Gage Silver

Dream On, Snoopy A Silver - Granger Production Red-lines: they didn’t exist because they looked cool. They’d pushed the Creek beyond her safe limits to escape Romulan space and she was making her objections known. Glaringly. Exceeding safety limits by a third amounted to a lot more than it might appear on paper and more systems were now red than green, stifling what relief the Engineering crew felt. At least they’d shut off the ear-piercing alarms. After a Matter-Antimatter Reactor trip and disabled warp drive, the overheated impulse engines and their fusion reactors were among the most critical; and they weren’t going anywhere without warp or impulse. Pushing the impulse engines had demanded more power than their reactors could safely supply under load. To avoid an inopportune blackout, they’d run the fusion reactors beyond their safeties, and mistreated reactors had a greater potential to reach out and make a bad day worse. Granted, fusion reactors generally didn’t fail catastrophically like the old fission or newer matter-antimatter reactors - generally - but failure was still possible, most often structural, and that wasn’t something you could duct tape and call it fixed. T’Aral should’ve been a prophetess, Gage mused. Amid attempts to mitigate a potential crisis, engineering couldn’t spare a one-armed man and Gage was directed aft to impulse/fusion control. As the ship hovered for repairs just inside the Romulan neutral zone, Cass resumed working on the uncooperative bridge SpecOps consoles. Most of the problem had been resolved, but it became more and more obvious that remote junctions were sparking, blinking a few of the Nav/Recon subsystems in and out. She had twenty minutes to get to those junctions, two-step with the isochips, and get back to the bridge. Joy. Only problem? The junction chips needed total replacement and main engineering wasn’t exactly close. So you pull rank with the minions, commandeer a lift, and hightail it to engineering, hoping they have what you need... or at least something you can jerry rig. All went according to plan until, juggling a pile of chips she had just requisitioned from supply, she turned toward the lift and ran straight into the arms of Ensign Silver. “Sorry, sir,” she said as she scrambled, unsuccessfully, to stop a pile cascade. “Needed some replacem....” her eyes darted to the sling... “Sir?” Balancing a few of the isochips that had fallen on to his slinged arm, Gage froze. “What?” “Looks like you and an engineering console had a little disagreement, Sir.” Giving his arm the once-over, she knelt to reclaim the chips. Gage blinked at her, the realization dawning on him slowly and his gaze jumped from sling to Cass and back. A feigned - ridiculously belated - sound of pain escaped him and he gripped his elbow in alarm. “Cass, they got me,” he said, pouring on the schmaltz. “Doc told me I might lose my arm; said there’s only one thing and only one thing that'll save it.” Cass straightened up, her face blanked. “And what would that be, Sir?” she said, taking the bait. He dropped heavily to his knees and the deck complained with the shift in weight. “Mouth t’ mouth. Save me, Cass.” Lips pressed, it took every bit of her Marine training to keep a straight face. One deep breath later the opening lift doors saved her. “In your dreams. Sir,” she whispered, slipping by him. “In... your... dreams.” “Thought I was dreaming,” Gage retorted as she entered the lift and he got back to his feet. He grasped the railing of the adjacent companionway and, putting a foot to the first rung, paused. “It wasn’t a console,” he defensively shot at her between the closing lift doors. “It was a hundred an’ forty pounds of falling damsel.” “Right,” she muttered through her teeth, eyes front, ignoring the gawking passersby as the lift doors closed. Gage regarded the closed doors. “Yeah, she didn’t say ‘thank you’, either,” he muttered and began climbing the companionway. =/\= Marine Corps Specialist Cassidy Granger braced against the bulkhead as energy beams sprayed a net from one end of the corridor to the other. “Captain Silver! You all right, Sir?” Shedropped to a semi-crouch, glancing up and down the passageway as the barrage lulled, then zig-zagged toward the j-tube access panel that would take them to the bridge. It’d been hot and heavy for hours, the team whittled from seventeen to three in short order. But now there were two. Gage Silver, Captain of USS Comanche Creek - highly decorated veteran, expert rifleman, bodybuilder par excellence - and Warrant Officer Cassidy Granger, holding back a horde of Romulans that swarmed the ship from stem to stern. Of the bridge crew, all but the captain had been captured, probably being tortured for their command codes and secret family recipes. They had to get to the bridge. Change the codes. Otherwise, those Romulans would have full access to the Federation database and the Captain’s pay-per-view. Now, they were the only thing that stood between victory and the total annihilation of the Federation. It was Gage and Cass against the Romulan Star Empire. “Cass! Granger! Report!” “Here, Captain Silver, Sir! Where the hell are you?” Breath coming in heavy gasps, brow glistening in sweat, soaked tee clinging to her... front, Cass braced, phaser at the ready, waiting... praying for the one who would save them all. From the far end of the corridor an image emerged from the shadows and advanced slowly. Tall and rugged, Gage’s uniform shirt was torn, the edge dangling off his shoulder and across his Herculean chest. The aftermath of heavy fighting strained his face and his right arm hung limply at his side, bulging at the shoulder. “We got ‘em, Cass. We got ‘em all,” he announced, triumphant. His phaser dropped when he reached her, but he still managed to smile as he leaned against the bulkhead, his right arm dangling at an odd angle. “Captain,” she exclaimed in alarm, her phaser clattering as it hit the deck, “you’re injured! I can fix that!” Holding up his left hand, his face brightened in their victory. “No, Cass. It’s only a scratch. I’ll be fine.” “Really, Sir. I can fix that.” Before he could downplay his injury once more, she put the heel of one foot against his right collarbone, grabbed the dangling forearm, and gave it an almighty pull. A loud snap and she was done; the unsightly bulge that ruined the fit of his uniform had disappeared. “There you go, Sir!” she said, clapping him on the left shoulder. “Good as new.” “Thank you, Cass,” he said with a heavy bass, smiling graciously and strutting. “You’re a good Marine...for a woman. One last favor?” “Of course, Sir,” she said in breathless admiration, “anything you ask.” Towering above her, Gage grinned at Cass in all her...excellence and held out his other hand. “Can I have my arm back?”

Me? Share with Floyd? Mais non, mais non. Key word: trip.

Hey, hey...can't pin this all on me 'cause I chased the rabbit 'n' fell: wasn't my Muse that got into the wacky tobaccy. The men on the chessboard just tell me where to go, but she must'a had some kind of mushroom. Go ask Alice; I think she'll know.

Good question.

Sucked in by the new crisis, his dislocated shoulder, though painful, went unappreciated as Gage leaned over the console and awkwardly keyed commands with his left hand. He studied the screen with narrowed eyes on the red-lined coolant levels, auto-shutdown notification from reactor control, and system logs. What the hell...? A second command remotely pulled status on the Fusion Reactors and Gage was relieved to see green across the board. At least the Fusion Reactors remained functional and capable of supplying power to the Creek’s critical systems beyond the limited primary battery. It looked like only the Matter-Antimatter Reactor and Warp Engines had taken the critical hits; they were more or less stranded, but not without life support or communications. Kerris was still in engineering-- nothing else for her to do, right?-- and was eyeing Gage as she worked. He didn’t seem to realise he was in pain. She frowned, and came over to him, leaning against the console he was working on. ‘Reactors back up?’ “Nope,” Gage replied without diverting his attention. “Gonna take awhile.” 'Think someone else could take care of it?' she wondered, waving a hang towards his injured shoulder. 'That needs attention. You'll be more focused once it is.' “What?” he drawled and looked down, frowning at the obvious deformity. “Right. Yeah.” Vacating the console he slowly moved down the catwalk and positioned over the ladder, gripping the railing with his good arm. The climb down went a bit faster than he’d intended. Negotiating the ladder with one hand, his footing slipped on the last few rungs and he pivoted around the rail to which he clung, hitting the other side of the ladder as he fell to the deck. “Ow,” he dryly sounded at the bottom. Kerris rushed over to the railing, worried but fighting back a smile. He was so stubborn. She climbed down the ladder after him, then helped him up. 'Alright, not giving you a choice now,' she said, shooting him an evil smile. 'Off we go.' “Where...” Gage began to retort as he climbed to his feet, but paused as he thought better of it. “Never mind,” he recanted, wincing; “being a smart... hurts too much right now.” Kerris pulled his good arm over her shoulders. 'Take the time it takes to walk to sick bay to think of a whopper,' she said, starting to walk him out of engineering. “Geeze, now you’re gonna torture me with hunger, too?” Gage muttered and hissed as they exited into the corridor, feeling an uncomfortable strain from the hold she had on his good arm. 'I'll head to mess and get you something,' she said, rolling her eyes, not quite understanding how she had made him hungry. She leaned him against the wall, of the TL, taking them to sickbay. Gage rode most of the way in silence, his head back against he wall and eyes closed. Unlike Gage, but who could honestly fault him? “Thanks,” Gage finally said as the lift indicated they were nearing their destination. Kerris looked at him, scritching her head awkwardly. 'No big deal. Need you at your best.' She then looked away, up to the roof of the lift. Gage smirked and then he started to chuckle. The lift came to halt and the doors opened. Kerris looked back down at him. 'What is so funny?' She offered her help again. Accepting her assistance, he exited the lift. “Was just thinking how painful that ride could’ve been,” he remarked without explaining, recalling a few particular lift rides with an unnamed Gunner. 'I could have stopped the lift and made you suffer,' she said sadistically, her mind turning to try to figure out what he meant. She walked him slowly down the corridor. “Yeah, you could’ve, but you didn’t,” he said, smiling. 'But that's not what you meant,' she said, frowning a little, confused. Gage continued smiling even as she looked confused. “You’re a nice girl, Kerris.” 'Um... Thanks,' she answered after a few seconds. 'So are you.' There was a beat before she almost tripped, and then said. 'A nice guy, I mean.' Gage chuckled at her, turning to stop in front of the sickbay entrance. “Glad you got that straightened out.” She blushed, though she wasn't sure if he could tell behind her dark skin. 'I know you're a man,' she said simply, before she looked at the door, and then opened it. Gage thought of a few inappropriate suggestions she could take to ensure she was confident of that fact, but recalled the last time he’d made Kerris uncomfortable and kept them to himself. He just smirked more instead, finding her embarrassment too amusing to dispel. “Hello, doc!” he called out, entering sickbay with a faint look of surprise at the number of injuries he saw there -- he’d hoped he was the only one. T’Aral turned about to see the entering pair. The Medical Bay was reasonably uncluttered thanks to sufficient preparation. The staff, however, was currently taking care of its own injuries while trying to care for others. Even T’Aral had picked up a number of bruises, including a particularly visible one across her forehead from a time when one of the turbulent jolts spilled her over. The cabinet she ran into had appropriately curved corners which kept the impact from gashing - the result was, however, still extremely painful as it slowly welted into a deep olive. Considering the trip, their injuries were light. It did, however, initiate a line of thought within T’Aral’s mind regarding using Sickbay restraints as seat-belts for the medical staff in such situations, so that when the journey was completed they would be in better condition to tend to others. A pity that she didn’t have the thought earlier, but then one of the reasons Vulcans admired creativity and intuition so much was because they had precious little of it. A discipline of logic didn’t lend itself to coming up with creative thoughts when none were needed. Getting a nod from Ensign Khole - an assurance that she didn’t have a serious concussion - T’Aral stepped across the bay to greet Ensigns Silver and Kea. “Please step this way.” Taking a moment to examine the pair, she led them over to a bio-bed. “Given your stances, I assume Ensign Silver is the subject of this visit … unless you both have serious injuries?” She could tell that something sufficiently serious was wrong with Gage, but with Kerris it would be harder to tell as she did not possess experience with her species. “Dunno,” Gage remarked, urging Kerris forward; “got any complaints, Kerris?” 'I have thick skin and the bones of a dragon. Takes more than the likes of you to injure me,' she said, pulling Gage forward. 'He's the injured one. Don't let his humour fool you.' Gage grinned stupidly at the doctor, masking the subtle wince caused by Kerris’s jostling. “Hope you’ve got band-aids.” 'It'll take more than a bandaid,' Kerris muttered. It took only a moment for the medical scanners to confirm what T’Aral had suspected from Gage’s stance - complete subluxation of the humerus. There was ultimately one treatment for the condition, but some amount of preparation would make the next step less traumatic. She began by pressing on several nerve bundles about Gage’s shoulder, and as she pressed the pain eased. Gage watched her, obviously puzzled by her actions and the subsiding pain. “Uh, what’re you doin’ to my arm, doc?” “It is neuro-pressure, Ensign … nothing to be concerned about. It will make the next step in your recovery more comfortable.” As she pressed, the nerves began to deaden. “Your shoulder nerves will be quieted for the next several seconds during the transition. Afterwards there will be soreness, but this will prevent any sharp pain from occurring.” Gage half-chuckled, a hint of disbelief in his voice as he remarked: “Wish they’d taught us that trick that in Medic school.” Kerris watched on quietly, eyebrows furrowed, but her full trust in the Vulcan. T’Aral continued to work on Gage’s shoulder, carefully numbing critical points until - without warning - she firmly grabbed the Ensign’s shoulder and popped it back into place. “There - now please wait a moment while I bring a splint for you.” Gage blinked as the doctor suddenly jerked his shoulder into place; just like that, the deformity was gone and all as she’d promised. “Ow...?” he murmured looking at his arm, almost feeling robbed. Almost. ‘That’s pretty amazing,’ Kerris whispered, her face smooth again. ‘No pain at all?’ “None. No joke that trick,” Gage answered, wearing a stunned grin. He was tempted to swing his arm around like a buffoon, just to test it, but wisely decided to remain still. She muttered a surprised curse under her breath, smiling. ‘I might have to get her to teach me that. Wait until they see that back home. Make those miners feel like new.’ “Can think of another someone who should learn that trick,” Gage mused, largely to himself. ‘Who?’ Kerris wondered, looking at Gage, raising her eyebrows. Gage just grinned. She frowned at his grinning. He loved to confuse her, more than she probably realized. T’Aral returned, wrapping Gage’s arm in the splint and securing it both vertically and around his body to properly restrain the arm. “The numbness will wear off in a few moments, at which point your shoulder will be moderately sore. I recommend you remain in the medical bay for the next fifteen minutes, to determine if you require medication for the pain. At that point I recommend that you remain off the active duty roster for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, preferably remaining in the medical bay under observation. “I expect you have no intention of accepting my recommendation - a trait common among humans, especially those in situations where specific skills are required. I also expect that my views on the matter will not be supported by the chain of command. Therefore, I must insist that the brace remain in place and properly secured, and that you employ an assistant for performing tasks under your supervision. If you fail to do so, you will injure yourself to the point where surgery will be required. Should that become necessary, you will be confined to a bed.” “You’re the expert,” Gage replied, still grinning and on the verge of chuckling. What had Ashworth called it all those years ago: ‘Vulcan....tourettes’? Gage thought that logic-driven frankness was refreshing and amusing -- when you weren’t trying to beat the odds winging a piece of junk through an asteroid field. T’Aral raised an eyebrow at the sight of Gage’s smile. “Do not take my words lightly, Ensign Silver. If your shoulder does not heal effectively, it will dislocate again under less strenuous circumstances and eventually become a chronic problem. This will require surgery to correct, or else you will have to be reassigned to a non-combat posting where stress on your shoulder will not be a factor. Even with a reassignment, a chronic injury is likely to become a limiting factor in later years. “I recognize that the situation we are in is serious, and even medical recommendations must make concessions to this. I accept this, however I must make you aware of the risks you are taking and the probable outcome of the situation you are in. How well you heal depends entirely on you.” “You look at my medical record lately?” Gage’s smile persisted. “Got it covered.”

Don't forget: replicators can't "poof" things out of nothing, nowhere - replication requires matter and matter is a limited commodity that must be replenished from somewhere. Yeah, in theory and with exceptions, you could replicate almost anything, if you've got the matter in your stores to do it.

Everything Changes A Granger-Silver Log You can wear a uniform only so many hours before it cleaves to your body, takes on the form and the smell. In Cass’s case, globs of dust mixed with cleaning fluid from climbing in, over, and around consoles on the bridge dappled her back; some smeared down the front. She should have changed before entering the officer’s lounge - not only protocol but basic courtesy - but it was mostly empty at this time of night, and at this point she didn’t much care. Not wanting to be noticed, she slipped quietly into a corner, downed a drink, then sat there twirling the empty glass, the ice clinking against the orange slice trapped in the bottom. They’d calculated the entry vector, worked it, reworked it, and tweaked it until it couldn’t be worked over anymore, but she still had her doubts. Moa, in his wisdom, had chased her off the bridge, so here she sat, the ice becoming the rift, and the orange - most of the life sucked out of it - the ship. Their ship. Comanche Creek. Battered, torn, smashed into a pulpy mess that splattered, lifeless, on the bottom. A presence behind her jerked her out of her thoughts. The smell of lubricant and assorted other things associated only with main engineering - the only stuff that could overpower her own stench - drifted on the recirculated air current. Aw, hell. Too tired for formalities and pretty much knowing he would sit anyway, she kicked out a chair. “Join me?” she said as Gage came into view. His intentions caught on the way in, Gage smirked at her and grasped the chair as it slid noisily across the floor, remarking ironically: “If you insist.” Twisting the chair and clacking it against the table’s edge, he straddled the seat, arms folded over the backrest as he stared at her. “Be honest, Cass,” he said bluntly, nodding more at the glass she held than her. “What’s your real poison: that drink or your thoughts?” Loaded question. Cass gave a cocky snort, partly from exhaustion but mostly from wanting to be left alone. Her eyes still resting on the glass, she tossed her head. “Be honest? None of your damn business,” adding after a beat, “...sir.” She leaned back, dangling her glass toward the orderly. “Iced tea. Sweet....” Turning back, she met his gaze, waiting for the smart-ass reply that was his trademark, the one she was sure would come. “Uh, what was that? You say ‘my icy attitude, sir’?” Gage shot back, putting a hand to his ear. “Good answer. Wait,” he signaled with the same hand; “let me turn up my hearing-aid before you spew the next round of BS; then you’ll be wrong and loud.” Cass eyed him another minute. The effort it took to hold the cocky expression wasn’t quite worth it so she let it fade. The few others in the lounge had stopped talking. One left, and the others put on their best I’m ignoring your conversation faces and tried to finish their drinks. The bar tender disappeared into his office, as did the orderly after easing Cass’s iced tea just within her reach. Cass dialed her volume down a notch, her eyes still leveled as she leaned forward. “That...” she raised a finger, “...was a good one. Got any more like it, ‘cause... I’d sure as hell like to hear a few more before we blow ourselves to bits in that...” she left off, jerking her thumb toward the observation window. “You know... lighten up the atmosphere? Give us something to laugh about while we die.” “Nice try. I’ll believe you’ve given up, when God calls my name and sounds like Bill Cosby,” Gage retorted. “Ship’s too small for headcases, so what’s goin’ on, Cass? Can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.” She leaned back to check out the rift one more time. It pulsed, occasional gamma ray bursts shooting toward the ship, deceptively beautiful crackling fingers that sparked and intertwined before an unforgiving space consumed them. “Not giving up, sir. Just facing reality,” she said, turning back to face him and grabbing her tea on the way. “We used to say ‘Vulcan changed things,’ but slipping into another time, another place, sure beat the hell out of that one.” He saw a problem that could negatively affect her performance and the ship; by definition that made this his business, and he was supposed to believe this was just a case of pre-flight jitters or a bit of chronohodophobia? Incredulity clearly written on his face, he stared at Cass for what might have felt like an eternity. “Hell if I can figure this out,” he finally muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “Fleet doesn’t issue ... crystal balls.” He briefly glanced around the room, flashing a stupid grin at the few who thought their gazes would go unnoticed. “You don’t wanna tell me what your problem is, okay,” Gage said, shrugging and laying a sobered expression on Cassie. “But screw your head on soon, ‘cause a few hundred people need you to get us through the ...-end of time ‘n’ space in one piece.” “My problem?” She paused, honestly believing she’d already told him. “You’re a damn good engineer, sir. Damn good. Couldn’t have done that entry vector without you, but... it’s still a crap shoot.” “Stop bull... me, Cass. We all wanna get home; everybody’s got the same doubts. But you’re the one who looks like she’s drinkin’ with the reaper. What gives?” The look she gave him as she sipped was nothing short of total confusion. “Sir?” Gage audibly sighed, resisting the urge to rub his face. “There’s more goin’ on here than doubt, Cass. You bit my head off the other day and I’m damn sure I didn’t deserve it.” The glass paused half way down, her expression even more confused. “Sir?” Gage snapped. “Dammit, Gunner, are you a ... Marine? ‘Cause you sure as sh*t ain’t actin’ like one with your head in the sand!” The glass hit the table. She froze, staring at him, her thoughts on the bridge hitting her straight on. Frank Granger, Marine pre-enlistment instructor, came from behind and jerked his sixteen-year-old daughter up by the collar, planting her feet in the sand. Hard. Taking a DI stance in front of her, nose to nose, the intensity of his words jerked her even straighter. “Where... the hell... is your team? You wanna be a Marine, Buddy? ‘Cause you sure as hell aren’t actin’ like one, with your face in the sand!” It took her a while to get a grip, but she finally managed to spit it out. “You have family, Sir? Back in our time?” Not exactly what she meant to say, but the words came out before she could stop ‘em. “Yeah,” he answered on an exhale. “I don’t. Lost ‘em both at Vulcan. At least... thought I did. Colonel Tigard....” She shook her head, a vain attempt to bury the thoughts that spilled out despite her best effort. “Anyway, there’s a chance. A really small chance they might be alive back there. But if we’re stuck here? If we never get back, or worse... if we die trying? That’s why I’m pushing so hard. Figure everyone else needs to push hard, too.” Gage answered her firmly. “Everybody’s workin’ their a**es off. Don’t doubt your team and don’t pull a deathwish, Cass. We will make it back. You gotta believe that. Our failure’ll be on your head if you don’t.” “Deathwish, Sir? My head, Sir? There’s more than one of us on that bridge, and I for damn sure do not want to die.” “Takes everyone in the team to carry the boat, Cass. You know that.” His reference to Special Warfare training jerked her up. Again. “Aye, Sir. That it does.” She sighed, giving her eyes a rub, the last twelve hours having taken their toll. Gage considered her and her obviously disheveled appearance for a moment. “You slept, Cass?” “No, Sir.” “Do I gotta tell you to?” “No, Sir,” she said with an air of resignation. Her glass half-empty, she pushed it aside and stood, turning sharply to face him, the die-hard Marine returning. “Permission to retire, Sir.” “Go. And, Cass,” he said, hanging for a beat; “don’t make me escort you.”

It was still over a day until they went back into the rift. Kerris sighed and looked up, following the lines in the ceiling for a few steps before looking back straight. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, eager to get to the mess hall. It had been a long night of barely any sleep, and she knew that today her thoughts would be much of the same. What if they all died? She felt as if she had so much left to live for. Where it concerned him personally, Gage couldn’t help feeling apathetic to the Creek’s latest plight: he’d made peace with not making it home a long time ago. He didn’t crave death, but living? That was a complicated subject; the death of his wife had changed a lot of things. Unlike Commander Wesley, he hadn’t the insane amount of luck or even the opportunity to rescue the person most important to him; he often wished he had, but wishful thinking was just that. That this rift could potentially reverse that clock was something he couldn’t risk considering; for the sake of his sanity she had to remain lost. Forever. He’d found ways to keep living after his wife, but one thing never changed: he always felt he belonged wherever strife existed, whether near or far away from so-called home; and if his number came up, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer that call. He’d make peace with any outcome as long as he was doing the right thing. As Kerris got her tray of food, she was frowning. She didn't like to think that she would never see her family or her home again, or even the Others. She shook her head as she picked out a bottle of water, considering it. Back home, they had to dig for water, or use their well if the need was dire. But here? A bottle. All she had to do was open the cap. The prospect almost made her laugh every time. She wiggled her nose and set the bottle on her tray, her eyes searching through the room. Gage sat at a corner table, arms loosely folded and head bowed, shoulders steadily rising and falling over an untouched tray of food and idle icommanche. Pride had spurred him to work additional watches after Cass rebuked him for considering a break; now he was playing catch-up. But had he known the personal motive that fueled her bite and apparent obsession with that rift, the situation might have turned out differently. Most of the tables were full of the crew eating breakfast, so Kerris's eyes scanned them over, searching for someone she knew. Her eyes fell to Gage, who was sitting alone, in the corner. She smiled a little, thinking that he might be good company, and walked over. She sat down in the seat across the table from him, clearing her throat. 'Hello there,' she said, unsure of what else to say, and feeling very unoriginal. With a jerk, Gage woke in a groggy stupor and blinked at his food before looking at Kerris. “Auh,” he sounded, rubbing his rough, unshaven face and sore neck as he straightened in his seat. “Thought I was dreaming for a second.” Kerris covered her mouth quickly as a giggle escaped her. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I hadn't realised you were sleeping.’ She picked up her bottle of water and opened it, taking a long drink. ‘Rough night?’ “Like Einstein meets Little Shop of Horrors,” he replied, smirking. “You ever see temporal equations grow pixie wings ‘n’ fly?” Kerris furrowed her eyebrows, thoroughly puzzled. 'I'm afraid the only part of that I understood was temporal equations,' she said. 'And I could never imagine them... Flying.' She swirled her eggs around on her plate, mixing them with her hot sauce. “Frightening experience,” he remarked dryly; “After awhile Velocity and square roots start to look like horns, and they’re madly zippin’ around your head to Apocalyptica’s cover of Edvard Grieg’s In the Hall of the Mountain King.” He watched her play with her eggs and glanced at his tray of cold food with a frown. “What’ve you been up to?” Thinking she needed to spend some time looking up a lot of what he just said on the extranet, she shrugged, stuffing a forkful of eggs in her mouth to buy a few seconds to think. 'Well, I spent some time with my fighter down in the hangar after I left engineering, then I tried to sleep. Didn't work out too well.' She shrugged again. 'I'd ask you the same, but it sounds like you slept as much as I did.' “Naw, I slept like a baby,” Gage retorted. “What’s your excuse?” She shrugged again, almost ashamed of her thoughts. 'I know we checked and rechecked and did all those Sims... But still my thoughts won't let me be.' She paused. 'I tried writing a letter home, but it never sounded right. How do I explain this in a letter?' Gage stared at her a long minute, grin draining from his face. “You write the first important thing you think of and stop over-thinking it. Nobody’ll care much if you were poetic about it; just that you said what was important.” She shook her head. 'That's not what I meant. I meant, trying to explain what happened, how we got here, who everyone is... Its a lot harder than it sounds.' She took another bite, but her stomach turned over. 'I was never good with words. My brother got that talent. I'm good with my hands. Give me something that's broke or that you need reverse engineered and I can do it, no problem. But if I had to explain it?' She shook her head. 'Forget it. The words jumble.' Gage smiled a bit. “Funny thing about family: they understand you better than anybody else.” Mariah knew, she knew I wasn’t happy unless I was out here playin’ cowboys ‘n’ indians, he recalled darkly. The next of kin to The Wayward Wind. “Just write the first thing you think of; guarantee they’ll get it.” She smiled a little in return. 'I sure hope so.' She took another drink, pondering. 'I've never heard you speak of your family. Do you have siblings? Your parents, grandparents?' “A brother,” he replied casually, eyes on his glass of orange juice as he lifted it. 'That's something we have in common then,' she said, smiling a little more. 'Is he a...' she trailed off, thinking of the right word. 'twin? Or just from the same parents?' Gage couldn’t help a grin as he swallowed a mouthful of juice. “Yeah, same parents; my younger brother.” 'Were you close... Or rather, are you?' He considered the question, briefly tilting his head. “I guess. Don’t see a lot of him or his family, but he’s always kept a spot for me on the ranch.” She grinned a little, remembering talking about the ranch. 'Oh, right, the ranch,' she said, amused. 'I know that most humans don't live with their family for long. How do you keep in touch?' Gage rubbed his jaw again. It helps if you’re in the same timeline, he thought, but refrained from making that untimely joke. “Email, mostly,” he said and admitted sheepishly; “Think they remember to write more than I do.” He changed the focus. “What about you? How long did you live with your family before you signed up?” Kerris rummaged around in her eggs again. 'I lived with my parents for under a year. That's when Het and I got our own room.' She looked up quickly. 'He's my hatch-mate. Repsha live with their parents until their parents have another clutch.' She shrugged again. 'I still see them everyday, but its been over 30 cycles that we've been living on our own.' “30 cycles, eh? Gotta lotta little Kerrises ‘n’ Hets runnin’ around?” he asked, gesturing like he’d placed his hand on an invisible child’s head. Kerris cleared her throat and looked down at her plate, keeping her eyes on her food. 'He's not my mate,' she explained. 'but your question is... Expected.' she shoveled eggs into her mouth, then swallowed. 'No, no children.' She thought about saying about her thoughts of experiments. 'You?' Gage clearly realized his gaffe, cringing apologetically; then Kerris turned the unwanted question on him and he set his orange juice down. “No,” he answered, "haven't had the chance." Kerris watched as his orange juice swayed in its glass, then looked up, gazing into his eyes briefly. She had the sudden urge to pry into his mind, but she suppressed it. 'Say we get out of this, will you make time?' “No one to make time with,” he said with finality. 'Oh,' she said quietly, wishing she had her face covered as her cheeks reddened. 'I didn't mean to pry.' She shoved some more food into her mouth, then said, 'Before I left for the Academy, I had... I don't know what he was. But no more of my kind off-planet.' “Sounds rough,” Gage droned, wondering how they’d stumbled into this depressing subject and how to get out of it. ****, if all I can think of right now are stupid jokes. “It’s settled then,” he remarked after an awkward moment. She stared at him, unclear what in the world the human was referring to. 'Did something need settling?' “You do. We have to get you home now,” he explained, smiling. “Can’t have you lost out here when there’s someone to get back to.” She let out a breath, trying to get her heartrate back down. 'I've been back home. I love my home, but I chose to leave. I want to be out here.' She shrugged. 'Doesn't mean I never want to go home- I like the option- but I am in love with space, humans, Romulans,' she chuckled a little. 'Especially when I look like a human.' Gage smirked. “Fooled me,” he admitted, idly twisting his glass around. She shrugged. 'I am still getting used to...' she waved her hand around. 'Everything. Human quirks and the way you talk- point: did you mean, I fooled you with looking like a human, or with me enjoying space?' “Yeah,” Gage answered. Kerris laughed, grinning. 'I think you enjoy confusing me.' Gage quietly chuckled and lifted his glass of juice to his mouth as he nodded. “Guilty.” Kerris swirled the water around in the jug, still smiling. 'Sometimes I like someone sitting down and explaining things. But I like learning on my own too. You gave me a lot of things to look up, that's for sure.' She looked down, flicking a fleck of pepper into the wall behind him. 'I can't wait to fly again.' For the second time, Gage stamped out a joke about flying lizards and painfully choked on the last of his orange juice. “You can always ask,” he coughed, deciding it was safer to avoid the topic of flying for the moment. 'Captain said we're grounded in this... Timeline.' She shrugged, looking at him, again wondering his thoughts. 'These cows on your ranch, can... Do you talk to them?' He laughed. “Yeah, but cows aren’t good for conversin’: all they think about is ‘moovin’ over to the next pasture.” She stared at him, unsure why he was laughing. 'They are as dumb as those on my planet then. All they think about is food, ######ting, and when the bulls are going to visit. I make it a point to not waste the energy on them.' “Wasted energy, yeah,” Gage said, laughter subsiding as he changed the subject. “I need some real sleep before those temporal equations grow fat ‘n’ start mooing at me.” Kerris nodded smally. 'Go and count fat, moooving equations. I am going to have my nose pressed to my computer screen.' Gage smiled and stood, taking his unfinished tray with him. “Night, Kerris.” He paused on his way to the trash, adding: “Or day; I’m not sure.” 'Good night, Gage,' she said, nodding to him.

Whatever feels 'right' on Tuesday.

Received: from Engineering 07-5XXX-XX (fe80::xxxx:x:xxxx:xx); XXX, XX XXX 2258 XX:XX:XX by Science 01-0001-0X (fe80::xxxx:x:x:x); XXX, XX XXX 2258 XX:XX:XX To: LT Belo, Innogen CC: CAPT Calestorm, Ashton M; LTJG Tauariki, Jed I From: ENS Silver, Gage D Subject: Unplug the Toaster >physically disconnect: ship’s communication arrays, sensor arrays, network antennas from ODN* and local sub-processors >switch critical system control to local sub-processors and MCS/CS* suggest: environmental, shields, matter-antimatter and fusion reactors, EPS*, fuel and propulsion, weapons >physically disconnect local sub-processors and CS from ODN >run quick scan on local sub-processors and CS; clean or quarantine virus if present and if possible >>if communication sub-processor is clean: reconnect communication arrays to local sub-processor >shutdown computer core and non-critical systems; alternative: force hard reboot >clean or reimage core system files >run full scan on core; reevaluate >if core is clean: reconnect sub-processors and CS to ODN; switch critical system control to core >disconnect sub-processors and CS from ODN; run full scan on sub-processors and MCS; clean or quarantine virus if present >reconnect all systems to ODN >run full scan Best case: we’ll have the Creek running with that new car smell in 3-4 hours. Worst case scenario? The programmer thought of this and we’ll have to physically disconnect systems from the EPS grid when everything goes to hell. ------ *ODN: Optical Data Network (aka fiber optic LAN). *EPS: Electo-Plasma System or the power distribution network. *MCS: Machinery Control System (or Mission, Missile, etc); or *CS: Control System

Happy Birthday... Ahdmeral.

Hmm, started this ten days ago. Blame the holidays. You're go, Marx.

<<This log takes place immediately after Captain’s Mast.>> After the Fact A Silver-Granger Log Upon dismissal, Gage didn’t waste time lingering and was out the door in a few strides. Granger’s disciplinary hearing was over. The outcome wasn’t what he expected; Calestorm had been lenient in his case, but he didn’t feel relieved. Cass, on the other hand, had no desire to mix with the crowd. Her loner instincts kicking in full blown, she held back, staring beyond the table where the three senior officers had just passed judgment, actually wishing they had banished her to a barren rock in the middle of an asteroid belt. Regrets? You bet. Angry? Definitely. Wanting to kill someone? That, too... ...especially one senior Orion officer who decided to go AWOL, totally throwing the ship off kilter. Was that endangering the mission? Hell, yeah. Damn sure she’d never find out what happened with those charges, but it had nothing to do with her own situation anyway. And that application the ensign was endangering? She sure wanted to know what that was all about... and probably never would. Cass was looking forward to her time with the platoon. She’d bring her blood below the boiling point. Get her frustrations out. Legally. Among her own. “You gonna stand here starin’ at the wall all night?” Gage casually leaned in the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Thought about it.” Cass continued to study the wall behind the table. “Really? ‘Cause I can think of better things to stare at.” Cass jerked around to face him, giving him the once-over, her attitude pushing the insubordination envelope. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Gage shrugged minimally, righting from the doorframe. “You don’t have to ask, Cass; just say what you’re thinkin’.” “All right then,” she said, taking a few steps closer. “What the hell were you thinking, trying to take the rap for me? And while we’re at it... what ‘application’ was the colonel talking about?” “Wasn’t trying to take anything for you, Cass. I was taking responsibility for me; for my part as a member of this team,” Gage replied. Cass stared, not sure what to make of him. She was out for bear; he wasn’t. Boy Scout? The thought relaxed her from the stiff attitude she’d been cultivating for the last 24 hours. “What?” “You’re getting off the subject,” she said, advancing at a slow pace. “What application?” A dismissive smile quickly wiped away the hint of a more serious expression. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, turning a bit and diverting his attention. He rubbed the back of his head. “Just an invite for DEVGRU; something I’d been thinking about doing for a while.” The hell...? Starfleet’s Special Warfare Development Group - DEVGRU - was a Tier One SpecOps force. Known in its earliest times as SEAL Team 6, it was the elite of the elite. Untouchable. Application was by invitation only, and he had been invited, obviously made it through the screening process, and his application had made it all the way to Tigard’s desk, just waiting for the colonel’s signature? This junior officer needed to get his head on straight. Big-time. “All due respect, Sir, you don’t just think about doing DEVGRU,” and you for sure don’t toss it off as just a request. “You’re throwing your career out the tubes, and not for the team but for some stupid I pulled. You sure you don’t have a stash somewhere you’re dipping into?” She inched closer, trying to gauge this ensign she’d been working with. Appearing mentally wearied, he looked across his shoulder at her. “I hope I’m not throwing anything in the tubes. I’m trying to do the right thing, which is just as important to me as it is to DEVGRU.” Cass backed off. She’d heard of Boy Scouts, but this guy took the cake. Some serious intervention was definitely needed. “You going anywhere?” she said, taking a different tack by dampening her tone to civil. “Right now, I mean.” “Hadn’t made plans,” he answered, smirking at the idea of going anywhere while orbiting Nova AC. “Why?” “Well, Sir,” she began, a tick of her head indicating the lift, “I figured that we both could use a drink. ‘Least I could. That is, if it wouldn’t be considered ‘having an unprofessional relationship.‘ Canteen’s open.” “A drink between friends ain’t unprofessional in my book.” Taking that as affirmative, Cass took the lead. Professional or not, the crew would talk, but damned if she cared. Gage smirked and shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he casually followed along. Karma indeed*; this one was all on the Ambassador's cat. ---- * Reference to Calestorm's Karma-flashbacks in The Code.

Heh. Are you sure? At any rate, you made me chuckle, so I'm not sure I wanna fix it. A'ight, one more time:

A'ight. Here it is.

Jeckle: I say, old boy, there's something frightfully wrong with that bird's beak, wouldn't you say? Heckle: Not as wrong as we bein' mistook for Magpies, pal.

1. Fox: ::reading:: "This end towards...fox...?" 2. Fox: ::reading:: "Danger: Poison Gas..." Beagle: (m) Too easy. 3. Fox: ::reading:: "If you can read this you're following too closely."

Ring the bell, Gage thought as he shivered. No more water, sand, pain -- geez, it's cold. Dry clothes, warm bed, lots of sleep. Want to sleep for a long, long time... Ring the damn bell. A twitch in his leg woke Gage and his head abruptly lifted. The door controls glowed brightly at him as he took in the dark room. Swinging his legs over over the edge of his rack, he sat up and lowly groaned from the persistent throbbing of his head. That was the third time muscle twitching had woken him up in a single hour. He hadn’t caught enough sleep over the last few days; the physiological side-effects and stress were catching up. He was gonna catch hell if the doc ever found out. But trying to catch a minimum of four hours before his next watch or at least sleeping off his migraine wasn’t going anywhere right now. He was wide-awake again; insomnia -- that old, accommodating buddy -- had invited itself to tea. Go bug Java. Gage wearily rubbed his face with his hand, working back to his stiff neck. No point in mindlessly sitting on his rack for the few hours he had between watches. I’ll walk it off. He opened the door to the small, shared compartment and grimaced at the brighter lights in the passageway. Shielding hand to his eyes, he hesitated in the hatchway. But the dreary idea of fighting a staring contest with sleeplessness in the dark pushed him forward, in spite of the lighting that was intensifying the pain his head. Dropping his hand, he steeled his expression and exited, smiling to the first crewman he passed. Gage nearly missed catching the familiar face that crossed the junction ahead of him. “Commander!” he called after JoNs, picking up his pace to round the corner and catch her. The felinoid paused, flipping an ear back. Turning gracefully, she regarded the Human with bright green eyes. Commander K. Vacer JoNs had familiarized herself with the the service jackets of the crewmembers who had been assigned to the Imperious for the Outer Rim mission, and mentally pulled up a profile: Silver, Gage. Ensign. SPECOPS background, among other training. Undercover code name of ‘Buck’. “Yes?” Gage didn’t waste much time as he caught up. “SOP question: if we couldn’t recover the Flemming, why didn’t we destroy it?” She readjusted the digi-slate she carried, placing it under one arm. “Calestorm’s orders.” If the Caitian officer had any issue with the orders, she didn’t let on; her leonine features were passive. Though she cocked her head to one side and asked, “Problems?” Gage shrugged dismissively. “Nope. But I heard Shalin went missing.” Now her tail switched, moving back and forth jerkily. “Well, I see word has spread through the ships complement at warp ten. Though as I recall the captain used a more...descriptive term.” JoNs wrinkled her nose, “Something involving news spreading...like excrement through an Earth fowl?” Gage smirked. The Cait shook her head, not so much dismissively, but definitely amused. Then, she sobered. “Yes, Mister Buck,” JoNs used Silver’s assignment code name, even though the internal EC equipment had been running full tilt since the mission was launched, “Death Wish has gone missing. Do you have a personal reason for inquiring on the matter?” She waved a paw slightly, indicating a maintenance alcove set off the main passageway. Gage took the hint and moved. Clad in mercenary fatigues, the feline looked the same as any other member of the SPECOPS/Border Patrol blended crew. Her mannerism was predatory, yet controlled - just like her SEAL-trained command style. And JoNs’s style was so far away from Calestorm’s ‘by the seat of her pants’ methods it wasn’t even funny. The fact that Silver was a SPECOPS man was the only reason JoNs was mellowing from her normal spit and polish. She waved a paw slightly to punctuate her words, her claws unsheathing. “Look, I’ll be honest with you here Silver, and yes this is off the record - SOP should be to blow the shuttle. But, I’ll back the captain’s play.” Her purred tone was sure and clipped. The cat stole a quick glance around to make sure that she and Gage were still alone. Her tail started to swish with more of an aggravated pattern. Gage shrugged casually. “No personal reason and I ain’t questioning the skipper. Just hard to miss a missing Helmsman and if I could guess where he went---well---” He shrugged again, leaving the thought unfinished. “...you have a theory Silver?” “It ain’t obvious? He’s a bleeding heart; probably went alone to get that shuttle and help his XO. What I ain’t following is how we got so many officers that don’t wanna play with the team.” The felonoid snarled slightly, with a purr to take the edge off. “Well, key word there is team. This mission is a combined SPEC and BP, but I don’t need to tell you that. I’d say overall, things are working out as well as can be expected. This is an Outer Rim mission....and I can’t say its going exactly according to plan, but what do you expect when we’re in the middle of pirate central?” “With that said? I might not like it, but if Death Wish is, ah, ‘creatively’ backing up a team mate then so be it. As for Commander Green? Well, I’m sure she has her reasons as well,” which included a kidnapped lover, but JoNs wasn’t about to discuss that as it wasn’t her business, “only thing I know for sure is she attacked the captain.” Gage grinned stupidly, gesturing as he spoke. "No plan survives first contact. Only wish I’d got the memo on the soloing,” he remarked, feeling sore over being left behind. “Best ‘team’ I’ve been on yet.” The cat purred a bit, the sound somewhere between a snort and a sigh. “Word of advice there Silver - hopefully, no one else goes ‘unassigned absence’, because Calestorm is getting to the point where she’s going to scrap the mission and just go all headhunter on the missing crew.” The normally stoic feline was cracking a joke, but there was very real warning in her eyes. Gage half-laughed a noise that sounded more incredulous than humored. “The headhunter doesn’t have to worry about me,” he said. “But, speaking of, how d’we detain the objective if we aren’t to approach 'er?” “That’s the captains lookout.” Vacer’s tone betrayed nothing. “We handle the Kris guards, and Evac any Maze captives.” “Right, team,” Gage mused cynically, snapping a finger and tisking. “We’re the can-can line to the James---Jane Bond acts.” JoNs smiled, baring fangs in the process. “Mister Silver, if you’d like to discuss the team aspects - or lack thereof, in your opinion - of this crew with Calestorm, be my guest. I’d recommend wearing battle armor, but that’s just me. I’ve always found that Border Patrol - and the captain from my own encounters with her - can be rather creative when it comes to mission parameters.” Gage smirked. “I might after debrief,” he candidly admitted, knowing it would reveal a lot about his personal thoughts. An ear flipped back in speculation. “Brave man.” “Well, y’know what they say about brave men.” “Do I want to know, Ensign?” “You brave enough to know?” Gage quipped. “....are you brave enough to deal with Calestorm?” JoNs countered, evading the original question and growling a little. “Too afraid to run away,” Gage quickly replied, half joking. “You keep questioning the crew and her decisions, then you will be on her radar.” Gage’s expression darkened a bit. “I know when to set personal conflicts aside; not my problem if she can’t,” he said, obviously new to Calestrom’s command. Commander JoNs’s tail went completely dead, and the appendage thumped to the deck. Her felinoid face betrayed no emotions...and that was probably a bad thing. Oh my dear gods...she couldn’t stop it from coming out...she was in acting XO mode... A low growl reverberated in the corridor. Her neck fur rose, as did her tail fur. “Mister Silver, since you are so determined to be honest, allow me to be as well. I understand your concerns. I may not completely agree with her...exhuberant command style myself, but I assure you, the captain will handle everything - and,” she hissed slightly, “everyone, assuming they don’t get themselves vasstava killed that is - once our primary directive is discharged.” Her purred vocal tone had gone very flat. Gage was quiet for just a moment. “A’ight,” he replied, showing full acceptance of what JoNs said. He shrugged, admitting: “Might all grow on me, if I give ‘em a chance.” The term ‘grow on me like fungus’ flitted through JoNs mind, but she stamped down on the sarcastic remark. The commander nodded, gradually calming her outward showing of annoyance. “Mister Silver. Leave the concern over this crew to myself and her. Maintain your assigned posting, keep your Human rear end out of the line of fire if at all possible, and wait on Captain Calestorm’s final signal.” “Hooyah,” Gage answered emphatically. “Hooyah, Mister.” And with that, JoNs continued on her way, predatory background evident in her walk.

If I was drinking something while reading this log, the drink would have indeed been snorked up my nose because of this line! Sounds like a death wish to me. For my next trick, I'll bake a cake on the M/A reactor board. But I gotta know: how else do you fly a ship and monitor comms at the same time? This was lose-lose - you still would've annoyed Gage had he been on the comms board, given he's listening for intel on MIAs. Time and place, man; time and place. I see a bright future on dark side of the moon---I mean, CD for this one. (Speaking of; on a personal note: The 'cop sarcasm' gets really old fast.)

JoNs's reaction doesn't seem that harsh to me personally, given she's a SEAL. SEAL discipline is taken seriously; a few have been expelled for far lesser offenses (or, in the case of fiction/sims, would be in the real world). You don't do anything that will compromise the team: you don't complain (you're not the only one suffering in the heat/cold, mud, etc); if you can't set conflicts aside on mission, do what's expected of you or pull your weight, you don't belong. Different breed, different mind-set---as illustrated by your log---which, if I might be allowed, is a great log. BTW, about that thing I asked for...

Bridging the Gap A Buck Lugo/Ra’gaar (Silver/Granger) Log Things, Mariusz mouthed incredulously as Gage explained the situation. “You are an engineer right?” he asked aloud, grinning. “Why? Is that important?” Gage dryly replied. The engineers exchanged glances and there wasn’t a twitch in Gage’s face or sign that he was anything but dead serious. It grew awkwardly quiet and Mariusz was at a loss for words. Then, Gage struck - literally - with a stinging clap to Mariusz’s shoulder. “Of course I’m an engineer,” he said loudly with a stupid grin on his face. “So this duotronic circuit,” he pointed, casually returning them to business. Mariusz relaxed. A few hours and several bad, torturous jokes later, the bug was resolved and just in time according to Gage’s MTM iWristwatch. Pulling out his iCommanche, he checked his schedule and grunted. Just in time for a watch on the bridge at communications, in fact. That should be a thrill, he cynically thought. Though he’d soon be on the bridge, he sent his report on the completed ‘repairs’ to Jed, thanked Mariusz for his help and exited Main Engineering. From there, it didn’t take long to navigate the small ship’s passageways to her command center. Consistent with his conduct since the arrival of the Creek’s crew, Gage entered the bridge without an ounce of military bearing in his demeanor. Giving the compartment a casual once-over and better-than-thou scowl, he approached Momoa at communications, swaggering. “You’re out,” he said offhandedly, a hand to the back of Momoa’s chair and the other jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “My turn. Don’t hog the board; I wanna call my girlfriend.” He grinned stupidly. Cass’s eyes fixed solidly on the datafeeds of several newly-installed SPECOPS screens. Without turning she gave a sharp finger-point at the chair Moa had just vacated. “Sit,” she said as her gaze came to a sudden stop. She shifted her finger to tap one screen she had paused. “See that code? Memorize it. Follow it. Trace it. Find out everything you can about it and don’t get up until you do.” Cassidy Granger, alias Ra’gaar, reset the screen to scroll while Gleason “Kahuna” Momoa, alias Moa, dropped his massive frame into a chair to her right. His dreads were knotted back, a loose-fitting low cut brown tunic drooped low enough to reveal an impressive set of pecs, and a leather cord kept a scrimshawed targh tusk between them. “Keep an eye on that comm tag we picked up,” she said in his direction. “See how often, where to, and decrypt the message.” “You got it.” Moa gave Gage the briefest of looks before engaging his full concentration on task. Still standing for a moment, Gage scrutinized Cass with a steady gaze; then glanced at Momoa who was, clearly to Gage, someone with whom he might be able to relate. “That’s what she said,” he remarked offhand and indicatively tipped his head toward Cass as he sat in the chair. He briefly looked the code over. “What’s the situation?” Cass shifted her eyes from the screen for a second, then turned back. “See those blips? All Orion Cartel, like a major convention in orbit. Comm is heavy encryption to and from the surface, and ship to ship. Some out of sector. Moa has a tag on one of interest we picked up, a ways out. You know the op?” She paused her screen and turned to face him. If he was SPECOPS, she’d been entirely to occupied with the new tech toys and had missed connecting with personnel coming aboard. Not good. Gage started at her. “No,” he drawled at length. “My briefing consisted of: ‘go there; fix that’; oh, and, yeah, ‘there are bad guys involved’.” A few seconds later Cass got a grip, took a deep breath, and back-peddled. “Okay.” She glanced from Tauriki to Moa, then back to Silver. “Verify your clearance.” It took a few seconds for his thumb print to clear, then she pointed again to the screen. “You see that code, you follow it. It’s probably Black Kris, maybe Litasha, Black Kris leader. Code name ‘Package.’ But...” she gave a small head-tick toward him, “... just so there’s no confusion for teams on the ground, any comm traffic from the surface, no matter who it’s from, I handle it, or Moa does. He has everyone on Blue Force. Chemical markers.” “Roger that,” Gage replied. That was better; his objective was starting to make sense. “Anything else I don’t know?” Once more she shifted toward him, smoothing out her no-nonsense tone. “Yes. Just this. And it may save your life. We’re boarded, you’re my slave. Whatever I tell you to do, you do it.” “What do I call you?” “Ra’gaar. Or Mistress, if we’re boarded.” “Ra’gaar.” Moa’s voice snapped Cassie’s attention right. “Captain’s on site, and we got visitors. Check it out. Looks like Blood Prince.” “Ping Lightwind ‘light package on the prowl.’ Keep a close watch, monitor comms - you know the routine.” “On it.” Her eyes darted to Gage. “You got a track?” Gage, concentrating on the screens in front of him, didn’t look back at her. “Yes.” TBC in sim.

Quicksilver? Please tell me that ain't gonna stick... Had my heart set on Max Mercury or Pink Floyd.

Guess it's about time I introduce myself. Hey, I'm Gage Silver. I'm also known as Ethan Neufeld -- the better part of the PBEM simming world knows me as Ethan Neufeld. I've been simming PBEM style for a while. I've commanded a few sims, but I found that it's more fun being just a regular character. I have a little experience in chat sims, but only a little. Was searching through the Simming League one day, found out about this site, and figured it was about time I earn some more experience in chat. So here I am. Just as a side note, my occupation and life experience might cause me to write my characters on the 'overly cautious' (over-suspicious) side of things (we call it hypervigiliance; if you expect to make it home every night, you'd better suspect every worst case scenario). But if, as a GM, my characters' 'over-caution' gets on your nerves, just Gibbs-smack me and tell me where to go. I promise I don't write that way to intentionally mess with your stories. I subscribe to the principle of writing from experience, and 'over-caution' is just a trained habit. But I can write a Barney Fife if you want. I've been through two academies as of now; looking forward to the next. See you there and happy posting!

Update... Note to self: Barney Fife = bad idea. LOL Guess I'm still trying to learn the bigger lessons here.

Hey! From one cadet to another, welcome! Don't worry about knowing a whole lot of ST; GMs are there to guide you (believe me, I know, lol). You'll get it in no time. Besides, more often they'll create a new species or planet not seen in ST anyway. Meaning you can't change the position of your cursor after typing? I get that, too. Just a glitch. Hit the button in the upper right-hand corner to switch between standard and rich editors (looks like two arrows in a circle). Might have to do it a couple times, but it should "unlock" your cursor. See ya in the academies! Gage Silver