourself to act as a guard. As for the Commanders state of mind, you had no way of truly knowing her mind unless you have a psychology degree I don’t know about or you’ve suddenly developed empathic abilities.” Cale turned, crossed her arms across her chest and leaned a hip against the sink. “The expert shuttle pilot I’ll grant you that...that’s the only thing I’ll grant you.” “Commander Wesley went AWOL. You followed as the second AWOL officer within 12 hours. We were neck deep in covert operations, and here I have a determined Commander bent on rescue and an Ensign equally determined to act as a retrieval operative!” Her temper snapped, her voice raising slightly on the last words. Crash lurched away from her perch, walking the few short steps to get within Shalin’s personal space. “Ah’ve worked as a retrieval officer Ensign, have you? No, you have not!” “Fact, we deployed on a covert mission. Fact, you were assigned as a transport pilot where needed and at the bridge Helm. Fact, you went AWOL as an unsanctioned retrieval operative....” “Livin’ by a code of honor is fine, but it can get you just as dead depending on your decisions. I gettin’ through to you Death Wish?” Shan stood quietly, backing away slightly to make sure he didn’t seem defiant. It wouldn’t do any good to share the scuttlebutt that had been going around after the Commander’s exit. It wouldn’t do any good to note the fact that, as happens so often in Starfleet, he only did what he did because he was the only one set to do it. It was true - he wasn’t qualified and he very easily could’ve gotten himself killed. It was a curious thing; perhaps the moniker wasn’t so wrong after all. It wasn’t that Shan particularly wanted to die, but the thought of death was never something that crossed his mind in dangerous situations. Perhaps there was something wrong with him, or perhaps not. At the moment there were only two things that were certain. First: it was a very good thing that Shan didn’t sign up for the Marines or any other ‘line of fire’ service … he would’ve been dead a long, long time ago if he did. Second: there clearly was only one way to answer the Captain. Shan cast his eyes downward, a look of utter contrite humility on his face. “Yes, Ma’am.” One hand on a hip, Crash did a palm to forehead gesture, scrubbing her free hand across her eyes. Two post-mission disciplinary debriefs and a Captain’s Mast in a 72 hour period? First the Commander, then Granger, now Shalin? All the result of one covert operation? Karma was a you-know-what, and she was getting it paid back in spades. She shouldn’t have done all those flybys; shouldn’t have mooned then-Lieutenant Coyote. Shouldn’t have dog napped Admiral Archer’s beagle, Dartanian; shouldn’t have flown the (illegally painted) pink camouflage A-10 ‘Hog on that stealth training run; shouldn’t have started that one brawl with the 3rd Recon. Shouldn’t have... Wait a minute! Ensign McGivers had started that fight with the 3rd! Calestorm had been busy liberating the Tribbles...never mind... Yeah, Payback in Spades. Crash needed a drink and a smoke and some damn fine ‘cuddle time’ with Captain Mitros. And not necessarily in that order... Figuratively yanking back her temper, the middle aged CO sighed and glanced at the young officer, running a hand through her now short silver-white hair. Like her mother, she carried the family hair gene for going completely gray early. “Ensign Shalin, it’s not so much you making a decision. We’re Border Patrol, and I don’t need or want any geeks on my crew who can’t think for themselves or don’t have what it takes. But you need to learn the difference between where angels fear to tread and making an AWOL move that could get you killed.” Shan remained silent. Within his mind there was no difference - he was on Border Patrol. It all was dangerous - whether at the helm, flying shuttles, or on an away mission. At any time for one reason or another he could get killed; that was just the way things were. The metal hornet invasion was proof of that: dozens of crew members were casualties, and they were mostly people in positions which should have been some of the safest in Starfleet. It was the one thing that set Shan apart from the humans, and many other beings, around him - he was Argelian. As peaceful and charitable as it was, Argelian culture gave no thought to death. It was what awaited everyone eventually, but it was easy enough to avoid. Murder, violence, and even accidental death were all but unheard of, and was inevitably the result of outside influences. Still, Shan did his best to be attentive to the Captain. Although he couldn’t grasp the importance of what she was trying to share, he didn’t wish to be rude. “Now, your disciplinary duties. Since you seem so eager to be adventurous, I’m signing you up for a thirty hour Starfleet webinar course so you can learn to do it right.” She paused for a reaction, eyeing the ensign. Shan did his best not to break out in a cold sweat. There was one particular problem with learning how to do something in Starfleet - people would actually expect you to do it. Going AWOL to retrieve the Commander … no stress there. He’d do his best and that would have to suffice. It would be no big deal to fail: it wasn’t like anyone was expecting him to be there in the first place, much less be an asset. But to be trained; then he would actually be assigned the tasks he simply attempted, and he would be part of the plan - other people would actually be depending on him. He shivered involuntarily at the thought. “The content covers procedures for shuttle pilots assigned to retrieval ops missions. It’s a senior cadet level course, but it’ll give you an idea of what RetOps does. I expect regular updates on your progress.” “Doc cleared you for light duty and for now, you’ll be updating software on the shuttle systems. Once you’re back to full duty, I expect you at the Helm. In addition, for the second shift, you’ll be assisting the maintenance crews cleaning for a month.” Shan straightened himself. “Yes Ma’am.” He was used to clean-up detail; he had been on it often enough in the academy. Shan was a unique headache for his academy instructors; he was intelligent, capable, and quite obedient. He also had a gift for finding unusual ways to screw up without intending to. He was constantly on the discipline roster - not for disobedience but rather in a continuous effort to drill into his head the seriousness of the situations he would be in, and a desperate attempt to give him an ounce of focus. Perhaps this time would be different.

Hi ho Taffypull - AWAY!

Shan opened his eyes slowly, his head fogged and his thoughts blurry. The last thing he remembered was crawling in his quarters in a world of pain. His body still hurt, but not nearly as much. Looking about, he could see he was on a shuttle. He also felt an ache in his chest, encouraging him to stay still. His change of awareness, however, didn't go unnoticed. The wide eyes of Ensign Khole fell gently on him. "Lie still; you're going to be fine." Shan did his best to comply, but curiosity got the better of him. "Wha' happen'd?" "Well: you suffered a bit of transporter distortion followed by a misdiagnosis and an excessive application of medicine. It's nothing to worry about: you've received proper care, the over-abundance of drugs in your system has been neutralized, and a proper medical protocol has been established." Shan nodded slightly. "Wh ... why the shuttle?" "The doctors all agree that you should avoid the transporter for a bit while your body re-adjusts. We did have to beam you over to the Comanche Creek, as the Imperious didn't have a suitable surgical facility, but since your surgery we can be more careful with moving you. It is agreed that you should be under the care of Lieutenant T'Aral. She is the most recently certified of the medical staff, and she has reviewed all of the Erickson protocols regarding distortion syndrome ..." Khole smiled softly. "... and she can keep it all in her head. The rest of us would have to keep looking back on the manuals." Shan sighed and settled. He would've preferred the care of one of the other nurses. T'Aral was a bit too stiff, and all the others were back on the Comanche Creek. Returning to the Imperious meant being within shouting distance of the Captain and the other staff officers. The only thing that had spared him from being torn apart up to this point was a simple blessing of unconsciousness. Now that he was awake and apparently stable, there was nothing to be done but to stare at the wall and wait until the shouting began. He flopped back on the gurney and stared at the shuttle ceiling. It wouldn't be so bad - being busted down to a shuttle jockey meant less interaction with command staff and easier orders. He'd miss the helm of a starship, but that's the price he knew he'd have to pay for following his heart.

Two orderlies entered Shalin's quarters, having been summoned by a guard who found him on the floor. A quick examination found him to be unresponsive, and it was quickly decided that he needed to be moved to sick bay. Upon arrival Nurse Ratchet was notified of his condition. "Why did you bring him here?" She looked down her sharp nose at the two orderlies. "He was confined to quarters. Now we not only have him, but at least one Security guard filling the ward." The orderly was appropriately demoralized. "He was unresponsive, Ma'am. We were concerned that his condition had deteriorated." Ratchet huffed with exasperation. "Well of course he was unresponsive. I gave him a tranquilizer to help him sleep. Obviously it was effective. You've over-reacted, which we do not need. In case you were not aware we've taken fire and we have several casualties. This medical bay is quite understaffed and undersized, so we have no room at all for someone who doesn't need immediate care." With that she whipped out a tricorder. "There - he's been examined. Vital signs are all within acceptable limits. Neural activity is down, but that is to be expected with a sedated patient. Now: if you're through wasting time and resources you may return him to his quarters. Return immediately: we have real patients to deal with." Returning the ensign to his quarters, one of the orderlies turned to the other. "What do you think, Ben?" The second orderly sighed briefly. "John, I think Mildred is too busy maintaining an efficient operation to notice if someone had been run over by a bus." John nodded. "We should do something." Ben set a tricorder on the bed next to Shan, monitoring his vitals. He then programmed it to transmit a regular report to his com-pad. "At least we can keep an eye on him. Hopefully it's not serious." The two orderlies left the room, noting Shan resting quietly. He stirred only slightly as the door shut, completely oblivious to the world around him. His body was becoming more and more aware of subtle shifts within him, and was preparing to combat that which was not normal. It was going to be the type of battle an immune system would fight to win, even if it killed him in the process.

I wear this mask to keep from being conspicuous. ... is it working?

Well, I have a couple choices after a week. Sorry Captain - Ethan's answer rocks. Go for it, dude.

5 years ago ... Sub-orbital space-jump training, Death Valley "We have a malfunction ..." "Who?" "Cadet Cleaver - the deployment pack indicates multiple failure." "Transporter ..." "No good sir: he's going too fast. Even if we get a lock he'll come out of the beam only to smash on the pad." Shan could scarcely believe what he was hearing as he flew the drop-shuttle over the falling cadets. Three suits were working normally, but one was registering warnings. Didn't the techs check those things? "Two minutes ..." Without thinking Shan turned the shuttle into a nose-dive, ripping through the atmosphere under impulse drive. Even with diverting power to the forward deflector, the nose was getting hot. He angled the vessel slightly to protect the upper hull - it would need to stay cool ... The Commandant's voice blared over the com. "Cadet Shalin - what in blazes are you doing?" "This will only take a minute, sir." The outer atmosphere was breached and Shan was in the clear and still accelerating. He began to angle the shuttle carefully, using thrusters to counter the wind resistance that was trying to vector the ship forward. Everything about the vessel protested the abuse, and still he drove it downward. "Cadet you are ordered to return. There's nothing you can do - you'll get yourself killed as well!" Shan didn't reply, for arguing would only make his fate all the worse. The shuttle continued down, whining and screaming all the way. Yet before long Shan got results - he could see the team of divers, in formation and mercifully out of the way. Far past them was Cleaver ... he was almost in positon. Sixty seconds ... The shuttle lurched and bucked as he thrusted it downwards flat. Soon he could see Cleaver staring unbelievingly at him through the front viewport. Shan didn't bother communicating - if he didn't understand what was happening, wasting time with hand gestures wouldn't help. Pushing just a bit longer, Shan got the shuttle flat under Cleaver and began a careful deceleration. The falling cadet hit the shuttle with a reverborating *thud*, which Shan could only pray wasn't too hard. He continued deceleration ... far slower than he wanted but the Cadet wasn't strapped down. He'd hate to have gone through all this trouble only to have Cleaver slip-shot off the roof. It was close: the range indicator read five meters before the shuttle was finally Z-axis neutral. It was, however, stopped and hovering. With that Shan looked ahead and landed, anxious to see the results of his effort. Opening the hatch and looking up, a wave of relief flooded over him as he saw Cadet Cleaver upright - his helmet removed as he sat on the shuttle almost casually. "You ... are a friggin' madman, do you know that?" Shan contorted his face horribly in insult before replying. "You're welcome ... and don't think it would've been easy for me, Walter. How would you like to be the one to tell your little brother that I was flying the ship you jumped out of, right before going bug-splat on the flats?" With that Shan went back inside, returning with a pair of water bottles. The two cadets migrated to the shaded side of the shuttle and sat, drinking slowly and waiting. ----------------------------------- Shan and the jump team snapped to attention as the Commandant's shuttle arrived. Exiting the vehicle, he paced in front of the group three times before speaking. "An interesting performance, Cadet Shalin: it could be considered heroic, were it not for its absolute stupidity. I assume that, as a shuttle pilot, you are aware that the shuttle was never designed for those kinds of maneuvers?" Shan nodded and spoke quietly. "Yes sir." "That would mean you are aware of how much wear and stress you put on that vehicle, and that by all rights it should have snapped in two underneath you both." Shan simply nodded. The Commandant waited an agonizing five seconds before continuing. "So far there are twelve people who know about this incident. Opinions about you vary among them. The fact that you succeeded is commendable, were it not for the fact that you flew in the face of good sense and direct orders. Starfleet is not in the habit of awarding commendations to those who disobey orders. At the same time, repremanding someone for saving the life of a fellow cadet is also bad form. "Therefore: the twelve people who know about this incident will be the only twelve people to learn about it. There will be no commendations, and no repremands. This incident never happened." The Commandant stiffened and looked at the team as a whole. "Is that understood?" "Yes sir." The chorus flashed in classic cadet fashion. "Very good - dismissed." As the group broke up, the Commandant waved to Shan. "Cadet ... the shuttle you flew is due for a maintenance inspection in three days." Shan suddenly felt a rock in his throat. "Yes sir?" The Commandant bent forward and smirked. "This incident never happened ... understood?" Shan sighed heavily. "Understood sir." With that the Commandant rose and smiled pleasantly. "Excellent - carry on." Shan returned to the shuttle, sighing again as he looked at it. He had two days and the vehicle's systems needed at least twenty hours of work to get them back into operational status assuming he didn't wash off the heat scoring marks, which weren't about to just up and wash off. The entire hull would need to be polished, and the Commandant would probably be expecting a waxed shine, too. Deep inside he had to congradulate the Commandant; even without a reprimand he managed to tag Shan with disciplinary action. Dropping into the pilot's seat, he secured the vessel and his passengers before limping back to the training center. He might as well get started right away: he wouldn't be getting much sleep for the next couple of days.

Well let's see ... how about this one?

Shan laid motionless on his bunk, groaning. Transporting usually wasn't painful; usually the subject didn't feel anything. This time, however, was very different. It wasn't just the disorientation that came from not being prepared for beaming - he still felt ill, and it was getting worse. His body ached, or was numb. He was hot, then cold, then ... he couldn't describe it. He was feeling an overwhelming wave of sensations, and almost all of them couldn't really be described. He winced as the door slid open, his sight flashing as the sound of the door met his ears. He could only lay there as Nurse Ratchet examined him. "So - you apparently are suffering from nausea ... any other symptoms?" Shan could only moan in reply. "Hmm ... some pain as well. Don't worry - I have just the thing for you." Drawing out a series of vials, the nurse began dispensing medicine into his system. "This one will take care of the nausea, this one for the pain ... and here's one to help you rest." After three injections she made a note on a datapad. "Now you just rest easy - you'll be fine in the morning." As the nurse left, Shan moaned again. The injections seemed to be having an opposite effect - the room had begun to swirl. All colors began to flash into his head in neon, and his stomach was churning. He tried to get up ... he needed to make it to the head before making another mess, but the room seemed to stretch out for miles while twisting about in a corkscrew pattern. Shan closed his eyes, but it was to no avail. His head was alight with a kalidoscope of colors swirling about. Stumbling and falling to the ground Shan could only gasp slightly as pain, light, heat, cold, pins and needles all conspired to fill him with unmanageable sensations. As he crawled, a black maw of nothing began to form in the center of his sight. As frightening as it was, it also held a welcoming promise of calm, cool silence. It was more than an unending darkness - it was a place of rest. Shan pitched one final time before embracing the comatose state that enveloped him.

Shan returned to the Imperious downcast. He had managed to screw up again, thereby getting yet another staff officer upset at him. He was quickly developing a rather nasty reputation - one he wasn't at all comfortable with. He thought back to the incident: he had heard the Lieutenant's sarcastic remark about carrying the shuttle, and he had heard the midshipman's wisecrack ... yet another Marine looking down their nose at him. Shan shook his head to wipe the thought. That wasn't what was bothering him. What bothered him was how he missed the Lieutenant's second order to withdraw. Shan wasn't a rebelious person - at least, not deliberately. He didn't mean to disobey a direct order; it just sort of happened. ------ Four hours ... Shan finished his bridge shift and checked for messages. The Lieutenant hadn't contacted him for his follow-up dressing down. The waiting only made things worse. Any time ranking officers waited, it was only so they could tear him apart good and proper. It was kind of the reason why he liked the Captain: she got mad ... she tore out a chunk of flesh ... and it was over. The ones that waited always festered, and that always made for more trouble. Checking his status log, Shan was suprised to see that nothing further was logged against him as of yet. It made him uneasier by the second: he was bound to get tore up, and with no other action taken this was going to be ugly. But then a light went on inside him: perhaps, or perhaps he went a little bit crazy. Being who he was, Shan wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. He was, however, suddenly much more relaxed as a single thought - he was going to get busted and busted hard ... so the crime might as well fit the punishment. ------ Eight hours ... With a quick nap completed Shan stole out of his room; careful not to check messages or bump into anyone with a notable rank. Listening in to conversations he confirmed what he suspected: the ship was rotating crew down to the surface for reconaisance work. Checking with the officer in charge, he signed up for the next shift. Checking out a civilian-model pulse weapon, he beamed down outside of the maze facility. Yet while most of the others went in to the open areas to get a look around, Shan headed away from settled areas. Unfolding a small undetailed readout, Shan pulled out a compass and got his bearings. He was a fair navigator himself - whether in space or on the ground. A shuttle pilot had to be, for shuttles weren't staffed like starships. Within moments he knew exactly where he was and where he wanted to be. Tucking away the papers he began his hike, forcing himself to keep quiet as he had no desire to attract attention. ------ Twelve hours ... Shan checked his map and bearings again. Things were beginning to look familiar and he knew he was getting close. That, along with two nutrient sticks and a water can, had kept his morale up. It actually didn't hurt that he was alone. He had four hours without a single officer or crewman to highlight his mistakes to him, and a clear plan for what he wanted to do. There was the very distinct possibility that he had screwed up yet again: the shuttle might not be there. If it was it might be overrun by Orions, but even that didn't bother him. He had a plan to deal with it: probably a stupid plan, but a plan nevertheless. He was ready to answer the Orions and ready to answer for his actions. It only made sense to return to the Fleming and secure it. Among other things it was over 50 mil' in unadjusted credits worth of Starfleet hardware - the quartermaster was bound to want it back. That aside, Shan had no experience when it came to infiltration. If he went into the Orion's den it was unlikely that he would come back. No - his plan was much better. It was the Commander's job to get out of the Maze with their missing crewmembers: a task she was way better suited to accomplish than Shan ever would be. All Shan had to do was find an advisable location to secure, then simply await the return of his delinquent XO. 200 yards left: hopefully the shuttle was still there.

Ten weeks on non-stop KP ... peeling more potatoes than all of Idaho can grow ... this aughta fix that sonofa* ... HEY FRITZ - SHOOT HERE!

Starfleet Academy, 2 years ago Shan stumbled through the academy library, his arms filled with old datacards. The desk clerk looked at him bemusedly. "Again, Cadet Shalin? What is it with you?" Shan set down the cards. "You are an Earthling - you grew up with this, so you probably don't understand the beauty of your culture. Your literature is rich and full of feeling. Your writers explore ideas and thoughts and all sorts of things. My people are stagnant. We sing, we dance, we cook, we love ... but we don't progress, think, or really feel!" He left the clerk shaking her head as he made a quick path back to his quarters. Taking the first card off the stack, he plugged it in a pad to read. 'i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric light bulb and fry himself on the wires' --------------------------------------------------------- Current Day Shan sat at his station, keeping pace with the Flemming without getting too close. In a real way they couldn't: even if the crew was willing to help the Commander ( which at this point was highly unlikely ) she wouldn't answer, and signalling would warn the bad guys that they were coming. All of this, however, wasn't about to change Shan's mind. He could tell that he wasn't popular on the bridge, and his opinion was probably even less so. It was the reason he didn't speak up to begin with - that and the fact that Lieutenant Belo was talking with Marcie and Long John ... not to him. She was going to be a hard one to deal with: the reprimand she gave him dissuaded him from taking initiative, only to find that he was supposed to engage the Warp drive even without an order to do so. His instructors were always of one mind or the other: do nothing without orders and proper regulation, or relax regulation and move on initiative. Shan hated mixed signals. He also hated having to speak up, but he had to. Too many people were all set to just cut the Commander off; someone had to speak up for her. It would be one thing to say that she had to be punished, but let the Captain do the punishing. Just cutting her off - that was heartless. Shan hadn't known the Commander that long, but there was one thing that he was sure of: leaving her for the Orions to play with was the wrong thing to do. Why? Because he wouldn't want the same thing done to him if he ever pulled a bone-headed stunt. Something drove the Commander over the edge - Shan didn't know what, but he did know two things. First: he admired that the Commander had so much heart that she was willing to throw everything away for it. Second: someday, for some reason that he couldn't imagine today, he might find himself in the same situation. He wouldn't want the people he trusted and worked with to just give up on him, even if he deserved it. No - he wouldn't want that at all, so he couldn't do that to the Commander. Like it or not she would be rescued from her own impulsiveness, even if Shan had to do it all himself. Shan smirked at his last thought; maybe there was something in the ship's water ... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Recommended reading: 'The Lesson of The Moth' by Don Marquis, from 'archy and mehitabel' ( 1927 )

No ... the Commander bugged out over whatever, while I may defy orders for the sake of loyalty. I'm not hot for the Commander ... not that green skin isn't awesome or anything, but ... nevermind.

It's kind of like comparing a 10" belgan waffle with strawberries and whipped cream to a 16 oz prime rib cooked to perfection. Both are outstanding in their field - it's a question of what I'm in the mood for.

They're taking my teddy bear! Give me back Mister Snuggles!

( Note : Events of this log transpire directly after the sim of 9/12 - prior to "Boxed In" ) Shan sat at his station despondently. For someone who did his best not to give anyone a hard time, he sure had a lot of people on his case. He wasn't commanding enough, or he was in the wrong place, or he was making too much noise, or he was talking back ... the list went on and on. Sure, he felt bad about disturbing Long John while he was listening in to police radio, but what was the guy thinking? Shan didn't know he was being a nuisance ... it wasn't like he ever piloted a ship from the Science station. If L.J. wanted to intercept transmissions he really should've been sitting at the communications board. Warp coils could do amazing things, but neither they nor the Impulse drive were meant to tune in on subspace. Shan was sorry that L.J. lost his signal, but it wasn't his fault. Now the Science officer was on his case. Ok: he wasn't exactly following Starfleet protocol when answering Lieutenant Haruno, but things weren't exactly operating according to Regulations. Pretty much everyone was walking around in some kind of mercinary disguise ... heck, Marcie looked like four pirates sneezed on her in a laundromat. Put it all together and people were bound to get a little informal, and it wasn't like he was being disobedient ... Shan was so wrapped up in thought that five seconds had passed before he noted the hangar warning light going off on his security panel. *Oh Crispers*; Shan frantically stabbed at the halt and close switch, only to discover a lockout. It only took a few seconds to break the override, but by that time it was too late. There was nothing left to do but to look over his shoulder to the Bridge Officer. "Ma'am - we have an unauthorized shuttle launch." Shan turned back and sulked as he stared at a monitor which had just noted the hangar bay was now closed and secure ... seconds after the Fleming had flown the coop. 'Terrific', he thought to himself, 'they'll probably blame me for this, too.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note: Helm has security override controls for ship's hangar bays, per "The Doomsday Machine".

"Is that the last of it?" Shalin looked to the loading crew iritably. He was back to doing grocery runs; a minor matter which - due to Starfleet preparation - was completely unnecessary. Command thought otherwise, however: something to do with keeping up appearances. "Tha's all y'll be needen, mon." The raggedy loader smiled broadly; it was hard not to like him, even though he moved slower than syrup in winter. "Havin' a banquet dere, or have y'got y'self a fat boss?" "Can't say ..." Shalin smirked back. "... he might be listenin'." The loader laughed heartily and waved as Shan closed the shuttle doors and gunned the engines. He had made five runs so far: finish this one and he'd be off the clock. He needed a shower and some sleep if he was going to be alert when called. This was foremost on his mind as he guided the shuttle in a slow spiral, which was probably why he didn't see the fighters at first. The shuttle's sensors pinged a brief warning before the fighters sent phaser bursts. An obviously altered message blared over the ship's com: "Land and prepare to be boarded." "Like hack I will ..." Shan pitched downward and rolled the shuttle into a spiralling dive, looking to T'tooine's structures for cover. While there wasn't much, any distraction would be a good one. It was, however, something of an error: Shan was used to spaceports being more built upwards - T'tooine strutures tended towards the flat. It was an easy thing for the fighters to fire phasers in steady bursts above him, pushing him lower and lower. A new tactic was needed, and needed fast. With nothing else to lose, Shan pulled the shuttle upwards suddenly - the fighter's phaser blasts scorching the port wing and punching a neat hole in the starboard. This didn't bother him, though - he didn't have any plans for the wings anyway, and he could handle the turbulence it caused. Gunning the engines, he drilled the shuttle vertically at full throttle. This quickly brought him out into the relative freedom of open space. With that he headed for a 'belt'; an orbiting scrapyard common to most mid-ranged colonies, and this was no exception. While not completely clogged, the belt was hazardous enough to get the fighters to slow, which was all the clearance Shan needed. Luring them to the far side of the belt, he spun the shuttle about and gunned it for the drydock he called 'home'. Designed as they were for pursuit, the fighters lacked the tight turn radius needed to effectively pursue the little shuttle before it shifted sideways, skittering between the drydock 'ribs' to coast over the 'Imperious'. He was within the cover of his parent ship ... he was safe. A sudden deceleration, turn, and a finishing landing that was sure to leave a mark on the deckplate brought Shan home. With the hangar door closed and the chamber pressurized Shan stepped out of the shuttle casually, looking to his right to face the stares of the deck crews who would be assigned to repairing the damage to the shuttle. "I'm not sure either ... something about a girl named 'Patrishya', an angry family, and a father with a shotgun. The rest is kind of a blur." Shan exited the hangar and leaned back on the bulkhead wall. Sleep ... then shower.

... and it will be nobody's fault but the planner's. From a Crazy Horse website: "Unlike Mount Rushmore, which is just a relief sculpture, Crazy Horse will be fully three-dimensional, being made of the entire mountain. And in size comparison, Mount Rushmore would be able to fit on Crazy Horse's outstretched forearm. A five-room house will be able to fit inside a nostril the warrior's stead. It will be taller than the Washington Monument and nearly twice as big as the Statue of Liberty. To date, about 8 1/2 million tons of granite have removed to make the sculpture, sometimes employing as many as 100 people." If the artist wasn't so obsessed with being so much bigger and collosal than anything else, he might have actually accomplished what he set out to do. You'd think he'd have learned the lesson from Rushmore: there were supposed to be four full busts, but it just was too big a project. Yet he went on, probably without planning it out and certainly without thinking it through. So it is written: “Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’ " ( Luke 14: 28-30 )

Careful, Quicksilver! I'm the only one around here who - with no other courses than my own resources - can make a fool of myself.