Commodore Moose

He and Frank Roosevelt were poker buddies

ENFJ Extroverted Intuitive Feeling Judging Strength of the preferences % 11 44 56 1 I guess this just makes me and Fred just like Oprah. Huff is my pedagogue (intp) Blu is my counterpart (isfj) Moore, Lo'Ami, and Tachyon are my tribesmen (intj) Cougar, Grom, and Nemesis are my companions (entj) N'Dak is my compliment (enfp) Sieben and Van-space-Roy are novelties (istj) Kroells is my supliment (estp) A9 is an enigma (estj) and Makaveli and Koolaidman will be me when they grow up. : ) So ... who can explain all the relationship labels?

Where we charted Alpha Centauri and discovered a Suliban saboteur cha091904.txt

Challenger, NX-05 has reached the Alpha Centauri system. The crew has 24 hours before a decision needs to be made whether to continue with their mission or return to Earth for repairs. The following departments have been charged with these tasks: Medical -- Provide complete diagnosis of Lieutenant Images' condition Engineering -- Pinpoint and resolve power drain, restore Warp 5 capability Perform diagnostics on protein resenquencing system Science -- Compare baseline scans of Alpha Centauri's three stars with Earth records, Determine if protein stores are contaminated Security -- Determine if power drain or food poisoning are results of sabotage Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Commanding Officer Challenger, NX-05

Normally I refrain from these types of discussions. However, every other GM has explained this countless times without success, so I'll give it a try... a ) Those of us who have the ability to remove topics also have the discression to do it whenever we want. The "why" behind a specific removal is an email issue, not a "discuss openly on the boards" issue. Email A9 or the webmaster if don't understand why your topic was pulled. B ) This particular topic was pulled because in the responses, a lot of people started making nasty comments about alot of other people. Complaints about other players, no matter how legitimate, are an email issue and not a "discuss openly on the boards" issue. Email A9 or the webmaster if you are having a problem with another player. Bell, in the post that was pulled, you stated that you were going to contact A9 about the issue. That was a good call. If you haven't, please do so. If you have, please wait for him to reply and discuss the issue further with him. In the event that your complaint is against A9, we have a support group for that. It's called "Everyone" and we meet nightly at the bar. ;-) j/k In all seriousness, you can email any of the GMs that you feel comfortable with. Please keep the boards a happy place, and complain in private to the appropriate people. Thanks. : ) Moose

Starlog, September 18, 2154 "Drop to impulse," ordered Commodore Moose. "Aye sir," said the navigator, sounding a little disappointed. It seemed that he had just taken over his station from Commander Moore, who had the honor of piloting the ship out of drydock. Moore finally retreated to Engineering, which was so busy that no one had heard a peep out of the Chief Engineer from the moment the engines fired up. And now it was time to drop back to impulse. But the Alpha Centauri system was only 4.3 light years from Earth. And even though Challenger failed to hit the Warp 5 mark, the trip was still relatively short. Sol's nearest neighbor, Proxima, filled the large viewscreen front and center on the bridge. It's sister stars, Alpha Centauri A and Alpha Centauri B, were filtered out of the image. His large hand slapped the button on the arm of the command chair. "All hands, this is Commodore Moose," he said into the newly opened comm channel. "We have successfully arrived in the Alpha Centauri system." He paused for a moment, letting the significance of that statement sink in around the ship. "We made it, folks," he finally said. "Congratulations everyone." He didn't need the comm channel to hear the cheers that emerged from all decks. He was proud of them all, and willing to let them have their moment, but this was only the first milestone and there was much work to be done. "Mr. Giovanni, begin the scans. Mr. Rex, open a channel to Earth. Download all data from the sensors and await their confirmation. If our readings match the baseline readings at Starfleet Headquarters, then the sensors will be cleared for duty." He heard a chorus of "Aye Sir", but wasn't sure who they were from. He had already moved on to the next issue. If they were performing an initial charting survey, then they would have been here for a full week. But Alpha Centauri had been scanned many times. This was just a baseline sensor test. Proxima was meerly a dim red dwarf, and would be complete in about four hours. Centauri A and B were much larger and would likely take ten hours apiece to chart. That gave them 24 hours before it was time to fire up the warp drives and head out of the system. But to where? If Engineering couldn't fix the warp field issue, they would be forced to return the ship to space dock. This was doubly true since the protein resequencers were also off-line. No one would fault them for returning home. They had built a starship in just under three months, and they had taken it to another star system. If they spent another three months in space dock, it shouldn't matter. Their mission had succeeded. But it did matter, at least to him. Too many people had worked their carcases off for this dream, too many people had given their lives for it. Moose was too stuborn to claim victory in their name under a technicality. This crew embodied the most determined and tenacious spirits that Starfleet had to offer, and it was time for them to prove their mettle. They had been given a 24 hour extension. He expected this ship to reach warp 5.0 as it was designed to do, and he expected to head out into deep space. He would accept nothing less from this crew. The "Bull" Moose was prepared to live up to his reputation, and heaven help the crewperson who wasn't prepared for the challenge. Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Challenger, NX-05 In the Alpha Centauri System

No, not the one about pilots. : ) cha091204.txt

"A Date With Destiny" September 12, 2154 They waited in a meeting room next to the Observation Lounge. The noise from the crowd was palitable and objects outside the window flashed into view as the artificial light from the cameras and holoprojectors seeped through the window. Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose was expecting a little hoopla when the Challenger launched, but nothing like this. But then, he thought, why shouldn't there be hoopla. They had achieved the unthinkable and built a warp 5 capable starship in under three months. They had unified the shipyards of Mars with the laboratories of Earth, and now the colonists and the 'groundhogs' were experiencing a sense of unity that hadn't been seen since the first Mars colony had been settled. And they had faced down both the Vulcans and the Andorians so that neither race was questioning their right to be in space. Yes, the humans had earned their 'hoopla'. But it came with great sacrifice too. Many had left their homes to construct the ship, and had worked around the clock to meet the schedule. Some had even died. He could still hear Leslie Yerington in his head, reading the names of the victims in the Klingon terorist attack: Kroells, Zhu, Davis, even the Vulcan commander E'Shok. They had all given their lives so that this day could come. He wondered if one of the cameras in the next room belonged to Yerington; if she'd come to report the 'rest of the story'. And he looked at the eighty men and women in the room with him. The emotions varied on their faces: excitement, nervousness, fear. It was inevitable that some of them would die. Moose himself may die. But no matter their age or experience or ethnic origins, one thing they all had in common was that they wouldn't miss this for anything. The warp 5 ship would take them to new worlds and new civilizations, and they would go boldly wherever that trek took them. His thought were interupted by Yeoman Alces, who reached up to fiddle with Moose's collar. "What are you doing, Mirona?" "I'm fixing your collar, sir. I've been watching old movies, and it seems that someone always does this to a man on an important occasion." "Why?" "I haven't a clue, sir." Moose smiled. He didn't have a clue either; about what they would encounter or how they would deal with it. But he knew they would, somehow, as human pioneers had for millenia. That was also tradition. "Let's go," he said loudly to the crew assembled. "We have a date with destiny, and it's not good to make your date wait too long." And with that, he opened the door to the meeting room and entered the sea of camera flashes. Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Commanding Officer Challenger, NX-05

The transport from Earth to Mars was luxurious and blissfully quiet. This is exactly what Moose had requested. He rarely used his rank to curry special priviledges, but after a week of briefings and de-briefings and re-briefings, he didn't want to talk to anyone. The other two occupants of the transport were happy to oblige him. Yeoman Mirona Alces, his secretary, had attached herself to the pilot and was happily talking him to death. Questions like "What does that button do?" or "Why is this blinking" or "How come the output of the rear thrusters is 5% below standard parameters yet this ship hasn't logged time in drydock since spring?" had been wefting out of the cockpit non-stop since take-off. Mirona's mysterious companion, Liona, was also silent. Whether this was due to just plain exhaustion or whether she was still angry with Moose, it was hard to tell. Mirona had refused to board Challenger without her. In fact, Mirona hardly went anywhere without Liona at her side. But Moose was as stubborn as Mirona. "This isn't a cruise ship," he told her. "Everybody works." Before she knew what had hit her, Liona found herself in basic training. When the push-ups, and the sit-ups, and the obsticle courses were done, the only job opening left was the Captain's cook. "But she's an accomplished bio-chemist!" protested Mirona. That was too bad, thought Moose. But a captain still had to eat. Liona hated him, with good reason. As the transport rounded the event horizon of Mars, the spacedock suddenly came into view. "Ladies, come look at this," he said. The Challenger, NX-05 was magnificent. Sunlight sparkled off its pristine hull while small shuttles buzzed around it making final inspection tours. Mirona peered out of the window next to Moose, so excited she could barely contain herself. Even Liona dragged her sore bones over to peer at their new home. For minutes, no one spoke, and the pilot circled the ship slowly so they could get a better look. "There she is," said Moose finally. "Our ticket to the stars. This is going to be a glorious adventure." "I thought it wasn't a cruise ship," said Mirona tartly. Shut up, thought Moose, supressing a chuckle. Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Commanding Officer, Challenger NX-05

NFL ... NFC ... AFC ... there's just too many letters. Way too deep for me.

Now I have sad kitty eyes because I miss your cat. ;-)

"Strike Up The Brass" - September 6, 2154 The meeting was long and painful, filled with Admirals and Diplomats and brass so obscure that Moose didn't recognize their bars. But after what seemed an eternity, everyone was tired of talking, so they did the logical thing. They called a one-hour lunch recess. Moose quickly snuck onto the balcony next to the meeting room, knowing that if he left with any of them, he'd be trapped and would have to spend his lunch hour listing to some redundant point of view that hadn't had its turn on the floor yet. Worse, it might even be a re-telling of one that did. The air outside was cooler than the conditioned environment inside Starfleet Headquarters, but it was fresh and natural. It cleared his head quickly, and he knew if he spent too much time out there, Forrest would need a crowbar to pry him back in. "So this is where you went off to," said Admiral Forrest, stepping onto the balcony. Moose thought his head would explode at the sound of his old friend's voice. In space, no one can hear you scream, but he won't be there for another seven days. If the next week was filled with meetings like this, then living through them was going to be tough. "Is this what your job is filled with?" asked Moose. "If so, I'm glad I stepped off the career path when I did." "No, sometimes it gets dull," quipped the Admiral. "What did you expect? You were the one who got them all riled up about the Romulans." "They should be riled up," he replied. "They should also all go away and let me do my job." "They're more than willing to let you do your job," said Forrest patiently. "You just can't tell them than an unknown alien presence is conspiring to destroy us, but not to worry because you're going to find them first, and expect them to trust you on faith." "Then they should trust the facts," snapped Moose. "The Andorian fleet was poised for an all out attack on Earth. This attack was engineered by a race called the Romulans, who were hoping to provoke the final war between Vulcan and Andoria. Their only possible beef with us was that Archer accidentally wandered across one of their borders. Since subterfuge on this level is a little extreme for such a petty crime, they obviously didn't care two whits for us. They just wanted to watch the Vulcans and Andorians feed off each other, and we are a convenient trigger." "I know," said Forrest. "You've said all this." "And I'll say it again to anyone who will listen. This was one of the most callous and malicious acts I've ever witnessed. Even the Xindi had a reason for attacking us. This was just random; they were exploiting us as a resource. But now they know where we are and what we're capable of. If we don't make a personal connection with them soon, and give them some reason to preserve our way of life, you'll be looking at an all-out war before a decade has passed." "So you're going to just knock on their front door and tell them to stop?" "Of course not. I'm going to head off in their general direction and give them every opportunity to establish diplomatic relations. The only thing I know for certain is that these Romulans redefine the term 'paranoid'. They mark their borders with anti-matter mines. Hamilton's been on Rigel for weeks and has yet to meet anyone who's actually ever one. Even the Vulcans are vague about them. These are not people you stare down like dogs. You slowly drift into their peripheral vision, like you would with a deer. This way, you've become part of their familiar landscape before they've really figured out that you're there. Did you get me that diplomat I asked for?" "Neptune Rex? Yes, he's agreed to be your Communications Officer," said Forrest. "It took a lot of convincing to change his mind, though. Now it's your turn to change your mind." "About what?" asked Moose, not caring how annoyed he sounded. "Marines," said Forrest. "Take a squadron with you." "Not a chance," said Moose. "Every alien species from here to the rim thinks that we're building warships. Part of my mission is to convince them that we're not. I can't do that when half my crew is an elite fighting corps." "Enterprise has marines." "Enterprise is hunting Xindi. They need marines, and no one is questioning that decision. Not the Vulcans, not the Andorians ... no one." Forrest stepped over to the railing and took in view of the San Francisco bay. No matter how many years they knew each other, debating with "Bull" Moose was never an easy task. It wasn't that Moose always saw things in black and white. He was very capable of seeing multiple sides of an issue. It was just that Moose saw things in a way that most people didn't. And once he had that view, he stuck to it. This was one of those issues. It didn't matter to Moose if anyone else saw the Romulan situation as he did. He knew what had to be done and expected the resources to do it. "This would be easier if your crew selections were more mainstream," said Forrest carefully. "What's wrong with my crew?" asked Moose coolly. "Most of them are very young," said Forrest. "There's not a lot of experience on those decks." "Space exploration is a game for the young, Admiral, and we're making it up as we go along. These kids are driven. You'll be surprised at what they accomplish." "You're not exactly young," said Forrest. "That's true," agreed Moose. "But old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill. Someone has to cover their backs." "A lot of noses out of joint over Moore's appointment to First Officer. There are quite a few people who expected the job, especially after the same position on Enterprise was taken away from them." "Which is the problem with all of them," said Moose, unwrapping a new cigar and popping the end into his mouth. He never lit them, but he'd grind them to dust before he was done. "The First Officer job isn't a job you work for, to be handed after a long career to show everyone you made it. It's a job that comes out of nowhere and makes you struggle to tame it, so when the dust settles you look back in amazement at what you've done and how suited to it you actually were. Moore has character, he'll struggle to make it work. The rest of them would have 'yes sir'ed' me to death with one foot in my back pushing me towards retirement." His molars rolled the end of the cigar back and forth a few times. "Anything else?" "Are you sure about all of this?" asked Forrest. "Are you sure about the crew, and the Romulans, and Moore, and all the rest?" "Have you ever known me to railroad anyone when I wasn't sure?" asked Moose. "No," said Admiral Forrest. "Then I have a ship that needs me to prep for launch. You can deal with these folks without me." He turned to leave, stopping in the doorway, to steal the last word. "I'll see you at the launch ceremony?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Forrest. And as he watched Moose leave he realized how true it was. He wasn't about to miss a moment of this ship and it's mission. And he wished more than anything that he could leave his Admiral's bars behind and journey with Moose into the unknown. Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Challenger, NX-05

Where a Moose is repaired, and a dimentional rift is discovered. arc082504.txt

I've never started off with the intent of doing an all-Pakled sim. However, at the end of the night, some of them have felt that way. : )

Socialism and national pride are one thing, but if you start picking on Moose ...

Actually, I've always though the Academy was more like boot camp, which means you'd go where they sent you. ;-) That's a little too real, even for this place.

My goodness ... so much research and politicing, all for an imaginary job. Years ago when I was first and Ensign and my 386 computer was running AOL for DOS, I picked a ship that met at the day and time I wanted to play "without doing research" (horror). On my first night, when they asked me what post I was interested in, I told them "It doesn't matter. Put me where you need me." It's nice to be surprised, and part of the fun in this game is being subjected to something you didn't plan. We're nice people here. All the games are fun. And you can make any post something you'll enjoy. And if it doesn't click for you, you can always change your mind and try another post or another game. One of the US Olympians was doing an inspirational spot on TV the other night. Her message to the kids was "Just go out and play." Well said. ;-) Congrats on your promo, Brad. Moosethusela

^ Is still the same Pitty Kitty you have known, don't worry.

^ His post made me giggle. Don't know why, it just did. : )

Personal Log, August 3, 2154 Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose greeted the dawn in his usual way: 200 sit-ups, 200 push-ups, and a five mile run through the Martian landscape. It wasn't really the Martian landscape, but the 360 degree surround projections were close enough. They would not have fooled anyone standing still with time to scrutinize, but they were enough to convey a sense of openness and freedom to runners in the orbital station's gym. No matter how many times he circled the track, he never passed the same rock twice. Someday, he thought, this technology was really going to be something. Still, he was getting tired of Argyre Planitia and resolved to try the Tithonius Chasma next time. Moose felt exhilarated. His muscles were sore in that "Wow, they're doing what they're supposed to" way instead of that "Lord, what was I thinking?" way. His body fat was down to 8.9%, which it hadn't been since basic training. If it dropped any more, they'd be calling him "deer" instead of "bull" because of his density. He attributed this rush of health to the extra g's on the station. Artificial gravity was not an exact science, and the rotation was clocking it at 1.1 times Earth normal. It wasn't much, but enough to require a little bit of effort. Some of the "Earthlings," as the Martians were fond of calling them, still hadn't adjusted and were tired and achy all the time. But to Moose, it was the Fountain of Youth. He planned to keep the same gravity on Challenger. The Earthlings would just have to cope. Provided, of course, they were able to launch. The Klingon terrorist attack had been barely averted, thanks to a hunch by the Vulcans. The Vulcan Ambassador Tovek claimed it was due to superior logic, but luck had been Moose's friend for far too long for him not to recognize it in any form it chose. The bungled vandalism could have ended the Challenger project there and then. But the Martians have picked up the construction and they're back on schedule. Luck again. Next, there was the blockade. The destruction of the Vulcan ship t'Kel caused the Andorians and the Vulcans to face off in one of the deadliest hockey games in recorded history, with Earth between them as the puck. Both sides hissed and spat profusely, until the Vulcans demonstrated their full support of Earth by withdrawing completely. This dominance through total submission made Moose wonder if the Vulcans had been studying French erotic fiction on the side. Their surprise withdrawal knocked the fight right out of the Andorian strike force, which has been unusually docile since then. As with the Klingons, a great deal of luck was in play here, skillfully manipulated by Ambassador Rex. Classified intelligence reports claimed that the incident was engineered by another space faring race called the Romulan Star Empire. They were hoping to ignite the already volatile relationship between Andoria and Vulcan. Instead, it brought the two planets closer together. Moose hoped the irony was not lost any of them. Little was known about these Romulans. Enterprise had suffered some damage at their hand, but that was in response to their entering a Romulan minefield. This was an outward act of aggression. When asked, the Vulcans were quick to resurrect the, "We'll tell you when you're ready," choir. The other races known to Starfleet were singing the same tune. To Moose's knowledge, no human had ever even seen a Romulan. Were they really so insidious that they would sacrifice billions of people in an attempt to start a border war? If so, they were as dangerous as any threat encountered in space so far, the Xindi included. But the Romulans were a post-launch concern. The more immediate problem was the computer system. A ship as complex as Challenger couldn't exist without complex computer controls. Yet the programmer in charge of the system was beginning his third re-write. The status reports coming from this Henry Rawel were disjointed and guarded, as if information was being hidden. The entire programming team was working hard, but their hours were unpredictable, their output was disjoined and random. Even the Vulcans, logical as they were, could not infer the methodology being applied to the system design. Something was going on with the systems staff. And if Challenger were to succeed, then someone had to unravel that mystery while there was still time.

Hello Dolly. (what the heck)

The launch is quickly approaching of our newest Warp 5 starship, the Challenger NX-05. To keep track of our progress, and to make sure all Starfleet officers are kept up to date on pertinent events, the Challenger NX-05 website has been created. Visit us at http://www.fossan.us/other/challenger/challenger.html, and check back often for recent updates. Commodore Fitzgerald M. "Bull" Moose Challenger Project, Earth P.S. Thank you for a great job, Vex.

Neptune and back in six minutes! Thanks. : )

IF IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY THIS WEEKEND: you’ll gain a precious new level of understanding over the coming year. This may or may not translate into some dramatic change in your material situation. It will, though, undoubtedly transform your way of looking at life. You’ll become wiser, more assured, more tolerant and more able to enjoy what you have. And this will prove priceless in a million ways. Happy Birthday HD. Horoscope courtesy of www.cainer.com.

I think Huff has summed it up best so far. However, in interests of shamelss self-promotion, I'll add my opinion as cut and pasted from the "Tips From The Moose" area. : ) "Once you start dating or marry another character on your ship, you have suddenly limited yourself. You can't be spontaneous on a shore leave because your character would spend all their free time with their beloved. You can't volunteer for a life threatening mission without being prepared to write the log of the "don't do that again" fight when it's over. And heaven help you if another player joins the ship whose playing style is more compatible with your own than your mate's is. No one takes being dumped in their fantasy life very well, no matter how secure they are in real life. In order to fully explore and develop your simming style, keep as many options open for your character as you can." Just my two cents ...