Kansas_Jones

STSF_Scooter -> Mission Brief: TBS was one week; USS Comanche Creek has arrived at the proving grounds at Sigma 759 to officially begin her post-refit shakedown, including weapons and sensor systems ComCreekChat 2016-1-25.txt

STSF_Scooter -> Mission Brief: 2263.011 (Jan 11, 2263)(Jan 18, 2016): Comanche Creek is one week into her shakedown cruise to the proving grounds at Sigma 759. ComCreekChat 2016-1-18.txt

STSF_Scooter -> Mission Brief: After an additional 2 weeks of fine tuning and adjustment to the new USS Comanche Creek, the ship is prepared to get underway for a a shakedown cruise to Sigma 759. ComCreekChat2016-1-11.txt

STSF_Scooter -> Mission Brief: After a 1 year refit and rebuild, crew and staff of the USS Comanche Creek come home from their various temporary duty assignments...with some notable changes to the ship and command staff. ComancheCreekChat2016-1-4.txt

= = Starfleet Service Profile = = = = Omega 13 Clearance = = = = Begin Transmission Stream = = Name: Kansas Vacer (pronounced Vayser) JoNs Mission Call Sign: Taboo Cat Species: Caitian Tribe: Honor-Scar Clan: Shadow Pride Age: 40 Standard Years Height: 5'3 Weight: 132 Physical Characteristics: Earth Leonine feline in appearance, very fast and agile. Her fur color is gold with an auburn mane/hair and green eye color. The Light auburn striped pattern on forehead and forearms is due to Kzinti genetics within the JoNs bloodline. Medical Considerations: Preventive flea treatment drops every four months as needed, meat protein booster shots every four to six months as needed, regular monitoring of heart to prevent the onset of the common heart defect disease associated with the Caitian genetic code Personal Background: K. Vacer JoNs was born on the planet of Cait in the year 2221 to a middle-class family with a history of military service roots in the Caitian Ground Militia (CGM) and the Caitian Sector Patrol (CSP). Early generations in the CGM were of the enlisted ranks, though later generations would begin to transition service to the CSP as the Cait government authorized advancement of the planetary space exploration program. She is a distant relative to Shaow Seval JoNs, originally serving on the UES Challenger under the Interspecies Officer Exchange program in the 2150's. The tribal name of 'Honorscar' tribe name can be traced to Shaow, owing to a scar sustained to her left eyebrow while serving on the Caitian militia vessel CMS Howl Cry; Shaow put herself at risk when rescuing two fellow crewmates during a ship to ship skirmish with frontier smugglers and was caught in a blow out when one of the secondary auxiliary consoles blew. In keeping with Caitian custom, her vessel's commander and the ships complement - and later with her own family in a separate ceremony - took part in a naming ceremony to bestow this title, informing all Caitian tribes that the scar was received for an honorable act. Any succeeding generations in her direct bloodline will carry this tribal name. There is a maternal cousin, Jagrissa Shaow Thracer Honor-Scar, currently serving on the USS Comanche Creek. Education: JoNs received a college education, choosing to major in combined studies of Galactic History and General Communications. To meet the requirements for the Reserve Officers Training Corps, she completed a two year work study course assigned to the CSP Howl Cry CX-01A at the rank of cadet. The young Caitian accepted an assignment to the beginning studies within the field of security. She attended Starfleet Academy under the Interspecies Exchange Program, continuing her studies in security and tactics. Upon completion of the four year course curriculum, JoNs was assigned to the USS Farragut for her senior cadet deep space assignment, receiving advanced training in sniper, hand to hand combat and small unit tactics. Starfleet Special Operations Background/SEAL (Sea/Space, Air & Land) Division: K. Vacer was approached and recruited into the SEAL program under the Starfleet Special Operations Command program in 2247. Upon completion of the BUD/S she was promoted to the rank of lieutenant and assigned team lead of Seal Team Raptor. As a Caitian felinoid, she is well suited mentally and physically and cleared for most environments though she is not overly fond of swamps. Service Background: 2249: SS Tironium Mule: A marauder faction not affiliated with the Klingon government attacked and breached a civilian cargo ship contracted by the Starfleet Colonial Division. Infiltrating the compromised cargo vessel, JoNs and her team managed to extract all crew with the exception of two officers; the first officer succumbed to wounds received and the chief engineer had been executed early on in the situation. 2254: Omega Delta: Orion scout raiders descended on the civilian held research station, taking hostages and stripping the station for parts and supplies. The station, located along a much contested area of the Federation-Outlands border, has long been a target for thieves. Lieutenant Commander JoNs was deployed with her team to infiltrate, rescue any survivors, and given the full authority to dispatch any hostiles. The Caitian and her squad encountered a higher estimate of opposition numbers then originally reported. The majority of the station staff and civilians had been rescued and accounted for, though not all had been rescued. Unable to re-take the station without the risk of unacceptable casualties, JoNs gave the order for her team to retreat. A Starfleet Inquiry Board investigated the incident as the lieutenant's original orders were to sweep the entire station for survivors. Squad testimony and combat scanner recordings of the mission were reviewed and the feliniod officer was exonerated from any possible charges. 2258: Battle Of Vulcan: At the time of the Nero attacks, JoNs was serving as the Chief Tactical Intelligence Officer (CTIO) on the USS Fort Mifflin, a Saladin class scout vessel attached to Starfleet Special Operations Command. Most of the ships 80+ crew, along with the other Starfleet vessels who responded to the planetary distress call, managed to survive the initial onslaught of the Battle of Vulcan. The command officers made the decision to shut down all non essential ships systems on the critically damaged patrol vessel and drifted among the debris of the battlefield. Only by maintaining silence was it possible for the crew to survive until the Starfleet rescue teams mobilized. 2259: USS Washington’s Crossing: JoNs was tapped for command and promoted to the rank of Commander. The SpecOps vessel remained attached to the First Threat Response Program under the direction of the Starfleet Border Patrol for the duration of JoNs’ command. She and her crew were most often assigned missions involving reconnaissance and Psychological Profile: K. Vacer JoNs is in her element with field operations or situations that require an officer able to take a situation as it comes and to think on their feet and not constrained by regulations as to be unable to function. As a felinoid descended from plains dwelling forebears, her brain and reflexes are hardwired into thousands of years of feline evolution. JoNs is a natural predator, athlete and hunter and built to stalk her prey and then take down the target in the most efficient manner possible. She can be moody, exhibiting the usual outward signs associated with felines and felinoid species: ear movement, growling, or tail lashing and the like when she is angry or frustrated, or purring when she is happy. She is territorial, and this predilection is purely an animal instinct. While not easily provoked or angered, there is a flash fire of a temper lurking under the surface and this is also the result of her animal instincts. Her 'Taboo Cat' mission code name is the result of an early assignment with the SEAL division. While on route to a drop zone, the communications technician of the infiltration team jokingly noted that in some cultures, having a cat was considered bad luck. When then Lieutenant JoNs pointed out that she was not a black cat, another teammate commented that she was probably a taboo cat all the same and the name stuck. While not generally pleased with the development at the time, JoNs understood that it was a natural development for teams, especially Humans, to bestow nicknames upon one another. She has grown fond of ‘Taboo Cat’ over the years. = = = = = Audio Addendum = = = = = Doctor Puri recording…there has been no notable changes to K. Vacer JoNs's psychological profile. Commander JoNs is cleared for service as of November 24, 2257. End profile record, case number SC9393. Signed, Doctor Puri*, M.D., Starfleet Medical Command, Earth = = = = = Audio Addendum = = = = = Current Assignment: Posting: USS Comanche Creek, Starfleet Border Patrol First Threat Response Program Rank: Commander, O-5 Position: Executive Officer = = Starfleet Service Profile = = = = Omega 13 Clearance = = = = End Transmission Stream = = **Copyright Notes - Caitian heart defect information copyright FASA Star Trek RPG source books (1983) - Dr. Puri is copyright Star Trek 11/CBS; I don't own the character, I just play in the universe. - Character biography information is copyright by the author 2011-2016

wOoT! Happy Belated Birthday STSF! I've gotten many, many, many, many hours of enjoyment from my time spent here. Happy B-Day!

Congratulations to the Talon!

w00t! Way to go Sky Harbor Aegis on 20 years!

Hello there, I'm here for the cat herding, meow. Star Trek Simulation Forum has afforded me many, many hours of enjoyment. I remember the first time I logged into the chat room 10 years ago and my reaction - "It's just like Dungeons & Dragons (and yes I'm dating myself there) table top gaming but in an online chat room and without the dice and it's Star Trek! So cool!" STSF is a creative outlet that rocks out with the concept and community and I'm very happy all these years to be a small part of it. I've had the good fortune to meet several Folks at the Vegas and Shore Leave gatherings and have had a blast. On a serious note, I lost my Mom in May 2013 after a nine month battle with cancer. STSF allowed me to distract myself through the chats, writing logs and general administrative duties of a Sim. The weekly chat sessions and writing logs enabled me to "forget" and "lose myself" in my character as I tried to battle the hopeless darkness that enveloped myself and my family during this time. These quick escapes helped immensely and I'm so grateful to the site and community for that, for this creative (and sometimes healing) outlet that it provides. Happy belated Birthday STSF! w00t!

::swooshes in:: You called? Mreh, I'm all set to yowl at Fred's windows with you. Things have been pretty quiet for me, though I had the luck to check out a local Wizard World Comic Con in June. Shore Leave in Maryland is next on the list.

Caitians! w0ot! Welcome to STSF Kaspian and I wish you luck in your Simming journey. This is a very cool group and site to become involved with. - Kansas JoNs

I agree with the Admiral on keeping the pic as is, it'll detract from the awesomeness if changed. I had the luck to meet and get a picture with DeForest Kelley in a rare convention appearance of his. Myself and him, street clothes and it rocks out! Enjoy your picture with Sir Patrick.

USS Washington Crossing Maintaining position outside the Gygax Barrier 19:00 Hours Concerned Cat is concerned. “...moving forward, we’ll literally be moving forward. The ‘Creek will patrol this space graveyard, move further into the interior, see if we can find some answers. It’s a pretty big area to cover, obviously. You maintain the outside picket line, and I trust your judgment on handling the perimeter area along the Barrier proper. If you do not hear from us in four days, you are not to enter the Gygax Barrier. Is that clear, Commander? If we don’t return, you are to pull out with the Washington Crossing in the interim and report the situation to Rear Admiral Coyote to await further instructions.” Good luck and Godspeed, Taboo Cat. Crash out.” Despite the unknowns of the situation, Commander K. Vacer JoNs flicked an ear back in amusement at the use of call signs. Old habits die hard and Calestorm was a blooded pilot; JoNs understood that from a command perspective. The felinoid was still a SEAL at heart, despite taking command of the USS Washington Crossing. She tapped a paw at her inset console keyboard, automatically filing the recorded message within an encrypted folder. The image of the middle-aged captain flicked off the screen, replaced by the silver Starfleet Delta Shield symbol. The golden furred Caitian remained seated in her desk chair and turned to the shuttle pilot at parade rest in front of the desk. “Good work on traversing the Barrier and delivering the message. Have the Luttrell’s systems thoroughly checked in case the trip had any adverse effects. Thank you, dismissed. Send Lieutenant Commander Grace in on your way out.” :”Aye, Commander.” The shuttle pilot gave a quick salute and then exited the office without another comment. Grace, a tall and attractive Human woman with blond hair cut in a crew cut, entered a few moments later and JoNs offered her a seat with a silent wave of a paw. “As we discussed earlier before the Barrier got all,” JoNs flicked a paw, “reactive, Captain Calestorm is going further into the interior expanse. We’re to remain here, patrolling the outer side of the Barrier. Opinion?” Grace snorted gently through her nose. “Typical. She’s such a cowgirl.” JoNs’s ears didn’t go flat, but her green eyes were sharp. “I meant our assigned orders. And, that’s Captain Calestorm to you, Lieutenant Commander. Remember that.” The 2nd XO was a good officer and had been promoted through the ranks quickly; very capable as a SEAL* with an expert certification in EOD*, of that there was no question. She was young enough, obviously, that she needed to work on the diplomacy skills within the command ranks. Grace still had that ‘holier than though’ attitude that some of the more rambunctious specialists sported as they were filtered into the FTR* Program. JoNs herself had been guilty of it as well, once upon a time. The younger female rolled with the verbal mishap and forged ahead. If you’re going to dive in, might as well go all the way. “Yes, Sir, apologies. I suggest dropping warning buoys at intervals along the outer expanse as we maintain our section of the patrol.” “See to it. Dismissed.” With a decisive nod of confirmation, the second officer removed herself from the seat and made tracks for the entry way. “Grace?” “Commander?” The junior officer stopped and turned. Now, the felinoid officer’s ears went flat. “We are FTR Border Patrol. Remember that, or you can see yourself to the airlock the next time we make port.” ---- *Notes: One paragraph, three acronyms. Score! SEAL – Sea, Aero & Land Teams, Starfleet Naval EOD – Explosive Ordnance Disposal FTR – First Threat Response, Starfleet Border Patrol

USS Washington’s Crossing, FTR SEAL Operations Gygax Star System 17:30 Ships Standard Time Commander K. Vacer JoNs regarded the main bridge viewer with some curiosity. This was definitely different. Join the Starfleet, see the Universe and encounter…large obstacles in your path. The commanding officer of the USS Washington’s Crossing silently observed her bridge crew; those going off duty gave their fellows a brief verbal confirmation of events. “Well, that’s a big cloud of mist there, Sir.” JoNs turned as the ship’s Second Officer walked up behind her, coming on shift with the others. ‘Yes it is, Lieutenant Commander.” She flicked one ear in amusement and purred at the Human female. The two command-level SEALs regarded the main viewer, though it was the 2nd XO who commented on the movement of the USS Comanche Creek. She cocked her head to one side in speculation. “…Captain Calestorm seems to be moving into a scatter shot holding position…” The commander nodded in agreement. “Good eye. Position offers a skewed angle in case anything, well, goes scatter shot and the ‘Creek needs to evade.” The feline now regarded her officer with some amusement. “We’ll make a ship-to-ship tactician of you yet, Grace.” JoNs’s tone was teasing towards the former field operative turned command track officer. “Well, there’s no need to be insulting now, Sir.” Grace feigned hurt, but the twinkle in her eyes showed mirth. The COMM Officer, a man sporting naval camouflage BDU’s and the stripes of a petty officer, politely interrupted the conversation. “Commander?” The leonine feline half turned towards the speaker. “Yes?” “Comanche Creek is preparing to launch the modified probe.” “Change viewer angle, link up with the data feed. On main screen.” “Linking and tapping into probe data feed. Aye, Sir. On screen now.” The screen image altered to show the transmission from the integrated probe camera as the device launched. The re-purposed probe shot through the blackness of space, covering the distance to the mist. It disappeared into the barrier and… …nothing happened. The data visuals went dark. Commander JoNs winged a silent look of question towards her second shift Science officer; the Centauran male shook his head in the negative, confirming that no data flow was in transmission to either ship. The 2nd XO’s voice was quiet, but carried on the silent bridge. “Oops.” The COMM officer spoke. “Commander. Captain Calestorm is asking for you on the wireless regarding the picket line.” A wry smile played on his lips. “Her accents a little noticeable, doesn’t sound very thrilled.” Preliminary plans for the Washingtons Crossing to maintain a picket line about the barrier had already been discussed as a fall back plan. The Caitian was already moving as she acknowledged the request, giving the man a jaunty salute with a paw. “Petty Officer, I’ve no doubt. I’ll take it at the auxiliary station, thank you.” (TBC In Sim)

USS Washington Crossing Romulan Neutral Zone, Starfleet Border Patrol Formation “Sir.” Commander K. Vacer JoNs glanced up from the map chart she was perusing and fixed her gaze on the communications officer. “Petty Officer?” “Priority incoming, encrypted. Brigadier General Tigard.” The Caitian paused. “Put the comm through to the briefing room…” She entered the small area just off the small command bridge as the priority channel visualized on the main viewer screen. “Commander JoNs.” The strong, steady voice of Craig Tigard filled the room. She nodded politely at his projected image. “General.” “I’m pulling the Washington Crossing off the patrol.” JoNs and her crew of thirty had deployed to assist the RNZ patrol after the Comanche Creek had been compromised by a lightning storm in space. It was a temporary assignment, not their usual as a commando team. The change in pace would be welcome. “Sit rep?” “USS Comanche Creek, short version: several crew were sickened, five casualties. Executive Officer is down. Several witnesses reported seeing a shadow being…” the Marine officer frowned, “I’ll forward the field reports.” The feline flipped an ear back, but otherwise didn’t comment on the ghost thing and kept to the business at hand. “Orders?” “Immediate scramble. Rendezvous with and assist the USS Comanche Creek. Her Science and Navigation personnel have a possible trace to a source, located within the Gygax system.” “Gygax? I’m not familiar with that system, Sir.” “It’s a small system, unclaimed, mostly unexplored and you’re going to have to haul to make up time; Calestorm is already heading like a bat out of hell towards it, Commander.” “We’ll deploy out in thirty.”

Happy Birthday to the USS Agincourt! w00t!

Whoa! That's pretty out of this world. It would be a wonderful thing to combat both HIV and FIV, as long as the test kittens are treated well; that's the only thing that would upset me.

The Droid Cops see me rollin'. They hatin'. Tryin' to catch me ridin' dirty.

"Vasssstafa hisha forshan missha ashava avashorfa!" Commander JoNs couldn't help but divert her attention long enough from her watch on the corridor to wing an amused look at her younger cousin. "No really, tell me how you feel." Ensign Honor-Scar glanced up from the iComanche communicator she clutched in a paw. "Lightwind's Blue Force signal blinked out again." The Caitian cousins had ducked into a deserted office once the signal on Light had gone dark – no pun intended; JoNs didn't want to continue moving forward completely blind if she could avoid it. She mrrowled slightly and replied. "Give it a few more for the mobile program to re-establish a link. We know there's an anti-tracking program floating on the wireless…Bridge EC Ops'll handle it." Less concerned with the wireless link, the younger Cait quietly commented on their hard charging commanding officer. "She's a Human! They aren't normally this…annoying. I thought I was bad with the whole free spirit thing. It's like trying to track a herd of…" "Go on. You can say it. You know you want to." "Cats…" JoNs smirked but did not comment. At times, Honor-Scar reminded her of the Human in question – bold, mouthy, but with a good heart. Maybe that's why Jumper seems to be settled with the Comanche Creek posting as compared to other assignments. By now, the younger feline would have been in hack if not brought up before an inquiry board… "And, shouldn't she be, like, way more vassstafa sedate at this point in her career?" "You tell her that to her face and I'll sell tickets to the resulting brawl." Jumper interrupted. "—lock reestablished. Light's not moving forward. Grid map shows her along outer edge of admin area…" Shadowy movement up the corridor caught JoNs's eye; the commander held a paw up for silence, and the ensign immediately fell quiet. Honor-Scar moved soundlessly to stand at her kin's shoulder and look down the corridor. Clad in the SWAT gear of the Nova AC police department, a squad double timed it across the distant junction, going towards the secondary access area of the section.. "Should we hook up with them?" Jumper inquired softly, purring tone evident. "Negative. Let's move. We stay on assignment with Light until the Tasha package is sorted…" ---- *Real World Note: 'Blue Force' is a GPS tracking system employed by the United States military forces; the blue designates the location/movement of friendlies.

Hi Hi and welcome back Black-Knight/Ronin!

Happy Birthday to Will Marx! Happy Birthday to you Happy Birthday to you Happy Birthday Dear Will Happy Birthday to you Jump in your X-Wing and go for a B-Day buzz flight around the Arcadia!

New Topeka Colony Planet 09:00 Hours (09:00 AM) Starfleet Apartment Complex A few hours after the out of sector meeting, Commander K. Vacer JoNs found herself back at a safe house apartment, a nondescript building located within the commercial district of New Topeka. The deeds of the day had been performed, though the so called game was still playing out and she still had a role to play. Tapping a secure wireless line from her desktop computer monitor and console, the felinoid officer only waited a few moments before her SPECOPS handler accessed the communications packet and the two way audio communication was established. The signal, sent through three communications relay satellites across the sector, would be difficult to track. +Mission status?+ “The opposing team has made their move and the punted ball is in play.” +Have the visiting players been dispatched and apprised of the play book?+ JoNs flipped an ear back, even though her commanding officer couldn’t see the gesture, and spoke into the communicator. “Yes. Though as we had discussed, the opposing team has not felt the need to pass along all the information to our guest quarterbacks and defensive lineup. Will we intercept the ball and make the score?” The Caitian feline had been undercover for this particular mission for just under nine months, and at times it was hard to keep the light and dark separate within the shadows. Overall, JoNs was looking forward to an end to the SPECOPS assignment. +That depends on the referee; standby for further instructions and be prepared to move out at a moment’s notice.+ And with that, the wireless communication was dropped. The commander flipped the wireless channel closed with a swipe of her paw across the keyboard sensor. Easing herself back in the desk chair, her gaze fixated on the picture window view of the New Topeka colony skyline. She spoke out loud to the apartments only other occupant, her tone slightly playful. “I never quite understood the Human fascination with their Earth sports.” Tyrell Akers responded to the rhetorical query, his deep voice pitched low. “I’ve always preferred Parrises Squares myself. Here’s to hoping we can recover the fumble.” “I hope you’re right Tyrell. Smithson and Stone on the move?” “Aye. Our agents are tracking their route.” “The quarterback back on site?” “Yes; she arrived just over three hours ago, standard time.” JoNs sighed and glanced towards her partner and second in command before speaking again. “Maybe we’ll get a touchdown with this one.” “Amen Commander. Amen.”

The following plot log takes place just after the events in "In Ur Hanga Bay..." Somewhere in the Outer Rim Unknown Sector 03:15 Hours (03:15 AM) The ‘meeting’ had ended a short while ago with the proposed rescue and extraction of the observational officers on the planet Neural put into play. Alias, Jones and Smith lingered in the briefing room, and Ensign Stone had wisely not returned to the USS Comanche Creek with Calestorm. Alias, more commonly referred to as Lieutenant Commander Tyrell Akers, spoke first. “That went well.” His tone held some amusement. Stone snorted from his vantage point at the other end of the table. “With respect Sir, next time you can handle the escort duties.” ‘Jones’, more commonly referred to as Commander K. Vacer JoNs, scoffed. “I still say we should have tapped a raw commanding officer from Regular Fleet instead of using a Border Patrol officer. And she’s not exactly subtle.” Tyrell chuckled at that, the pleasant sound at odds with the overall serious tone of the room. “And this is coming from the woman who blew an abandoned defensive platform to create a diversion.” JoNs flipped an amused ear back and smiled, showing her fangs. “Whoops.” Captain Smithson broke into the conversation and spoke directly to the leonine Caitian, his tone growing annoyed at the banter and driving the discussion back to the matters at hand. “You worry too much Commander - these Border Patrol officers are perfect for this sort of clean up mission.” JoNs gave Smithson a cool look. “That’s your opinion. It would have been just as easy to draft another ships commander, another crew, without activating your sleeper agent. It’s a waste of resources.” He in turn stared at her. “She gave you the once over.” The words were pointed. The felinoid hedged, attempting to deflect the innuendo. “Felines all look alike to Humans. I’m sure it meant nothing.” The older officer disagreed. “Ten to one she picked up on the resemblance.” “Worried your youngster won’t come back?” Akers raised an eyebrow as he jumped into the conversation; unlike Smith, the younger mans tone wasn’t cutting. The Cait was very careful to keep her raw emotions in check, though her gut did a little flip. The youngling in question was one Ensign Shaow Honor-Scar, currently serving on the activation ship. “I know that the parameters for this op had already been in play, and it was unfortunate that my cousin happened to be assigned to our target ship.” Or, it could have been the fact that her claws had splayed out as she spoke that convinced the two men to divert the subject…

*That's* what you call the morning after a slam bang party...

(I iz lurkin' on ur boards, startin' a Seazon Three topic) >^..^< 06.19.08 Mission Update: - The recovery effort on Earth has progressed to the point that the massive mobilization of patrol ships and ships stationed in Earth orbit and on station keeping throughout the immediate star system is no longer needed; Medical support ships, primarily, are now moving in to take over the full on recovery effort for the planet. Not much can be done for the massive loss of life and property at this point except starting to pick up the pieces, literally and figuratively. - Most of the Federation council members were injured and killed in the Soltan orbit attack on Paris; an emergency meeting of surviving government officials has been planned, with the meeting place scheduled to be on Vulcan. - The Agincourt has new orders: warp to Rigel, pick up the Secretary of State, and ferry the political diplomat to Vulcan for the government meeting. General Questions: With Earth so completely slagged, I wonder if the Federation Council will permanently relocate somewhere? And what about all the cadets that were lost when the academy was hit? I'm thinking this will have reprecussions throughout the Starfleet because there won't be any new influx of midshipmen, other then cadets/middy's who were either away from the attack due to a training assignment or whatever. And the 'Court doctors and any medical personnel are going to have to be on the lookout for anyone having issues dealing with grief or what they experienced planet side with the recovery effort. Knee deep in broken buildings, bodies, blood? Certain looter or pirate groups taking advantage of the chaos? Not a fun time, and sure to have mental reprecussions no matter who you are. And what of vengeance against the Soltan attackers? That can be a powerful (and mindset altering) trap to fall into. Will the Starfleet stay on the straight and narrow, or send off a bunch of ships to hunt the Soltan down?