Tachyon

My only reservation about series set increasingly into the future is that by about the time of the 25th century (as seen in the alternate timeline glimpsed in Endgame) and then further into the 26th century, we start seeing a lot of technology creep. Having the ability to wave away plot difficulties with technobabble either undermines the story or forces writers to find increasingly improbable ways to render the cornucopia of advanced technology utterly unsuitable to doing the job. I agree, however, that setting another series in the "past" would not help the franchise. That's why I'm leery about this movie. The notion about Trek has always been that we are progressing, not only technologically, but socially--we are moving forward. I wouldn't mind seeing a series set primarily in the Alpha Quadrant after DS9/Voyager. We never really got to see the aftermath of the Dominion War, since it ended at the same time as DS9 did, and Voyager was set in the Delta Quadrant. All we have to go on are what's established in the TNG movies. I realize that there's been books written on the subject (not to mention sims :)) but that's no substitute for seeing it on screen. It would also allow for the occasional cameo from previous Trek regulars.

So why don't we just get them drunk? :D

This log takes place before last sim, when Tandaris was aboard the station. “Fair Trade” Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------------------- The heavy doors swooshed open and light from the corridor spilt into the darkened cargo bay. Repairs in this section had taken power offline, so Tandaris entered with a personal flashlight strapped to his wrist. The doors closed behind him closed with a definitive sound, plunging the cargo bay—and the chief engineer—into utter darkness pierced by the narrow sliver of light from his wrist. Tandaris shivered. The cargo bay looked eerie in the darkness; the tall racks stacked with cargo containers cast long shadows. No matter where they were, the ship always seemed to have cargo containers in its cargo bay. It was like a law of the universe. Tandaris picked his way carefully around the racks. His foot hit something hard and round. He stopped, looked down, and saw a small container that had fallen from the rack above. Stepping over it, he continued until he reached the back of the cargo bay. Then his light fell upon it. A cylindrical container, about as high as his waist, marked with large yellow “biohazard” warnings. He smiled, reached over, and opened it... ...and promptly closed the container when he noticed it was full of sealed packets of something called “contagion E47.” Tandaris stumbled backward, lost his balance and fell into a stack of crates behind him. “Right. Wrong container.” As he regained his footing and attempted to reorient himself, he added, “I'll have to talk to Corizon about that little discovery later.” After a couple of minutes, Tandaris finally found the biohazard container actually full of bottles of Altarian whiskey—a rare commodity in the Alpha Quadrant, to be sure, considering that the Altarian economy had now collapsed and the distilleries had closed. Here in the Gamma Quadrant, 20,000 light-years away from any potential source of Altarian whiskey, this container was both rare and exotic. Tandaris grinned. Corizon had not let him down this time. “Perfect. Corizon's right. We deserve a treat after all our effort.” ***** Yeah, this part of the station was definitely not on the official tour. Or the maps. In fact, Tandaris was completely lost. He had wandered away from the unofficial marketplace area in the middle of the station, instead taking several side corridors and a couple of questionable ladder-like structures until arriving on this level. It was dimly-lit, vermin-infested, and smoky—much like the rest of the station. Unlike the rest of the station, this level had the distinct smell of pickles. Tandaris ducked to avoid low-hanging beams. It appeared that the architects of this station were of considerably shorter stature. He coughed, turned right, and continued exploring. It appeared he had stumbled upon a warren of activity. The bustling marketplace above, which trafficked in more legitimate materials, such as the verterium cortenide he had acquired for the warp coils, was all a front to conceal this, the place where real transactions happened. After completing his business in the marketplace, speaking with the port authority about the repair work to Excalibur, and sampling some of the beverages at one of the station's bars, Tandaris had wandered down here. He had no particular objective; he just felt the need to get away from the ship for a while. Besides, there was something comfortable about this—a lack of control, an absence of authority without an absence of order. The organized anarchy of it all was a comfortable liberty. Another turn brought Tandaris to a small shop-like room. Mechanical parts of every description covered the walls, tables, counters—some even dangled from the ceiling. He stopped and took in the sight: an engineer's dream. It took him several moments to ascertain that his heart was, indeed, still beating. Then he went into the shop and looked around. Most of the devices were too alien to recognize. He saw something that looked like a phase inducer, but it could also have been a martini shaker. There was a triangular object that claimed to be a “Higgs boson stabilizer,” but Tandaris doubted the validity of that claim—it was yet to be tested. Next to it was a larger device, almost the size of a small tent. It was clearly a complex mechanism, and just as clearly, it was in need of repair. “Can I help you with something?” a voice said. Tandaris flinched and looked to his left, then down. A short, yellow-furred individual looked back up at him. The creature's brown eyes displayed intelligence and guile; its absurdly styled red hair swept down the length of its back. “I'm just browsing,” Tandaris replied. “I see you're admiring the concealment modulator.” The owner nodded thoughtfully. “Very fine workmanship—acquired it from a salvage operation around the Helcanzia giant. The trader who sold it to me claimed it was from a Boganary prototype vessel. Of course, you can't put stock in what every vulture says to sell you their junk. Then again. . . .” He looked around furtively, then stepped forward and lifted up a flap on the exterior of the device. A Boganary emblem lay underneath. The owner turned back to Tandaris and flashed a dazzling smile of predatory teeth. “I am Kanta Ros. I specialize in the odd and obscure, but whatever your technological need, I usually can supply a part to fit. What sort of ship?” Tandaris had been lost in thought. Startled, he asked, “Sorry?” “What sort of ship are you on? Frigate? Cruiser? Freighter?” “Oh, uh, heavy cruiser ... sort of a mixed roles type starship. I'm the chief engineer.” Ros eyed up Tandaris, now evaluating him as a potentially profitable customer. “Oh really? And does your ship already have a concealment modulator?” “Now, by concealment modulator, you mean a cloaking device? Something that bends the EM spectrum around a ship?” “Mmm, yes, I suppose you could call it a 'cloaking device.' Although concealment modulation is slightly different from what you describe. This device intercepts any EM emissions and disperses them into the background radiation rather than bending them outright. The risk of detection is significantly lower.” Tandaris was intrigued. He stepped forward, touched the device, ran his fingers along the surface and started imagining integrating it into Excalibur's systems. “And what about shields?” “What about them? They're useless while the modulator's active. Even if you could power both, the modulator would either disperse the shield energy, making them ineffectual, or worse, the shields would block the modulator and light your ship up on every enemy sensor grid for half a parsec.” Ros broke down into a disturbing wheeze that Tandaris realized was laughter. Tandaris waited until the laughter subsided, then he asked, “Does it work?” “Apparently everywhere except around red giants!” More wheezing. “It needs some maintenance. And no doubt you'll have to adjust it to integrate it into your ship. But the critical parts of the device are intact and functional—I guarantee it.” Ros stood slightly taller, prouder, and added, “Unlike some of my competition, I do have a little honour—not much, but enough. I don't like travel. I've operated from this room for fifteen years now, and I don't plan to move any time soon. That means I have to sell working technology.” “How much?” This was exactly what Tandaris wanted. This Ros fellow may be a criminal, but he was a criminal with a reputation to maintain. He'd only try to cheat Tandaris for some absurd amount of money; giving Tandaris defective technology was not to his advantage. And Tandaris had no ethical qualms about dealing with lowlifes like Ros. He would take his technology any way he could get it, and out here in the backwaters of the Dominion-less part of the Gamma Quadrant, there was no convenient Starfleet supply depot just a couple of sectors away. Ros said, “I do not deal in currency. Too . . . unstable. Offer me a trade.” Tandaris thought about what they had on board the Excalibur. Plenty of spare EPS conduits. Maybe a power inverter? What about . . . oh yes. Yes, that could work. He smiled. “I have just the thing. I'll be back in an hour.” Tandaris wasn't much of a whiskey drinker anyway.

“It Came to Me Just Prior to a Dream” Scott Coleridge Stardate 0501.08 -------------------------------------------------------------- Even as the alarms went off, Scott was calm. The other engineers in engineering looked up, at each other, then at the consoles on the outer bulkheads. They sighed, somewhat reluctant to drag themselves away from whatever project they had been working on in order to answer the call. Scott had been about to get to work on constructing a regeneration alcove—a new challenge! Then it hit him. It literally hit him. Scott had been walking across engineering. Overhead, a team was moving a lightweight metal beam into place to complete a construction project. As the alarms sounded, one of the engineers lost her focus, and the beam came crashing down, managing to hit Scott smack in the head. He dropped to the floor, crumpling into an undignified heap of carbon. And then he had it. The perfect solution. He knew exactly how to lay out the diplomatic suite—Scott could see it in his mind. It was as if he were inside the finished product, but he had the ability to zoom out and rotate and move about the entire construction freely. He could see every bulkhead, every office. Scott knew exactly how to balance the needs of each delegation and achieve an acceptable compromise. And all it needed was. . . . Then the vision faded to black, and the cold void wrapped itself around him.

The following is a Customer Satisfaction Survey from the Engineering Department of the USS Excalibur for immediate release to all departments. The survey is entirely optional; any crew member may respond. Your responses will be entirely open to public view and ridicule. Your answers may be monitored for quality assurance purposes. 1. How would you rate the overall performance the engineering department and its crew members? a) Amazing b) Excellent c) Impressive 2. On average, how often do you intentionally sabotage your duty station to get time off? a) Almost every shift b) Most shifts c) Only when I won't get caught 3. If you could choose one crew member for promotion at this time, whom would you choose? a) Lt. Cdr. Tandaris Admiran b) Lt. Marius tr'Lorin c) Ensign Josheua Anders d) All of the above 4. Overall, how would you rate the problem solving capabilities of your engineer? a) Genius (Perfect Work) b) Miracle Worker (Solved my problem and a few others I didn't know I had--some psychological) c) Infallible (So...beautiful...no words...should have sent poet) 5. How satisfied are you with your most recent service? a) Extremely Satisfied (System is perpetually repaired) b) Completely Satisfied (System is wholly repaired, with no faults) c) Ineffably Satisfied (System is ineffably repaired) 6. You are approached by an engineer who asks, "Is there anything I can do to help you?" Please gauge the mood of your response: a) Still Grateful from previous tasks they have done for me. ("No, is there anything I can do for you?") b) Ecstatic to meet the true heros of the ship once more. ("I...I can't believe its you...can I shake your hand?") c) ::No Words......an engineer is talking to me...a feeling of overwhelming joy has come over me:: 7. Upon the repair of your duty station, how often do you re-sabotage the station to gain additional time off? a) Every time b) Almost every time c) Only if my superior officer hasn't caught on to me 8. Which of the following statements best describes your constructive criticism of the Engineering Department? a) Jobs take slightly longer than preferred due to perfect repairs as opposed to adequate repairs b) Repair times are too quick and well performed to allow any breaks during said repairs c) Both A and B, thereby contradicting myself and calling into question my competency at my position 9. Given a choice, how would you change the engineering department? a) Perfection requires no attention. b) "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." c) Increase engineers' pension plans, sick leave, off-time and decrease their general work day to a maximum of four hours per twenty-four hour day. (Will Join Picket Line if Necessary) 10. The questions on this survey: a) Perfectly reflect how the department should be evaluated b) Don't do the department justice c) I can't answer this question (or any other question) because I am illiterate. (Questions provided by Lt. Cdr. Admiran, Lt. Tr'Lorin, and Ens. Anders.)

::scribbles notes:: "Move Victria's work to the bottom of the queue..."

I’m so satisfied. It took ten years to get here, but every step of the way was totally worth it. I was initially upset, but quickly resigned, to Stargate SG-1's cancellation. They were kind of running out of apocalypses after all—and the recent terrible writing on Stargate Atlantis seems to reinforce that fact. That doesn’t mean I was going to ignore the direct-to-DVD sequels MGM wanted to produce, especially because the writers deliberately left the Ori saga half-concluded. More SG-1? Yes please. Overall, I loved it. The dialogue among the SG-1 characters is just so satisfying; they are so comfortable with each other. Since the series has such a rich universe and backstory, it allows the writers to tie together elements that may once have been disparate, and even expands their creativity by giving them a better canvas. Yes, they brought back the replicators, but it was a temporary appearance—I would have been irked if the replicators became the villain once again—and I think that it served its purpose. The plot was intriguing, with just enough twists to keep me going and not too many to make me think, “This is utterly illogical.” There were a few parts I didn’t like, though. What was up with the deus ex machinae? (Is that the plural form? I’ve never had to use it before.) I realize the dilemma of the writers—of anyone who is writing a story involving interaction between humans and semi-omnipotent, nearly-cosmic beings like the Ancients/Ori. Morgan Le Fay healed Teal’c after he was somewhat badly injured, then proceeded to toy with Daniel. Just make up your mind already! It was Oma Desala versus Anubis all over again. When it comes to people like Teal’c miraculously surviving being shot, of course, it’s a good thing that the bad guys want to capture the good guys all the time. If the objective were to merely kill the good guys—well then, our series would be much shorter. When I am an evil overlord, I promise to summarily execute all good guys, starting with the ones who make the most defiant wisecracks. Speaking of wisecracks, where’s O’Neill?! Richard Dean Anderson was—and is—the best part of Stargate SG-1; without him, it isn’t really “SG-1”, just “Stargate.” I understand his reasons for leaving the show, and seasons 9 and 10 were not terrible. But I miss him. I see he'll be in Continuum though. I wasn't too crazy about the use of the replicators or the amount of starship travel in general. I hope that future Stargate features make more use of the Stargate itself. While it's great that Earth has starships and Asgard technology, I don't want it to stray too far from the device that really drives the series. I can see how the plot can get repetitive. I wish they had taken more time to focus on the moral ambiguity of using a device like the Ark of Truth on anyone, even if it is with the intention of "debrainwashing" them. It reminds me of "The Gift" from Star Trek: Voyager, the episode after the "Scorpion" two-parter. Seven of Nine accuses Janeway of being just like the Borg because Janeway is holding her against her will and preventing her from choosing to return to the collective. But the best part of the show was just being immersed in that universe again. Stargate has a special place in my heart among various other science fiction series because of the way it successfully combines science fiction technology—wormholes, alien civilizations, starships, etc.—with present day humanity. Unlike Star Trek, it isn’t set far in the future when we’re used to having advanced technology at our disposal. Even now that Earth does have space travel technology in the form of the Prometheus-class cruisers, the characters bring that very contemporary element into the show with pop culture references and dialogue. Mitchell exemplifies this best at the beginning as he takes command of the Odyssey and says, “Weapons to maximum.” Major Marks plays the straight man: “Sir?” “Just make it go!” This isn’t Captain Kirk comfortably in command of the Enterprise—it’s an Air Force officer, who happens to be used to dealing with alien situations, nervously assuming command of a huge battlecruiser about to take a trip to another galaxy. Stepping into this universe that is so much like our own, yet slightly different, is very rewarding.

Dear Diary, OK, now I want to go home. Not ten minutes of spacedock and our OPS officer is murdered! Murdered! On my first starship assignment! That's called an omen! This sucks. I mean, I don't even know many people on the ship, so there isn't much of a grapevine yet. We can't even spread rumours. The only thing I've heard is that they've already found a replacement—or something. We're at Starbase 43 now, where we were due to take on more crew anyway. My science department will be complete (if you round up). But after the news of a murder, I am having second thoughts about this career move. Down on Earth I was safe. Here I'm . . . well, maybe I could be next! You think that such crimes are impossible—a starship is, after all, a closed system. Well think again. . . . Alas, the Challenger isn't returning to Earth, but continuing with her first mission. We're scouting potential new homes for the displaced El-Aurians. No doubt I'll be heavily involved in the task as we analyze the potential planets. Xenobiology and botany are not my strong suits, but I will get to meet those under me who specialize in that area. And maybe I'll get to do some math. I miss home. -Ana

Sky Harbor Aegis Internal Memo ----------------------------------------------- From: Ensign Coleridge, Engineering To: Ambassador Joy One, Ambassador Drankum, Commissioner Sorehl CC: Captain Quark, Commander Brown Subject: Diplomatic Section Design ----------------------------------------------- Greetings, I am the engineer heading up the project to design a dedicated diplomatic corps section on Deck 7. Before we begin drawing up blueprints for the section, I would like to seek input from those who would be spending the most time there—the diplomats. Please reply with any requests, suggestions, or questions you may have about this project. Thanks, Ens. Coleridge

“Allow Me to Introduce Myself” Ensign Scott Coleridge Stardate 0802.20 ------------------------------------------------------ “Come!” the deep, ominous voice boomed from behind the door. Scott reluctantly entered the chief engineer's office, noticing immediately the new, stark decor. He certainly hasn't wasted any time moving in, Scott thought to himself. Then it occurred to him that he didn't even know if the new chief engineer was a “he.” “He” could be a “she” or an “it” or something else entirely. Not only had Scott not met the new chief engineer yet, but he didn't even know the new chief engineer's name. The irony of this situation was not lost on the poor Ensign. Still somewhat green, Scott had transferred to Aegis partly in order to work with Lt. Cdr. Zhu, whom he had found to be both unorthodox and interesting. Soon after his transfer, what happens? Zhu leaves! Not only did Zhu leave, but every senior member of the engineer staff was reassigned, leaving Scott as the senior-most assistant engineer to oversee the enlisted crew. Their new chief engineer had arrived last week. He—for lack of a better pronoun—had contacted Scott via a terse note through Aegis' comm system. Subsequently he had sent Scott another note, this one instructing him to convert all of the station's internal timestamps to Cardassian scientific notation. Now Scott was excited. Finally he would be able to match a face to the na—wait, that would require a name. Well, Scott would be able to match a face to a . . . writing style. Yes, that would have to suffice. “Ensign Coleridge, reporting as ordered, sir,” he said. The office was dark, its illumination on the lowest setting. The effect cast shadows in almost every direction. The ordinary Startfleet-issue desk had been replaced by a large wooden desk, probably constructed from several trees. Behind the desk, the chief engineer sat in a high-backed, luxurious padded chair. It was turned away from Scott so that the back obscured his view of the new chief; all he could glimpse were the shadows of the arms. In the same deep, generic voice, the chief engineer said, “Step away from the door and enter the office.” Scott did as he was told, approaching the desk. He stopped abruptly when the voice said, “Stop. That is close enough.” “Um . . . okay. May I inquire as to your name, sir? Call me old-fashioned, but I find it easier to work when I know the name of my superior. . . .” “My name is irrelevant. You may address me as 'sir' or 'chief', Ensign.” While somewhat threatening in demeanour, the voice seemed egalitarian in tone; it placed equal emphasis on the three titles, as if the chief did not care whether Scott was an Ensign or a Fleet Admiral. Scott shrugged. “Right, sure. Sorry.” “I would like a status report on your current projects.” Scott glanced down at the PADD he had brought with him. “Okay. The internal timestamps project is on hold, since Commander Brown specified that the conversion of the diplomatic section has top priority.” He paused for feedback. “That is correct. Continue.” Scott said, “Well, I only got as far as beginning to analyze the internal timestamp's storage system to determine how best to convert all timestamps to Cardassian scientific notation. Further study is needed. “As for the diplomatic section—well, that's a different story. It appears that Deck 7 is a write-off. There was an accident sometime after the initial construction of the station that was never properly dealt with. So now I have to deal with it. I have a time clearing out most of the debris and decontaminating it now. After that's done, the Build Team's going to tour the deck and draw up preliminary blueprints.” The voice asked, “What is the estimated time of completion for this project?” Scott skimmed through the figures on his PADD. “Hmm . . . depending on if we hit snags in the cleanup or design processes . . . probably three weeks, maybe a month. Those will be the hardest part. Once we have the plans done, building it will be fairly quick. We have the raw supplies on hand and the labour to do it.” “That is acceptable. Consult with the current diplomatic representatives on Aegis as to their needs prior to completing the blueprints. Once you have the preliminary blueprints, clear them with myself and the command staff, and then you may proceed. That will be all.” Scott blinked. The new chief engineer may be paranoid, secretive, and reclusive, but he certainly knew what he wanted. “Aye . . . aye, sir.” This was going to be interesting.

Name: Anastasia Poldara Gender: Female Place of Birth: Moscow, Earth Age: 29 Species: Human Rank: Lieutenant Height: 163 cm Eyes: Brown Hair: Dark brown Current Assignment: USS Challenger Last Assignment: Starfleet Cybernetics, Melbourne division Interests: Astrophysics, cybernetics, mathematics, piano, post-First Contact history, subspace theory Family: Michael Sanders – Husband, 33, doctor Irina Poldara - Mother, 63, Diplomatic Attaché (Missing) Vasily Poldara - Father, 65 Marina Godwin – Sister, 40, shuttle pilot Pavel Poldara – Brother, 36, actor Yelena Poldara – Sister, 25 Katerina Poldara – Sister, 23 Service History: Entered Starfleet Academy Graduated Starfleet Academy Assigned to Jupiter Station's cybernetics division Promoted to Lieutenant, j.g. Requested transfer to Starbase 2 (request denied) Requested transfer to Earth, Starfleet cybernetics division (transfer approved) Assigned to USS Challenger Promoted to Lieutenant Biographical Information: Born into a large and somewhat overbearing family, Anastasia spent her childhood dreaming of the possibilities offered by the stars. Somewhat ironically, it would not be until several years after her graduation from Starfleet Academy that she would actually venture very far from home. Anastasia's aptitude at mathematics and the sciences manifested itself at an early age. From the age of 4 she was a prodigy at the piano and other musical instruments. She transferred this skill to mathematics, completing high school before she was 16. By 20, she had obtained a degree in mathematics, and at 24 she completed a PhD. in astrophysics. Anastasia's intellect often got her into trouble, however. Outgoing but cynical, Anastasia often got into conflict with other wilful girls her age. On more than one occasion, Anastasia was the aggressor in serious altercations with a peer—some of the male. As a result, her parents decided to push her into Starfleet Academy, where they hoped that the military discipline of the organization would imprint a measure of self-control. Delighted by the prospect of interstellar adventure, Anastasia applied herself. She graduated at the top of her class, academically. During her time at the Academy, Anastasia's rough edges were smoothed, but the time she spent on her probation earned her notoriety among her fellow cadets. Her counsellor advised her to channel her rage into sports, so Anastasia joined the Academy's anbo-jytsu team, where she performed reasonably well. It was also during her cadet years that Anastasia became interested in cybernetics, which became her main focus of study by her final year. Upon graduation, Anastasia joined the cybernetics team at Jupiter Station. She spent three years there before becoming restless—she wanted to explore the stars! When she applied for a transfer, however, Starfleet denied her request. Anastasia spent another six months at the station, where she made what her supervisor deemed “invaluable contributions” to their pet project. Shortly thereafter, Anastasia was granted a transfer back to Earth. In 2289, Anastasia met Michael Sanders, a young doctor. They quickly struck up a relationship that would become a courtship of two years before they married. Young and in love, Anastasia abandoned her dreams of galactic exploration in favour of settling down and starting a family. She immersed herself in the cybernetics division at Starfleet on Earth, which provided plenty of intellectual stimulation. Something she did must have caught the eye of her superiors, however. In early 2294, Anastasia received a message promoting her to a full lieutenant and reassigning her to the new USS Challenger NCC-2457—as chief science officer. The news came as a shock to Anastasia, who had thought her career stable. After some debate and much training, Anastasia joined the crew of the USS Challenger and began a new chapter in her life and in Starfleet history.

“Living on the Edge” Anastasia Poldara Stardate 0801.22 ------------------------------------------------------------------ The past four days had been a whirlwind of activity for Anastasia. She went back to Earth to tell Michael the good news before going off to San Francisco. First she needed to undergo testing to determine if she was still qualified to serve on a starship. With less than a month to go before Challenger left, she had to squeeze two weeks of testing into two days. Somehow, though, Anastasia survived that ordeal—only to wind up in an even worse one. EVA training had never been her favourite. The idea of being separated from the vacuum of space by a thin shell of a suit around your body didn't excite her in the least. Now she was doing three hours of EVA a day, tactical training, and on-the-job training in a simulcrum of the Challenger's main science lab. In a week or so, she learned, she would be able to actually visit her new ship. Telling Michael she had gotten the position was easy. He already knew. Telling her family, on the other hand. . . . Her older sister Marina looked radiant. Motherhood really suited her. She had inherited their mother's fair hair and complexion, unlike Anastasia, who tended more toward her father's side of the family. For someone who had just had a baby, she looked quite good—if someone exhausted. “Ana,” she said—always Ana or Anastasia, never “sister,” a title reserved for their two younger siblings. “How good to hear from you. You sounded excited in your message. I take it you have news.” “Yes, yes, but let me see him first,” Anastasia said. Marina smiled. “One moment.” She got up and left the viewer, returning a few moments later with a baby in hand. “Ana, meet your nephew, Liam.” The baby gurgled a bit and stared at the screen blankly. “Liam?” “His father's choice,” said Marina dismissively. “I'd love him no matter what his name was, though, wouldn't I? Yes I would.” She was talking more to Liam now. Anastasia cleared her throat. “Um . . . so my news.” “Yes?” “Well, it's all very sudden and unexpected. Michael and I've discussed it though, he seems fine. I wasn't too sure—it's a lot of responsibility—” “Oh goodness, Ana! I'm so happy for you,” said Marina. “So Liam will have a cousin soon?!” “I know, I—what? No! No, not that, Marina. I mean, we've tried, but—no. I'm talking about getting assigned to the USS Challenger as its science officer.” “Oh. The Challenger—that's the new Excelsior class ship, no? Well, perhaps not a child, but still very good tidings indeed—although I suppose mama will not be happy about it.” Anastasia shook her head. “Not at all.” Her mother was the sort of person who wanted to control her children's lives well into their adulthood. She had been ecstatic when Anastasia elected to, in her own words, “settle down” with Michael here on Earth instead of “traipsing about the galaxy” on a starship. When Anastasia had told her about Challenger, she had looked on the verge of a heart attack. “She gave me her 'I don't see why you can't just settle down and start a family' lecture for about half an hour, and then papa managed to get her away—thank goodness for small favours,” Anastasia said. “The preparations I'm having to go through are so overwhelming, I don't need mama right now.” “I'll try to distract her with little Liam here,” Marina said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Space, Ana! I remember when we were kids always hearing you go on about it. And then when I went off to piloting school, you came and visited me—such a precocious five-year-old! Oh Ana. We're getting old.” Anastasia laughed. “Not yet, Marina. Soon, but not yet. I've got quite a few places to go before I retire.” “Well, I hope your voyages are as exciting as you desire, dear Ana. Come home and visit us soon!” “I will! Bye, Marina.” ***** Moscow “The assignment is official. She will be the science officer.” “If she passes the tests.” “She will. You underestimate her own strength. She might well have gotten the position on her own merit, had she applied sooner. And if her scores need some . . . nudging, that will be arranged. All is in order.” “Excellent. Then we can proceed on to the next phase. Your assistance is much appreciated, Commander Asquith. My people will be in contact soon for your compensation. Out.” The silver-haired woman terminated the transmission. The routing program that bounced it off half a dozen satellites disengaged, and the console wiped any log of the conversation. She chewed absently on a pencil and stared at her dim reflection against the black console. Her daughter was going into space. All according to plan.

“Interview” Anastasia Poldara and Captain Seiben Stardate 9401.17 ------------------------------------------------------------------- Anastasia approached Captain Seiben's office. Memories of Jupiter Station confronted her as she went up to the slate blue door and pressed the chime. Here we go, she thought. Teeth? Check. Hair? Check. Right. You can do this. She tugged nervously at her uniform and waited. Captain Seiben once again looked up from his PADD. He checked his schedule. “Ahh, that's right. Come in please,” he called out to the person at the door. The door opened, and Anastasia entered the office. "Lt. Poldara, reporting for my interview—sir," she said. Seiben got up and approached the newcomer. “That's right. For the Chief Science spot. Thank you for coming in.” “Um . . . you're welcome, sir.” He extended his hand. “it's nice to meet you. I've heard lots of good things about you from Commander Asquith. I worked with her before. And she has a good mind. So, I've been looking forward to meeting with someone she recommends so highly.” Anastasia took the hand and shook it, relieved to know that her captain was flesh and blood, and unlike some officers, actually had a personality that didn't say “Made in San Francisco” on it. “I've been looking forward to meeting you, sir.” Oh god I'm gushing. “I mean, I'm so overwhelmed,” she added. She felt relief eluding her once again. Seiben smiled and nodded. From what he read from her bio, he kind of knew why. Lord knows, he remembers his first assignment. “I'd imagine as it was on such short of a notice. But I'm glad you can make it.” “To tell you the truth, sir, I wasn't sure if I would. I've . . . adjusted to my life as it is now. But the Challenger seems like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” She wondered if you went to hell for overusing cliches. “Technically, it could be true. But then, I don't have to tell you that,” replied Seiben vaguely. He rubbed his non-existent beard and racked his memory. “So, I assume your family supports your decision . . . and your husband?” Anastasia nodded. “He's actually the one who pushed me to go. I wasn't sure—well—it's a big commitment. But it's one I'll have to make to satisfy my curiosity and see what's out there.” Seiben nodded. “It definitely is a big commitment. And I feel for you, having to leave your family behind. I myself am leaving behind my wife and three kids, so I know what it's like having to miss out on everything,” the captain mused. “My 8-year-old daughter played a superb Juliet, but sadly I didn't get so see it. “Anyway,” Seiben smiled, moving on, “do you feel that you can take on the role as Chief Science Officer? I noticed that you don't really have a lot of service experience. Do you feel that this may affect your performance in the long run?” he asked. Uh-oh, thought Anastasia. He's on to me. Smiling, she said, “I've never served on a starship before, no. However, for the past three years, I've worked as a deputy department supervisor at the Asimov Centre for Cybernetics. I manage the day-to-day operations of one of our lead research terms.” Seiben raised a brow and wrote some notes on his PADD. He looked at it, then back up to Anastasia. “Interesting. What did you typically do there?” he asked, mostly out of curiosity, as this wasn't one of the listed questions on his PADD. “My team is working with positrons to see if we can create a lossless neural network. It could put artificial intelligence ahead by decades, if not centuries. A viable positronic brain would theoretically be capable of handling the data processing needed to mimic human behaviour—in short, sir, we're trying to build android brains.” Seiben was impressed and made some more notations into his PADD. “My brother has told me a bit about that before. He's an admiral and a member of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. It could work.” The captain shrugged. “Who knows, 100 years from now, we could very well have androids in Starfleet.” Anastasia bit her lip. “Perhaps. We aren't making much headway. Personally I'm more interested in quantum computing—although positrons would have applications there, which is why I'm involved with this project. But it will be a long time before we get any real results, unless we're gifted with another Einstein.” Seiben shrugged. He tried to maintain a knowing professional demeanour, but it was difficult when a speaker is talking to you about a subject you have no clue about. “Quantum computing, eh? Might have the opportunity to do that on Challenger.” Referring to his PADD again, Seiben looked back at Anastasia. “Okay, and what qualities can you bring to the role of Chief Science Officer. No doubt serving as a supervisor in the Cybernetics Centre will help in delegating duties and supervising the science crew.” “In addition to my cybernetics ability, I have a PhD. in astrophysics. I can chart and analyze stellar phemonena—anomalies, black holes, nebulae—and operate Starfleet-designed probes,” said Anastasia. But couldn't every science officer do that? And PhDs. weren't necessary—nice, yes, but that didn't mean she was qualified. She tried to think of something that set her apart from regular science officers. “I can do Holtzman field equations in my head,” she added. Then she cringed—too braggy? Oh! “I'm not a typical academic type—I also do athletics, that sort of thing. I won't always hide in the science lab like some scientists do, setting a bad name for us everywhere.” Was it just him, or was there a sudden strong gust of wind blowing over his head. Maybe the air-conditioning unit is on too strong? Seiben mused. Or maybe it's nothing and all in his mind. “That . . . could be useful”—referring to the the equating of Holtzman fields in her head. “You're athletic too, eh? That's certainly a plus given the role, What sort of activities do you like to pursue?” “I did anbo-jyutsu back at the Academy—I wasn't too good at it, but I could hold my own. Some running, basic martial arts. I tried baseball once, but I'm lousy at hitting. These days I mostly scuba dive—although I imagine that I won't have much opportunity for that in space.” At least, I hope not. “Oh. great. Well, you never know. We could always visit an N-class world for exploration,” he smiled. He wrote some more into his PADD. “You know . . .” he said, as he continued to poke at the hand held device, “I'm a black-belt in judo myself, so it's nice to see other people pursuing in the martial arts.” Anastasia shrugged. “I don't know if I'll ever be a black belt. It just seems slightly more civilized than wrestling. Men and tights . . .” she shuddered. “I prefer opera,” she added, thinking of ballet. Seiben nodded. He liked listening to it too, on occasion. “Okay, great to hear. The ship computer already has a good database on operatic music, and you of course add your own . . . ahh, are there any questions about the ship or your assignments that you have at this time?” “Oh, a thousand,” said Anastasia, “and likely a thousand more once I get to see the ship. But I don't really want the answers yet. I'm still trying to adjust to the idea that I might actually be serving on a starship.” Seiben smiled knowingly. “That's fine by me. When you are ready, feel free to ask me. I'd also invite you to ask my XO . . . if I had one . . . but oh well.” “Thank you, sir,” Anastasia said, sensing that the interview was coming to a close. She leaned over and offered her hand. Seiben shook the extended hand. “No, thank you, Anastasia. From what I can see, I can tell that Commander Asquith was precisely correct in her praises about you, and I feel that you'll make for a great fit as Chief Science Officer on board the Challenger. So, if you're willing, then I'd like to formally offer you the position.” There was a stunned silence as Anastasia's brain waited to catch up to her ears. “I—really—oh. Wow.” She didn't know what else to say. “Oh, um . . . thank you. Sir. I guess I'll get my things together and arrange for my tests and such. Wow.” “Congratulations. All that's left I guess is to pass the physical training portion, but that's up to the medical staff. So, best of luck, on that and on the Challenger. We're glad to have you with us.”

“Perspective” Ensign Scott Coleridge Stardate 0801.16 ------------------------------------ Scott left his interview with the Federation commissioner feeling invigorated. He had forgotten how much interest he had taken in politics prior to his posting aboard the Endeavour. Looking back, Scott remembered how his duties had gradually taken priority. Then, of course, the Endeavour had been thrown through that wormhole and all the other engineers had rudely died, leaving Scott the only one to repair the ship. Increasingly he realized that Aegis had been a fortuitous assignment. Not only was it a stable place in which to hone his engineering skills—which were really nothing to write home about—but it was in the middle of a complex political situation. This time travel debacle just complicated the perspectives even more. Depending on how one looked at it, the situation in the Cardassian system was dire or just grim. Scott planned to return to the control tower now. He did not want to go to Muon's trial; he did not want to watch it, in particular—but he did not want to be in the engineering section. It was spooky down there. The reactors hummed and the consoles beeped. On the control tower, at least there were other people around. He could feel like he was in the middle of something. After the trial, something would change. Whether Muon was convicted or not, it would send ripples throughout the Federation. The problems endemic to this region weren't going to go away, time travel or no. But what could Scott do to fix them—what could anyone do to fix them? It seemed like every time they tried to help one person, another person got angry or hurt (or both). It was a vicious cycle, a power struggle across the quadrant, with the Federation in the middle. Scott needed lunch. He needed a sandwich. Then he was going to run more diagnostics. Diagnostics always made him feel better: if something were broken, he could fix it; if nothing were wrong, he could be satisfied that all was proceeding smoothly. There was just no bad side to this false dilemma!

“Unforeseen Complications, Part I” Anastasia Poldara Stardate 9401.14 --------------------------------------------------------- “I'm coming, I'm coming!” From within the house, the insistent beep of the comm panel penetrated each room, seeking an occupant, demanding an answer. From where she had been lounging on her deck outside, Anastasia Poldara leapt up from her chair and sprinted into the house. She was expecting a call from her sister or his husband any time now—they were expecting a baby any day. But when she arrived at the panel, she saw it was a Starfleet transmission. Maybe they need me back at the lab, Anastasia thought. But I told them I was taking a couple of days off. They wouldn't call me unless it was an emergency. Uh-oh. With apocalyptic, doomsday scenarios coalescing in her thoughts, Anastasia answered the call. The Starfleet commander who appeared on the screen was not her partner, Lieutenant Wyndam, nor her supervisor, the odious but brilliant Commander Zend. Yet the sense of relief that flooded through her body was quickly quenched by another urgent wave of dread—why was an unannounced commander calling her house? What was wrong? “Lt. Poldara?” the woman asked in an authoritative voice. Anastasia felt her hands become clammy. “Y-Yes—ma'am. ” “Are you sitting down, Lieutenant?” “No, ma'am.” The woman's features shifted. A ripple of what might have been softness briefly flashed across her face before she regained her cold, detached demeanour. “You will want to sit down. That's an order.” Anastasia sank into the living room's armchair, angling the display to better see the commander. “All right, ma'am.” “Lt. Poldara, I'm Cdr. Asquith. Effective immediately, I'm offering you a transfer to the USS Challenger NCC-2457.” The Challenger? Anastasia ransacked her brain for any details she knew about the ship. It was one of the new Excelsior models being rushed into production, she recalled. After the Enterprise-B fiasco, Starfleet had been more careful about starship production, but she had also heard something on the news about extra resources being allocated to make sure Challenger launched on time. . . . “I see,” said Anastasia. “Um, in what capacity?” “As chief science officer.” Well that floored the young woman. Aside from her Academy training days, she had never set foot on a real Starfleet starship, let alone served on one for any length of time. Anastasia absently reached down and pinched her arm—too hard though. She winced. The commander must have seen, for she said, “I assure you, Lieutenant, that this is not a dream.” “Ma'am, you are aware that I've never served aboard a starship, right?” “That fact does happen to be noted in your official service record, yes. Your point?” Asquith looked at her as if Anastasia had just said she was a world swimming champion. The armchair threatened to swallow her in a sea of irrelevance. “Well, maybe you should choose someone more qualified,” said Anastasia. “I mean, I've barely used a starship sensor grid. I work in a lab, with a bunch of technicians all day. I have a family. I'm only a junior lieutenant—” “Effective immediately upon your transfer you'll be promoted to full lieutenant, Lieutenant. As for your family and current work . . . this transfer is not compulsory.” Asquith leaned closer and reduced the calibre of steel in her voice. “We are aware of your gross inexperience, which means that if we have offered this position to you, then it must mean you have something very valuable to contribute.” This was coming from the same Starfleet that had denied her at transfer to Starbase 2 several years ago, the first—and only—time Anastasia had really tried to leap into space. At the time, their reasoning had been that Starbase 2 had no ongoing cybernetics research, which was her main field of expertise, even though her doctorate was in astrophysics. Sick of the confines of Jupiter Station, Anastasia had moved back to Earth to work at its division of Starfleet cybernetics. Now here she was, tempted to move into an even more cramped vessel! Asquith said, “You have a week to decide. I apologize for the short notice, but as you are aware, Starfleet wants no delays in the Challenger construction. If you don't respond in a week, we will assume you have declined this offer. While you would not be promoted at this time, your refusal would not adversely affect your future opportunities for promotion. They might, however, limit your future opportunities for advancement. The future only comes once, Lieutenant.” She abruptly terminated the transmission, leaving Anastasia alone in her armchair to think. This was . . . an unexpected complication to her otherwise simple life. She had a very nice life too. Although certainly not heaped with fame, Anastasia's work on their cybernetics project was appreciated by her colleagues and peers. She was challenged, and she felt like she was making real discoveries. But a starship posting! It had once been Anastasia's dream. Ever since childhood, she could remember staring up at the stars, wishing she could escape the smothering closeness of her large family. Somewhere along the way, Anastasia had changed—she knew that. She was not the same as that little dreamer. Cdr. Asquith was right, though—such an opportunity only came once. But then, of course, there was Michael. A civilian doctor. Could she still join Challenger if it meant leaving her husband behind? The front door's cautious squeak interrupted her thoughts. Familiar footfalls through the front hall told Anastasia that in mere moments, she would have to tackle this dilemma. The next seven days would be interesting indeed.

“Unforeseen Complications, Part III” Anastasia Poldara Stardate 9401.16 ------------------------------------------------------- Anastasia closed her eyes and lay her head back. She felt the shuttle leave Earth's gravity as it carried her up, up, and away from her home. They would dart past McKinley Station, zip around the moon, and finally arrive at Utopia Planitia. Mars. The stepping stone to the rest of the galaxy. In humanity's hundred and fifty years of warp flight, it had straddled star systems, formed an interstellar political entity, and become the cornerstone of diplomatic relations in the sector. Yet there was still so much left to explore, over 90% of the galaxy left uncharted. Suddenly, the vast potential for the Challenger's mission, and Anastasia's place as its science officer, overwhelmed her. The gravity quickly adjusted back to Earth norm. The cabin was rather silent—the shuttle's only other occupants were a Vulcan couple, who appeared to be on some sort of diplomatic mission, and an elderly human civilian with a greying beard. Anastasia was not, by nature, a people watcher. She preferred stars and nebulae, equations and astronomical calculations. Hers was a world of data and numbers. The pit that had formerly been Anastasia's stomach rumbled nervously. It knew where they were going. This was Anastasia's first trip into space in over six months. They were not just going to see the Challenger—she was here to meet its captain. After Michael had urged Anastasia to accept the posting, she had continued to vacillate for another day. He was right, however: she had to go. So she had contacted Commander Asquith, who informed her that she would still need an interview with Captain Seiben, Challenger's commanding officer. The task of selecting the department heads would ultimately fall to him. Anastasia was just the number one recommendation on Starfleet's list. She knew little of Captain Seiben. She had downloaded his biography to a PADD prior to the shuttle's launch. He was an experienced officer, she noted, having just finished a tour of duty as commanding officer of the Cherokee. Challenger would be a step up—Starfleet obviously thought highly of him. A knot formed in the pit. Anastasia hoped she would make a good first impression. It would be hard enough trying to be science officer amongst so many other experienced veterans without having a captain who hated you. Then again, if he hated her, he simply wouldn't assign her, right? Also on the PADD was a list of the physical tests Anastasia had to complete before she could be assigned. Her last posting in space had been over two years ago. While Anastasia remained fit, she had little recent experience in space, and no experience in zero-g operations or starship emergency drills except for her sparse Academy training. With the construction on a deadline and the launch less than a month away, Anastasia realized her schedule would be completely filled right up until the launch hour—that is, if she got the position. The feeling from the pit that had been her stomach told her all she needed to know, however. Anastasia wanted to go into space.

“Unforeseen Complications, Part II” Anastasia Poldara Stardate 9401.14 ------------------------------------------------- Michael Sanders came into the living room to find his wife engulfed in their old teal armchair. The sides of the thickly-upholstered behemoth threatened to swallow her slender form whole. She slumped, staring at the computer on the table, her gaze a hundred million kilometres away. Michael recognized this look and knew she was deep in thought. He moved into the kitchen so as not to disturb her, but as he reached for the kettle, he heard her voice carry through the open door. “Are you making tea?” “Yes,” he replied, filling the kettle with water. “Would you like some?” “Better make it strong.” Uh oh. Anastasia only liked her tea strong when something was wrong. Quickly, Michael reviewed his mental checklist for the day. He had picked up the clothes from the tailor, check. He had gotten the tickets to the next showing of King Lear, check. What was he forgetting? That's usually how it goes though—one forgets something until one's wife remembers it, often too late. The kettle simmered thoughtfully while he contemplated what could be wrong. He couldn't just ask of course—that would make too much sense. Michael reentered the living room, taking a seat on the couch to Anastasia's left. He saw the UFP emblem on the screen, framed by the characteristic comm panel interface. So that's what had happened—someone in Starfleet had called for Anastasia! Judging by the look on her face, she wasn't too happy. Michael reached out and took her hand in his own. She turned her head to look at him, but her eyes barely registered his presence. She smiled, though, and asked, “What's your dream, Michael?” Was this some sort of test? Michael wondered if she had been reading one of those relationship magazines again. He replied, “Um . . . I'm living my dream, honey. Beautiful wife, beautiful house, comfortable career. . . . What more could I want?” “What about kids, Michael? Three years ago, all we could talk about was starting a family. We should have a little one running around here right now. But the house is silent.” The house was, in fact, not silent. The kettle was now rumbling furiously in the kitchen, which had in turn initiated a sympathetic vibration from the oven beneath it. This rattling created a similar tremor in the pots on the adjacent wall, which transmitted the sound to the waste recycling unit. What had started as a simple attempt to manufacture tea had become a discordant symphony of kitchen appliances. Michael said, “We still have plenty of time.” “Maybe.” The word hung there, still not a complete thought—Anastasia was holding something back. Michael sighed. “What's wrong, Ana? What happened?” Now her brown eyes focussed in on him. “I got a call from Starfleet. They . . . they want me to be the science officer on the Challenger.” Michael's eyebrows shot up. “The science officer? The science officer? The chief science officer?” Anastasia nodded. “Well that's wonderful! That's—that's so excellent, unexpected. And the Challenger sounds like a fine ship—one of my patients just can't stop going on about how the Excelsior class is such a 'long needed update to Starfleet starship design'. But science officer . . . wow.” “Maybe.” There was that word again. The underlying complexity of the situation and its consequences suddenly dawned on Michael. Ah—now he understood. Challenger was first and foremost a military vessel, regardless of its exploratory mission. Long term employment for a civilian doctor with no unusual expertise would be unlikely. Plus, even if there were such a miracle position—well, Michael couldn't leave his position here so quickly. Which meant, ultimately, that if Anastasia took this wonderful opportunity . . . she would be doing it alone. “It's a big decision,” Michael said. “Yep.” “What do you want? When we first met, you seemed so passionate about space travel. But you've changed since then, Ana—you and I both know that. All you can talk about these days are those machines you're making over at the lab. Can you walk away from that?” Can you walk away from me? Anastasia said, “Believe me, Michael. I wish that it never came up this way. I love you.” “But do you want to go to the stars?” “It's not that simple, Mic—” “Do you want to go?” “Yes! Okay? Happy now?” screamed Anastasia. “I want to go. I want to explore strange new world, seek out new life and new civilizations, to go boldly where no one has gone before. I want that to be me on that starships, making those discoveries. I don't want to wake up one morning—even if it's next to you—and realize I missed the boat—literally! But . . . but if doing it means not seeing you for a year or more . . . I don't know how I can do that.” Michael murmured, “To boldly go.” “What?” “It's 'to boldly go'. I mean, your version's grammatically correct, since 'to boldly go' is a split infinitive, but that's how the original quotation went.” He smiled meekly. Oh, he could always do this to her. Michael always knew just how to defuse Anastasia's short temper before a situation got out of hand. He saw her face twitch, a smile just beginning to form. She came over to sit next to him on the couch and lay her head on his shoulder. Michael said, “I love you too, Ana. Which is why I think you should go.” “But—” “You are right. If you don't do this, one day you'll wake up and regret it. And if you don't like it, if you miss me too much—well, Earth isn't going anywhere. You can always transfer back. Starfleet doesn't ask junior lieutenants to head up a brand new starship's science department every day, you know. You didn't just beat the odds—you've totally skewed them. You're always doing that, Ana.” “I'm just lucky. I'm lucky to have you.” “You deserve to have me.” Anastasia smiled and just enjoyed the closeness of her touch. An unfamiliar scent wafted into the room. It was something burning . . . smoke. She frowned. “Do you smell that?” “Yes, I—ohmygodthekettle!” Michael leaped up and ran out of the living room. The kettle, which had long since boiled, was tired of being the ignored member of this relationship. It had decided to seize matters in its own hands, and had promptly caught fire, torching the stove in the process. The kitchen, once a picturesque example of 23rd century living, was now a blazing inferno. Talk about omens.

Conversations with Family – Part II “Elir” (+1 week) Tandaris Admiran ----------------------------------------------------- The Federation emblem blinked and was replaced by his father's face. Tandaris opened his mouth, but his father's image interrupted him, “Hi! You've reached Elir Brinn. I'm not here to answer your transmission right now, but if you leave a message after the signal, I'll get back to you.” There was a tone. “Hi, dad. It's me, Tandaris. Apparently I called at the wrong time—I know, I never call. But considering I've been gone for awhile now, I thought that you guys would enjoy hearing from me. Say hi to mom when you have the chance. I'll try later. Bye.” Several hours later The beeping woke him up. His bed was uncomfortable to begin with, and the incessant noise reverberating through his skull did not improve his mood. Tandaris groaned and rolled over. He fumbled blindly with the buttons on the bedside panel, hoping that one would stop the beeping. It did. Unfortunately, it also accepted the incoming collect call. “Tandaris? Are you there?” asked his father. Tandaris rolled out of bed, on to the floor, and groaned again. “Hi, Tandaris.” Tandaris got to his feet. “Hello, dad. I see you got my message.” “Yes, we just got home, actually. We were at the opera. And you were in the Gamma Quadrant. Was it inspiring?” “Er—I guess you could say that. I thought up new ways to kill people, keep us alive, hide from things, and break reality.” “Well done.” His father, much like Tandaris, did not appear fazed by the large and ambiguous abstracts that too often intruded upon everyday living. It was those small details that usually undid them. “I've accepted a position as curator of the pre-Manerist period at the Carasel.” Tandaris' eyebrows went up. The Carasel was a prestigious gallery with thousands of works of art in its permanent collection spanning the entire history of Trill civilization. “Congratulations. When does your first exhibit open?” “In about three months, if everything goes to schedule. I just need to secure a loan from the Sovan Gallery on Vulcan. I'm doing a comparison of pre-Manerism to classical Vulcan art.” “Sounds ambitious.” Tandaris frowned and added, “When did you suddenly become so involved in art history, dad? What happened to your art?” Elir shrugged and said, “I still paint occasionally.” He leaned forward. “Truth be told, Tandaris, but I got old. I know you might sometimes forget, having Admiran's lifetimes behind you, but we unjoined Trill lead briefer existences. And as I've grown older, as you guys have grown up, I've realized that I enjoy doing art, but I enjoy discussing art more. So I've changed.” Tandaris hadn't noticed, which was what disturbed him more than the change itself. He and his father had never been particularly close, but they had never been particularly distant either. “I will try to make the opening if my scheduling works out.” “Ah, yes, any word on your next assignment?” “Actually, yes. I just had a conversation with Rezaran Prest over at Orith. He offered me a teaching position along with a spot on an R&D project.” “You're leaving Starfleet?” Elir was surprised. Tandaris had always dreamed of joining Starfleet, even before he applied for the candidacy program. Here came the sigh. Tandaris knew that this was as good a time as any to break the news to them. They would find out soon anyway. After all, they were his parents. “Believe me, I'm surprised too. If you had asked me a month ago, when we were under attack and things that weren't flammable caught on fire . . . even then, I would have said 'never'. For the past two years I've lived, breathed, and served Starfleet—on the Excalibur.” “But now the Excalibur's done, and so am I. It's just a convenient opportunity. Being chief engineer on another starship doesn't interest me anymore. I'm a theory person. I like ideas, inventions, innovations. I'm not a mechanic.” That was what the past few months on the Excalibur had felt like. System after system would break, and of course engineering was expected to repair it. And he didn't want recognition, or to point fingers, or to engage in any of the bureaucratic nonsense that the Federation had wrapped around his art. “I'm just tired. So I've changed.” Elir nodded. “I guess I'm not the only one growing older.” He shifted in his seat and clasped his hands together, changing the subject. “So what will you be teaching?” Tandaris said, “Multi-vector field analysis, virtual particle interaction in n-dimensions, Hosster algorithms, and basic warp theory.” The words rolled off his tongue with a smooth, resonant sound. They were the lyrics to Tandaris' song. To his father, of course, they meant virtually nothing. “That sounds . . . full. And what's this research project?” “Subspace communications. I haven't received the details yet.” “Well the new term starts in a month. When are you coming home?” asked Elir. His face seemed slightly more animated. “I have a few more matters to attend to here on Earth before I leave. A week.” “Well, your mother and I—all of us—we can't wait to see you again, Tandaris. It's been far too long. We'll talk to you later.” “Bye, dad.” The transmission ended, and Tandaris lay awake in bed. Far too long indeed. It had been so easy, isolated in the Gamma Quadrant as he was, to ignore his family affairs. He thought adjusting to “normal” life would be hard, but then again, when was family ever normal?

Conversations with Family – Part I “Celar” (+2 days) Lt. Cdr. Tandaris Admiran ----------------------------------------------------- The PADD in his hand had a slick feel. He realized his palms were sticky. Tandaris put the PADD down on his desk. His clean, bare desk. His office had never been this clean, not since he had inherited it along with engineering. Over time it had become a repository for PADDs and miscellaneous spare parts. He had abused the space—he recognized that now. But it didn't matter much anymore. The cleaning crew had not been happy about the mess. Then again, there was very little to make them happy in the first place. You would be hard-pressed to find anywhere in the Excalibur that did not need a cleaning crew, a repair crew, and quite possibly a psychologist. The report Tandaris was writing for the decommissioning specialist had grown from a short summary of the system conditions to a lengthy dissertation on the ship's damaged status. His console beeped. Tandaris scowled and then hit a button. A familiar face appeared on the screen, and his scowl became a smile. “Cel! This is a surprise.” “Well duh. I knew you'd never call us, so I'd have to call you. I mean, I know mom and dad haven't beaten me. They haven't, have they?” “You are the first.” “I knew it! Tanny, you have no clue how dull things are lately. You've been a very rude brother, to disappear for all that time.” Tandaris winced at hearing her pet name for him. He was a decade older than her—give or take 300 years—yet her irreverence knew no bounds. Which was why they got along so well, of course. “Next time I'll ask the aggressive alien species if they wouldn't mind sending a message to my sister for me,” Tandaris said dryly. Celar nodded. “You do that. Or else.” She fidgeted with her pen. Tandaris said, “I can tell you all about it another time. I'm really out of touch with Alpha Quadrant news. I can't imagine how much reading I need to catch up on. How are you? And the others?” “Other than being completely bored, I'm fine. My application to Bajor was successful.” She grinned. “You're looking at the newest member of the expedition to the Temple of An-Mara.” “That's uh . . . that's great.” “Don't get too excited, Tanny. You don't want to strain yourself.” “And what about mom and dad? Tania? Marcis?” “Well, mom and dad are . . . mom and dad. Doing their little duet with me. Mom going on about how she's so disappointed I didn't follow in your footsteps, didn't apply for the candidacy program, didn't join Starfleet, blah, blah, blah. . . . Dad, of course, is telling me to ignore her and focus on finding my own path.” Celar sighed. She suffered from being the middle child, but Tandaris suspected she enjoyed that suffering slightly too . . . dramatically. He sympathized with her though—as the eldest, his parents had always expected him to set the example for his siblings. His mother, who worked for the Symbosis Commission, had assumed from the day he was born that he would one day apply to be joined.s She continued, “Tania's excited about starting at Orith. She's going into exobiology.” “Another scientist.” “Yeah, well, Marcis will wreck the streak. His latest scheme is something about self-sealing stembolts. I don't keep track of that sort of thing though. You'll have to ask him when he calls—because I know you won't bother.” “You wound me, sister.” “You deserve it. I don't know why specifically, but I know you must have done something to deserve it. Get over yourself and come visit us before Starfleet ships you off to Andromeda or wherever they want to send you next!” Her image disappeared from the screen before Tandaris had a chance to return a quip. He wondered where Starfleet was sending him next. The Gamma Quadrant was a tough act to follow. Where would he go if he had a choice? Maybe here on Earth, or Vulcan. Those two cultures had always interested him. Being chief engineer for the Excalibur was quite an experience, but Tandaris had never wanted the position and did not want to resume the responsibilities on another ship. He preferred warp field theory to warp field fact. He stared at the Federation emblem that had replaced Celar. It was good to hear from family again.

Name: Scott Coleridge Gender: Male Place of Birth: Andoria Age: 29 Species: Human Rank: Commander Height: 5'11” Eyes: Brown Hair: Dirty blond Distinguishing features: Small scar on his left calf from a childhood accident. Current Assignment: Sky Harbor Aegis Last Assignment: USS Endeavor Interests: History (mostly Earth), philosophy, computers, subspace theory, particle physics Family: Walker Coleridge – Father, diplomatic attaché at Federation embassy on Andoria Katrina Straszewski – Mother, chef Zoe Coleridge – Stepmother, diplomatic attaché at Federation embassy on Andoria Anna Coleridge – Sister, robotics researcher at the Daystrom Institute Ellen Coleridge – Sister, assistant art gallery curator Barbara Coleridge – Sister Kent Coleridge – Brother, member of the JAG office for Starbase 114 Matthew Coleridge – Brother, professor at the University of Andoria Andrew Coleridge – Half-brother Service History: Entered Starfleet Academy Graduated Starfleet Academy Stardate 0709.30 – Assigned to USS Endeavor Stardate 0711.2 – Transferred to Sky Harbor Aegis Biographical Information: Scott spent most of his childhood on Andoria. His father was a diplomat stationed at the Federation embassy. Constant exposure to Federation peoples and cultures gave Scott an interest in history at a young age. He initially aspired to study archaeology in the civilian sector. When he was 13, however, his parents separated after his father's affair. As a result, Scott lost touch with his mother's side of the family, who have remained aloof, and Scott did not get along with his stepmother. Scott applied to Starfleet Academy at the earliest opportunity. At the Academy, Scott discovered a passion for mechanics and computers. He studied science during his first year, still intending to become an archaeologist. He excelled at his elective course in quantum physics, however, and decided that engineering offered more opportunities. (His instructors were also impressed by any archaeologist who took quantum physics as an elective.) In addition to academics, Scott displayed prowess on the Academy's track-and-field team, anbo-jyutsu, and velocity. Upon graduation Scott was assigned to the USS Endeavor as an assistant engineer. On his first mission, the Endeavor encountered an unstable wormhole and was heavily damaged. With the chief engineer dead and most of the other staff critically injured, the captain gave Scott a field promotion to chief engineer. Scott worked to repair the Endeavor alongside engineers from Sky Harbor Aegis. The experience gave him more confidence in his abilities and acquainted him with the reality of life on a starship. Aegis' chief engineer, Eli Zhu, left a formidable impression on Scott. Although it would mean exchanging starship exploration for station maintenance, Scott transferred to Sky Harbor Aegis for the opportunity to learn from Zhu. He soon discovered that maintaining a station had its own set of challenges.

Happy birthday. :)

“The Late Afternoon Region” September 2, 2157 Lieutenant Dave Grey --------------------------------- Join us, if you will, for a tale that will challenge your perceptions of this world, shaking the very foundations of how you interpret the nature of reality. Dave Grey, a mild-mannered madman and scientist aboard a starship known as Challenger, is experiencing something extraordinary. He has gone one day without a single drop of tea.* In slightly less than a minute and twenty-nine seconds, the Universe, as you know it, will change forever. Dave Grey is about to access the sensor logs recorded by an escape pod from the ill-fated Carnival Grandeur. With this simple act he will forever alter his destiny and that of everyone else around him. No. Pressure. “Hmm. 'Warning: Opening this unit voids warranty. Risk of electric shock',” read Dave. He looked around. “Well I live in a big metal box myself. If I'm going to get shocked, I think it would have happened by now.” This logic seemed irrefutable to the scientist**, so he opened the back of the unit and removed the data module. Once interfaced with Challenger's computer, the module chirped happily and began to spill its data. It would take some time, so Dave went to the mess hall for a cup of tea. He returned, tea in hand, just as the data dump finished. The screen began to scroll through the sensor logs. Dave was about to sit down when one entry caught his eye. He blinked, read it again, spit out his tea—and fell on the floor, having missed the chair. Dave pulled himself to his feet and lowered himself into the chair. He scrolled back through the logs and read the entry again, praying he had been mistaken. Then he shook his head. “I hate being the messenger. One of these days someone is going to shoot me.” He glanced downward. His worst fears were confirmed: his tea cup was broken. Nothing would ever be the same again. --------------------------------- * Nothing like super-heated infusion of free-radicals and tannin to get the synapses going. ** Admittedly that was never his strong point.

It's about CAD $1.22/L here, so that's about $4.30 USD per gallon. Toronto has decided to gut all of us up here in NW Ontario. :/

So if it takes hours for my printer to manufacture something, what if I want to print something? :)

When did we decide to move Christmas Day to the 26? :blink: I really need to catch up with those memos... I don't know to what to say, really ... being apathetic is kind of bad, yes, but I guess I am. They might as well go for it, because if Trek will ever experience a resurgence it'll need a strong movie to back it up. I'm not familiar enough with any of these guys' work (except that Alias was terrible, although I mainly blame Jennifer Garner) to use that as a basis for predicting the movie's success. Personally I've always felt that it would be better to move forward, not backward, since this is the future, and time usually moves in a linear direction unless you have people playing with the temporal prime directive. That being said, I didn't like how the technology towards the late 24th century was developing. So I guess I'm just one of those people who like sto complain about everything and won't be satisfied in any case. :D I'm kind of sad that Paramount missed the boat on a DS9 movie because they were so set on making TNG ones. :lol: