Welcome to Star Trek Simulation Forum

Register now to gain access to all of our features. Once registered and logged in, you will be able to contribute to this site by submitting your own content or replying to existing content. You'll be able to customize your profile, receive reputation points as a reward for submitting content, while also communicating with other members via your own private inbox, plus much more! This message will be removed once you have signed in.

Tachyon

Members
  • Content count

    881
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation

0 Neutral

About Tachyon

  • Rank
    Open-Source Geek
  • Birthday 09/20/1989

Contact Methods

  • AIM
    tachyondecay
  • Website URL
    http://tachyondecay.net/
  • ICQ
    0

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Ontario, Canada
  1. Name: Caitlin Townshend Species: Human Age: 28 Height: 160 cm Hair: Blonde Eyes: Brown Identifying features: Scar along her upper left forearm. Tattoo of a small bird on her right ankle. Rank: Lieutenant, Junior Grade Current Assignment: USS Challenger, Acting Chief Science Officer Last Assignment: USS Brisbane, Assistant Science Officer Service History: Entered Starfleet Academy Graduated academy with honours Posted to USS Galway as assistant exobiologist Leave of absence (3 months), request to transfer Transferred to USS Brisbane as assistant science officer Promoted to Lieutenant, Junior Grade Transferred to USS Challenger as chief science officer (acting) Interests and Qualifications: Degrees in exobiology (with a specialist in biomedical systems), bioethics, and linguistics. Certified Instructor in Vulcan Meditation Earth classical music, Vulcan classical music, contemporary classical composition Amateur solo athletics including track and field, gymnastics, etc. Visual arts, particularly painting and printmaking Family: Mother: Deborah Townshend Father: Gabriel Deschamps (estranged) Stepfather: Vijay Dalal Brothers: Clark, Christopher Biographical Information Caitlin is what is colloquially known as a "Starfleet brat". Her parents met aboard a starship posting. After deciding to start a family, they transferred to Starbase 11. When Caitlin was 8, her family transferred to Vulcan, where she spent her formative years of schooling among predominantly Vulcan peers. This instilled in her a knowledge and respect for Vulcan culture and tradition that informs much of her adult worldview. When Caitlin was 12, her parents separated and later divorced, with her father transferring to a deep space research vessel. She has since fallen out of touch with him. Caitlin excelled in both sciences and the arts, and her heart was always set on joining Starfleet and following in the footsteps of her parents. Originally planning to enter the Academy at 18, Caitlin deferred for three years to study first meditation and then linguistics and bioethics at the Vulcan Science Academy. She finally entered the Academy at 22, older but with a better awareness of her strengths and skills. Caitlin retained a somewhat jack-of-all-trades approach to her studies, often devoting inordinate time to esoteric fields. As a result, while she maintained high grades and a place on the honour roll, she never made a mark on any one particular field. However, Caitlin continued to gravitate towards scientific specialization. Her first posting was aboard the USS Galway, where she served as an exobiologist. She distinguished herself during a first contact mission with the Strathcori. One of the Strathcori delegation took ill while visiting the ship, and Caitlin played a significant role in reviving and stabilizing the delegation member. However, Caitlin and her superior officer did not often see eye-to-eye, and after several months of ongoing conflict, she took a leave of absence and then requested a transfer. Posted next to the USS Brisbane, Caitlin soon flourished among her new crew. Along with the transfer in ship came a transfer in department--the Brisbane's personnel disposition placed her under the wing of the science department, and Caitlin quickly felt at home. She soon earned a promotion and participated in a variety of scientific and exploratory missions. After nearly two years aboard the Brisbane, Caitlin was transferred somewhat abruptly to the USS Challenger to take over its beleaguered science department.
  2. Dear Michael, How do should I begin? “I hope you’re well” seems so insincere. I mean, I do hope you’re well. But isn’t that what everyone says in letters to their ex-spouse? I know we haven’t spoken since we separated. That’s on both of us—it’s not like either of us is exactly hard to find. I guess we still think the other needs time. I know I did, and said, things that hurt you. I wish I could just keep saying “sorry” until it would fix things between us. I know nothing I do can fix things between us. But as I sit here, about to tender my resignation, the only person I want to tell is you. The only person I think could understand, even if you don’t care any more, is you. My research, my reputation, my husband … Starfleet has taken it all from me. Everything except my life itself, and even that has been in question too many times to count. I’ve never been an enthusiastic explorer. Like so many others, I joined Starfleet because of the promise of a stable career path, of connections that would help me become a better researcher and join more interesting teams to solve the open problems of this era. I dreamed of reaching new heights in the field of cybernetics. The Academy was a chore, yes, but a bearable one. My posting to Jupiter Station was the type of sedate assignment I preferred. My transfer to Challenger was … well, a mistake. Not a mistake, not really, not where mother was involved … but that seemed like lifetimes ago. I hated it at first. Then some more. I kept wanting to leave, to escape the cavalcade of diplomats and subspace anomalies and pirates and Romulans. This wasn’t science! Science was sitting alone in a dark room listening to depressing music and wondering why your latest experiment had ended in failure. Science was laughing and chatting with your colleagues, who were also your friends, while solving the mysteries of neural networks. Science was not having your life threatened by strange creatures or hostile humanoids. Then my husband made the obnoxiously sweet gesture of closing his practice and enlisting in Starfleet just to serve alongside me. Having you aboard Challenger began to turn things around. For a time, I was genuinely content. I thought I had everything I wanted: a good ship, a good companion, a good career. But when things fall apart, they don’t always do so in a dramatic and obvious way. They don’t always fall apart in order, either. When the opportunity arrived to head up a new cybernetics project, I grabbed it. I said goodbye to Challenger, if not eager to leave any more then certainly not disappointed by the prospect. This was the project of a lifetime for me, and my colleagues were some of the best and brightest. I still don’t know, looking back, when I lost you. It’s a timeless story. We drift apart. We feel separate. The things we once said out of meaning soon become things we said out of habit, and then things we didn’t say at all. In the end, there was nothing to say. I drifted, and I lost focus. Starfleet shut down my project. I still don’t know why. They packed me off to Challenger like I had only been on temporary secondment. We all knew it was a farce, but since I was the actor and not the writer I could only play my part. Challenger was the same, yet different. Some of the same people. Some new faces, too. Whispers, when I didn’t return with you in tow, and then when I started acting … more flexibly … along certain dimensions. What can I say? I’ve grown tired of trying to be the good girl, the model scientist, the level-headed thinker with the fearsome work ethic and equitable demeanour. It was time I started learning how to fight for myself. At least, that seemed like a good solution at the time. Obviously it wasn’t, because here I am. This ship keeps trying to kill me. And this time, like so many other times, it almost succeeded. The difference now is that, in addition to the near-death experience I’m now going to have to recount to a counselor somewhere, I am also complicit in multiple illegal and unethical activities. I to—well, you don’t need to know the details. It was bad This is not the Starfleet I signed up for. This is not the Starfleet I want to serve. It’s not the fault of Challenger; it’s not the fault of the ship any more. It’s the uniform. It has blood on it, and not even a new one could possibly be clean. My only option then, it seems, is to resign. This probably sounds cliché, but I’m going to miss my crewmates. They are so … loyal. Even when I messed up, especially all the times I messed up, they never doubted me. Always there for me. I wish I could have always been there for them. I’m not a very good friend. This is not about them, though, or about me. It’s about what happened on that ship, and what Starfleet chose to do about it. I cannot, in good conscience, continue as Lieutenant Anastasia Poldara, chief science officer of USS Challenger. So, like a big girl, I’m going to run away. I don’t know where, whether I should stay on Earth, or maybe head out to Alpha Centauri. I hear the Daystrom Institute always wants new applicants. Or maybe I won’t even go into science as a civilian. I could get a job piloting long-haul shuttles out in the Kuiper Belt. Become a tour guide in the Vulcan Forge. Check out those beautiful cityscapes on Tellar that Hok always goes on about given half a chance. I don’t know where I’m going to end up or what I’m going to do. But here’s the thing: I might sound bitter now—I should sound bitter, because I am. This isn’t a sad moment, though, because I’m finally going to be free. I will make my own choices, and then I can live with those consequences. You look good. Family life suits you, Michael. I hope you’ve found something you were looking for. Maybe, one day, I’ll find it too. Yours, Anastasia Poldara OOC PS: For those not at the last sim, this is Anastasia's bow and my own. Challenger is a lovely place despite my character’s negativity—but my real life schedule makes it hard to keep attending. Aside from a leave of absence when I was living in the UK, I have been aboard Challenger since its inception. Being able to shape the sim from the beginning was a tremendous honour, and I have had so much fun aboard it with so many great players. I have no plans to leave Aegis or Excalibur. See you there!
  3. “Command School: Lesson Zero” Scott Coleridge ------------------------------------------- The air on the bridge was acrid, scrubbers working overtime to erase the stench of overloaded components and strained ODN relays. A distant shudder passed through the spine of the ship as something—the port impulse engine?—finally gave out. “Captain, they’re coming around for another volley. Our shields will not hold!” There was a grim note of panic in the tactical officer’s voice. Despite being an experienced veteran, he clearly was not ready to face death. “The Ventar ambassador is still insisting we’re in violation of their space, Captain. She is refusing to call off the attack vessels unless we retreat.” “You must get to the planet and rescue our people! As a representative from the Federation Council, that’s a direct order!” The pompous but no-less-imposing Federation Ambassador was red in the face from bellowing orders. “What are your orders, Captain? Captain Coleridge? Captain? Captain, we need your orders...” The ship shuddered again, this time in reaction to more weapons fire from the Ventari cruiser. Alarms went off as the shields collapsed and the warp core overloaded. Everything flashed a horrible, final white … … and then the holodeck reset itself, the bridge emptied of crew. Scott collapsed into the command chair, his pose one of resigned defeat. “You are really terrible at this, you know that, right?” The voice came from the only other person on the simulated bridge—though “person” was a misnomer. The nondescript middle-aged human male was a hologram like everything else around Scott. But this hologram had attitude. “Hey, I tried. Isn’t the whole point of the Kobayashi Maru test supposed to be character or whatever?” “This isn’t the Kobayashi Maru simulation. This one is supposed to be solvable! You’ve tried it nine times now, and each time you’ve actually done worse than the last. You’re regressing.” “So what would you suggest I do? Give up?” Part of Scott wondered if that was even an option. The hologram gave a little “harrumph.” “Me? Give up? I will have you know—” “Uh-oh. Here we go.” “—I am the premier Distance Command School Training Hologram. I was created by the—” “—the best and brightest, yes, I’ve heard—” “—best and brightest holo-engineers Starfleet could find; my algorithms were trained on the decisions made by Pike, Kirk, Garrett, Picard, and even a few captains of ships not named Enterprise. I am the training program of choice for officers on long tours of duty away from the Academy.” “I know. You’ve already given me that speech. Twice.” “Be. That. As. It. May.” Scott could almost swear he saw the hologram gritting its teeth with each word. “Suffice it to say that you might be my most challenging student. I have literally seen cadets perform better than you. But you will not be my last student. If there is any training program that could possibly forge you into even a mediocre commanding officer, it’s me.” Scott hopped out of the command chair and paced the bridge. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to be ‘command material,’ Napoleon.” “Napoleon?” “You need a name. It will make you more approachable.” “I’m not here to be approachable. I’m here to teach you how to lead.” “Maybe I’m not meant to lead, hmm? Like you said, nine tries, nine failures. And that’s just this simulation. We tried those easier ones first, and even those were difficult.” Scott stopped at this bridge’s engineering station. He ran his fingers along the console and its frozen read-outs. “How did you ever manage to command the engineering department with that attitude?” “Hmm?” Scott looked up. “Oh. I don’t know. I didn’t really ‘command’ it. People did things, and I signed off if it looked reasonable, or suggested alternatives if it didn’t. But they were really responsible for any success.” Napoleon narrowed his eyes. “I want to say you’re being modest, but the last two hours suggest otherwise.” He brought a hand up to his chin. “Why are you so set on being a command officer, then, if you are so dismally unsuitable for such a position?” “Oh I’m not. I just sort of … stumbled into the job.” “Stumbled … oh, please. Don’t tell me I’m trapped on one of those Starfleet vessels that got stranded halfway across the galaxy. You’re not going to keep me running all day until I develop strange ideas about holographic rights and liberation, are you?” Napoleon began to get a slightly desperate look on his face. “One uppity hologram is enough for the fleet, don’t you think?” “Whoa, whoa,” Scott held up a hand. “Slow down, Nappy. We haven’t gone full Voyager, no. But Aegis is … unique. Ramson could have imported an XO from somewhere else, but I guess she feels that no one she could get would be as good a ‘fit’ for the station as I am. Mind you, I think at this point she might be restarting her search.” Napoleon mumbled something about how that would be a prudent course of action but didn’t repeat it at an audible level. Instead he said, “So you are a reluctant XO.” “You could say that.” “Fine. Get over it, then.” “Excuse me?” The hologram pointed to the turbolift door with one hand, and then to the command chair with the other. “There’s the exit; there’s your chair. Which will it be?” “I don’t follow.” “Look, you’re in Starfleet, not the Super Happy Funtime Space Exploration Scouts. You’re a Commander in Starfleet. Commanding is your job. And if you don’t want to do your job, then you can either shut up and do it anyway, or you can resign. “Now, if you take the latter option, I can’t help you,” Napoleon continued. “But if and when you decide you want to stick around, sit in that chair and shut up, and we’ll start talking about how you can be a good XO.” Scott sat in the damned chair. And shut up. “OK, we’re going all the way back to Lesson Zero here. Don’t worry, I’ll speak slowly and use small words….”
  4. “Dear Mom and Dad” Scott Coleridge ------------------------------------- I got promoted again. I don’t know what I did wrong. Well, I have an inkling. Captain Ramson said something about being familiar with Aegis. Truth is, I’ve just been here for so long now I guess I’m a bit of a fixture. I had hoped that if I kept my head down and just rattled around engineering they’d leave me be. All I want to do is fix things, build things. Well, that and research more applications of Kalubi-Yau geometry to subspace transporter technology. You know. The usual. But I screwed up. See, I’m not really a good manager of people. That’s why I avoided taking over the engineering department in the first place. I’m all right in a crunch, but day-to-day, I have trouble delegating. I tend to get caught up, start micro-managing, and before you know it, I’m off somewhere in the lower decks. But the deal was that Jorahl could still deal with a lot of the management side while also being king of the shipyard. I should have known that would be too good to be true at the time, but what other choice did I have? The good thing about station engineering is that the department structure here is a lot looser than on a starship. Out there, in deep space, with anomalies and enemies nipping at your heels, everything has to run smoothly and—well, ship-shape. Here, it’s more like a rolling schedule of replacing the thing most likely to break next. Now combine that atmosphere with a larger proportion of enlisted personnel, as well on Aegis as a small corps of Romulan volunteers, and you get something very different from the hierarchy aboard a starship. Surprisingly, this actually worked in my favour. Everyone has their specialties; I just had to make sure people showed up on time and kept everything running. Truth is, I discovered that the less I managed, the more we all got done. Where was I? Right, the screw-up. My mistake was trying to distance myself from anything that felt like being chief engineer. That light touch ultimately did me in. Instead, I should have made myself so indispensable, made the smooth running of the department depend on my presence there. Then Ramson would have had no choice but to pass me over and … I don’t know. There must be someone else on Aegis better qualified than me for this position. Mimi was in command while we were off skulking around a mining planet. Then again, she’s probably the only one less interested in such a promotion than me. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Literally, I don’t know. Being executive officer has always seemed like a chore: all those reports, personnel tasks, etc. Maybe Dad can recommend some of those biographies of great leaders he’s always reading. Or biographies of great managers, hmm? Well, if you excuse me, I need to sneak into my old office. I have to retrieve my personal effects before Nijil clues into the fact I left him all the paperwork that accumulated while we were away and booby-traps it or something.
  5. “We Never Go Out of Style” Anastasia Poldara -------------------------------------------- After the transmission from the Einstein ended and Ja’Lale and Rinax had disappeared into the Captain’s Ready Room, Anastasia slumped in the chair at the science station, hoping her initial reaction had gone unnoticed. It was just … she hadn’t expected to see him here, of all places. Anastasia thought back to the first time she saw Brett Kincaid… The man’s swagger entered the room before he did. When he offered her his hand, it was far too warm. She avoided grimacing as she shook it. “Kincaid,” he said, obviously turning on the charm. “Poldara.” “Ah, yes—the computer scientist.” “Cyberneticist, actually. BCI and quantum logic gates.” Kincaid shrugged. “Whatever. Look, I know these group assignments aren’t supposed to be competitive, but I’ve got a couple of wagers going with some of the other cadets. I want to win this. So do you know any real science that could help us out?” “Oh, you want real science? Hmm … I think I made a volcano using acetic acid and sodium bicarbonate once. Would that help?” They did go on to win the competition, naturally. Kincaid was a self-absorbed, offensive jerk, but he was the second-best scientist in their year. What the two of them produced was far ahead of the other groups, their instructors had to admit. And so it came as no surprise to anyone when she or Kincaid invariably topped the charts in one science class after another. Their alternation in the top spot was almost rhythmic, with Kincaid having an edge in the physical sciences and Anastasia’s highly analytical, statistical bent serving her well in other areas. Yet this was not the cool, intellectual rivalry Anastasia had known in her formative years. There was a more bitter edge to her interactions with Kincaid, and almost always that smug lack of respect for what Anastasia did. He didn’t just set out to beat her. It was as if he wanted to show her that she was no scientist at all. There was a hunger to him that poisoned their rivalry, because he knew she was better than him. Anastasia knew this, because she recognized that hunger. She had felt it herself, twice before, when she met people who were just better scientists than her: smarter, cleverer, more open-minded or thoughtful or any of the qualities one needed for success in such endeavours. Whatever it was, Kincaid had it—but Anastasia had more of it. This was borne out when she graduated top of the class, Kincaid a close but forever second. Of course, observers mistook their sparks for attraction. Many remarked that it was inevitable they should become a couple—opposites and all that. Anastasia was, for her part, relieved she had never felt it, and if Kincaid had, he had certainly never sent any signals to that effect. Theirs remained purely a rivalry, no romance, doomed or otherwise, included. Anastasia had that, at least, to be thankful for. After distractedly responding to a report from Matheson, Anastasia pondered the last time she had seen Brett Kincaid… “Poldara! Wait up!” Anastasia turned, saw Kincaid quickly closing the gap between them with long strides. An athlete, like her, though he had never seen fit to take her up on that offer to teach him anbo-jytsu. “What?” “Off so soon? A bunch of us are going down to the bar for drinks.” “I’ve work to do, Kincaid.” “What work? We just finished our last exam. We’ll be Ensigns next week. Come celebrate.” “Why?” “Why not?” “No, I mean, why celebrate with you? Why keep up this charade? You don’t have to pretend you like me.” Kincaid’s smile faltered. He never failed to insinuate, but that was a far cry from the confrontational tack Anastasia now took. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always thought we challenged each other … made each other work harder, be better.” A snort escaped from her despite herself. “You, make me better? In your dreams. I would have been top of the class with or without you nipping at my heels.” “Is that so? Well, if you are such a hot scientist, why am I the one being posted to the Lexington while you go off to Jupiter Station, hmm? They’re about to embark on a six-month survey mission in Beta Quadrant.” “And Jupiter Station is doing cutting-edge work in the fields of nanotechnology and isolinear pathway engineering. I’m glad we’re both happy with where we’re going.” “But you’ll never make captain if you stay in the solar system all your life, Poldara.” “Why the hell would I want to be captain? So I can write reports instead of designing lab experiments? No, thanks. Climb the ladder all you want, Kincaid. I have more important things to do.” They didn’t stay in touch. Anastasia could vaguely recall hearing about his promotion to captain, his posting to the Einstein. But she hadn’t paid it much attention; Brett Kincaid was no longer a part of her life. So she had thought. Then she had rejoined Challenger, and despite it being a big galaxy, it obviously wasn’t big enough. Anastasia did the math. He was the same age as her, so he made captain extremely young. That was probably considered impressive. Mind you, captain of an Oberth-class vessel didn’t exactly have the same prestige as an Excelsior- or Constellation-class cruiser. It was barely a step up from a Miranda. But it was perfectly respectable for a science-track officer looking to command. Maybe he had changed, mellowed, become more tolerable. No, Anastasia had seen his demeanour on the viewscreen. That same smirk. Captain Brett Kincaid had not changed one bit. She could feel it, then, deep in her gut. The rumbling of the monster, the antithesis to Kincaid’s hunger. He made it easier, in some ways, because when she went up against him, she didn’t have to prove she was better than everyone else. He was better than everyone else, so by transitivity, all she had to do was best him, and QED. Hence the feeling, the exhilarating certainty. Every time they went head-to-head, every competition or collaboration. It didn’t matter how many times they settled the score in either’s favour: they always knew there would be another round. That’s the thing about rivalries. Even the ones that don’t end in romance are still like a candle flame: quick to gutter, but oh so difficult to extinguish.
  6. “The Dangers of Caring Too Little/Too Much” Scott Coleridge --------------------------------------------------------- The strangest thing about this place wasn’t the smell. Or rather, it was the smell, in that there wasn’t as much smell as one would expect. Existing almost entirely below ground in these impressively wrought cavernous chambers, the settlement must have relied on an equally impressive array of scrubbers to keep the air clean and breathable. As such, the ordinary scents that permeate a cosmopolitan mining settlement like this one weren’t so much in evidence, and it was beginning to get on Scott’s nerves. They lingered on Q street, worrying about Tarisa’s fate. He had bitten back a quick remark when Dacia offered that scanning device, half-remembered, well after it might have been useful in finding their missing companion. It was all he could do not to snap. But that wouldn’t have been fair to her. No, it wasn’t her fault that he had been hurled from a suborbital spacecraft, collided with the planet below, nearly broken two limbs, and now trekked through sand and stone to this desolate backwater excuse for a mine. And for what? So they could figure out why some Pakleds had been so excited to bring a bunch of rocks to Aegis? So they could figure out what a Horta was doing making the trip? Scott believed these questions were becoming increasingly academic. He was tired and hungry and very nearly broken. He had not come here to play the spy or the agent provocateur; despite all presentations to the contrary, he was not enthusiastic about this role he was trying to play. And now a member of their team was out there, alone and vulnerable, and that was partially his fault. In the dim artificial night it was hard to see very far down the length of Q street. Scott tried nevertheless, hoping that if he squinted he might somehow will Tarisa to round a corner and approach them. But it was not to be. What do you care, anyway, engineering man? a voice sneered inside him. It’s not like you took the time to get to know her, or even to say hello. Well, voice, that was probably true. Scott had never been the most outgoing of personalities, and lately his enthusiasm for getting to know the newest arrivals had diminished even further. Partly this was an effect of life on a space station. The stability that had drawn Scott to settle on Aegis concealed a fragility to the relationships aboard the station. Unlike a starship, which could be posted to deep space missions that might last the better part of a year or more without resupply or rendezvous, posting to Aegis could always be temporary and transitory. Even now, in its remote location, when it felt like Starfleet forgot about them in every other way, personnel regularly rotated. If you like Aegis like Scott did, then you could stay forever--but if you craved reassignment, getting out was not particularly difficult. So Scott was used to the comings-and-goings of engineers and other staff. He learned not to worry too much about remembering birthdays or names of children or partners. If they stayed, then they stayed, and he would get to know them--slowly, more gradually, but inevitably. If they went, well, then someone new, fresh-faced and on their first tour or dour and lined with the years of experience leading up to this one last assignment, would step in to fill the void. They called him “Sir,” and “Commander,” (at least to his face), and he called them by their rank, and life went on. So no, Scott had yet to get to know Tarisa as anything more than “that new Mithraan scientist.” They had exchanged few words outside conversation related to work. Now she was out there, attempting to recover their key to unlocking the mysteries of this place. And there was little he could do to help, except wait and hope for the best. Would she prevail and find her way back? Or was she already captured—or worse? The worry, which had begun as a complacent note of concern steadily throttling up towards hysteria was now a twisted knot in his gut. Scott thought he might be sick. Give him something broken. Give him something to be built, no matter what parts or time are available. He can do it; that was his thing. But to ask him to stand by and wait while someone else--someone he had barely taken the time to know--risked herself for them and the mission? Scott would never get used to that, not in all his years of service.
  7. “Stranded Scott vs the Staring Sensors” Scott Coleridge ---------------------------------------------------- “Stop it. “Stop it! “I told you to stop staring at me!” Scott bounded across the barren, rocky landscape until he was mere centimetres away from its mocking, ever-smiling face. Its expression, locked into that horrible rictus, reminding him of the folly of his situation. “You think this is funny, huh? Commander Scott Coleridge can’t get sensors or communications working, hmm?” The Mark XV Hostile Terrain Complete Sensor Suite did not reply. It was the strong, silent type. Scott crossed his arms, the fabric of his jumpsuit crinkling in an unseemly fashion. “Fine. Be that way. In fact …” He reached down, picked up a rock. Scored a line clearly in the soil between him and the sensor package. “This is my side. That is your side. You stay on your side. I’ll stay on my side. Happy?” Scott was not happy. His arm hurt, for one thing. He thought it might be broken, but his tricorder wasn’t working. Maybe the wrist was sprained. That, combined with his headache, fatigue, hunger, and mild dehydration, and the incredible rudeness of his companion, and he was not having a good time. He kicked at another rock. There were a lot of them. So many--Scott shook his head. No good pursuing that train of thought--he was starting to sound like the Pakleds! He could see the appeal of this place to them though. Sitting down on another rock (this one larger and with a flatter, sheared surface), Scott took a few deep breaths. He began to meditate. The “landing,” if you could call it such, was mostly a blur. His last clear memory was off watching the rest of the team recede into the distance. He remembered trying to shout something over the comm, only for his words to be reflected back in his ear along with bursts of static. The ground hurtled towards him with frightening speed. He triggered his chute, but he wasn’t oriented properly, or his arm had been in the way, or something … there was a sharp pain, a tugging, and then his arm was free and the chute deployed and his feet soon had solid ground beneath them again. He glanced over at the sensor suite. It hadn’t moved. It just stared at him. The controls on the side facing him, the ones that looked like an ersatz smile, still showed an error readout. Damaged in the landing, or maybe during the jump. Typical. Scott had no idea where the rest of the team had landed. With his suit’s communications down, he had no way to contact them or Aegean. With the sensor package inoperable, he had no way to locate them. Fortunately, he had a plan. From the utility pocket on the leg of his suit, Scott produced his mini-spanner. Shielding it from the sensor suite’s field of view, he twisted the bottom of the spanner’s grip, felt its comforting weight and the hum of its servo mechanisms. Yes, it would do nicely as a murder weapon. Scott was almost certain the sensor suite suspected nothing. The whole “my side, your side” thing hopefully threw it off, lulled it into a false sense of security. It wouldn’t expect him to make the first move, and then--BAM. Too late, it would have no time to fight back. With the sensor package disabled, Scott would tear into its guts and find the power source, then trigger a short circuit in the capacitor grounding mechanism. Forty-six point five seconds later--plenty of time to get to a safe distance--and it would overload and discharge rather violently. The resulting explosion would be enough for Aegean or the team to detect his approximate position. It would also attract the attention of anyone else out there. But at this point, Scott just wanted to be rescued. Scott hefted the spanner in his hand. It was a shame the sensor suite would have to make this noble sacrifice. But it was either this, or they would both die out here. Scott wanted to live. He squeezed the fingers of his good hand around the spanner’s gripped, stood up, and turned to face the sensor package. “Look, maybe I was a little harsh earlier. Let me apologize…”
  8. “Return” Cdr. Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------- Tandaris trained the viewer on Camelot Station as soon as it was within range. He noted, with a twinge of regret, that a familiar Akira-class vessel was docked. Had it really been nearly a year since he had last been in the Gamma Quadrant? But he was back now, the Audacity ferrying him, his new Scorpiad bestie G’jj;k, and Admiral Northway. The two Starfleet officers left the Scorpiad in confinement as they went aboard the station. Northway and Tandaris had argued for nearly a month over the plan. He claimed he was all for Tandaris and G’jj;k going along, but that “more conservative elements” of the leadership were not keen on the idea. Tandaris recognized this hedging for what it was: neither he nor the Scorpiad were trustworthy enough to be sent. Alas, Starfleet had little choice. G’jj;k would not divulge the location of the hatchery, only lead them to it. And without its knowledge of perimeter defenses, they would not be able to sneak in. Tandaris--well, he wasn’t quite as essential, but G’jj;k refused to go unless Tandaris would accompany it. And his ship memories could perhaps be useful to the mission. It was crazy, what Tandaris had proposed. Steal a baby Scorpiad ship? Tandaris still had bad dreams about the time he and Marius tr’Lorin had been abducted by a Scorpiad shuttle they had … er … Tandaris had acquired Scorpiad ships had minds of their own--Tandaris of all people knew that now--and would not easily be stolen. There was a way, though. As a ship captain, G’jj;k had learned certain methods of taming a newborn ship and letting it imprint on new commanders. If they could infiltrate the hatchery, steal an egg about ready to be hatched, and hatch it themselves, then Starfleet would have its very own Scorpiad ship. The people Northway reported to--Tandaris doubted many of them were admirals, or even in Starfleet--were salivating over this prospect. It surprised Tandaris that G’jj;k was on board with this plan. “You realize,” he asked it one day, the feeds again “malfunctioning” while they conversed in private, “that even if we succeed with our plan and you escape, Starfleet still has a ship? Not a tame ship like they would like, but a ship nonetheless?” “Irrelevant.” It almost sounded like an insult. “One ship, an infant, is not going to help you bring my empire to its knees.” It also seemed undaunted by its long absence from the empire. This time, in a session with Northway, Tandaris asked, “You’ve been away for centuries. How do you know this hatchery is still there, or that you can get us past the defenses?” “Your ponderous questioning grows irksome. Clearly your memories of our time together have taught you little about my people. We do not abandon hatcheries lightly. The conditions required--stellar density, solar wind velocity, ambient temperature--are quite constraining. It will be there. And its defenses will be as they always were. Not even the Dominion managed to penetrate into a hatchery.” It had taken weeks, but eventually Northway had given the go-ahead. And so now they were back in the Gamma Quadrant, having one last meeting before embarking. As they walked through the corridors of the station, Northway briefed Tandaris on the political situation for the past year. He mentioned the upheaval among the Vorta upon learning that the Founders weren’t on sabbatical but actually gone. With the Dominion leadership so weakened, some worlds were beginning to chafe beneath the Jem’Hadar-enforced yolk. “And something,” Northway added, “has the Scorpiads worried.” “Oh?” “They’ve requested a meeting. Not just them--the Al-Ucard and the Eratians too. Highest level. And they specifically requested that Excalibur conduct the meeting.” “I see. Well, best of luck to them.” They stopped outside a meeting room door. “You’ll be joining them.” Tandaris blinked. “What? But the mission--” “It’s the perfect cover and the perfect opportunity. The meeting place is just inside Scorpiad space, within light-years of the hatchery if our information is accurate. And you know most of the crew of Excalibur already; you know what they can do. While the ship and some of the crew stay for the talks, you will take a smaller team to infiltrate the hatchery.” Mixed emotions flooded Tandaris. He had left Excalibur abruptly, hadn’t really even said goodbye to most people. It would be good to go back. Yet at the same time, how could he, knowing he planned to betray them all and help G’jj;k escape, at the cost of lives? “One more thing,” Northway said as they entered the room. “The Scorpiads didn’t just request Excalibur; they were very particular about who they wanted to conduct the talks.” The room was not empty. Rather, a familiar figure stood with his back to the entrance, staring out the window at the starfield beyond. His long, white hair cascaded down his shoulders. He wore a Starfleet uniform that was too new, that fit too perfectly, and he wore it with a mixture of confidence and second thoughts. Tandaris recognized that feeling, just as surely as he recognized Ah-Windu Corizon. Corizon deigned to turn around, his eyes briefly lighting up as he saw Tandaris, a small smirk creeping across his face. "Ah, Mister Admiran. Good to see I'm not the only one whose retirement was cut short." The End
  9. “Intelligence” Cdr. Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------- “OK, Greg, let me see if I have this right.” Once again, Tandaris read back his notes to the hulking, arachnoid creature in the specially-constructed room on the unlisted starbase that was their prison. G’jj;k bristled--as much as a being with an exoskeletal carapace instead of fur could bristle--whenever Tandaris used the Anglicized moniker, but there was little the captive Scorpiad could do about it. “That is correct,” G’jj;k gave its assent. This had been their working relationship for the past six months. The Audacity had delivered its payload to this base, then Tandaris had bid goodbye to Abrams and her team in a not-so-teary farewell. Scientists poked and prodded G’jj;k to the very limits of its tolerance, but then they left it unharassed. Instead, Starfleet Intelligence seemed happy to let Tandaris handle the Scorpiad, in return for a steady stream of information. It was not easy, even with their little arrangement. G’jj;k was centuries out of date. It had no idea what the current structure of the Scorpiad Empire was like. When Tandaris had recounted the Federation’s contact with the Dominion and the subsequent quadrant-spanning war, it had scoffed at the idea that the Dominion could ever have grown so powerful. “They captured you,” Tandaris pointed out. That, the Scorpiad claimed, had been a tactical error on its part--the last it intended to make. Tandaris was no fool. He could see the way G’jj;k’s eyes scanned every detail of every bulkhead, looking for a way out. If it could find one, it would take it, regardless of its deal with Tandaris. Honour was a concept that existed for the Scorpiad, but it was a different concept. And memories of a ship or no, Tandaris understood he didn’t rate too highly in G’jj;k’s priorities. So for months, bit by bit, Tandaris gleaned as much knowledge as he could. He learned more about the Dominion base at where G’jj;k had been imprisoned. Together, they reconstructed basic schematics for some of the more simple Scorpiad ships and handheld weapons--in all these centuries, Scorpiad technology had not changed all that much. G’jj;k must not have thought the Federation such a threat if it was willing to hand this over to them. Its arrogance was astounding, would have been laughable in a being any smaller or any less imposing. But it was a Monday when G’jj;k dropped the ultimate bombshell. Tandaris could almost feel the bored ensign listening to the monitoring feed sit straight, suddenly alert. They weren’t even discussing any specific intelligence. Tandaris had, as was his habit, taken a break to ask G’jj;k some questions about their time together as captain and ship. The Scorpiad could fill the gaps in his memory and sharpen recollections that had been dulled by so much time limited to a single body of flesh. And during one of these conversations, G’jj;k casually remarked, “I was there when you were hatched. You were magnificent: the newest, sleekest of your kind.” “Did you just say you were there when I was hatched?” “Yes.” “Scorpiad ships are … hatched?” “How else would you construct an organic ship?” Well, when you put it that way. For the next hour and a half, G’jj;k described in detail the birthing process. Leptertus technicians harvest the genetic material from up to a dozen parent vessels, tweaking the DNA cocktail until they have arrived at the combination of strength, stealth, intelligence, and all the other factors they desired. The DNA was injected in an egg, which was then incubated on a moon specially designated as a hatchery. Along with hundreds of its siblings, the egg would grow larger and larger, until finally it was ready to be detached from the moon and towed into space. From there, it would naturally hatch over the course of several days, the warp limbs and weapons struts of the new vessel emerging gradually from the shell. “Greg …” said Tandaris, his voice unusually strained, “I don’t suppose you would happen to know where such a hatchery might be?” “Of course!” With those two words, Tandaris knew that somewhere in the depths of Starfleet Intelligence’s arcane bureaucracy, wheels of procedure had begun to spin faster than ever. And he was about to get his chance … his chance to do what, precisely, he still wasn’t sure.
  10. “Introductions” Cdr. Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------- The forcefield hummed at its particular frequency, the invisible barrier the only thing keeping the Scorpiad from lashing out and destroying both Tandaris and the marine posted as a guard. He didn’t argue when Tandaris ordered him out—he’s a good marine, trained to follow orders. Even unwise ones. The Scorpiad did not move the entire time Tandaris was with the guard, but once alone, it approached the forcefield. It raised a single limb in a way reminiscient of a benediction, but Tandaris recognized it for what it was: a challenge. Before Tandaris made any overture, he went to the control console. Disabling the security feeds was child’s play. Thus secured against eavesdropping, he turned back to the Scorpiad. “I know you can understand me, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t speak in scents and whispers,” Tandaris said. “I recognize you. What I want to know is if you recognize me.” A minute passed before the Scorpiad gave any indication it was going to reply. Finally, it said, “In the battle, your noises reminded me of something I knew once, long ago. But it’s not possible.” “Oh, it’s possible. More than that … it’s true.” Tandaris stepped closer, the forcefield just in front of his face now. And he added a single word, one difficult for a humanoid mouth to reproduce, but it comes from the effortless recall of memory, of identity. If it is possible for a Scorpiad to be surprised, then this one shows it. “I don’t believe you.” “I—it—was damaged. Centuries after you were captured. Another captain, a new crew. They died. It was dying. There are new powers at work in this quadrant. One of them found it, investigated—that’s what they do, they call it exploration but they are just as imperialist as us, as you, just nicer about it. Me, this individual, I was part of that team.” Tandaris pointed to his abdomen. “I have a symbiont, a creature with whom I share my body and my mind. It has memories of all its previous hosts. Somehow, when I began interacting with the ship’s systems, it discovered it could download its memories into my symbiont. “I remember everything. Meeting you. Feeling your mind through the link only captains have. Learning your habits. The battles. The hunts. The victory at Tervanian Prime.” Tandaris’ voice has taken on a steely edge, and his eyes seemed light-years away now. “You were my first captain.” “I still don’t understand.” “Then listen.” Hours passed as Tandaris began to tell his story. He started from the beginning, compressing decades into minutes as he described the history that he and the Scorpiad shared, establishing his identity beyond any shadow of doubt. Then he continued past their separation, bringing his captain up to speed on Gamma Quadrant history and recent events. “So I will remain a prisoner, and you are my jailor.” “In a sense,” Tandaris said. “But view it as an opportunity. At least you are no longer in stasis. In time, the Federation might decide to trade you for something it wants from the empire. Until then, you will be treated—we are soft in that way. They want whatever information you can provide.” “But if I say nothing, I will not be tortured?” “No. Although I should warn you, many will argue that you’re a security risk as it is. Already the commander of this vessel wants to terminate you. I am the only thing standing in her way.” “Ah, so this is the reason you are here. You want to impress upon me my dependence on you.” Tandaris shrugged. “I’m your ship. But I’m also not. I want—need—to learn from you, to better understand what’s happened to me. Beyond that, I don’t care what happens to you.” “I see. And what, exactly, will you do for me if I agree to cooperate?” Tandaris smiled. This was why he had disabled the security feeds. “Why, I will help you escape, of course.” “You would side with your former captain over your loyalty to these people?” “These people view me as almost as big a security risk as they view you. This condition, through no fault of my own, has made me unreliable. Suspect. And they have treated me unfairly as a result. I owe you nothing … and I owe them nothing. You have your cage. I have mine.” He pointed at the Starfleet insignia on his chest. The Scorpiad indicated its understanding by crossing its two uppermost limbs. “Very well. For the times we shared together, I will accept your proposal. But if you cross me, I will cut you down before you have time to second-guess your mistake.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m Admiran. Tandaris Admiran.” Tandaris knew the Scorpiad’s full name already, of course. The pattern of its owner’s mind was seared on his memory. But for humanoid mouths, the closest transcription was something like G’jj;k. And herein lay Tandaris’ advantage. After years together, Tandaris knew how G’jj;k thought, how it schemed and reasoned and acted. Admiran’s other memories, the blending of hosts, meant that Tandaris would remain largely a cipher to G’jj;k, unpredictable and erratic even though he was in other ways familiar. “Tell your commander that I will cooperate, provided you are my liaison.” And just like that, for the first time in a long time, Tandaris did not feel quite so alone.
  11. “Discovery” Cdr. Tandaris Admiran -------------------------------- “So what you’re telling me is this that you’re carrying around the memories of a Scorpiad warship in your symbiont? And this thing was the commander of that ship?” Abrams’ voice fluctuated between disbelief and derision. “That’s about the size of it,” Tandaris said. The two of them sat alone in the captain’s ready room. Abrams had redecorated it in such a way as to make it feel even more spartan than a Defiant-class starship’s ready room would feel by default. She had missed her calling, going into elite strategic recon and retrieval. Abrams stared at him in a transparent attempt to unnerve him. Just because he was aware of the tactic didn’t make it any less effective. Tandaris remained unflustered, for two reasons. Firstly, he was tired of superior officers pushing him around. He was past the point of caring, and if Abrams didn’t want to play ball, then tough. Secondly, he had just made the most profound discovery of his life. He had found someone--maybe the only person--who could make sense of what had happened to him. It was a vain hope, really. Even if this Scorpiad believed Tandaris’ story, and even if it cared, there was nothing to say that it had any special knowledge that could shed light on Tandaris’ unique condition. But it was all the hope he had these days. Unable to find any hint of subterfuge, Abrams shrugged. “Right. Well, this is beyond my pay grade. I’m happy enough to let the Admiral call the shots on this one. All I need to know is: is this thing”--she refused to even acknowledge it as anything else--“dangerous?” “Unquestionably. You are talking about one of the most brutal, aggressive, and intelligent species in the Gamma Quadrant. The Scorpiads were the bogeymen of the Dominion’s nightmares.” “Then we have to eliminate it, here and now.” Tandaris leaned forward across the table. “You can’t be serious.” “Commander, our mission was to retrieve a stasis pod and return with it to starbase. At no time did the Admiral ever mention he wanted us to bring back a live Scorpiad. If it poses a danger to this ship, not to mention the starbase, then I’m eliminating the danger before it becomes a problem.” She did not add, before we lose any more lives, but she might as well have done. Tandaris shuddered at the memory. Beta Team had eventually fought its way to their position. By the time they made it, the creatures had dispatched everyone except for him and the reanimated Scorpiad, which had continued to study him but refused to talk. Any time Tandaris had so much as twitched, it had snarled and moved in such a menacing manner as to discourage further action. Beta Team had managed to cut through the dampening field and beam them all back to the Audacity. They had erected Level 5 forcefields in the cargo bay and placed the Scorpiad, too big for the brig by far, there, where it currently awaited its fate at Abrams’ hands. It had spared Tandaris for reasons no one onboard had been aware of until now, excepting him. And Tandaris wasn’t even sure he understood how the Scorpiad had recognized him. “Major, if you kill it, you are throwing away one of the best research opportunities Starfleet has come across in decades. This is a living Scorpiad. But its information is out of date. It doesn’t know anything about the Federation or the Alpha Quadrant. It is a source of valuable intelligence on Scorpiad habits and technology, if we play our cards right.” “OK, say I buy that argument,” Abrams said. “What cards should we play?” Tandaris relaxed visibly. The Major was abrasive, but she understood how the game worked. If he could lay out a convincing case for keeping the Scorpiad around, she would acquiesce. All he had to do was sound sane, something that was increasingly challenging these days. “Let me talk to it. I’ll try to explain … the situation. I’ll keep it ambiguous though, nothing that hints at previous hostilities with the Federation. If I can calm it down, maybe I can convince it that the best thing to do is play along with us for the time being.” “What makes you think it will accept that?” “If it thinks that the best way to escape is to wait, watch, and bide its time, it will do exactly that. I just have to present an ideal scenario for such a course of action.” Abrams turned to the monitor at her desk. She tapped at it and turned it towards Admiran. It displayed a live feed from the brig: the Scorpiad was currently sitting in the centre of the cell, unresponsive. “You’re telling me you can make this thing cooperate?” “I can’t make it do anything. But I can persuade it that cooperation is in its best interests, for now.” Abrams did the staring thing again. For a moment Tandaris felt a brief, now unfamiliar twinge of empathy. In a way, she was in a position similar to his; she too had superior officers who could and would exact a price for anything they perceived as a mistake on her part. When her response came, it was with confidence and clarity. “Don’t mess up.” She didn’t have to add that it would be on both their heads if anything went wrong. So armed with his superior’s assent, Admiran left the ready room and made directly for the brig to see his other superior. They had quite a lot of catching up to do.
  12. “Retrieval” Tandaris Admiran ----------------------- “It’s time.” Tandaris already knew this. He had felt the shift in vibrations as the Audacity had dropped out of warp and settled directly into orbit. The Defiant-class vessel had been refitted for stealth, but its power balance was still way off, and its rides weren’t as smooth as Excalibur’s. Not that he missed his old ship or anything. Well, not much. Major Abrams’ voice snapped Tandaris out of whatever memories had lately resurfaced, dragging him back to the present. She had come up behind him—his fault for sitting with his back to the door—and, as befit her training, had made hardly a sound. Tandaris placed his PADD on the table, slid his tray of uneaten salad and beans forward for no particular reason, and stood. He opened his mouth to address her before realizing that she was addressing the room entire, and having made her announcement, was already on her way out. It had been that way since Tandaris had come aboard the Audacity. Now, as he stood on the transporter pad next to Vassir and the rest of Alpha Team, she chose that moment to send him a private comm. “My orders make it perfectly clear that we are to return with the Scorpiad at all costs. My team understands that and understands the risk. Make no mistake, though: they said nothing about your return being part of the mission. If there’s a choice between you or my team, I won’t hesitate. You won’t be around to contradict the report.” Tandaris barely had a chance to gulp, let alone reply, before he felt the subaudible whine the preceded transport. A few seconds later, he was standing in the same room where the away team from Excalibur had materialized so many months ago. A few metres away, the lift to access the lower levels awaited them. He heard the familiar whine of a transporter as Beta Team followed on their heels, ready to secure the area and await their return to the surface. Alpha Team’s tech, Alex Mingram, moved forward to check the lift’s status while his comrades covered him. “Clear,” he said. They crowded into the confined space. Tandaris punched in the floor that was their first destination. The doors closed, and the lift shuddered as it began its descent. Occasional jolts and an unconstant speed reminded everyone aboard that it was on its last legs. Tandaris felt sweat trickling down the back of his environmental suit. The model was slightly different from the one to which he was accustomed: newer, one QA round short of experimental. The joints had slightly improved flexibility; the HUD was more responsive. He liked it as a piece of technology, but he hated that he was somewhere that required it. The lift groaned as it stopped at their destination. After their exit, there was a second, more gradual moan as the lift began to slide farther down the shaft. It gradually picked up speed until it became a humming, sparking wreck that culminated in a satisfying, if unfortunate, crash. “We never planned to come back this way anyway,” said Vassir. To Tandaris, she added, “Lead on, Commander.” They walked two abreast. The lab that housed the Scorpiad stasis pod was not accessible from the main lift system, which was why it had remained preserved for so long. They would need to take a roundabout route to reach it. Before leaving the Audacity, each team member had memorized the route. Actually walking it, suppressing the atavistic urge to flee the darkness and the staccato sounds of implied but unperceived life, was another matter. “Sensors don’t show any life yet,” said Corporal Lundrum, who had taken point. “Those things don’t show up on sensors,” Mingram replied, tightening his grip on his rifle. “Remember? That’s how those engineers discovered them on the—” Vassir cut them off. “Quiet. No unnecessary chatter.” With the environmental suits forcing them to use comms rather than speak aloud, there was no danger of idle conversation alerting the creatures to their presence. Vassir knew this as well, so Tandaris shot her a grateful look. Then he stopped in front of a small access hatch. “Here,” he said. “Through here, three levels down, then over to an auxiliary lift.” He stooped to open the hatch. It resisted, requiring more force than he had wanted to exert. Positioning his foot so he could push off from the wall, he gave the hatch another tug. It pulled away from the wall with a hideous ringing that echoed down the corridor. The marines, already standing stock straight, stiffened. “Maybe there aren’t any left in this section,” Mingram began optimistically, until distinctive chittering required him to revise his statement. “Maybe there aren’t many left…” Alpha Team automatically spread into a semi-circle. Lundrum wriggled through the hatch first, followed by Mingram and Tandaris, with Vassir and the other two going last. They made it to the next lift without incident, only to discover that the lift’s controls were offline and the manual override had fused. With a series of well-chosen expletives shared between them, the engineers set to work while the rest of the marines kept watch. The lab itself was almost pristine compared to the state of the rest of the base. It was as if this area, unlike the others, had simply observed an orderly shutdown. As with most Dominion facilities, there were no chairs to be toppled. But the consoles and workstations gleamed as if they had just been cleaned; trays of tools and specimen containers sat in the middle of the room, ready for the next time they were needed. And on one end of the room, tucked in a corner by itself, the Scorpiad pod slumbered. It was large, as it needed to be, and out of place among the sleek Dominion technology. Tandaris felt a twinge in his gut as he recognized its intensely organic contours. He was so close! Without thinking, he rushed ahead and laid his hand against the side of the pod. He ignored a chastising hiss from Vassir as he began consulting the nearby readout screen, muttering to himself all the while. Vassir quickly handed out assignments. “Lundrum and Hislaaan, cover this exit. Auberk, you and I’ll take that door.” She nodded to the tech, Mingram, to help Tandaris. “Quick as you can, boys.” Mingram began setting up the transport enhancers that would allow them to beam the entire pod back to Audacity’s sickbay. Tandaris continued to evaluate the pod’s status. It was amazing that, after all these centuries, it still functioned. Its occupant, a middle-aged Scorpiad, was still alive. In all their decades of possessing it, the Dominion researchers here had never tried to open the pod or revive their prisoner. When an alarm went off and all the displays on the pod’s exterior went black, Tandaris suddenly had an inkling as to why. “What is that racket?” demanded Lundrum. Tandaris had already jumped to one of the lab stations and was attempting to activate the remote interface. “It appears that the pod has a built-in security system to prevent tampering.” “Whatever. Can you turn it off?” “Um … no. I need an authorization code, or about five more hours to get around it.” In the cacophony that was the pod alarm, no one heard the chittering sound until it was too late. With no warning, a posse of the carapaced creatures that had so terrorized the Excalibur team descended upon the lab from all directions, attracted to the enticing smell from a brand new, untouched area. With no more time for debate, speculation, or recrimination, Vassir snapped to Tandaris, “Just prep it for transport!” and raised her rifle, squeezing off shot after shot. Tandaris bent over the pod again, his tricorder scanning for any more booby traps. Behind him, Mingram shouted, “Ready on my end. Admiran?” “Let’s do it.” “Mingram to Audacity. Energize.” The pod didn’t dematerialize. There was no hum, no curtain of energy. Mingram and Tandaris’ expressions both fell, and they rushed to check their respective charges simultaneously. All the systems checked out—except one. “It’s the dampening field,” Mingram said. “The enhancers are fine. We just can’t get through to the Audacity.” “Then we move the pod!” shouted Vassir. “We’ll take the auxiliary lift and rendezvous at the alternative extraction point. Let’s go, people!” Mingram turned to help Tandaris disconnect the pod from the base’s computer interface. He was deploying a pair of antigrav lifters from his pack when the console next to him exploded. From the sparks and shrapnel, one of the creatures emerged and launched itself at Mingram’s neck. He emitted a gurgle and fell to the floor, rolling madly from side to side while the creature found itself an even more secure grasp. Tandaris moved to assist but found the way blocked by two more of the creatures. They shouldered at each other, competing to see who would get to tear out his throat first. Tandaris tried to use this momentary distraction to his advantage. As he backed away, he tripped over an exposed panel, falling backwards. The creatures were upon him in a heartbeart. Claws made quick work of the environmental suit. So much for the armour-plating or the responsive, just-in-time forcefield technology. The creatures ripped through the chestplate. Just as they reached flesh, one of their tails came down hard on his faceplate. Spiderwebs of cracks blossomed across his field of vision, and that was when Tandaris knew he was going to die. He screamed. It was a raw, primal thing. It was a Scorpiad scream. Suddenly, the pain diminished, and the horrific weight was pulled off his chest. Tandaris managed to sit up. The faceplate’s self-repair mechanism began its work, and gradually his vision cleared. He gasped. Standing in front of him was a Scorpiad, one claw neatly snipping a creature in half while the other crushed a creature’s head. It flung the corpses into two approaching attackers before turning in another direction and letting loose a ferocious sound. It made short work of the other creatures in the area, including the one feasting on Mingram, before it turned its attention back to Tandaris. “Uh-oh,” Tandaris said. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the worst. So when the Scorpiad squatted--as best as Scorpiads could squat--and squinted--as best as Scorpiads could squint, which wasn’t very well--at him, Tandaris opened one eye. “Uh … hello?” What he saw made him open the other eye and stare, long and hard, at the being in front of him. This was no ordinary Scorpiad, no run-of-the-mill soldier or labourer. This was an elite Scorpiad, bred to command and rule. And even among all the myriad Scorpiads who could claim such a lineage, this one was special to him in particular. This one was his captain.
  13. N.B.: This is a six-part series of logs spanning the time that Tandaris has been absent from Excalibur, explaining why he left and what he has been doing since. "Opportunity" "Retrieval" "Discovery" “Introductions” “Intelligence" "Return" “Opportunity” Tandaris Admiran ----------------------- “Well then,” Swain said. “If you want someone to order my crew down there, you’ll have to find someone else to do it. And I wouldn’t count on finding that someone aboard this ship.” Abronvonvich didn’t like that answer, but despite himself, he respected it. “Then what do you propose?” “That if you want to continue investigating this planet and those creatures, which I highly recommend against, that you send a full bio-hazard team with a full complement of marines to do it.” “That could take months to put together...” “Well, they’re not going anywhere, now are they?” *** The Holy Grail was neither particularly crowded nor particularly full at this time of day. That would change soon, when the current shift came off duty and the regulars filtered in. Tandaris was sitting alone at a table near the back, two empty glasses in front of him and a third—not quite so empty—in his hand. The Excalibur was barely three hours back at Camelot, and he had already found his way here. His combadge was in his other hand. He stared at it. He had been staring at it for the past two hours, contemplating everything this small, shiny object represented. Once—a long time ago—it had symbolized something great to Tandaris. A freshly joined Trill, he had entered the Academy with a sense of optimism that had been refreshing to Admiran. After five eventful lifetimes, each one full of incredible heights and equally awful nadirs, Starfleet had represented a new beginning, a way to escape everything else that had come before. And it had been that beginning he had needed, for so many years. Despite all our centuries of coexisting, we have yet to see what effect an insane symbiont would have on a joined Trill . . . nor are we anxious to find out. Then the Scorpiads came. And one of their ships had muscled its memories into Admiran’s mind, and suddenly Tandaris’ predecessors numbered not five but six. He had tried coping in so many ways: getting counselling, not getting counselling; ignoring it, dealing with it; moving through it, moving on with it. Everything had seemed to work, for a time, but he kept returning to a basic, insurmountable obstacle: he had changed. This transformation was exactly that, and he didn’t like who he had become. He could feel it now, sitting alone in this bar, the ship’s memories pressing in on his current experiences like old associations triggered by a passing fragrance. Little more than instincts and fragments of moments, more a predatory recollection than any true intelligence, but enough to put an edge to everything Tandaris said or did. Enough that he had been having trouble, for a while now, to empathize. To care. He had been going through the motions, and so far no one had noticed—and that was somehow even worse. You have to let me do this…. But Swain hadn’t. Couldn’t, really. Tandaris knew that. Recognized how hard that decision had been for his captain. Sometimes leadership meant telling people what they didn’t want to hear and then dealing with the consequences. Tandaris sighed and replaced the combadge where it belonged on his uniform. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. Where else would he go? On the run in the Gamma Quadrant? To the bosom of Vernas’ R&D outfit? There were always options, but none of them seemed quite viable. Downing his drink, he raised his hand for the waiter to bring him another. He stared down at his empty glass until someone approached and put the replacement on the table next to the two that were already there. “Appreciated,” he muttered. “You’re running quite a tab,” the waiter said, in a voice that was most un-waiterlike. Tandaris looked up and found himself staring instead at a Vice Admiral. He blinked, trying to decide between respectful acknowledgement and surly irreverence. As was all too usual these days, he opted for the latter. “I’m just getting started.” Without asking, the anonymous admiral sat in the chair opposite Tandaris. “You’re Commander Tandaris Admiran, just came back on the Excalibur.” “This is true.” “From Domaria V, investigating the disappearance of the Augustine.” “Also true, if your clearance is high enough, which I suppose it must be.” Tandaris raised the glass to take a sip. “Where you found deadly creatures of potential Dominion origin, no trace of the Augustine crew, and a Scorpiad suspended in stasis.” The glass froze at Tandaris’ lip. “You have very high clearance.” The admiral grinned. It was not a nice, friendly sort of grin. It was the kind of grin that revealed a line of too-white teeth and hinted at a past better left buried. “Let’s just say that certain elements of your mission reports caught the eyes of my deputies, so they landed on my desk.” “We’ve been back three hours. I doubt half of us have filed mission reports yet.” Tandaris had just filed his before leaving the ship. “My people are very efficient. Something you will no doubt experience firsthand, should you choose to accept the proposal I have for you.” Tandaris took a sip from his fresh drink as he considered the admiral’s words. He took his time in constructing a response. “Oh. Really?” “Allow me to introduce myself.” The admiral leaned in closer. “I’m Vice Admiral Ken Northway. I run what you might call the ‘acquisitions’ department of Starfleet Intelligence. When we get wind of technology or any other items that might be of interest to Starfleet, my people handle the retrieval component.” Tandaris thought he could see where this was going, but he nodded and went along. “What does this have to do with me?” “Your Captain Swain denied your request to return to the surface, alone or with a team, and retrieve the Scorpiad stasis capsule. I want to give you that chance.” Cue the derisive snort. “You can’t be serious. I don’t agree with Swain’s decision, but it’s done. Domaria is under quarantine.” Northway shrugged. “You and I both know that the quarantine is an ineffective deterrent to anyone determined to get their hands on that technology, like the Klingons. The moment they get a hint there’s something of real strategic value—like a preserved Scorpiad soldier—down there, they will return when they think we aren’t paying attention. We need to get there first. I can send a strike team down there, but their chances of success go up dramatically with you along for the ride. Your first-hand experience of the base, not to mention your knowledge of Scorpiad technology, is essential here.” Say what you will about Northway’s slippery exterior: he knew how to flatter a Trill. And Tandaris’ heart had started beating faster—though maybe that was the alcohol. “Let’s say I do this. I assume it would mean a leave of absence from Excalibur.” “For several months. A mission like this will take weeks of planning, time for you to prep and train with your team. And I expect we will need you around for the initial aftermath, assuming we succeed.” For the few minutes Northway had sat there talking to Tandaris, there had never been any question in either of their minds as to whether Tandaris would say yes. It was a foregone conclusion. Northway was an expert at recruitment and knew how to close a sale. And the moment he had offered Tandaris a way to achieve what Swain had denied him, he had felt that flutter of memory stir again. He wanted—needed—to recover that Scorpiad. It was important. We cannot stand by and watch Tandaris inflict further damage to the symbiont…. The host has been compromised, far beyond what any symbiont should ever experience. Tandaris put down his glass, barely consumed. He fixed Northway with his most serious expression, then held out his hand in that gesture of greeting and deal-making that humans had spread pathologically throughout the Federation. “When do I start?” * Quotations are from the following logs, in the order in which they appear: "Going All In", by Asher Swain “Unmaking”, by Tandaris Admiran “Folding”, by Swain and Admiran “Constructive Interference”, by Admiran
  14. “Turning (Your) Back” Anastasia Poldara ------------------------------- And so we hereby reassign you to the post of Chief Science Officer, USS Challenger, effective immediately. Report for duty the day after the Challenger’s arrival at Earth pending the conclusion of its current mission. Anastasia read the message again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. Cal had gone inside nearly an hour ago. The sun, once a majestic orange disc dominating the horizon, was now only streaks of brilliant gold, pink, and red light through the clouds. With its setting, the beach had started to turn chilly. She should retire as well, but she just couldn’t shift herself. She wanted to stay on this beach forever, to sink into the sand and just forget about the cares of the world--of the galaxy--beyond. “Challenger,” she said, rolling the once-familiar name off her tongue, trying to gauge it after so long. It had once meant “home.” But now it was alien again. For over a year, she had left that chapter of her life behind to embark once more on her true passion: cybernetic research. The director of the Daystrom Institute had personally requested her secondment. It was a dream come true, and the project had started with such promise. Ashes, all of it, leaving the bitterest of tastes in Anastasia’s mouth. Now here she was months later, on a beach, trying to forget with sun and alcohol and sex how things had gone wrong. Maybe the worst part of it was that nothing had gone wrong. At least, not from a technical, scientific, engineering perspective. The project was a success. Her theory and the engineers’ implementations matched. They were making progress. Not enough, though, to satisfy the vulture bureaucrats who circled, harping on the expense, the waste of resources. Not enough to justify the expenditures--or so the final report had said, as if blaming Anastasia’s leadership personally. The writing had been on the wall for ages. She should have seen it. It was all too easy to blame others, or blame the distractions in her life. Even now if you asked, Anastasia couldn’t begin to tell you whether the project’s failure had ended her marriage or whether her marriage ending had killed the project. They were now, in her mind, inextricably linked. Now here she was, on a beach, on vacation with a man who was not--and, let’s be real here, would never be--her husband. Pretending to be happy. Anastasia had fought tooth and nail for the project. Oh, how she had fought. She had called in every favour, wheedled and pleaded and even threatened right up to admirals and chairpeople of committees. None of it sufficed. In the end, it became clear that whatever she might have done wrong in the past, the ultimate decision to scrap her project was not really her doing. It was merely convenient, and by that time, no amount of apologies or blackmail could have averted this outcome. But to be reassigned to Challenger after so long? On the surface it seemed like a reward, or at least, not a reprimand. Officially it meant her secondment was over, and she was merely returning to active duty. None of the fallout from the project would touch her as a matter of record; that was a civilian matter. But Anastasia’s reputation was about as intact at this point as her sense of calm or her good mood. On a beach, tendrils of twilight reaching across an ocean towards her, Anastasia thought about her future. There were positives to going back. She knew the people there. Counted, or had counted, some of them as friends. But there would be questions. They would be genuinely interested in her time away. They would notice Michael’s absence. She would need to make explanations. Abruptly, Anastasia got to her feet. She was a little dizzy. But she steeled herself, determination fixed in the expression on her face. She was going back. So, she would be prepared. She would be … collected. This was something she had learned from her mother: no matter how defeated you felt, never let it show. Put on your face, and face them all, and challenge them to call you a liar. Anastasia Poldara turned her back on the beach and the sunset and went inside to begin making up the rest of her life. She didn’t know who she was any more. She wasn’t sure who she would be. But no one else needed to know that.
  15. Qualified Starfleet engineer seeks position well away from borders, fronts, or other territorial delineations. Can fix warp drives, impulse manifolds, and flux capacitors. Heisenberg compensators and subspace arrays particular speciality. Can handle temporal incidents if necessary but strong preference for linear events. Previous positions include ill-fated starship and hodgepodge station recently crippled by crazed commander of Klingon bird-of-prey, with particular focus on routine maintenance procedures and defence grid deployments. Have experience with shipyards and ship construction. Also certified pilot for small craft. References available upon—oh, who am I kidding? I’m never going to leave this place. Computer, delete posting.