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Irene Mincine

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About Irene Mincine

  1. The triple suns of Alpha Centauri were out over the capital. The great expanse of Decker Pack was full of people celebrating the annual Klingon Cultural Festival. There was everything you would expect at an event like that: food, arts and crafts, even 24th century carnival games. People came from all over the region to visit the festival. There weren’t just humans and Klingons, but people of many Federation races were in attendance. Proxima 4 was one of the oldest colonies of the Federation, after all. In the center of the park stood the the Grand Stage. It was a great circular platform with hundreds of seats surrounding it. People were streaming toward it from all directions as an announcement sounded: “The 43rd annual Proxima 4 Bat’leth Tournament Women’s Semi-Final is about to begin at the Grand Stage. Please make your way there.” The preparation area was a small permanent pavilion across from the Grand Stage. Inside was Irene Mincine, wearing a white training robe, warming up with a leather-wrapped and old-looking bat’leth. Her exercises looked strenuous, but Irene looked up to the challenge. She was very athletic, and also pretty bruised up from the previous days’ battles. “This is how you celebrate your high school graduation, Irene? A bat’leth tournament?” said a young human man standing in the doorway to the warm-up room. Irene planted the edge of the bat’leth on the floor and leaned on it, panting. “Jolath, what do they say about women with blades?” Jolath looked at her with an innocent look on his face. “I just thought I’d stop by and wish my favorite classmate luck before the last day of the tournament, that’s all.” She laughed, picking up a water bottle from the floor and taking a sip. “That’s a new one. Days 1 and 2 weren’t too bad. But what happened to, ‘Irene, these tournaments are dangerous,’ or ‘Irene, why do you even own a bat’leth?’” He leaned on the doorway, self-satisfied. “Well, they are dangerous. And I still don’t know why you own one of those things. Aren’t you going off to college next month? What are you going to do, cut your professor’s head off when they give you a C?” “I told you, it’s an heirloom from my grandmother, the Klingon commander I told you about,” Irene replied. “My mom didn’t want anything to do with it. Hell, she doesn’t even know I’m here. I think she’s on Earth for some… diplomat… thing. She thinks I use it for calisthenics.” “Why do they use real weapons, though?” Jolath sounded pretty concerned. Irene spoke with an air of reverence. “To make sure that both warriors try their best, and to remember that death can come at any time.” She then shrugged, like she didn’t quite understand it either. “Martial sports were conducted this way on Earth for a couple thousand years, too. It’s not like this is unique to my people.” She picked up the bat’leth once more. “Just think of it as Klingon fencing.” The PA clicked on. “Competitor Irene Mincine to the Grand Stage in ten minutes.” Irene looked up at the ceiling. “Time for you to go. Go, go, go, I need to change!” Jolath wished Irene well and left. The door closed behind him. * * * Irene Mincine walked out to the Grand Stage. She was wearing the traditional Klingon warrior’s uniform, though she didn’t look too comfortable in it. It never fit quite right on her hybrid body. Her wavy black hair was worn down, in the Klingon style, rather than her usual pony tail. Combined with her ridges, her uniform, and her scowl, she looked pretty intimidating. Her opponent walked out opposite her. She was a large, powerful Klingon woman who looked a bit older than her. Irene was worried about what she’d heard about her - K’last was the favorite to win. Not just that, but she’d heard from her defeated opponents about the dirty tricks she liked to use. Illegal moves, subtle manipulations, things that should be dishonorable. Irene, though, wasn’t a full Klingon. She was used to dishonorable actions by other Klingons, even if they wouldn’t admit it. The announcer began his spiel. “To the left… in her first competition… Irene, daughter of P’Lor, of the House of Morvath!” There was some cheering, but not from the Klingons in the crowd… Irene figured that would happen. The two Klingon competitors she had bested weren’t exactly thrilled about getting beaten by a half-breed and that presumably spread to the crowd, as well. “To the right… in her eighth competition… K’last, daughter of Rassa, of the House of Delat!” The cheering was much louder for her than for Irene. With a gong,the fight began. The two clashed immediately. Irene was younger and faster, with K’last clearly the more powerful and experienced of them. Still, Irene was able to hold her off with K’last getting angrier and angrier as it went on.After five exciting minutes, their bat’leths crashed together and the two were locked in a battle of strength. “I won’t let you beat me, Federation p’tak!” K’last spat out at Irene. “You wear our garb, but under it is the uniform and spirit of a child!” “I don’t need to be fully Klingon to kick your ass!” she responded, but she was slowly losing the test of strength. That wasn’t enough for K’last. She slid the blade up, hooking Irene’s grip. The blade slipped. Irene realized she’d been a victim of one of the most illegal moves in the sport! K’last shoved Irene’s blade away. The bat’leth clattered to the ground, a victory for K’last. In the process, she “accidentally” sunk one of the edges into Irene’s belly. “P’tak.” Irene gasped, feeling the bat’leth tear through her. She didn’t have the energy to cry out. She fell where she stood, collapsing to her knees, then to the floor while blood poured from the wound, gathering around her in a sea of red. “Get the fight doctor! There’s been a terrible accident,” the judge yelled out. Immediately, human and Klingon medical teams rushed in. K’last stood and watched her handiwork, satisfied. Irene looked up at the orange Centauri sky. She felt herself rising up, the voices of the doctors becoming quiet and distant. “She’s losing a lot of blood. Check the spleen for damage. Which one? Dammit, Klingons have two of them, don’t they…” Her vision faded to white. The last thing she remembered seeing was K’last’s -eating grin.
  2. Irene Mincine’s face was shining with sweat. She was wearing short-sleeved gray exercise outfit and armed with a bat’leth, mowing down holographic Klingon warriors in a familiar-looking cave. She had been cooped up in her sickbay prison for over a week, trapped inside the blue glow of the temporal stabilization field. Now she was free… and she had plenty of rage to work out. Where did the foreign DNA come from? She thought she had an idea before, but its self-repair mechanism was far beyond anything she had ever seen. It wasn’t from any of the major Alpha or Beta Quadrant powers – the technology for hiding messages in protein sequences was well-known but messages didn’t try to keep themselves alive! The Dominion in the Gamma Quadrant had extremely advanced genetic engineering capabilities, but this didn’t have any of their hallmarks. Could the DNA be from the future, or an alternate timeline? Could it have something to do with the cause of the anomaly that sent them back in time in the first place? Irene deftly dodged a dagger thrust, planting her bat’leth square in the assaulter’s chest. She was trying her hardest to ignore the stiffness in her back, as well. The wound she received when they entered this timeframe had mostly healed, other than the removed organ. Thanks to her hybrid biology, she wouldn’t be able to get a replacement except at a starbase – the operation was just too advanced and the available synthetics on board wouldn’t suffice. Worse, the nephralamine treatments she had to take always made her mouth taste like battery acid. Irene had detailed all of her theories in a report she had given to Hakran, her superior. But that’s all she had – theories. It drove her mad. She needed a solution and she needed to know who did this to her. Irene, whose curiosity outpaced only her anger, would not be satisfied until this case was solved.
  3. Preliminary report on the Sarran Coproliths, stardate 2019.0327 Ens. Irene Mincine, investigator The microbial life on this planet is capable of excreting an extremely hard metallic substance similar to duranium. Their metabolism depends on several factors: mineral content of their environment, heat, and pressure. Initial testing in an artificial environment shows that these factors must be precisely controlled in order to produce material of sufficient quality and consistency for use in starship repairs. A modified pressure chamber capable of producing these conditions is possible to build with our current materials. Sulfur can be harvested from the planet’s oceans in sufficient quantity. The energy required to produce one kilogram of material is substantial, however, and it will be an extremely inefficient process. Conclusion: It would appear to be a plausible method of repairing the hull damage. More research will be required to determine optimal conditions and exactly how long this will take to accomplish.
  4. Joint log by Irene Mincine and Cptn Swain “Yo, Val, CAG wants to see you,” said a pilot as he walked by an open but darkened bunk room. A groggy voice came from the room. “You’re always bringing bad news, Alvar.” *** The briefing area of the Excalibur flight deck was, out of sorts. Desks were still randomly strewn about the room. The main display board had cracked down the middle of the screen and flickered back and forth. Pictures of each of the pilots littered the floor, having fallen from the wall. Constance d'Aubigné sighed deeply. There was little she disliked more than messy breifing room, but given that her crew had spent the entire – however many hours it had been – time since arriving in the past just trying to get the flight deck operational enough to launch a combat air patrol she would have to live with the messy briefing room. She took a swig of decidedly fake coffee and glanced up as she heard boots. “Oh good, Val. I have a mission for you. You might need some sunglasses though.” *** Twenty minutes later, Valerie Carillon was suited up and climbing into the cockpit of her Lancelot fighter. Her fighter. She had been flying shuttles and cargo carriers in the transport wing for years, ever since the battle at Chin’toka that cost the Federation an entire fleet, and cost Val her eye and forearm. Both fleets and limbs can be replaced these days, but confidence and regulations can’t. And both confidence and regulations said she’d be on the bench for the rest of her career. It took her over ten long years to get back here, back where she belonged. Who cares if it was a science mission? If she pulled it off, she might make it out of the transport squadron for good! The subspace radio clicked on. “Lancelot 45-Beta, Excalibur control. Clear for departure, hangar bay 2.” “Roj.” Val’s gloved hand pushed the throttle forward. Her fighter blasted out of the Excalibur’s hangar bay. Val’s small frame was pushed tightly back against the seat before the inertial dampeners cancelled out the acceleration. Once the fighter hit cruising speed, she locked in a course toward the system’s yellow star and kicked in the autopilot while she did a customary systems check, making sure the science package was online. With her fighter on automatic, she took a look around outside with her augmented-reality visor. Nothing but empty space ahead of her and the crippled mothership orbiting Sarras behind her, with the gas giant behind slowly shrinking. She was at home in the void. The scientific analysis pod, attached to the underside of the fighter, locked onto the star as it grew closer. Energy readings appeared on the main viewer, which she began to transmit back to Excalibur. Val decided to take manual control as she got closer to the star. She stretched her wings, flying in parabolic arcs to prevent too much heat buildup – or so that’s what she told the CAG over the radio. She wanted to see what her fighter could really do. See if she still had it. She got in close to the star – as close as was safe. As she began to round it, she pushed the throttle lever fully forward. The impulse engines glowed brightly as the fighter performed a slingshot, the gas giant and moon rising in her viewer. If this was her last chance to fly one of these Lancelots, she was going to make the most of it. She came around the other side of the star, pulling 6 Gs and accelerating beyond the maximum speed of the impulse engines thanks to the gravity assist. She could barely lift her hand to command the engines to full reverse. As the gravity dropped, she let out a cheer while sweat poured down her face. That was the most fun she had in years! The Excalibur contacted the fighter - the readings were solid – she’d collected loads of the gravimetric data the Excalibur would need to figure out a slingshot maneuver. Time to head home. *** By the time Val had returned, the brief room had been brought back to something resembling the standards that d'Aubigné could find tolerable. A briefing for the first CAP was well underway as she slid into the back of the room. “Fairly straight forward,” d'Aubigné said in her lightly accented standard, while motioning to the still cracked, but less flickering display. “Our primary objective is to keep eyes on the perimeter. The asteroid belt and ambient radiation should keep passive sensors of the era from seeing much, but if someone does drop by Captain wants to know ASAP. “The asteroid belt is as far as you should be flying unless approved by flight ops. Even though I know you’re all skilled pilots – well except Tarheel back there,” she said to a brief outburst of giggles, “but we don’t have the ability to support any kind of rescue mission and we’re short on parts so no playing in the belt. Am I clear?” The levity quickly dropped and the gathered pilots responded in near unison. “Yes, ma’am!” “Very well,” she said motioning them off. “Get to it.” Once the briefing had dispersed, d'Aubigné turned her attention to Val. “I see you managed not to sunburn yourself, Cyclops. How was it?” “It felt good, ma’am,” Val said with a smile. “Most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Lifting an eye-brow, d'Aubigné smirked. “Don’t get too used to fun on this ship, but good. Take a break and then I’ve got you up for the second CAP rotation.”
  5. Lt. j.g. Carillon sat uneasily in her Peregrine fighter. She was flying patrol in the Chin’toka system, recently retaken from the Dominion and the scene of heavy fighting. Over her shoulder was her mothership, the Nebula-class USS Greenland. Surrounding, in every direction, were Federation, Klingon, and even a few Romulan starships, of every size and shape. “Omega flight, Greenland control,” the subspace radio buzzed in her helmet. With all the jamming and counter-jamming going on, even close-range transmissions sounded like two tin cans and a string. “Sensors picking up incoming small craft. Transmitting vector, intercept and destroy.” “Greenland control, Omega 1. Understood, intercepting,” came over the radio. Carillon, flying Omega 3, took off with the rest of her squadron toward the incoming targets. The fighter’s sensors linked into the Greenland’s automatically, letting her see targets that were minutes away even at maximum impulse. The sensor readings resolved into eight Dominion fighters. The purple, beetle-like craft always scared the hell out of her, even after she’d blown 40 of them out of the heavens. The way they glowed, the way they moved unnaturally, the way they’d get behind you and there was nothing you could do. With the losses they inflicted on the Allies, everyone should have been afraid of them. Most pilots were. Twelve Federation fighters against eight Dominion fighters still wasn’t fair odds, she thought, as the dogfight began. Twenty ships in an elaborate dance of death, phaser blasts and torpedoes and disruptor blasts and compression beams shooting in every direction. Lt. Carillon and a Dominion fighter circled, twisted, curled. Her hands moved the controls with the grace of a seasoned combat pilot. One phaser blast and it was over - the Dominion fighter exploded in a cloud of plasma and metal fragments. She didn’t have time to celebrate - two more were on her. Only the quick intervention of one of her wingmen was able to save her life, one fighter vaporizing while the other broke off. In the chaos of the dogfight, another transmission broke through on the priority channel. “USS Nova, we’ve… some kind of… energy weapon…” The transmissions kept on coming. Ship after ship, hit by an energy weapon. All power down. Unkown Breen warships on attack vector. An entire Dominion fleet out there, destroying ship after ship. Panic and chaos. And in her fighter, there was nothing she could do to help. Her concentration broke when the Greenland disappeared from her tactical link. Disappeared. Gone. Vaporized. She had no time to process this fact before her fighter shook. Purple light shot by her viewport. She did exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do - she panicked. There was a loud bang from behind and her fighter began to spin out of control. A junction box exploded to her right, showering her in green plasma fire. Lt. Carillon, overcome, screamed and pulled the ejection handle. Her fighter split in two, the cabin section rocketing away from the rest. Her visor fogged from sweat and heavy breathing. The cabin, lighter and with a new center of gravity, continued to spin. The atmosphere of the cabin vented, extinguishing the plasma. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was the Dominion fighter zooming by her cockpit…
  6. Name: Valerie “Cyclops” Carillon Species: Human Age: 37 Sex: Female Place of Birth: Atlanta, Earth Ht: 5’11 Wt: 150lbs Eyes: Left eye blue, right eye gold Hair: Brown Identifying marks: Right eye is an ocular implant. Tattoos on back and both arms. Father: Marcus Carillon, age 74, Starfleet officer (Engineering) Mother: Brianna Vought, age 68, Starfleet officer (Command) Starfleet Service Information 2373: USS Greenland 2376: USS Dunkirk 2385: USS Excalibur-C Rank: Lieutenant Assignment: Fighter squadron, USS Excalibur-C Starfleet Service History: 2372: Entered Starfleet Academy flight school, selected for accelerated training. 2373: Graduated and received wings. Assigned to USS Greenland, participated in fleet actions throughout the Dominion War. 2375: Shot down, recuperating. 2376: Junior operations officer, USS Dunkirk. 2379: Flight officer, USS Dunkirk. 2385: Flight officer, USS Excalibur. Holds pilot rating in all Federation fighter craft. Education: B.S. in Astrophysics, Starfleet Academy (2382) Medical History Shot down at Second Chin’toka in 2375, suffered severe injuries. Right forearm is a bioplastic replacement. Returned to flight status in 2379. Space Service Readiness Examination: Passed. Psychological Examination: Aggressive when required, sometimes to the point of over-aggression. Confident, to the point of cockiness at times. The ideal fighter pilot, in short.
  7. Personal log, Irene Mincine. Uh... we’re in the past. Like, a hundred years in the past. They don’t like to talk about it at the academy, but I know that starships have gone back and come back before. Still, to actually be here, it’s... and the ship is a complete wreck too. We can’t just go to Starbase 41 and get our nacelle fixed in the 2200s. Even better, we have a Romulan envoy aboard? And this space was under the suzerainty, if not control, of the Romulans at this time as far as I can tell? If we run into a patrol out here, in our condition, what’s going to happen? We’re 100 years ahead of them but our ship is in a hundred pieces! I wish I could do *something* to help that, but what’s a biologist going to do to fix the warp drive? How do we know the Romulans didn’t have something to do with setting this whole thing up, anyway? Delivering a 24th century Starfleet ship to the 23rd century Romulan Star Empire? Imagine what kind of repercussions that would have on the timeline. We’ll be tortured to death for information on the future and the ship will be taken apart to become the base of a Romulan galactic conquest. I’m sure the captain has plans for contingencies like that, though. Scuttling the ship rather than contaminating the timeline - but then we’d be stuck here forever. And I’d kinda like to get back to 2388. Um, personally, I’m doing okay. I’m laid up in sick bay once again - when we were hit by the shockwave that sent us here, I got thrown clear across the bridge into a data coupling that tried to couple with me. I lost a kidney but I’ll live. They’ll fix me up with a new one if we ever get back to a starbase. The one organ Klingons don’t have extras of, huh? Remind me to lodge a protest with the gods we killed.
  8. Database: Klingon Central Database, Federation Access Terminal Subject: K'Arxa, daughter of Molat Note: All dates are converted to the Federation calendar. Entries may be truncated by order of Klingon High Council. Born: 2240, Qo'noS Status: Deceased, 2312 Parents: Klaa, son of Kolar (2174-2289) and Molat, daughter of B'Eddeyr (2190-2331) Children: P'Lor, daughter of Molat (b. 2304). K'Arxa, daughter of Molat, was a captain in the Klingon Imperial Fleet of the late 23rd century. She was one of the few female Klingon captains of the era. For most of her career, she served on the IKS Betat. She was born to the two minor nobles Klaa and Molat, the result of a political union between the House of Morvath (Klaa) and the House of K'Ovel (Molat). Like most of her Morvath family before her, she joined the Imperial Fleet soon after her Ascension ceremony. She passed the entrance examination in 2259 and was commissioned as an ensign upon graduating the Fleet Academy. K'Arxa was a talented gunner, rising to the rank of lieutenant by 2270 where she was assigned to the IKS Betat. She took part in the Tholian Campaign, the Epsilon IV invasion, and finally the Klingon-Renarran War of 2278. As second officer of a Bird of Prey during the war, she was feared by her subordinates and respected by her superiors. The Betat was involved in a skirmish near the end of the war, pitting two Birds of Prey against five Renarran cruisers. One Bird of Prey was destroyed and the Betat was severely damaged, with the captain and first officer both killed. K'Arxa took command of the bridge, rallying the crew. By the end of the battle, two Renarran ships were destroyed, two damaged beyond repair, and one surrendered. Upon return to Qo'noS, she was inducted into the Order of the Bat'leth and given command of the Betat after its repair. She continued to distinguish herself in battle, being considered one of the top Klingon commanders of the era. Her activities between 2282 and 2300 are classified. She gave birth to a daughter, P'Lor, in 2305. In 2312, she was assigned as one of three Birds of Prey escorting the Chancellor's battlecruiser to high-level talks with the Federation president on Betazed. Three days from Betazed, the other two Birds of Prey opened fire on the Chancellor's ship, disabling the warp drive. The cloaking device had also been sabotaged. K'Arxa did not hesitate and opened fire on one Bird of Prey, destroying it but at the cost of her own weapons. The second ship prepared to a photon torpedo at the battlecruiser's neck, intending to destroy the bridge and kill the Chancellor. K'Arxa ordered the Betat to ram the renegade Bird of Prey, destroying both ships and saving the Chancellor's life. She was posthumously awarded the Order of Kahless. The culprit of this attack is still unknown, as both assailant ships were destroyed and no motive was ever found. See the article on the Betazed Incident of 2312 for more information.
  9. Irene found herself in the pilot’s seat of a shuttle. How did she get there? She had a pounding headache. That’s all she knew. She looked down at the panel to figure out where she was. It was blank. She checked another panel. Out the window now was a planet with a swirling pink and green atmosphere. It was getting big, fast. The sensors said there was nothing there. In fact, they showed nothing at all. No stars, no planets, no location. “Computer, kill the engines.” … “Computer?” Nothing. “No computer, either…” She was starting to get worried – especially since she didn’t remember anything about a mission or travel at all. And then she felt a sharp pain in her back. She felt it with her hand. It came back drenched in blood. In fact, there was blood was dripping from the ceiling. And, slowly, coming up through the floor. The outside view had changed, too. Now it was a stormy atmosphere, the shuttle zooming over an ocean of blood. The flow continued in the cabin, now up to Irene’s ankles. Lightning flashed around her, illuminating the shuttle with yellow light. Irene felt tired, very tired. The shuttle seemed to know where it was going, avoiding lightning strikes with quantum precision. She didn’t have the energy to do much but watch. She felt like this was the right thing to do, inside. As she approached the surface, she saw a fleet of Federation starships floating on the red ocean. A few names were visible: the Odyssey, the Saratoga, the Melbourne, the Drake. It looked like her shuttle was on its way to join them. The blood was up to her waist. Lightning struck the shuttle. Irene felt it shock her very core. Her world flashed, and then the shuttle was hovering, floating only a few feet over the strange ocean. She grabbed her chest, making sure her heart was still beating. It was irregular, but this didn’t alarm her. A sense of calm fell over her as she looked out the shuttle viewport. The landing lights illuminated the Drake. She could see through the hull, the lights illuminating it like an X-ray beam. Inside were a decaying crew, hundreds of them. All at their stations like nothing had changed. Irene, the calm now long passed, screamed as blood rushed into the shuttle, faster now, up to her chest. Another flash of lightning and her body began falling apart, like the doomed crew of the Drake. The blood was dissolving her, but she felt nothing. Now it was up to her neck. As it rose above her eyes, the world turned to a milky white. Then, nothing.
  10. Personal log, Irene Mincine, junior science staff, USS Excalibur. I am glad to be off Risa. I spent too long in that Ferengi's basement to ever go back to that place. I've just sent in my report to Commander Hawthorne and I expect another lecture on personal responsibility or something. Of course, last time I expected a lecture I got promoted to personal trainer... and this time it wasn’t really my fault, so who knows. She’s very surprising, not at all what I expected out of a first officer. Dr. Dubois was able to put my shoulder back together – she’s a miracle worker. You can barely see the scar! That’s Federation medicine for you - the big one on my ribs is Klingon handiwork. Different cultures, different priorities, even when it comes to medical care. The phaser burn’s healed into a starburst of pale splotches - I’m not going to be wearing any tank tops for a while. She said they’ll fade over time as the skin heals and takes on its natural color again. But… now I'm off duty until I get medical clearance to get back to doing my job. I hate being off duty. It makes me feel like a lump, sitting here in my bunk with my arm in a sling while everyone else is working around me. Nothing I can do about it, though. Doctors outrank ensigns. And it’s probably a good idea not to overexert myself anyway and end up with a permanent injury. Good thing I work a desk job down in the science labs - maybe I can sneak down there and hang out with our cats. Personal update - I called Zefram, he's doing all right. He might get the Jovian run soon, that's pretty exciting. P'Lor is fine, too. Zefram sent me a few Klingon opera recordings a week or so ago, so at least I've got something to listen to in my downtime. I told him about my little adventure and he said he’d dig up some more for me. He’s such a great brother! So the big question, what am I going to do with my time off duty? I’m not sure. Dr. Ryssan suggested catching up on meditation. I suppose it couldn’t hurt, given my behavior lately… I bought some real ritual candles, stamped with the mark of one of the big shrines on Qo’noS, and even made a little shrine at my bunk. (I wish I had quarters, sometimes.) And I heard the chief downloaded some new holoprograms and movies I can check out, too. But… on a real personal note... I... what I got with Kasmati, I hadn’t felt for a long time. Is it a personal weakness? How do people deal with it on a starship? On extended missions, only around the same hundred people in a duranium can? I don’t know. I suppose not every personal need can be met on a starship - and there’s always the holodeck, right? I’m just glad to be back here, safe.
  11. Lamelle District - A large cache of stolen merchandise was recovered today by Risan security forces in cooperation with Starfleet. Yarloz, a club in the district, was found to be harboring two fugitives, identified as Grint, a Ferengi businessman, and Kasmati Prell, a Deltan engineer. For several months, they had been burglarizing popular Risan resorts and stashing the pilfered goods in a storeroom under the club, where they offered them for sale to known criminal clientele. They were discovered this week after the pair allegedly kidnapped a Starfleet officer with intent to sell her to the Orions. Starfleet security forces swept in, recovered the officer, subdued Ms. Prell, and discovered the stolen goods. Ms. Prell was arrested at the scene and is cooperating with authorities to identify and return the merchandise. She is also providing detailed information about her accomplice, Grint, who she claims was in charge of the operation and instigated the kidnapping over her objections. Charges against her are currently pending. The club’s operating license has been revoked pending the outcome of the investigation. The club’s manager stated that he had no knowledge of the operation. Grint escaped apprehension and his whereabouts are currently unknown. If you have any information about him, please contact Risan security.
  12. Irene Mincine awoke in a darkened room, her head spinning. She tried to clear her disorientation – remembering where she was and how she got here. The darkened room – that was where she was spending the night planetside on Risa. It was one of the suites in the resort the commander had managed to reserve during the conference. It was spacious, more spacious than the captain’s quarters aboard the Excalibur. Irene was in the bedroom, which was separated from the rest of the suite by a sliding partition. She remembered going to a club that someone recommended. Pounding beats were the soundtrack to a fun evening she spent with a Deltan woman, Kasmati. Eventually, she took her back to the resort room. If they didn’t find jamaharon, they got close. But she awoke with the bed empty. Kasmati must have gone home at some point, she figured, but it was still dark out. Irene sat up in the bed, nearly falling back down. “Must have drank more than I thought...” she mumbled as she swung her legs to the floor. She needed to pee really badly, so she figured that was true. The suite’s bathroom was on the other side of the partition. Irene managed to get to her feet somehow, holding her head the whole way. Little early for a hangover, she still felt the effects of all that Aldebaran whiskey. How long had she been asleep? Irene looked at the digital readout on the wall clock – 04:30 local time. Barely an hour! She slid the partition open and stumbled through. On the other side was Kasmati, looking quite surprised. “Oh, hi, Irene...” A Ferengi voice kicked in from a communicator. “10, 15 bars! Easy!” It didn’t quite register through Irene’s semi-sedated state. “What’s... ugh... what’s going on?” “Nothing, go back to bed.” Kasmati said, warmly, yet somehow deceptively. The communicator kicked in again. “What’s going on? Who are you talking to?” Irene blinked, trying to clear her head. “What are you doing with... all my stuff?” She finally came to the realization that something wasn’t right, taking a defensive posture. “I told you the sedative wouldn’t work on her, she’s part-Klingon...” Kasmati growled into the communicator. “Hold it!” Irene fumbled for her phaser on the table, dropping it. Kasmati dove for it, most of Irene’s belongings in a bag over her shoulder. “I’m getting you out of there! Give me a second to bounce the transporter signal off the enhancers,” the communicator barked, a computer bleeping in the background. Irene and Kasmati fought over the phaser, with Irene not ripping Kasmati’s arms off and beating her with them only because of the sedative. The phaser fired into the ceiling, narrowly missing Irene’s head. “You idiot! You just set off every alarm in the building!” Irene and Kasmati, still brawling on the floor, disappeared with the flash of a Ferengi transporter... only Irene’s combadge was left on the floor.
  13. Personal log, Ensign Irene Mincine. We’re off to Risa. That’s a good change from 3 days in a holding cell, isn’t it? When the commander came to bail me out, I was sure I was in for it - instead I got appointed as her personal trainer! I was really confused by that but she said she doesn’t really trust the security heads to not make fun of her behind her back. Understandable, I heard from someone in engineering that she broke three fingers punching out the captain’s lights. Maybe I can learn a thing or two about operations while we’re on the holodeck. The cats are settling in on Excalibur fine. I’ve set up a storeroom as a little house for them. I got permission to turn up the inertial dampeners in that section to keep them from getting hurt if the ship hits turbulence or... you know, gets shot at. Some of the other science staff are looking after them, too, but they seem to be good at taking care of themselves. I’ve never been to Risa. I’m looking forward to it, though. Hopefully we get some time to ourselves to... well... uh, computer, delete that last line. I understand we’re ferrying some VIP around, and I’m not security, so... should be a fun time. As long as... Issaha... stays away from me.
  14. (Recorded the morning after the last sim ended. Issaha involvement courtesy of Cptn Swain.) Personal log, Irene Mincine. So we're on leave on Starbase 39-T while they sort out our next assignment. I'm excited to see where we're going next. More excited than I am to be in another Starfleet holding cell. I didn't know we had a Romulan on board. Let me get one thing out: I do not like Romulans. P'Lor told me about all the times they've covertly and overtly screwed with the Empire, plus she's blown up a few Warbirds in her day. When I got back on Excalibur, and I found a Romulan scientist, I was ready to blast him myself. It's a good thing I didn't, because he's both rich and an exchange officer... who's rotating to planetary sciences soon, he says. I'd better talk to Lt. K'hal about that. Anyway, he invited me out to the starbase since we’re both on leave. I took him up on some 2359 bloodwine in a moment of weakness. We weren’t there for 10 minutes before he was all over me! What a creep. After one particularly lecherous act (which I will not describe), I socked him in the mouth, leaving that rich idiot on the floor of the bar. Security hauled me off to the brig and him off to sick bay. I think I’m banned from the station now. Could be the bloodwine talking but it was totally worth it. Anyway, I'm stuck here until someone from Excalibur comes and bails me out, so I've got a lot of time to think. This probably wasn't the smartest thing to do but it felt pretty good. Formal charges may be no good for my career, though... (sigh). And I'm not looking forward to the inevitable lecture from Commander Hawthorne.
  15. (Recorded during the tow home.) Personal Log, Irene Mincine. The captain is back! Our travels in the Large Magellanic Cloud are over and we’re going home... well, being towed home. I’m glad to be getting off this rust bucket Miranda back to a clean, modern starship. I’m a little anxious, though, because when you go from a skeleton crew of 10 to a crew of 500 it means you get lost in the shuffle pretty easily. I hope I don’t end up back in my lab for the rest of my tour of duty. I’m really enjoying the increased responsibility (and regular spot on the bridge!) of the Lugh, even if it’s falling apart. But mostly I'm glad that after ste--*ahem* taking her... for a little longer than expected... we're not ending up in the brig until the end of time. Anyway, Commander Hawthorne put me in charge of our new passengers once we’re back on the Excalibur: a pair of radiation-absorbing warp-sensing cat-like creatures we found in the captain’s yacht. The Caitians would probably have been a better fit, but... they really seem to like me. Oddly, they don’t like the captain. When he returned, they were very angry. I’ve never seen them act like that. I wonder what he did to them. Or what they can sense in him. I'm starting an exobiology report right away once I get back to some proper equipment. I really think I’m trying my best not to stand in my own way. I can only hope that the captain and commander are impressed enough with my work so far to keep calling on me for these tasks. The sooner I make lieutenant, the sooner I’m out of bunking with Ensign Malcolm of Gasbag Prime and into my own quarters. Uh, also, note: Cats do not like feline supplements 31, 32, or 33. Must get more Caitian recipes from Lt. K’hal.