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RPG Writing Forum 2015-09-29T16:38:31-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/feed.php?f=76 2015-09-29T16:38:31-04:00 2015-09-29T16:38:31-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=307&p=3131#p3131 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Sai'tan personal log.]]>
The chaos of the past few weeks has been tiring. I have been able to restore most of my enzymatic needs on the slow trip to the Bazaar aboard the Big Red.

I had a moment of time dilation during a high stress event today accompanied by an apparent hallucination of my wife.. and an unusually clear recollection of a glimpse of a report from memory. A complete medical examination is needed. I suspect my neural network has begun to degrade and onset of dementia may have started.

Continuing.

On the mission we discovered a runabout that seems to have been built on a doctoral candidate design project I've given my advanced students in past years.

A quantum scan indicates this is craft is not from our timeline. I submit, as a theory, that timeline's Starfleet special projects acquired the designs for off the book operations. This leads to questioning if our Special Projects Division has done the same.

The Quam's computer has allowed me limited command access, this fact leads me to wonder of that other universe Sai'tans' involvement in the building of this craft. There are locked files that I cannot access however I can determine from the system logs that the mission specialists, Hannagin and Kutach, were torn apart at a cellular level during the transition from their universe to ours.

The dusty residue that coated the interior forward compartment is all that remains of their bodies. I have cleaned all the surfaces and recovered the mass of two humans, less the water of their bodies which has gone into the life support system.

The craft's computer is very advanced, cutting edge to our technology. More of an advanced expert system than a true AI, it has the ability to anticipate and to some degree extrapolate contingencies. The other universe has a superior programmer, I will try learn his or her techniques as the system has recognized me as having authority to read it's source code.

The weapons technology is also state of the art, I need to go over the weapons system thoroughly to document how a frigate beam weapon was fitted onto a craft this size.
Further curiosity to be satisfied is how a blend of holographic technology and particle synthesis gives this craft such a miniscule sensor signature. By no means a cloak, the technology appears to be an upgrade of very old military techniques.

Statistics: Posted by Nevian — Tue Sep 29, 2015 4:38 pm

]]> 2015-09-01T09:32:24-04:00 2015-09-01T09:32:24-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=300&p=3076#p3076 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Special Projects: Behind The Scenes]]>
With just a single digit Svetlana had statically improved the intelligence of the entire Federation.

She turned and regard her office, a humble working persons cube where serious work was completed. There was no Ego Wall of holograms and memorabilia of her shaking hands with politicians and celebrities, there were no ostentatious displays of status and wealth. One wall was home to a hourly updated map of Federation space, whilst the other wall festooned with shelves and racks of electronic media and hard copy binders. If any one walked in they might think Miss Nemarov, a middle aged white haired native of New Stalingrad who had spent the last twenty years buried in the administration of a galactic superpower, was the department head for time keeping or cartographic trademarks.

In reality, next to the Commander in Chief of Starfleet, she was the forth most influential soul in the Federation. But that befitted the Director of Starfleet Special Projects. Or as she was known at the office club, the Anti Matter Bitch.

She glanced at her desk again as the incoming call light flickered in time with the droning buzz. From the displays caller ID and priority flag it wasn’t life threatening, but people who called her directly did so knowing her time was better spent doing useful things so they'd better be bleeding out. She reached out and tapped the screen, turning back to the wall to ceiling window as it suddenly darkened. Then with a flash of colour and then another room materialised on the other side of the glass, as though somehow it had been built there in a last few seconds. It was a hotel suite, all soft corners and fine upholstery done up in deep reds and threaded gold. From the one window visible to her in the other room, the peach coloured landscape of a desert world rolled beyond.

The Mariner Valley Hilton, Mars.

Hiro Tamada stepped in from a side door of the room beyond her window, the offices communication suites doing a admirable job of projecting the holographic display correctly. In the short, barrel chested mans hands he carried a call of something amber with a large ball of ice in it.

“I hope you don’t mind?†he said, holding up the drink “But I didn’t know how long I’d be left waiting.â€

“I don’t mind if you picke your fucking liver on my dime.†Svetlana said in English only lightly brushed with her Russian ancestry. She pointed a hand back at her screen and its blinking priority flag “You call me from Mars with a urgent message, and I find you raiding the wet bar.â€

“After the day I have had, trust me this is needed.†Hiro said, sipping from the scotch and smiling boradly in that way that let him learn dirty secrets. Back in the day Hiro, then Commander Tamada Starfleet inteligence, had gone by the nickname of The Spouge. This was mostly down to his lead lined liver, and the fact people just liked talking to a drinking buddy with a easy smile. Sailors in port after deployment, rebels returning to home from a raid, and lovers in the glow of their affairs all seemed more than willing to unburden themselves before the short man from Tokyo. A man who was her second in command at Special Projects.

“So…how is the Bobble Head?†Svetlana said, knowing there was going to be some give and take in this conversation before anything important happened. Mentally she took the time to count how many trouble spots were in or around the Federation as of that morning, and stopped counting when she ran out of individual bones to count them against. On the windows holographic display Hiro winced.

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.†he said, putting the glass down on a heavy wooden desk that looked hand made. These days hand made was just another word for ludicrous expense and decadence: look at me, I have more money than common sense and can afford to purchase someones time to make something shiny.

“What? Call him a fucking Bobble Head?†Svetlana brushed the comment aside “I call him that to his face and he just laughs at me like I'm a god damn Risian comic.â€

“Thats because the Vice President of the Federation thinks you're joking.†Hiro said flatly.

“Thus why he’s a Bobble Head. People like him, he speaks idiot fluently: that means 80% of the Federation understands the shit coming out of his mouth better than English. And he keeps peoples attention away from every political crisis we’ve had in this election cycle. Even if we’d had the bastard vat grown and engineered to be the perfect empty minded figurehead on the 2376 election ticket, we'd have never gotten close.†she shrugged “He was a perfect find in a field full of shit.â€

“You…have such a way with words.†Hrio said, the subspace com channel removing any lag from Earth to Mars so that his smile was instantly visible “How did such a delicate flower become Starfleets bagman?â€

“Bagwoman you sexist prick.†she said without heat, crossing her arms over her chest and narrowing her own eyes “So…this is the part where I ask you how your doing? How is Earth's retarded sister planet?â€

“Mars is still Mars.†Hiro shrugged, gesturing to the hotel room “It looks pretty on the surface, but its still the waste paper bin of the Solar System. It didn’t help that Earth used it as a dissident colony during its pre-warp days, sending every political rabble rouser and religious zealot that wanted off the bus. Throw in the fact its cheaper to mine asteroids for raw materials for ship building than ferrying them up the gravity well from Mars to Utopia Plaitia. Even transporters don’t quite make up the short fall. So Mars gets used as a useful anchorage for the largest ship yard in the Federation, whilst the actual planet is a seething mix of failed city states and slums.â€

“That explains why the Bobble Head is there.†Sventlana nodded to herself “He’s walking among 'his' people?â€

“And giving his security detail a standing fit. Have you ever seen a Starfleet Marine have a seizure whilst wearing full combat rigging? Its a fun sight, and something to see once in a life time. Its like watching a blender try to blend itself. The Marines can’t quite figure out if they are protecting him from the masses or being set upon by a siege of pamphlets and religious fuzzy wuzzies.†Hiro frowned “Not to mention some kids from the Hebe Dome stole my wallet.â€

“And thats why your calling me? About your goddamn wallet?â€

“No. I received a note from our source inside The Shoal. He’s found the away team Santra sent out to the Bazaar.†Hrio said, before adding gravely “He promises to send me a full report once his phaser burns are healed.â€

What Svetlana said after that was not fit to be repeated.

“At least its a known quantity.†Hiro said in a measured tone “This is just people fighting people. Its our bread and butter.â€

“So was the Romulan Earth War.†Svetlana groused, before gesturing to the shelves of binders “I have literally a metric ton of material, both political and strategic, on the Federation response to renewed hostilities from The Dominion. I have reams of data from Starfleet’s Design Board concerning the next generation of Borg Buster technologies rolling out of Antares and Utopia. Not to mention a standing invitation to the commissioning ceremony for the new Summit class super carriers launching next month. And do you know what I have concerning The Shoal? I have a three page binder in my top desk draw next to a bottle of real Scottish whisky. The first line of that binders contents reads as follows: Step One, find God.â€

“I didn’t take you for the religious type.â€

“Your fucking right. But what The Shoal has already shown us scared the crap out of me. Missing colonies, strange disruptions in space time that don’t even fit our my outrageous experimental models. Strange ship sightings, and thats if the poor bastards are able to send off a warning. There’s a reason the 6th and 2nd Fleets are stationed so close to that area of space. Sure we can claim one is guarding the wormhole at Bajor, and the other is keeping the peace around the Cardassin Union…but thats only because out right invading the Shoal and burning it from the stars would be beyond even the Bobble Heads ability to talk our way out of.†Svetlana sighed “But its on the second page of that binder as item two.â€

“Do I want to know whats on page three?†Hiro asked.

“The same thing we used last time, and look how that fucked things up. Its why that bitch Ryler is in the Shoal, she has experience with the device and its operation. Worst comes to worse the weapon can be shipped out to the Starbase 42 and she can do what she did last time. Only this time get it fucking right.†now she was angry, fumming, and need to vent something of a her spleen at her subordinate “So when you get reports from your assets in The Shoal and you play it off as no big deal, don’t. Don’t joke about what goes on in that shit hole. We reactivated that Starbase under the banner of bringing the glorious light of the Federation to one of its darkest corners. They're a fucking canary in a coal shaft, and they’ll be the first one the Shoal Builder’s roll over when they come back.â€

“You mean…if they come back, surely? There was only one, and even the Starfleet ships involved in the operation had no idea what they were facing. We’re the only ones.â€

“No. No you don’t poke the devil in the eye and expect him to be a good sport about it. They’ll be back. Thats why we sent Santra: he’s a monster, what better antidote for fighting them? You should have seen him strutting about the collected wreckage of that Borg Cube from the Battle Sector 001. Fucker had a hard on three meters long. He gets off on it the sick bastard.†she shrugged, as though in her line of work that sort of enthusiasm for genocide and horror was common place “He’s a sociopath, plain and simple. The other officers are their to keep up the illusion we’re taking the Shoal seriously as a socio-political entity. Santra’s there to play with the petri dish, try and coax something terrifyingly useful out of it. He I can trust because I know a sharks motivations, but that idiot Sjet? P’Trell and the others?â€

She stepped up to the window, tapping the glass firmly with one finger.

“Do not underestimate their ability to fuck shit up. The Shoal is a disaster, and we sent only the idiots who didn’t know better than to stay out.†she thinned her lips, and nodded to her self “Have your contact’s communication protocols sent to my office. I want him to talking to me now, directly. No offence Hiro but you know me, I don’t trust any one else to deal with The Shoal.â€

“Someone else might screw it up?†he said tiredly, but in good humour.

“Fucking right. Now go, enjoy the wet bar and keep an eye on the Bobble Head for me? Getting shivved by a Martian Rust Rat would be bad copy in the morning news feeds.†she then waved a hand, the gesture picked up by her terminal and the display vanished to bathe her in the sunlight of a Parisian afternoon. She spent an few minutes looking out at the idealised city space, the old and new buildings meshing beautifully together into a seamless whole.

This, she thought, was a world worth fighting for. Worth killing for.

Damn she wished tobacco hadn’t gone extinct on Earth.

Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Tue Sep 01, 2015 9:32 am

]]> 2015-04-08T07:34:34-04:00 2015-04-08T07:34:34-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=283&p=2705#p2705 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Lu'kat - An Introduction]]> En route to SB42

The Hideki class patrol ship dropped out of warp as it reached the Shoal. Lu'kat looked out of the small viewport and saw a deadly mix of dust and debris, torn apart and crushed back together by gravitational eddies and subspace tears, everything had a ghastly red and purplish hue to it, undoubtedly due to some sort of inexplicable and deadly chemical reaction.

The Federation called it the Shoal. Lu'kat called it a decent first line of defense. No fleet would try to invade Cardassian space this way anytime soon. A few patrol ships no bigger than runabouts, like the one taking him to to SB42, would suffice to monitor this sector, enabling the Cardassian fleet to concentrate its forces on other more vulnerable areas of its space. But who would want to attack Cardassia now? It had no supply of valuable resources whatsoever. It had no wealth or riches of any kind (the bulk of it having been looted by Romulans, Klingons and even the Federation) directly after their occupation of Cardassian Prime at the end of the Dominion War. One of Lu'kat's main tasks during the past five years at the Cardassian Intelligence Bureau had been locating and recovering what it could. This hadn't been much.

Not that Cardassia would be able to fight off a real attack if it really came to it. The bulk of the once high and mighty Cardassian Fleet had been destroyed or captured in the final moments of the War. What remained was often damaged and there had been little to no funds for repair. To top things off, the sanctions the other major powers in the galaxy had laid on the Cardassian Union kept it from developing its military from anything more than the ability to patrol and police its own borders.

Cardassia was now the black sheep of the quadrant, the object of scorn and ridicule. They hadn't just lost the War, Cardassia had lost its soul and its dignity.

Well..., Lu'kat thought, That will change from now on...

Lu'kat had been a highly respected operative of the CIB (set up after the collapse of the Obsidian Order) until last week, when a bomb exploded in his office, killing several other operatives. Lu'kat was blamed, but obviously it had been a set up. The Head of the Bureau had wasted no time in discrediting Lu'kat, citing incompetence and indolence for failing to detect the bomb being planted. He was kicked out of the Bureau and sent off to this unsavory part of the galaxy. Lu'kat was quite positive that the Head had planted the bomb himself and framed Luke so that he could get rid of him. The Head was a suspicious and paranoid man. He must have seen Lu'kat's popularity within the Bureau as a direct threat.

Lu'kat balled up his fists thinking of his boss, the selfish, irresponsible little vole. Cardassia should be united in its aims to rebuild and reclaim their honour and dignity, not squabble over personal advancement or cronyism. It had been exactly that kind of behaviour which led to its downfall. "l'Histoire se répète" Oh yes, Lu'kat was aware of the expression. A life long interest in other cultures and societies had made him quite knowledgeable on many cultural traits and art by the the main powers in this quadrant, such as one wouldn't expect in a 28 year old Cardassian.

Lu'kat had denied the accusations, ofcourse, but had not challenged the decision to send him here. Instead, he saw this as an opportunity. He'd never been among humans before. Bajorans he was very familiar with, having been born on Bajor during the height of the Cardassian Occupation. But humans were new to him. He'd only seen them from afar on Cardassia Prime, but he'd never spoken to one. It would prove...educational. He was familiar with Garak, former Obsidian Order operative, former outcast on Terok Nor (or Deep Space 9, as it was now called), now Cardassian Ambassador to the Federation. If someone with Garak's history could rise this high in the ranks, surely Lu'kat could overcome this hiccup in his career plans?

"3 hours to the star base", the helmsman stated without emotion. Lu'kat acknowledged it with a curt nod and reread his mission brief. He was to act as the Cardassian Liason Officer to the Federation on SB 42. Once the star base would be up and running it would become a hub for traders and travellers going from Cardassia to Bajor and back. The Union needed someone there to communicate with the Federation, to keep an eye on things, keep a record of who passed through. In short, he was to be a glorified customs officer, a menial and insulting job for someone with Lu'kat's credentials.

But Lu'kat wasn't planning on staying forever. He would be here as long as he felt was neccesary. Learn and observe. In the meantime he would work on taking revenge on his former boss. The time would come. Lu'kat was young. He'd be ready when the time came.

Statistics: Posted by lucasausems — Wed Apr 08, 2015 7:34 am

]]> 2015-03-14T08:27:08-04:00 2015-03-14T08:27:08-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=281&p=2601#p2601 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Santra: A Doctor Comes Visiting...]]> Five Years After The Invasion of Bajor (5th year of Occupation...)

“Now just, you know, watch that wrist and do what the doctor told you!â€

The advice was, of course, ignored as the young girl bolted for the cloth draped and slipped under it. The woman who had voiced the concern, a woman by dint of experience if not her age by the old measurement, sighed and rubbed her fingers against the ridges of her nose. She walked to the earthen door, pulled aside the cloth hung there for privacy and leaned out into the hand made tunnel: “And stay off the roof!â€

She sighed, wondering how long ago it had been her running off to jump into water holes from unsafe heights, and turned back into the make do hospital room. The hard packed dirt and stone of the walls had been draped in plastic where possible, and the few rugs and scraps of carpets were placed on the ground to keep out the worse of the cold. You’d have thought being this far underground the earth would be warmer, but instead the icy hand of winter wormed down from the soil above. There were a pair of bed salvaged from a hostel that had been abounded in a local town during the invasion, but like the medical equipment scattered on crates or makeshift shelves, the beds were threadbare and oft repaired.

“Ok, that's the last of them.†the young woman beamed, watching the back of the young doctor who was currently washing his hands in a bowl of dirty brown water. She picked up a towel, well a scrap of shirt was more truth than lie, and held it out beside him “I can have you in Petura in an hour.â€

“Thanks.†said Santra Arron, taking the offered drying cloth and dabbing at his hands. Much like the young woman he seemed young for his own profession, and it had taken him a good deal of time to convince the Elder’s leading this particular Resistance cell to accept his services. Doctors were rare, especially ones trained before the Invasion. Those with skill now either learned through brutal experience patching up Resistance fighters, or were trained in the basic practise of first aid by the Cardassian overseers.

“For what? Four days of doctoring?†she smiled, beaming with genuine warmth as she brushed a lock of dust stained blonde hair over one ear. She gestured to the two empty beds that had held two of their older cell members, both of whom had nearly succumb to infected wounded before the miracle of Santra’s arrival. The fact that one of them had been her father made the next statement no less true: “it’s literally the least I could do.â€

Arron smiled, tossing the now soiled rag into a corner where a small mound of such things had grown. It went against the grain of his training to do that but given how they had been storing and repairing bandages, this was a marked improvement: at least all the one on the pile would be throughly burned into of being poorly washed and reused. He must have spent a moment to long looking at the pile of used medical supplies, the fingers of one hand tapping lightly together in thought.

“What's wrong?†the young woman asked.

“I'm worried about your father,†Arron said softly, turning t gently take her hand in his and give it a reassuring squeeze “He's too young for disk troubles, even given his robust occupation. You should make him go to a clinic.â€

“One of the camp clinics?†she said, taking a step back, the words dripping from her mouth like rotten fruit pulp. The camps are slowly becoming sores on the landscape as the great cities of Bajor were emptied out, and their displaced populations put into temporary ‘relocation camps’ during the forced migration. Of course no reason was given for this migration, and the work provided to those who were in the camps was less than voluntary. But it was a well established fact that the camps had first rate medical facilities, manned and operated by the Invaders and their sympathisers. The young woman was no doubt wondering how difficult it would be to sneak onto one such camp, and then sneak out again. “What are you thinking?
“Well I'm not thinking anything,†Santra went on to say, turning slowly away from her he began to rearrange some of the supplies they had on hand “but I want to rule out a spinal tumour.â€

“So, where'd you learn all this stuff?†she asked, propping herself up on a near by crate as she watched him work.

“I worked in a hospital.†he said, sounding a little distracted as he held up two vials to the meagre glow of a are electric bulb, giving them each a little shake “A research hospital, not a people one. I was the sort of doctor who helped make the cure, not mend bones. But you have to admit I do rather well at that.â€

“My friend Braq says he thinks you're on the lam…†she said with a smile and a light laugh, her own ease in this safest of places making her miss out on the subtle delay between her own light hearted laugh and Arrons own.

“Braq thinks that you ‘were’ a doctor and maybe you killed a bunch of people in a hospital.†she said in mock serious tones, leaning in a little closer before giving a girlish shrug “But I don't think so. I don't think you would kill anyone.â€


“Well I haven't yet,†Arron smiled at her, poring the two vials into a beaker and giving a little shake to combine the two fluids thoroughly. He the placed it onto a haphazard metal stand above a small oil burning flame, adjusting the wick underneath to increase the temperature. He then gestured around the earthen cave he had been using as a make shift clinic “But if I keep treating people without proper training or tools I probably will. So who's Braq?â€

“He's my—“ the young woman caught herself, and hurried rephrased her statement “A friend.â€

“Is he from the city? Petura? Calden City?†Arron asked.

No, he's from the Capitol. You know when I was living out here in the valleys as a kid, I thought that Capitol was really cool, the place that was the centre of the universe you know? When I was old enough I left home, ran away to find my life there…†she sighed at remembered youth, her young face souring “But it's a dump. Sort of members only, ya know?â€

“Well, what do you expect from a place that is the centre of the universe?†Arron said with a smile.

“Huh?â€

“You know, Centre of the Universe, the point furthers from that which is steady? Gentle currents…†Arron said, trailing off as he realised that perhaps classical Bajoran philipkshy was perhaps a touch to high brow for the survivors of a farming community “Er…didn’t you ever make fun of it when you were a kid?â€
“No.†she said slowly, shaking her said to allow a easy grin to return as she continued on her quest fro truth “So, are you on the lam?â€

“So where'd you people get all these anti-infectives anyway?†Arron asked by way of ignoring her, opening one of the upturned crates to reveal a hodgepodge of store native produce and pilfered Cardassian medical supplies. There were indeed a great many drugs and chemical solutions available here, much more than a simple resistance cell would need: what were they going to do with seventy jars of anti fungal cream? Rash the enemy to death?

“Grey market for the basics, black market for the hard to find items.†she said quickly, before hopping off the crate and trying to causally sandwich herself between the open crate Arron was investigating, and Arron himself. She then asked her question: “Soooooo…do you have a girlfriend?â€
“Maybe I killed her…†Arron said with a touch of darkness to his words, turning away from her and returning to the now bubbling beaker of chemicals. He then looked over his shoulder and smiled “You know, when I killed all those people in the hospital?

“Don't make fun of me, I'm not stupid.†she said a little huffily, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don't have a girlfriend. Or a wife anymore,†he said a little heavily, whilst carefully taking the beaker from its burner stand and pouring its contents into a pair of reasonably clean vials “I never really did.â€

“Ooooh, touchy subject?†she said, suddenly all tact and kindness when youthful hormones weren’t in the driving seat.

“So, what comes next?†he asked, trying to get her back on course.

“I drop you off at the outskirts of Junqua, thats the village we caught you in.†she said with a easy smile from long experience at this sort of thing “And this truck driver my dad knows will take you to Petura. There’s a bi weekly convoy that the Invader’s let us run, mostly busy work to keep the grey market afloat and let us all think we’re getting one up on them. we move a lot more than just low nd luxury goods though. Moving a doctor will be a big boon to the Petura city cell group thats for sure.â€

“Thanks Isabelle,†he said, speaking her name for the first time and smiling with both his mouth and eyes as he turned slowly around to look at her as he held onto the two now full vials “You're a good assistant.â€

“So, you going to tell me why you're on the lam?†she said, that girlish need for gossip and one-upmanship over her fellow members of the sisterhood all to clear. Arron let out a short trickle of laughter, before shrugging.

“Fell in love with a woman who was right for all the wrong reasons.†he said with a wistful smile.

“That sounds romantic.†she said with a dreamy smile.

“Not really. Her parents weren’t to thrilled that she’d married a doctor instead of a professor of theological studies.†he said, a slight bitter tone entering his voice.

“The slut!†Isabella joked, only to redden when Arrons far to cold eyes washed over her with a scowl that soften immediately.

“It would have probably have been the right choice.†Arron said with a sigh, as memories of bittersweet happiness and the bond of mutual hardship rose up within him. She would not approve of his actions now, nor those taken before: but she wasn’t here anymore. He had to manual calibrate his moral compass by hand these days, and he was more aware than anyone that his hands were beginning to shake in that regard.

“Prophets Above, if I turned down a doctor who wanted to marry me, my mom would strangle me.†the young woman said with full knowledge of what she spoke of.

“I'm not a doctor!†Arron said with a chuckle, before shrugging “Well not a real people doctor, just the sort with more paper to his name than not.â€

“So, why are you going to Petura? Its a city still mostly under civilian rule, not much call for doctors there unless your jumping off to one of the lower continents in the south?†Isabella enquired.

“Someone I knew once lived there, and if their still among the living after the Invasion I’d like to reconnect with them. They know something about my line of work, before everything change.†he smiles a little sadly “We were like family, really.â€

“My family is the last thing I want to know more about.†she laughed. It was the same small town mentality that she had been displaying for the last half week. It had been charming up to a point, but towards the end now…Arron ws enough of a gentleman to hide his growing loss of patience for it.

“Yeah, well, I'm from Calden City originally: my whole family was living there when the Invader’s dropped that comet fragment on it.†he said as levelly and calmly as he could. Isabella merely let out a meep of shock, covering her mouth with a hand: turns out that even the countryside communities had gotten the word about the one big example given to the rest of Bajor concerning continued resistance on a large scale. When Calden had been reduced to a glass lined crater by the orbital bombardment, the national army of Bajor had laid down their arms without question. There was fighting a war, and then there was giving the occupation forces an excuse to wipe them out in job lots.

“Oh, geez, I-I'm sorry.â€

“It's ok. Well, it's not ok, but it can't be fixed, so... I'm fixing what I can.†Arron said truthfully, his hand squeezing around the left most vial as though to steel himself to act. His face brightened a little “I found something out this week.â€

“What's that?†Isabella asked, cocking her head to one side.

“This smells like calu berries doesn’t it?†he said, offering her the vial from his left hand. She took it and frowned, but he continued “I’ve been trying to find a way to make some of the more olfactory medicines you have here taste and smell a little more appealing, it might make it easier to get the children to take the supplements they need. Living underground might shield you from sensors, but vitamin D is an important part of the bodies daily nutrient intake. So that chemical additive should change the taste and smell, without diluting or altering the needed effect of the boosters. Give it a smell, see if I got it right before I leave?â€

She took a delicate sniff of the vial, began to open her mouth to voice an opinion on the scent…and then her body went boneless and dropped to the floor in a heap. Arron carefully reached out as she went down and plucked the vial from her hands, careful not to spill any of the fluid on his hands or excite the glass vial further. He waited a moment to study her, watching her chest slowly rising and falling in time with her breathing which to his ears was not laboured. The bonding agent he’d used in the formula had been a roll of the dice, but so far no allergic reaction to note.

He opened the cloth curtain into the small medical clinic, leaned out and looked down one corridor and then down the other way. The stone corridor was short, but then again the nest of tunnels the Resistance Cell was using was small and cramped. He tossed the first vial down one way, and the second soon went the other. The tinkle of breaking glass was soon replaced by a sudden chemical hissing sound as the very excited liquid began to react with the dust and stone of the floor. Billowing white clouds of sweet smelling vapour exploded from the puddles, and soon thuds of collapsing bodies and the shouts of shocked exclamations joined them as the home brewed sleeping agent did its work.

Santra Arron turned back into the small clinic and quickly found the air bottle and breathing mask he’d put aside for this occasion. He’d inoculated himself against this particular agent, but given the home made nature of this batch he wasn't prepared to take a chance on it. He slipped the bottle into a belt ring at his waist, freeing his hands to lift the now sleeping Isabella onto the ramshackle bed frame.

“You’d never have believed me if I told you this before my dear, but your going to help me save a lot of lives. A lot more than this piddly little resistance cell ever could.†Arron’s muffled voice echoed in the breathing masks confines. He’d wait until the gas had done its work, and then double check to make sure everyone was out for the duration and secured in some fashion. Only after that would he then call in the Cardassians to pick up comatose guerrilla fighters.

usually he’d waited for them, eager to return to a fully functional laboratory where his real work could begin. But instead he was going to follow Isabella’s instructions and catch a ride into Petura city.

He had a old friend to find.

Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Sat Mar 14, 2015 8:27 am

]]> 2015-02-27T23:18:14-04:00 2015-02-27T23:18:14-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=275&p=2499#p2499 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Meet the new boss, same as the old boss]]>
Access to a computer had granted her a roster of the ship’s complement, including the TAD (Temporarily Assigned Duty) statuses of the crew who were destined for Starbase 42. And that was where she had dug up the name and likeness of Captain Santra Arron. Most of whose service jacket was classified, Talla noted.

Onboard the USS Tim Allen Captain S’jet was in command. But bound for Starbase 42, at a crux point of galactic politics, Captain Santra Arron was to be her superior officer. The man in charge. The boss. The top of the chain of command. The man whose personal safety was one of her primary goals. She had already misstepped with him and no one knew her here- no one knew her capability nor her history, save Zuub.

It would be wise to seek out and report to her commander, given that while he knew her name, he didn’t know her. So it was time to find out if she had been assigned to someone worthy of her skills and dedication, or another commander who would view her as a disposable resource.

Time to play the dumb little alien and see the reaction it offered.

The Mess Hall: simple food for simple folk. Unlike most ships that bore more of a military leaning to their designs, the Oberth class had been functioning since the heady time of Captain Spocks hey day, when exploration and scientific research was the order of the day. So instead of a separate mess for officers and enlisted, there was just the single space where any member of the ships company could replicate a slice of home for their dining pleasure. The USS Tim Allen’s replicators were not state of the art, nor were they in particularly good repair given the surplus of Engineer’s on loan from the Corp of Engineers. But as the Smurf entered the mess hall she saw an elderly looking Bajoran carrying a cup of tea from a particular dented looking replicator tray to one of the furthest tables in the hall.

Collar colour was red: check.
Number of pips on that collar were four: check.
Missing one ear: probably but two out of three made for odds a Ferengi would have a fit over.

Bold would be too stride up and sit. Anxious alien would be to come to salute. Zuub would probably stride up and strike up a conversation- confident, but a bit beyond her conversational skills Talla suspected. Perhaps a compromise of styles- time to try something new.

Making her way hesitantly to the table where the elderly Bajoran had settled. Antennas leaning in to lead the way, the little lieutenant stepped into his field of vision and stammered a bit, accidentally. Though she was trying new tricks, old habits died hard.

“Cuh-captain Santra Arron?†Talla P’Trell stammered hesitantly, then her brow furrowed and her antennae came forward. “May I have a word with you? Speak with you, may i speak to you please?â€

Maybe not so new an approach after all, she sighed internally.

For a moment the Bajoran merely sat there. In fact he sat there for quite while, reading the padd he had in hand and sipping from a cup of very weak looking tea. In fact it looked less like tea and more like faintly coloured water with steam rolling from its surface. Eventually something caught his eye and he suddenly noticed her, head snapping up as he frowned at her for a moment.

“Yes?†he said in a neutral tone.

All of that time had of course given Talla P’Trell plenty of time to amp up her own anxieties and second-guess her decision, but she’d held her ground this far, and she was determined to see this through. Snapping to attention Talla spoke up, trying to sound a little less squeaky perhaps and failing miserably.

“Lieutenant Talla P’Trell, chief of security and tactical, Starbase 42 reporting in... sir?†It was less a statement and more a question by the end as the surprisingly small Andorian stood before him, sweat beading on her brow as her antenna seemingly wandered, as if looking around the room.

Arron raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes twitching to and fro as he followed the fevered twitching of the antenna. After apparently not getting the answer he wanted he set the cup of tea down, and made a rolling ’onward’ gesture with it as though to prompt her to use her words. Given the speed of that gesture she’d best use a lot of her words in as short amount of time as possible.

“I am... I wanted to meet with you, Captain Santra Arron. I am to be your security chief, and I thought- um, you might want to know who i was. Or that I will work very hard,†she rushed the next bit out, clearly nervous. Superior officers always made her nervous, and this was not going well again. Even Talla’s limited social skills could see that. “I am... I have concerns about the station’s safety, and yours, Captain Santra Arron.â€

That habit of using full names and titles had stuck with her, the mnemonic device she had maintained through the years too remember whom she was talking to at any given moment. At least she didn’t speak in third person.

At that Arron let out a snort of a breath, and gave a wave of his hand as though dismissing her worry with as much thought as waving away a fly.

A little smile settled onto her face, and she broke her rigid militaristic stance to take a step forward, then to lean on the table peering at the one-eared Bajoran as if she were studying an insect on a slide. The antennas focused forward while those large polar blue eyes narrowed.

“That is who you are, then? I see.†Leaning back to resettle her weight on her feet again, the little alien cocked her head to the left slightly and regarded the old monster. “I am dismissed, I think?â€

“I doubt very much you were missed in the first place.†he said simply, taking a sip of his tea. He then frowned, settling the tea cup back down onto the table before looking at her again with a scowl “I am without a doubt what the humans call a bastard. I am also a type 1 personality, with an IQ in the 186 range of the scale if we’re comparing brain pans. I am on a variety of medication, most of which I brew myself: mostly homeopathic remedies, uppers, downers. I rarely get to play with the really enlightening stuff. I have taken lives, I have saved lives. I’ve murdered, and in rare moments of brilliance I lifted the death sentences of thousands of people in a single stroke. I have pushed the boundaries of medical science and understanding so far past the bleeding edge I often forget the basics of first aid, much in the same way that I no longer have the mental steps in my mind as to how to start a fire with but a stick and some twine.â€

He picked up his tea cup, took another sip, and then re-examined her as she appeared to still be staring at him somewhat blankly.

“You are superfluous.†he said simply “A security chief for a way station in the middle of no where between two very interesting places. Are you here to secure Federation interests in the Shoal? No. Because the Federation has no interest in The Shoal apart from the publicity of reopening one of its Warden Stations in an area of space best described as ‘psychotic’. The only other reason you could officially have been sent is for my own personal security. That is unlikely as I have survived nearly twenty years off of Bajor without one single assassin or disgruntled follower of the Prophets from finding me. The only other thing you could be here for is not my security, but my protection as resource: which would require you to have been read into my file and my work.â€

He turned back to his tea with a slight smile on his face.

“And if you’d been read into my file properly…†he said with a grin “...You’d not breath the same air as myself without being thoroughly vaccinated against all creatures great and small. Accidents in the lab, especially in my lab, tend to be...’grabby’.â€

Nope. This was not her commander. Most definitely not. There was nothing here.This was quite likely the reason she was here- to protect the rest of the station from him.

Decompression happened. Talla would wait and see for now.

“I see. I am s-sorry to have bothered you, sir,†the little lieutenant stammered, though the bashful eyes and the stammer were all effect now, a habit she just let run externally by itself. Inside she was surprisingly calm, having arrived at some conclusions of her own, and having felt out the command. In only the span of three minutes she was reasonably confident that this was no command officer... this was something else, though she was very much not sure what. But a doctor. Very definitely one of those probe and dissect and carve doctors she knew quite well. Not a leader of men or anyone worthy of her loyalty. She gulped nervously, all too convincingly. It was an old habit, after all.

“If you were sorry you’d not have interrupted me.†he said simply, picking the padd back up. He started to gaze into its screen once more, before noticing she was still standing there. He slowly set the padd back down, and looked at her once more “I understand very well that you are officially assigned to the station as its chief of security. I officially recognise that. I also officially recognise the fact that I do not believe we will need one. Alas, I have been trying these last 20 years to get Starfleet to listen to me on a number of fronts, so why should staffing my station be any different? Do your job as you see fit, and I will probably rubber stamp every suggestion you make.â€

He took a breath, and then added.

“But screw up once...well,†he said with a little shrug, “I am sure there are plenty of roles in the galaxy for an Andorian with your grab bag of social disorders and physical deformities. Who knows, maybe Dr Zuub is in need of a pet? She seems the type not easily satisfied with a run of gerbils to play with. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my tea is cooling and I have important work to be carrying on with.â€

Calm inside, twitchy outside, she had been fine until the mention of the doctor, then she had blanched. A... pet? The antennas had inadvertently shot up in alarm. Surely... no, that was just not... maybe? That did not seem right, surely he was just trying to say something mean, that was all, just to get to her. Nervously she nodded and spun in an about-face not unlike a toy soldier, and marched briskly out of the mess hall, though she marched into the kitchen, not out to the rest of the Tim Allen proper.

Petty Officer Second Class Matowski had learned not to try to stop the martial midget from coming and going, as she had explained it in detail after he had tried to grab her arm and explain that he couldn’t let her hang out in the freezer. Which had resulted in Lieutenant P’Trell’s careful explanation of her need for a cool space while holding him in an excruciatingly painful hold with two fingers. Now he tried very hard not to notice the angry alien’s comings and goings as she yanked open the freezer door then entered it, shutting it behind her.

Because after that conversation, Talla P’Trell needed somewhere cold and preferably dark, so that she could hyperventilate and weep like a child in private. Talla did not know why she was here. There was no one to lead her, and the one connection she had made was now in doubt in her mind. Zuub did not see her that way, did she?

Perhaps. Perhaps she did after all.

There were no friends or allies for her out here, no one whom she could trust. Though McCray- at least, Talla assumed it had been McCray- must have sent her here for some reason. But with no explanation, no clue of what to do, and after having met the man in charge who did not care if the crew lived or died... She knew that dead cold look in his eyes- over twenty years of law enforcement taught her to recognize the eyes of a monster, and he was one who would kill everyone without hesitation. Possibly for fun. Setting her back against the wall of the freezer, Talla P’Trell slid to the floor, sobbing gently.

At least when she was alone, Talla was allowed to be afraid. Right now she was very afraid and very alone, and in her frozen solitude she cried.



Unknowingly Santra began to smile for no good reason, as though somewhere in the twisted weave of the world as he knew something he deemed right had come to pass.

Statistics: Posted by Guest — Fri Feb 27, 2015 11:18 pm

]]> 2015-02-27T09:23:03-04:00 2015-02-27T09:23:03-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=274&p=2496#p2496 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Santra: Night of Nights]]> 42 Years ago, in a time before the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor...

The air of the night was humid and sweet, the deluge that had come and gone the day before having excited the pollen of the valley's orchards into an enthusiastic chemical assault on the senses. At the mouth of the valley many miles distant, the glow of Calden City could be seen as a second sunset marking the northern horizon, with the scattered townships and villages that ran into the rich soil of the farm lands looked like stars fallen from heaven.

Tonight Santra Arron was feeling particularly poetic with his words and thoughts, though some of that might be from the fire water he was sipping at.

He sat on comfortable padded bench that ran along one of the low walls of the roof top garden, leaning back against the rough stone as he took another sip from the glass. He didn't look like much but even as a young man he was something of a old soul: Chair of Viral Pathology at the Calden City MediCentre, respected surgeon and physician, and right now damn proud his still had not produced a drink that made him go blind.

Tobeky Tule, a much older man than he by an order of magnitude sat beside him and tentatively sipped the fermented product of a genius doctor. His sputtered retort and gasp for breath meant that the spirit was living up to its name. Arron smiled: to be honest he had wanted to drink something a little more appropriate for the evening but Tule's arrival had been unexpected. Had he knew in advance his long time mentor in Bajoran medicine was to join him on this very night, he would have sent a boy from the village out to buy a wine of suitable providence.

Still, a celebration lofted by home brewed ingenuity was not without its appropriateness.

"I could always get you some water, you know?" Arron said dryly, a wry smile playing on his lips as he leaned forward to grab the clay bottle from between their feet.

"I value my sense of taste up to a point." Tule went on to say, before taking a second sip with more forbearance than anything else "But I was always told it was impolite to turn down the gracious hospitality of ones host."

"Its no imposition." Arron said, getting up one much younger legs and heading towards the ladder down from the roof and into the modest two storey home he lived in with his wife.

"It will be if you wake that wife of yours." Tule smiled appreciatively and leaned his bulk back against the wall "Even suffering from that damnable flu and swaddled in blankets, she's as much a vision as the day you introduced me to her. Let the woman sleep and recover herself."

"Bed rest is your best prescription?" Arron chided jokingly.

"I've no doubt you've done your best, but the flu is what it is: bed rest, fluids and warmth as useful in treatment as all the anti-virals and bacterial phages we could throw at her. Besides, she seemed on the mend to me even with a blocked nose." Tule said, cheeks reddening from the drink slightly as he gestured with his glass “That is my prescription.â€

"I'm sure you're right." Arron said with a nod, eyes going to the roof ladder before slowly drifting back to sit beside Tule once more. He offered the old man a refill, who was gracious enough to only hesitate a moment before extending his glass out. Arron smiled and filled the mans cup, before he too leaned back and admired the stars above. Bajor's moons had yet to rise fully, and so at least the string of stars that soared over head had no competition to fight for their brilliance.

Arron spoke a phrase quietly to himself, and Tule had to put his glass down and ask him to repeat himself. A joke spoken in private could always be as blue as needed, especially where proper Temple going people were not in earshot, and Tule had an odd sense of humor.

"I said..." Arron said with a smile "...I did it."

“Did what?†Tule asked, turning slightly to better look at his protege.

“I solved the Shattered X problem.†Arron said, as though all the necessary information was contained within that word. And for Tule, for any man of medicine, and any couple cruelly denied a child in their lives that was true enough. The Shattered X was an all to common genetic deformity within Bajoran society, where one or more of the X chromosomes looked as though one of its legs had been snapped off and had reattached itself to its neighbour to form a K like shape. This did very little to the genetic information passed down from parent to child, and a child born with two Shattered X chromosomes would still grow and be well.

The problem was that that child would be of the 5% of infants that were carried to term with that deformity. Mortality rates for newborn infants were as high in two in five, and for that five to be born first they had to run a near 80% chance of dieing in the womb from complications. The Shattered X chromosome worked against the bodies natural reproductive cycle, and it even seemed to work against the developing fetus in trials done with artificial wombs. With the majority of Bajorans carrying the Shattered X, birth rates were low but sustainable even if the psychological cost was high on the parents.

Men and women like Santra Arron and his wife, Santra Lida. Tuel had had to pass by the small shelf in the entrance hall that was always overflowing with cut flowers, within which rested the flickering votive memorial candles.

And Arron had just dropped the fact he had solved the problem...as though he had just remember to buy milk from the farmers market in the morning. The young man smiled, turning to his teacher and allowing a happy grin to spread across his face as he nodded.

“How?†Arron asked, the clear enjoyment in explaining his clever solution evident in his voice.

“The Calden City drug trials-†Tule began to sputter, before being cut off with a wave of Arrons hands.

“A stop gap. Those drugs are hard to manufacture, and a single treatment regieme is nearly the same value as a upper class family income for the Darkara provinence! Where would people here, in the farm lands find those sort of funds? No those drug trials are, at best, money making ideas from the PharmCombines.†Arron snorted derisively “That and remind me of how many children have been born to that program from the ten families involved in the trail? 1? 2?â€

“Two.†Tule said softly, rubbing his fingers along the glass of fire water in his hand “There was a third but there was an allergic reaction.â€

“So we’ve slightly improved the odds of the higher class out breeding the farmers and producers. Speaking as a man of medicine I am thrilled we’re doing our best to ensure the elites survival.†Arron shook his head again and met his mentors eyes “My solution is much simpler, and far more cost effective in the long term. The Shattered X exists in the chromosomes of the male and female reproductive organs. Thats how its passed on to the child, creating the genetic cocktail that has turned the maternity wards of Bajor into a battlefield. My cure- The Santra Cure, now thats a name. The Santra Cure targets that chromosomal DNA in the testes and ovaries and alters it, breaking the Shattered X and replacing it with a normal X configured chromosome.â€

Tule was silent for a moment, before he slowly set his glass.

“Genetically engineered virus specifically tailored to deliver the needed chromosomal edit without effecting the host genetic profile. In a single treatment the body becomes able to breed a Bajoran that will never again know the fear of the Shattered X: the next generation can live without that pain.†Arron said, continuing his glorious rendition of his triumph “Of course the trick was getting the virus past the bodies autoimmune response, after all its carrying a RNA strand that is designed to forcibly edit one part of the genetic blueprint. But by using the Bajoran flu as a carrier for the virus, by breeding a strain of the influenza virus with a secondary RNA receptor that is keyed to the reproductive signature of its new host...well suddenly the flu that sickens us for a few days of bed rest turns into a miracle. The bodies immune system reacts to the flu, but can’t counter the secondary infection vector of the new receptor. Its like placing a Vedek into an armoured tank and driving them into a riot between two differing interpretation of the faith.â€

He turned to look at Tule and...frowned. The old man suddenly looked ancient, his eyes brimming with tears and as he looked at his young student. The news was astounding, even groundbreaking for its simplicity, and it was rightly it should stir the heart of every Bajoran who had known the pain of loss as Arron had. He reached out a hand to pat the old mans chest, to let him know everything was alright...but his hand patted something hard and rectangular on Tule’s sternum.

“Arron I-â€

He reached under his old friends shirt.

“-I wanted to help you-â€

He gripped the hard object on his friends chest, and tugged at it forcibly.

“-but the university...my funding…â€

Arron held the item in his bare hand now, admiring the small wireless microphone and transmitter that sat there.

“They promised me…†Tule said quietly.

Arron could barely hear the sound of rapidly approaching foot steps in the streets below, nor the crunch of slowly moving armoured cars. All he could hear was the sudden rising thudding of his heart as his blood seemed to boil in his veins. He looked to Tule, to his friend. For the first time in his life, Santra Arron, a man sworn to the medicinal arts and saving the lives of his fellow Bajorans, held murderous intent in his heart.

That feeling would find a loving and nurturing home there in the decades to come.

Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Fri Feb 27, 2015 9:23 am

]]> 2015-02-19T22:00:37-04:00 2015-02-19T22:00:37-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=267&p=2429#p2429 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Re: Sai'Tan: Onsite]]> Statistics: Posted by Nevian — Thu Feb 19, 2015 10:00 pm

]]> 2015-02-19T21:22:43-04:00 2015-02-19T21:22:43-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=267&p=2423#p2423 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Re: Sai'Tan: Onsite]]> Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Thu Feb 19, 2015 9:22 pm

]]> 2015-02-19T14:09:28-04:00 2015-02-19T14:09:28-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=267&p=2420#p2420 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Sai'Tan: Onsite]]> Smaller quarters would have been satisfactory but protocol stated his rank rated larger accommodations, he had politely declined a rating as personal assistant and had gotten to work reviewing Starbase 42's schematics and station logs.

An old style standard station of obsolete design, built in place with from local materials cycled through large industrial sized replicators.. tritainium keel and duranium lattice foam composites for bulkheads, all arranged about a central command and utility core giving the whole an appearance of a squat upside down waste receptacle on a spindle with outlaying flattened pods serving as cargo warehouse.

Thee shutdown hadn't been a clean or anything approaching a mothballing effort, the last crew had simply pulled the plug on the reactor core and evacuated at a painful 1.2 warp to the rear support group during the Dominion's attack on Sector zero zero.
Since that time, scavengers had been at the facility like large vermin, taking hull plates from outer bulkhead leave the whole station open to vacuum, the computer core rudely cut out.. the list of requirements to make the station minimally habitable had went on for pages.

His initial review had been marginally above building a new station in place. The main super structure was still in place and as there was no power, any of the missing supports could be tractored and probably fused in place, or simply recycled and rebuilt.

Onsite:

Foamed aluminum with carbon lattice fibers.. oddly enough readily produced from the industrial replicators fed by asteroid supplied mass banks. For a quick patch of the external bulkheads before layering on the tritainium outer hull, the station could be pressurized and the majority of internal layouts could be started.
EPS conduits, fiber optics and secondary systems could be patched in along the remainder of the station's framing, artificial gravity and inertial compensator grids supplied by tertiary fusion generators ...

Sai'tan had begun a 22 hour work day cycle upon arrival in system, taking only time for personal needs and a daily hour of deep meditation. His time and energy spent with focused efficiency, the bodily needs supplemented by nutrition bars and chamomile tea, he tasked the Engineer Corps of the Allen with a difficult task and they met it with enthusiasm...




Section by section, power and life support restored, the skeleton of SB 42 starts to fill out week by week..

Statistics: Posted by Nevian — Thu Feb 19, 2015 2:09 pm

]]> 2015-02-18T20:55:59-04:00 2015-02-18T20:55:59-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=266&p=2418#p2418 <![CDATA[Personal Logs • Re: Santra: A Life Well Travelled.]]> Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Wed Feb 18, 2015 8:55 pm

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