Shalin

Shan ran from the transporter room up the scaffolds and through the corridors to the hangar, having been paged by the deck officer. Many would consider his hasty run not to befit an officer summoned by a subordinate, but Shan never did grasp the concept of hierarchy. Someone needed him, and that was all that mattered. Stumbling into the hangar, he turned to face the paging officer. "Hey - there's a problem?" The deck officer nodded. "We've been ordered to drop a shuttle to collect the Captain and party; traffic indicates trouble coming. The only thing is: we're all pretty much fighter pilots here. If there is trouble, we'll be needed to fly cover and the officer taking helm right now is only qualified on console. Your bio lists you as qualified for console, stick, and yoke ... right?" Shan nodded, though a little reluctantly. He was, in fact, qualified to move practically anything anywhere, using any method. "If it's that important, why not use transporters?" The deck officer shook his head. "No transponders to lock on to, so too great a chance for mistakes to be made. Besides: we don't want to tag ourselves as anything other than we are - a transporter trace would look suspicious. It has to be shuttle." Shan nodded again. "Warm it up - I'll be ready in five." With that he left the hangar, making a beeline for the security station. There was only one thing worse than going down to a lawless planet of mercenaries, and that would be going alone. Entering the security office he looked about. "Excuse me: is anyone available for a little jaunt planetside?" Sakura looked but from a console ready to rip her hair out. "I'm going stir crazy; get me out of here." She was never too good at having nothing to do. The other security officers were getting bored, asking her questions that were a little less than professional and a little more than personal. Sakura understood though; they were only curious. She had pink hair for chris-sakes! Sakura moved over to the door after politely dismissing herself. She grinned and gave a small bow. "Haruno reporting for duty," she chuckled. "And I owe you BIG time." Shan looked to Sakura curiously. She seemed to want to leave the ship about as much as he wanted to stay on it. Still, having the head of Security riding shotgun probably wasn't a bad thing. With a friendly gesture he signaled the door open. "Right this way to Bay Two – we have to be off now." Within the allotted 'few minutes', Shan was in the pilot seat with Sakura nested in the monitoring station. It was always a help to have someone watching the scanners so that he could focus on where he was going. He could do it himself; every well-trained shuttle pilot could. It's just that he preferred not to. "Box-Two to Imperious: we are clear of the hangar." As the shuttle darted out of the docking structure, Shan looked over to Sakura. "Tell me - what idiot thought that 'Imperious' would be a good name for a merchant ship, or even a mercenary vessel? Merchant ships have happy names like 'Aurora', 'Packrat', or 'Tinkerbell'. Mercenary ships have cool names like 'Black Lance', 'Nagamaki', or 'Dragonfire'. " 'Imperious' is the name of a command cruiser or a dreadnaught. We're practically announcing that we're a military vessel. I'm surprised we haven't been bombarded already." Shan sunk in his seat even while toggling on the piloting yoke. He was very particular about his control preferences: board for captial ships, yoke for shuttlecraft, and stick for fighters. It gave him the best feel for what he was doing and just how much danger he was in. Sakura looked up from the scanners at Shan, and shrugged. "Haven't been attacked yet, so that's good. Though I suppose they could have chosen a better name... Nothing on scanners." She rolls her shoulders back and sighs, "They better not be getting into trouble down there." Sakura always had a problem with her commerades putting themselves in danger when she wasn't there to protect them. People always labeled her kind as killers, assassins; she saw them as protectors, peace makers, if you will. Sometimes people had to die to have progress for the rest. Sakura just didn't want any of her ... friends to be the sacrifices. "Remind me what they're doing again, and why it’s taking so long." Shan remained focused ahead as he replied. "The assignment was to arrest the head of the Black Kris, and/or disrupt their operations. Personally I have no idea how a handful of officers and crew are supposed to do that, but thankfully that's not my problem. From what I've heard, about half the officers and most of the crew have Special Forces training. "Now me ... I'm just the bus driver." Shan smirked at Sakura. He typed in a digital com message to planetary traffic control, and snagged a fairly well-placed bay. "Ok - I've got clearance for a pad that's only a kilometer from the Captain's last known location: a lovely dive called J'bba's Palace. The place is probably a strip club, so if you go inside, expect to be treated as entertainment." Shan settled into the pad smoothly. "Otherwise, we can just stand by here until called." He sent a tight beam packet-link back to the ship with the shuttle's location. He hoped that all would go smoothly, even though his gut already told him otherwise. Sakura considered going in to retrieve the crew; her old profession had her doing undercover work, which sometimes required some less than honorable activity. "I'd rather not go inside if I don't have to," she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the scanners. She hoped everything would go well, she always did. But if she learned anything from her years of training, it was to trust her instinct. At that moment her instinct told her to go inside, but then again it told her that that wouldn't be a smart idea. "... I have a bad feeling about this..."

I have read that the original actor intended for Dr. Noonien Soong was actually Keye Luke. Brent Spiner took over the role when Luke had to bow out due to health reasons.

"USS Imperious: you are cleared for arrival. Your assignment is docking bay 94, beacon AA-23." Shan noted the beacon signature and followed in on approach. The ship was fully equiped with an automated docking system, but he didn't trust it. If he switched over, they would be handing control of the ship over to the docking authority. Shan didn't know how many mercenary crews would do that, but he sure as heckfire wouldn't. "Forty Kilometers ... closing." As he looked down upon the world below, Shan grew ill. As he was growing up, he had made a point of avoiding the darker parts of the Spaceport district. Here *everything* was the spaceport district, and people died in the darker parts. "Twenty Kilometers ... closing." How had he managed to end up here? Shan was a helmsman and pilot; he knew nothing about clandestine operations. Now he was piloting a vessel deep in enemy territory - what if the Captain expected him to do something? The last thing he needed ... the last thing anyone needed ... was for him to be on an away mission. He'd screw it up; that was just a given. "One thousand meters ... closing" Shan slowed the vessel to thruster speeds, allowing the navigational scanners to feed back how well he was doing. It wasn't a perfect approach, but it was well within tolerance. Even better: the navigational scanners were rigged to provide the tactical station with critical data. Within moments they had a read on the docking bay, along with all docking clamp mounts and any defensive capabilities. "Five hundred meters ..." He hoped that Tactical would be able to digest everything. Even more importantly, he hoped that they had enough weapon mounts to clear the moorings in case of a speedy get-away. He wouldn't want any of the fighter crews to have to launch in a fire-fight. "One hundred meters ..." The spindly frame of the docking bay loomed about them, all but completely surrounding them. They would be clear underneath: a typical configuration suited to space vessels, allowing shuttlecraft to move swiftly without obstruction. Simply 'dropping' wouldn't be an option, though: they were too far out. "Final maneuvers ..." Shan settled the vessel in position, noting as the docking clamps shot out magnetic grapples. Within moments the ship was secured in position; hopefully they had funds to pay for docking fees. If they didn't, he'd have to tear their way out, and he was pretty sure the dock was prepared for that eventuality. With the ship docked, Shan eased back in his chair. The Captain would provide instructions: either than or he would make himself useful as a transporter chief or a shuttle pilot. In either case his personal plan was clear - stay on the ship as much as possible and stay out of trouble.

Shan lay back on his bunk after his latest shift. He was already missing his chess game with Ensign Grey; hopefully Madison would wait 'till he got back. He didn't like thinking that he'd be replaced so quickly, but something in his head just hoped that his bunkie wouldn't be so superficial. Easing back on his bunk, he read over his dossier again. Name: Bylar Krys Occupation: Pilot / Helmsman Homeworld: Proxima IV Race: Human Distinguishing Characteristics: None History: ... Shan read as much as he could before boredom overtook him. He had been a freighter pilot, traded from one small assignment to the next with no discernable record, positive or negative. Currently contracted to the SS Imperious. "... and looking to jump ship the first chance I get." He read the last line sourly; what was Inteligence thinking? Sure: if this whole cockeyed story had a grain of truth then maybe he would be seeking to bail, but doing so on a border world would present a host of hazards. Shan really hoped it was just supposed to be a cover line, and that the Captain hadn't been given any suggestions regarding how to proceed that actually involved him. There was a very unkind truth resting just behind Shan's eyes ... unlike the rest of the crew, he was afraid. Shan remembered the merchants, the mercenaries, and all the Great Unwashed that the galaxy had chose to bring to the spaceports of Argelius. In Shan's eyes, they were at best unpleasant, and at worst horrible. The thought of impersonating one was revolting. The thought of risking his life by interacting with them was just unholy. He couldn't do it ... he knew he couldn't do it and he'd end up risking everybody's life because he wouldn't be able to handle himself in a crisis. Shan took a deep breath. 'Relax ... the captain knows you choke in a crisis. She'll keep you somewhere that you won't be able to harm the mission.' For Shan, this wasn't a pipe dream - it was a very necessary belief. If any real mercenaries, merchants, or pirates came upon him the whole mission would be a pitiful failure. 'Deathwish' was just a name. Unlike the fighter pilots, Shan's heart kept a constant focus on staying alive. He just hoped it would be clear to see.

Shan rode a cramped shuttle from the Comanche Creek to his new assignment. As they approached the vessel, he sighed heavily. It was another cargo transport, like so many that he had served on before. It was boxish, crude, and no doubt unrefined inside. Yet he couldn't complain too much: the Washington Crossing was an Almeida class cruiser, which meant plenty of stateroom space. For the first time in months he would have his own room; he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. Once he had boarded, Shan decided to take the tour. Almeidas weren't complicated so it would be quick, an it would be good to know his way around. Most of the ship used a typical layout and classic systems, though he noted a good amount of automated installs. Starfleet obviously didn't want them to be taking a significant crew: that would be fine as long as they didn't bump in to too much trouble. If they did, all that automation would have to hold together while he performed a dozen commands all at once. The odds that something would break down was high. This, though, was good for their cover. The Almeida class of ships were outdated, and most had been decommissioned a decade ago or more. Those which still existed served as merchant ships due to their freighter-design. The ship was meant to haul cargo and passengers, and the idea that a merchant crew had aquired an old cruiser was quite possible. Making his way up from the cargo bay, Shan examined Deck 8. The entire deck had been gutted and refitted for a transporter system. Shan examined the work, noting a certain crudeness to it. The technicians were very clever about it: the actual connections and systems were top-notch, but they had made a point of not concealing the refit. This gave everything inside a 'merchant' look, with conduits and large components exposed for easy access. It was nothing like Starfleet standard construction, which made a point of hiding away anything that would be the least bit unattractive. The fact that this would make all systems a bear to maintain was utterly lost on Starfleet ship designers. As he made his way through the ship, he noted other 'crude modifications'. These consisted of six additional single-phaser weapon mounts and additional shield generators. They also looked spliced though Shan was confident that, like the transporters, the actual work would be sound. This was the way merchants did things, and they needed to look like merchants. Shan couldn't help but wonder if the ship was a new build or a re-christened refit. Shan hoped for the latter, and hoped even more that the refitted ship was the Nemesis. He believed that ships had spirits - a residue of hopes and dreams given it by every person who ever secured a bulkhead or manned a station. The Nemesis was a legend in its day: a terror to pirates and terrorists alike. They needed a ship with that kind of spirit. Finishing his tour on the bridge, Shan settled into his station. There were several more control panels than the Comanche Creek had, thanks to the need for a small crew to be able to man the ship. He sighed and ran through several automated training senarios. When the Captain gave an order, he needed to be able to respond quickly and reliably. First the bridge, then the transporter, then he would be ready for the mission. At least, he hoped he would be.

It's Rainin' Gold - Hallelujah!

Ensign Shalin finished his shift, once again without incident. He smiled to himself: a few hundred more of those and maybe the Captain would forget his gaffe … probably not, but maybe. Stopping by his quarters briefly, he saw that Madison had made his … or her … last move. It was the first spark of communication between them: Ensign Grey had set out a chess board. A day later, a piece had moved. Shan caught the hint, and they had been playing the same game ever since. It seemed to him that Madison had the same feeling that he did … it was kind of fun sharing a room with a ghost. Madison probably didn't want to meet him either - it would spoil the game. Shan didn't stay in his quarters long, though. He had made arrangements with the fighter deck officer to get some simulator time while the fighter crews weren't using them. He had been waiting days for his next session, and finally he had the chance. He hadn't flown a fighter since the Academy when he was in 'Fargo' squadron - those pilots charged with getting fighters from wherever they were stored to wherever the real fighter squadrons needed them. It wasn't a glamorous position, but someone had to do it. Within minutes the simulator was running, and Shan was maneuvering through Earth's asteroid belt. It really wasn't that treacherous, if one knew what he was doing. Such places were only hazardous if a pilot insisted on being reckless. Shan liked to keep things exciting, but as much as he often scared his shuttle passengers he was in fact a very careful person. A thrill wasn't much fun if you weren't around to enjoy it afterwards. Warrant Officer Cassie Granger wove among the simulators, looking for an opening. Given the present need to conserve fuel and ammo, Black Sheep had first dibs, and doubly so with fighter quals due within the month. Outside each simulator capsule a console read out data much like an arcade game: occupant/player, simulation/game, level, and score. One difference in the "real thing" was a qualification rating, the pilot's stress level, and the projected success of the mission given the added stress of a real situation. Spotting an open hatch, Cass wandered toward it but stopped short as she noticed the occupant next door: Ensign Shan Shalin. Out of curiosity, she stopped to watch. The scenario was running well. Shan had managed to cross the belt without incident, and the simulator was moving on to the next challenge: entering Earth's atmosphere. Normally not much of an issue, except that an Orionids meteor shower that he would have to cross. The S.O.P. would be to head to Starbase and wait it out, only for the purposes of the simulation that wasn't an option. Like most simulations, no reason was given for this. That didn't bother Shan: the same was true for most military operations. Reason had nothing to do with it: you did what you were ordered to do … plain and simple. This, unfortunately, had a predictable result. The shower in the program was particularly vicious, and despite navigational sensors, deflectors, and managing to find a relatively light portion of the shower to pass through, the simulator declared that he had a puncture in his canopy and several micro-fractures in his engine manifold. End result: he 'died' by asphyxiation shortly before the craft detonated spectacularly above Starfleet Academy, SF. Shan sat back and grinned at the display, mumbling to himself. "Not a bad way to go, overall …" Cassie paged back through the simulation record. It wasn't particularly challenging, but she had a gut feeling that, given a more challenging situation, the ensign would come out on top. He sure wasn't giving himself enough credit. It also seemed that whoever programmed the simulation was out to get him. Puncture in the canopy? Micro-fractures? In a Fleet fighter? Outside the atmosphere? Cass checked the area for onlookers and spied a group of enlisted huddled around the master console, laughing and applauding. On a hunch, she accessed the text portion of the ensign's console and interfaced with the master screen. "Having fun?" It took a few seconds, but the group began to scan the room, finally catching sight of Cass standing -- arms crossed, deadly look in her eyes -- outside Shalin's simulator. They scattered, their expressions clearly oh sh*t. Cass accessed the original simulation protocol, set programming to instructors and certified personnel only, reset the system, and moved on to her own capsule, all the while watching the gang of five leave the bay. After cooling his heels a bit, Shan was ready to exit the simulator. He had no idea what was going on behind him, nor did he particularly care. It had been an intense run, which was all he was looking for. As he rose from his capsule, he spotted a hint of blonde hair ducking into a separate simulator. Sneaking about for a bit, he saw Cassie settling in behind the controls. So … the Marine fancies herself as a pilot, too. Nothing much was surprising Shan today, and this was no exception. Marines were known for being multi-discipline trained, and most of them thought they could do anything. While a big part of him wanted to just leave her to whatever she was doing, another part wanted to know what his co-workers were capable of. Quietly moving back to the observation center Shan watched her simulation unfold, settling into an observer's chair while absent-mindedly mumbling an old Earth tune. "... anything you can do - I can do better. I can do anything better than you." Simulators aboard Comanche Creek were anything but ordinary, their on-the-rim Border Patrol tasking more than evident in the configuration of simulation systems and available programs, the best compact ATFS* flight simulators available. In addition to shuttle and fighter missions, they came fully rigged for atmo ejection training, centripetal fitness up to 5 Gs, and roll, pitch, and yaw gyro-spin capability. Tomcat. Hell of a thing. Hornet, likewise. As tempting as those programs were, Cass was also up for quals, though not on 'Creek. They'd come in conjunction with her other evals, and most likely would be vacuum and atmo -- emphasis on the atmo. Trainers were down-and-dirty sadists, and they had a thing for atmo. Getting a benchmark was just an excuse for the rush they got when pushing a pilot to the limit. Favorite trick was cutting out IDS and stabilizers, guaranteed to fill the cockpit with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Lacking a flight suit that would protect her from high-G blackout, Cass nixed the centripetal fitness program and strapped on the five-point harness for the gyro. Known to pilots as the "rock 'n' roll gyro," it tested and enhanced spatial orientation and vestibular stability by twirling the pilot every which way but up while spinning at speeds approaching 2 Gs, all the while demanding that the pilot execute certain maneuvers. Cass engaged the medical monitor/readout and med-alarm, set the timer for five minutes, and let 'er rip. Shan watched as Cassie scrolled through the options. He wished that he was surprised by her selection, but he wasn't. Marines were always over-achievers, and Warrant Officer Granger was no exception. He wondered if that was what caused the disruption on the bridge: her and the Science Lieutenant bantering back and forth about what to do while completely ignoring the dolt in the command chair. Not that he blamed them: if he was at the helm with some incompetent Ensign playing captain, his first duty would be to protect the ship from the acting CO's inability. They were just doing the same. Two minutes in and the usual spinning-gyro disorientation shifted into full fighter battle mode. Sh*t... Dirt-bound in a spinning dive, no IDS, alarms screeching, lights flashing a strobe pattern.... Damn... "Warning... impact... in... three... minutes." No sh*t... Three minutes. Each breath strained into the next with the pressure of 3 Gs as her head spun with the vehicle. She began to lose focus while every compensation she attempted met a solid wall.... Sonofa.... "Warning... impact... in.. one... minute." Thoughts of murdering the programmer spiked her adrenaline. Slapping the console, she went full manual, pushed herself forward to wrap both hands firmly around the stick, her feet sliding forward onto the aileron stability controls, her teeth set into a low growl. Four Gs and accelerating. Approaching 12,000 feet. A hefty pull on the stick and fancy footwork slowed the spin, but she continued the dive. Her timing came back. She counted spins. At five, she slammed the stick forward. Five Gs... six... seven... close to blackout at 2500 feet.... "Eject. Eject. Eject. Auto... eject... in... ten... seconds... nine... eight... seven... six..." The simulator banked into a slow roll and shot back towards the black void. "End... program." Cass collapsed into her seat, soaked with sweat, her head lolling against the rest, eyes closed against the yellow medical alert glaring on the cockpit system medical readout, connected directly to the medical bay. She was good … some would say exceptional. Most certainly she was better than he was, begging the question of why she was on the bridge and not in the tactical squadron. His reason was simple: he could fly well, just not in a tactical situation. He was a shuttle pilot or a Starship helmsman. He had no business behind the yoke of a fighter, except to transfer it from spacedock to the Academy, or the other way around. Shan watched for a while, then stepped up to leave. He wasn't a flight test evaluator, or Cassie's superior officer. He was just another deck officer who was, at the moment, spying on W.O. Granger's practice. He knew how much that would bug him; he didn't want to do that to anyone else. Cass hung for several minutes to catch her breath before releasing the sweat-soaked harness. Her hands ran through matted hair as she leaned forward to allow the blood to circulate freely to her brain. When her focus returned and her body stopped shaking she popped the hatch and stepped out. Ooo-rah, Master Chief.... "Well, hello Officer Granger …" Oh boy. A witness to that debacle. "Evening, Ensign Shalin." She did her best to keep her tone light. It was the programmer she wanted to kill, not the helmsman. Shan did his best to give the impression that he wasn't looking in on her practice. "Fancy meeting you here. I thought I was the only one outside of the fighter squadrons preparing for evaluations." "Just keeping my licks in, Sir. Never know when you might need 'em." The simulation had jerked most of the formal Marine out of her; her steps slumped from one stair to the next as she tried her best not to stumble. She even managed a slight smile. "Got to show the vacuum jocks what we're made of." She ticked her head toward Shalin's simulator. "Did yourself proud in that regard." He sighed inside. Oh great … first the Captain notes that I rolled the ship, now she sees me here. Pretty soon everyone in the ship will get the idea that I want to join the fighter corps. Nothing was further from the truth. While dedicated, Shan was also a sincere pacifist. He didn't like getting into combat, and certainly wasn't one to seek a fighter to fighter encounter. He was a master of transportation: big ships, small ships, or matter transmission. He was that and nothing more, and the sooner people got that into their heads, the better. He shook his head slightly. "It's nothing like that - I'm not looking to prove anything to anyone. I just like vehicles, that's all." He waved a hand to the hangar bay. "Fighters, shuttlecraft, patrol ships, starships … it's all the same to me. They're just vehicles, and I like to be able to pilot them all. You never know when you might need to." Shan was quite serious about the matter. He had seen both historical records and literary works which suggested the need for versatility. Being a unit, a fighter squadron was vulnerable to contagious viruses or a really bad unit party. In either case, others would have to be called up in their stead in times of crisis. As much as Shan hated the idea of fighter combat, he hated the thought of letting his captain down even more. The thought of the Captain re-awoke another thought in him. "And Marcie, by All The Gods That Be, will you please stop calling me 'sir'? My name is 'Shan', or 'Shalin', or 'Hey You', or even the Captain's beloved 'Death Wish'. 'DW' will do … almost anything will do - just stop calling me 'Sir'!" Marcie? Cass was too worn out to ask. "Shalin it is, then." She gave a sigh, more from exhaustion than for comment. "Most folks call me Cass, Sunny, or Gunner. "But if you'll do me a favor, Shalin?" She leaned wearily on the railing and cocked her head with a sheepish grin at his expression. "Next time I move in the direction of these simulators, will you slap me upside the head? And if the Doc says anything about a yellow simulator med alarm, could you help me look real innocent?" Shan turned a shade of pale at Granger's last comment. "Um, they put those med alarms in there for a reason. If you tripped them, you really should be checked out by Sickbay. You could end up with an embolism, or an aneurysm, or any number of nasty 'isms." He was quite disturbed at the news. The last thing he needed would be for the navigator to stroke out on duty. It wasn't just about a co-worker being less than par. Shan cared about Cass just because she was a person. He had this way of caring about everyone he worked with; that extended to all the bridge staff, and Cass was no exception. "If you wanted me to cover you about some broken piece of equipment that's no big deal, but I can't help you on this one. You're going to Sickbay to report whatever happened and get properly checked. If you don't go voluntarily, I will rat on you for your own good." "You giving me an order... Shalin?" A playful smirk tugged at her lips. Shan gave Cass a disgusted look. Why did people always have to be difficult? "Orders are for superior officers; I'm giving you a choice. Either you speak to the doctor or I will." Shan scowled but his soft, almost comical face made it all but impossible for him to look imposing. He prepared for the worst: that he would have to go to the doctor on Cass' behalf. It would be an ugly thing to do, but somebody had to do it. "Aye, aye... Shalin. On my way." In complete respect to his rank, her expression remained serious. It softened to a slight grin after exiting the bay on her way to medical. Damn. Might make a leader of him yet. _____________________________ *Advanced Tactical Fighting Systems

The activity on this one is most disappointing. I was really hoping for more entries. Oh well: the winner goes to Her Greenship, Commander Scooter! Have at it, Ma'am.

Shan returned to his quarters after his shift, nodding as he noted that the off-shift officer that he shared it with did his part. The bedsheets were changed and folded, and the room was clean. He felt quite lucky - he had never met whichever Ensign had his quarters when he was on duty, and he didn't expect to. He didn't know if the other officer was a 'he' or a 'she', or even the officer's species. Learning that would mean investigating their personal effects, and that wasn't something Shan was interested in doing. All he knew was the name on the placard outside: "Madison Gray, Ens." 'Madison' could mean anything, though the name suggested a human. With the stateroom door secured, Shan allowed himself some music. He smiled as it played, chuckling at the irony that his favorite song suggested that he 'enjoy the silence'. It was a recent remake - to his knowledge over thirty had been made since the song's origin. This particular one was slow and other-worldly, but still managed to keep to a recognizable melody. Shan had traced the song to its origins ... at least, the best origins he could find. Some of his classmates had suggested that Lacuna Coil wasn't the original band who performed the song, but he liked their version best anyway. Crashing back on the bunk, he wondered how long he could keep up things as they were. His first encounter with a real crisis had pretty much cured him of his nonsensical edge, but now he went through his shifts quiet and nervous. He couldn't get past the gaffe of muting the Captain during a combat encounter, nor did he miss the fact that he was totally incompetent as a bridge officer. A good bridge officer gave orders that people obeyed because he inspired confidence. Shan shook his head … confidence was one thing he had little of. Still, there was the hope that the XO and Captain learned from this as well: never put an Ensign in charge of Lieutenants – it doesn't end well. It was getting easier as time went on: he was alive, there were no casualties caused by his actions, and he wasn't spending his off hours cleaning the Officer's latrines with a toothbrush. All in all, things turned out rather well. Thoughts such as this allowed Shan to drop the matter for a while and turn his attention to the latest briefings on transporter systems. Shan was fascinated with every means of transportation imaginable. If it got things from point A to point B, he was interested in it. Picking up a pad, he refreshed his knowledge of transporter systems. When they returned to Earth he would be taking the transporter tests to renew his operator's certification, along with deck loader, shuttlecraft, and light transport. If it moved anything from one place to another, Shan wanted to know how to do it. This was what kept Shan from worrying too much about messing up on the bridge. As long as he knew every way to move people and materials possible he had a talent that Starfleet would always keep, and Argelius would remain a distant pastoral memory that he wouldn't be condemned to return to.

Thanks! Took me a bit, but I found one that I hope is worthwhile ...

When I was young I had a BB gun. My mom said I'd shoot my eye out, and well ...

How did I get here? Shan Shalin looked about the bridge with an expression of mixed cluelessness and desperation. He was the helmsman; a glorified pilot. If they were facing a meteor shower, an ion storm, or any other kind of physical threat it would be possible that he could command the ship through it given his experiences. This wasn't a piloting issue, though. The ship had been invaded ... no, perhaps infected would be a better term. In any case, there were mechanical monsters swarming through the vessel and he had no idea what to do about it. Well, maybe that wasn't correct. He did order the ship into a high orbit before the crisis began. The entire vessel could, at this point, be turned to rubble and it would be months before the orbit decayed enough to risk hitting the planet. Any other astrological hazard was extremely unlikely, so it could be said that he did what was most important: he did put the vessel in a position where the only immediate threat were hundreds of giant mechanical wasps. Only what was he to do now? He had alerted Security, had Engineering and the Bridge sealed off - though with that acid it was likely that containment wouldn't last long. Shalin cursed the Orions, even as he admired their cleverness. They weren't like the Federation: they didn't put themselves at risk, they sent in automations. That thought caught Shan's mind. Why didn't the Federation use automations, rather than constantly putting sentient beings in red shirts in harm's way? Every Starfleet cadet knew the answer: because androids and robots weren't capable of independent or creative thought. They did what they were told, end of story. But the 'wasps' weren't acting that way: they seemed to be working in concert, taking on specific goals. That meant they were either finely programmed with details of the Comanche Creek specifications, or they were being externally directed. It was grasping at straws, but there was a signal that was sent before the 'wasps' attacked. Shan knew his next order: to have the Communications Leutenant scan for a carrier signal. If there was one, they could jam it. Maybe that would shut the 'wasps' down, or at least eliminate their ability to work in groups. Shan hoped that would be the case, though he knew that doing so might make things go sour. The beasties might be programmed to explode if such jamming took place, or wreak absolute havoc wherever they were, or maybe they were just that well made and programmed that there wasn't any command signal. He shrugged at the thought: no plan was perfect. In order to have a perfect plan he would need to know far more than he did. That information wouldn't be forthcoming any time soon, so he would just have to improvise. Am I right, or am I wrong? Leaning on a nearby rail, Shan prepared to face whatever was coming. He did so with a smile, because there was one thing that was certain in this mess - whatever happened wouldn't be his fault. He never should've been put in command: he was all but surrounded by senior officers. Although he respected the XO very much, she didn't make a very smart decision when she put him in the command chair. Assuming he survived this, any board of inquiry would hold her responsible. He would not be held accountable so long as he made a good-faith effort and didn't disobey any incoming orders from Commander Wesley or the Captain. He took one last breath and stiffened. It was time to act.

I would contend that we still can have privacy if we seek it. After all - while it is true that there are cameras, monitors, etc. everywhere - they don't all belong to one entity. We should strive to make sure this remains the case ... that one entity cannot access these various sources of information.There is, of course, a way to maintain your privacy: be a quiet person trying to live a quiet life. You don't bother them ... they won't bother you.

"I'm serious - either you submit to my demands or I microwave my brain right here in front of you!" Achmed never quite understood the concept of a suicide terrorist.

Ensign Shalin made his way to the medical bay. It should've been easy enough: Deck 7, central core. That was the way it was on most Saucer-based starships. Yet Shan passed Engineering three times before finally locating Medical. Stepping inside, he waved to the first person he met. "Hi – Ensign Shan Shalin, reporting for introductory medical." Leutenant T'Aral turned about to face the Ensign, taking in his presence. A new Academy graduate no doubt; he had the fresh enthusiasm of a graduate. It would only be a matter of time before he lost the wide-eyed luster, which unfortunately always happened too quickly. "This way, Ensign." Gesturing to a side stall, she picked up a medical tricorder. "Lie back on the bio-bed, and we can start your examination." The Ensign's vitals were strong, and he was largely healthy save for a somewhat large bruise along his right side. Indications were that it was healing properly and had been doing so for some time, but that could only logically mean that the injury was initially far more severe. "Ensign – where did this injury come from?" Shan blushed crimson. "It was a mistake, Ma'am. I was on shore leave, and I let someone lead me to the wrong side of town." It was true enough: he was on shore leave on Rigel, and the young lady he was with did lead him to 'the wrong side of town' … the side claimed by several squads of Marines who were also on shore leave. A little too much drink, an accident, an unaccepted apology, and Shan found himself in the base hospital for a week in traction while several attendants re-knit his ribs. Shan promised himself no more bars or nightclubs. Now shore leave meant quiet places with good resturants; less exciting, but far healthier. T'Aral nodded, accepting the explanation without detail. "You are otherwise quite healthy, Ensign. Do you have any concerns?" She paused for a moment, then finished. "Any concerns at all about your health, or perhaps your assignment?" Shan thought for a minute; it might be the wrong thing to admit to, but he just had to talk to somebody. "Well, I've got a few nerves about the assignment. I mean, I've never flown anything larger than a glorified transport. A starship: that's over 800 kilo's of hardware. I expect it'll handle differently. I've had simulations before and all, but this is the real thing." T'Aral sat quietly and nodded. "Your concerns are not unusual. However: Starfleet rarely makes mistakes in such matters. Your training obviously would cover these situations, otherwise you would not have been assigned. I expect that you are far more competent than you believe." She then glanced over to Shalin with as much gentleness as she could muster. "Or – is it Fire Control which bothers you?" Shan fell silent; it was the one part of the Helm assignment he dreaded. "… yeah." T'Aral nodded again, offering as much understanding as she could. "As an Argelian you are a pacifist, which no doubt makes this challenging. It is a part of your duties which you must make peace with if you are to keep your assignment. Is this something that you wish to do?" Shan stiffened, and nodded. "Yes Ma'am. I knew what I was getting into when I signed on, and nobody has made it easy for me. I know what it is to be a Helmsman, and I'm ready." T'Aral stood, adjusting her notes. She had her doubts – Shan might well not be ready for his assignment, but there was no indication in his responses. She would have to keep a watch on him. "If you find that you need someone to speak with, I am at your disposal. Otherwise you are fit and cleared for duty. Do you have any questions?" "Just one …" Shan blushed slightly again. "… is there an easy way to tell where you are in this ship? I keep getting lost." It was almost enough to make T'Aral laugh – almost, but thankfully not quite enough. "If you'll step this way Ensign, I will show you where the corridor addresses are found and explain the ship's polar co-ordinate system."

Ensign Shan Shalin looked about the New Topeka settlement with a certain curiousity. It was one of the more outlying outposts, and as such wasn't as neat, clean, or organized as the more in-system sites he had been to. On the other hand it did have the one thing Shan enjoyed about stations other than his home - it had variety. Argelius was renowned for the singular pursuit of pleasure which its inhabitants engaged in. This did, of course, mean that over seventy-five percent of all businesses were resturants, bars, or massage parlors of varying degrees of intimacy. On other worlds, Shan had found that their stations offered a myriad variety of goods and services. Shan had thankfully learned restraint early in the Academy. He was assigned a room with a Vulcan of all races - an assignment he had later learned was considered to be for their mutual protection, for even though Shan was atypical among Argelians, he was still an Argelian. He needed to learn a certain level of restraint to be a Starfleet officer, and Sadun was an exceptional teacher. In return Shan offered his roommate the one thing Argelians were good at - unconditional acceptance. Sadun was a Vulcan, and Shan respected his barriers. That respect was returned as well, a fact Shan appreciated one particular night when his roommate walked in on him and Cadet Diora. Shan was as much a friend to Sadun as any outworlder could be for a Vulcan, though now it was different. Sadun had joined the New Vulcan colony as part of the local Starfleet contingent, and Shan was assigned to border patrol. They had said their goodbyes, though Sadun made it clear that it would not be forever. "There will come a time when I will need the presence of my friends. When that time comes, I will ask you to stand with me." Shan didn't understand, but he knew enough not to ask. Sadun didn't explain, which meant it was personal. If there was one thing he learned quickly, it was that one didn't pry into the personal affairs of Vulcans. As Shan finished his sight-seeing, his communicator chimed. He quickly answered the page, returning directly to the administrative offices. There he was sent to a clerk who had brought up his file. "Shan Shalin - Ensign. Graduated from the Academy eight months ago - performing various individual piloting assignments." The clerk looked up to meet Shan's eyes. "You've been assigned to a Starship, Ensign. You are to be their new Helmsman." Shan held back on his reaction. Helmsman of a Starship? That was an assignment for an experienced officer. The idea that he would receive such an assignment out of the academy was all but unthinkable except in the most extreme circumstances. Sure, there was the whole 'Nero' thing, but he had been passed over at the time. Surely he hadn't improved so quickly. The alternative must be true: Starfleet was desperate. Still, an assignment was an assignment. "I will do my best, Sir." The clerk didn't bother replying directly. Instead he handed Shan a datafile. "The Comanche Creek will be arriving in two hours. Pack and report to Transporter Station Seven for transfer to the drydock." Shan left and packed quickly, throwing his few belongings into a fairly large duffel. Beaming up to the drydock, he waited anxiously for his new ship to arrive. As it did so, he took in its features: a primary hull so wide they needed to open the drydock sideleaves an additional fifty meters to accomidate it safely, an upper-deck secondary hull with what appeared to be launch bays, and a single under-mounted warp engine. He recognized the general design: it was a little over twenty years old. Shan sighed a bit - his assignment made more sense now. As unlikely as it would've been, he was hoping for a starship with a newer design - one with multiple warp engines. Looking at it, he shook his head while laughing just a little. "It's gonna steer like a pig."

Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool? ... yeah, but you won't believe your f*ing eyes!

Full Name: Shan Shalin Current Starfleet Rank: Lieutenant, JG Current Starfleet Position: Helmsman Current Vessel of Posting: USS Comanche Creek Personal Information Species: Argelian Gender: Male Age: 22 Birthday: 17th of Pentane, 200 Y.A.E. Place of Birth: Tathar province, Argelius II Marital Status: Single Height: 5' 10" Weight: 155 lb. Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Blue Skin Color: Caucasian ( equiv. ) Medical History Allergies: None Blood Type: O- Scars/Other Distinguishing Marks: None. Other History: No significant ailments. Family Information Father: Travon Shalin, Musician Mother: Rama Shalin, Entertainer Siblings: Torin (m), Jan (f), Zana (f) Education Argelian Primary Education Starfleet Academy Prep Starfleet Academy Fields of training Starship General Operations Starship Command Operations Starship General Maintenance General Field Operations Pilot - Retrieval Operations Certifications Helmsman Certification - Starship Pilot Certification - Shuttlecraft Pilot Certification - Fighter craft Weapons Operations - Starship Weapon Systems Maintenance Transporter Operations Transporter Maintenance Career History Star Fleet Academy Hobbies and Interests Music, Cooking, Painting, Sketch Art, Terran Medival European and Asian Weapons. General Information The psychological profile of Shan Shalin is atypical of Argelians. While non-violent and friendly by most standards, Shan lacks the wholely pacifistic and hedonistic nature characteristic of Argelian Society. He has a clear sense of duty, ambition, and an acceptance of violent action in response to aggression. Among his home society this would result in constant conflict. However: within the Academy instructors found him inteligent, obedient, and eager to please. Councelors noted that he would be ill-suited for command or a department chief assignment, but would be an outstanding subordinate.

Let that hope be for all of us ... I can't imagine anyone who's year couldn't use improvement.

How spiffy: two movies with the specific intent of making me despise my own existence, wrapped up into a third with pretty SciFi scenery. Forgive me if I don't applaud.

*sigh* ... painful sinus infections are brutal!

Curious: what does this gain anyone, besides being one big popularity contest?

All the same, here I am.

Never compare the GMs to Captains Bligh or Queeg if you want to get graduate sometime before the turn of the century. What troubles me is that rules are often made after a first offense. Are you suggesting that someone actually compared a GM to Bligh or Queeg ... openly? ... and is there any feeling regarding the name 'Ahab'?

My conclusion, if Uhura had just given Kirk her number in the movie Vulcan would have been spared. Or, more likely, if Kirk would've been able to finish what he started with Uhura's roommate.