The Chaotic Life and Times

Nineteen Fifty-Seven.

Wed, 27 May 2009 08:54:44 GMT

I really do not understand the Bastard's tendency to try to get into private conversations with me. He does it all the jay' time. It's enough to drive a sane woman mad. That said, I have to at least make a pretense of trying to pretend to be civil, as regardless of what I think of him, he still outranks me, and it creates awkward questions when one disposes of or abuses superior officers too much.

I had assumed he was going to harass me about his contingency plans, in case we got stuck here for any length of time, or if he died. He'd already been hinting about such concerns already. If he knew me better, he'd know that he doesn't have to actually talk to me about such things, I will just take care of them. Problems with authority or not, I did get the same education in Starfleet Academy he did, and despite whatever assumptions he made about my skills, I did get pretty good marks in my courses. Thankfully, that didn't turn into a discussion we had to have right now, as he was trying to get the gossip about Noelle instead.

It's painfully obvious to anyone with a lick of sense watching those two that they want each other. They keep making excuses around it, claiming they just want to be friends, that there's this family/social reason, or that work reason, why they can't be together. I have to give the bastard points, when I did call him on the dancing around his desire for her and how it was plain as day to everyone, he admitted he's never been any good at hiding things.

The meat of the matter that he wanted to harass me about is what happened to Noelle in the mirror universe. He didn't mentioned the mirror universe, I'm not even sure if he knows the mirror universe is involved, but I don't care what he does and doesn't know. He clearly didn't get any of the juicy tidbits, and he seemed perplexed as to how I could understand the sort of loss I told him is justification for never holding back and never wasting time. When he admitted he didn't have access to the report, I told him that I couldn't tell him, he'd have to talk to her. He hadn't even been sure that anything had happened to Noelle, he really is clueless about people, as watching Noelle makes it clear something happened.

He did claim that he's suffered a great loss, implied it was something on par with what I went through losing Travis, without actually knowing the details of my loss. I can't say what he went through, but it probably isn't his broken marriage with Thil and the two who were absent when we were at his family's keep on the Andor mission. It wasn't a discussion I wanted to get into with him. He doesn't need to know about my past, I don't need to know about his. He just needs to understand that if he has interest in my friend, he needs to handle it correctly, or it's just going to stack on top of the other things he's done to piss me off.

I curled up in the hay loft to steal a little sleep after that. The Brian kid has a pretty nice, given the time period, amateur rocket lab set up in the hay loft. Where normally such a loft would be filled with loose hay, there are only a couple of bails along the edge to serve as a reminder that there's an edge there and keep one from falling off from absentmindedness. He has a couple of solid work tables that look to have seen their fair share of spills, and are cluttered with a whole collection of bottles, beakers and the occasional mason jar, all carefully labeled in a block print that speaks of someone who realizes that messy and hard to read handwriting can literally blow up in his face. If it came down to a need for it, it wouldn't be hard to get creative with what he has here, but I'd rather not take supplies when there are so many ways to earn them in this time period.

Someone who had access to my full record, not that unclassified list of reprimands and ships I've served on mess, but the real deal that pretty much no one outside of Temporal Investigations or Section 31 can read the whole of, and there's probably bits that either group can read that the other can't... well, anyone reading the full record would know this isn't the first time I've traveled through time, not even the first time I've ended up in the 20th century and on Earth. The last time really doesn't count in the grander scheme of things, we just mucked around on a Nazi airbase, killing a bunch of Nazis as we went, and came home after only a couple hours there.

Already, I get the feeling that this trip is going to be much different from that one. I wasn't there for more than a minute before there was a gun leveled at me, half my crew mates on that away mission just started running around and killing anything with a swastika armband. Temporal Investigations really didn't like us when we came back. The good news is that base didn't seem to be very important, and as far as any of the team could tell, we didn't change anything noticeable by killing those Nazis. The declassified Nazi reports about it were an interesting read when I took the time to dig them up one evening a few months afterwards. Zane seemed to have gotten the focus of the reports of the pilots who lived to tell the tale of their encounter with me and the Fuzzball.

Here, the first person we met was a teenage kid. It feels like so long ago that I was that young. It's such a stark contrast that here the first action from a local was to hand back something our group had dropped. When I claimed we were seeking somewhere to stay the night, in hopes of getting an answer and satisfying his curiosity enough that he'd go on his way... he instead offers his parents barn to us to sleep in for the night.

From the way that the rest of the team didn't seem to be reacting at all, I got the impression that I was the only one who'd done the time travel thing before. Regardless of if I was more or less experienced on the topic than my fellow officers, all of which outrank me, I was the one who started reacting to what was going on the quickest. As the lowest ranking officer in the bunch, it feels odd that I am pretty much leading the team. It's a good thing that between survival instincts beaten into me at a young age, where survival depends upon quick reaction not waiting for the authority figures to step in and control the situation, and my minor in 20th century earth history, I've been able to keep this situation under control.

I can already tell that the rest of the team is afraid of letting this Brian kid hang around, but between what I experienced on the Nazi base and what I've read in other reports I've been able to get my hands on, once a person native to the local time line notices you and starts interacting with you, it's usually better to keep them involved and under your influence. They're going to stick around, like it or not, so you might as well have a hand in shaping their impressions of you, guiding their reactions, and hopefully keeping damage to a minimum. V seems to have adjusted the best of the three, and she may yet prove to be a good partner in crime when we start going out to gather supplies in order to survive while stuck here. I get the impression that there's more to this woman than is visible on the surface. She's already shown a knack for changing her accent and helping weave up cover stories that I haven't seen so much outside of SI or theater geeks. She doesn't grate on my nerves like most SI folk, but she doesn't hit me as a theater geek either. I'll just have to keep an eye on her.

In worse news, the Blue Bastard's at it again. He and the Romulan Bitch, a title she just earned, almost got into a fight. In front of Brian just as he bumbled into our conversation and started putting pieces together quicker than I could work to throw doubt onto. My money is on the Romulan bitch, if the fighting turns into anything other than talk and posturing, but the evil part of me thinks I should let the two be paired off on information gathering and wait to see if one kills the other off. Might solve the bastard infestation on the Shingen without my having to get my hands dirty. She's bound to have diplomatic immunity or some shit, as an exchange officer, so it would work out for her. Also, cultural differences, she could cry! It has possibility.

Right now, Bastard's on watch, and I ferreted up a scrap of paper to jot this onto until we get back home and I can put it into my journal proper... or I end up getting a journal here if we get stuck for any length of time. If we get stuck for any length of time, I will have to see what I can do about getting a job doing something flying. I don't think I could handle being land locked for too long.

V's talked about being able to make us fake ID papers, and the team has all adopted human sounding names.. at least first names. V will probably either assign full names to each of us, or she'll ask us if we have anything in mind. I think I'll use Travis' family name if she gives me a choice. Desiree Foster doesn't sound half bad.

When out shopping for supplies in the morning, I should also keep an eye out for any goodies that could safely come home with me. Like records in mint condition of bands that we only have copies of digital recordings made from analog medium as the media was starting to die of old age. I'd only be inclined to ferret away booze, if I could find a way to let it pass through time and find its way to me some time after we get back. Probably not likely on that one... but there are bound to be other goodies that would be worth bringing home.

A new partner in crime.

Mon, 16 Mar 2009 20:30:36 GMT

V and I found a couple of small bars on the station. We planted a few bottom feeding locals on their ass, got bought more than our fair share of drinks by admirers who didn't cut it, and shared stories of better bar crawls. She was highly amused by some of the tales I had of my times bar crawling with Blue, especially the time with the drunken Klingon who wanted to force me to be his bride.

When I asked why she wasn't working with all the other Engineers who were working on the upgrades and repairs we'd put into station for, she gave me a vague story about how Henriksen still wasn't sure what to do with her. The orders got all scrambled about, there was mention of maybe putting her into Ops, maybe not. At any rate, V technically wasn't expected for a little while yet, so they didn't seem in a rush to make her work. At least, that's what she implied, but I didn't completely buy it. Doesn't really matter anyways, It was nice to have someone who actually enjoyed the bar hopping with me, and didn't need to be watched and protected.

Around the time that the computer had told me that Imaru was done with her shift, I gave her a call, and she agreed to join us. She didn't seem as inclined towards the trouble as V and I, so the three of us ended up wandering the station, window shopping, and just talking about random things. The two of them wandered off into engineering related things a few times, leaving me completely lost in the conversation unless they wandered into stuff involving my helm systems.

Imaru has morning shifts all three days we're docked, but we've all agreed to also meet up after her shifts the next two days of leave. V and I also have plans to seek proper trouble either before or after Imaru's available for the evening part of the day.

Rise and Shine!

Sun, 15 Mar 2009 08:30:19 GMT

After my unplanned research project of last night, I was woken up entirely too early for my tastes. Probably only four hours into my sleep, I am being awoken from a peaceful slumber to be surprised by a person in my quarters. I only saw a slight movement as my eyes started to crack, then I rolled across the bed, grabbed my d'k tahg and readied it against my unexpected guest before I could even identify her.

"I hate to say it but your promotion party bored me nearly to death, what's there to do around here?" she said to me, not even so much as pretending the d'k tahg was in the room, let alone pointed at her in a threatening manner. Between the painfully soviet accent, and finally getting a good look at her, I recognized her as the new face at the party last night. Svetlana. I put the blade away and shook my head.

"I hope that you at least had the courtesy to make sure my cat didn't get out when you gave yourself access to my quarters," was my answer.

Svetlana glanced around, "Cat is there." she pointed, "You are maybe wanting coffee? Bagel? Pants?"

"Pants are overrated," I answered with a smirk, and spared a glance towards where Svetlana indicated Delilah was. "I would accuse you of having an overgrown cat toy, but I know I saw that thing following you last night at the party..." The little bot had produced something fuzzy looking that it was taunting Delilah with. Sounded like there was a bell in it, and amazingly enough, Delilah was responding to the toy, probably because of the novel thing that was holding it, as any humanoid trying the same trick usually was ignored. "Okay, V, what flavor of trouble did you have in mind?"

"We could be starting with breakfast, perhaps with some beer? Nice breakfast beer is sounding good," Svetlana answered. At this, I shook my head and stood up.

"If you're looking to get a light buzz going this early in the morning, I have better stuff than beer," I explained as I snagged a couple random pieces of clothing from my closet to get dressed. I ended up with leather pants, a comfortably loose sweater and big stompy boots. "How about breakfast blood wine? That's alliterative..." Svetlana seemed to ponder this, and an idea came to me. "At the party, you were claiming you could peg the age on various alcoholic tasties... we could start with this..." As I spoke, I made for the little cabinet that I kept my small collection. I pulled out my 2309.

She almost sounded like she wasn't going to get the year, but after a little pondering, and some muttering in what sounded vaguely Russian, but made the universal translator spit out white noise, she got it. So I pulled out the Romulan Ale I had. Not as good as what Spiegel had, but this was what I had left of the 2341. She couldn't quite pin it, she got it within a decade. After a little more sampling of my fine collection, she mentioned we'd already docked at the station for the repairs and leave, so I suggested we find adventure on the station. When she spit more of the Russian sounding stuff that borked the universal translators, this time at her bot to convince it to leave Delilah alone, I asked her what language it was. New Siberian was her answer. Interesting,

At any rate, I aim to follow up with Imaru at some point. When I inquired of her to the computer, it was indicated she was already roped into an engineering shift so soon after joining the crew here. Svetlana agreed we could check in with her after her shift, so the two of us are headed to the station to investigate the bars.

Distractions allow the mind to cope.

Thu, 12 Mar 2009 07:49:13 GMT

While digging through my belongings after returning from the party, I found the silliest damn toy I have ever owned. I came across it when doing a research project on toys during my second semester of 20th century studies in the Academy. It's called an Astrojax, and it is the love child of juggling and yo-yos. While both concepts had been around for a long long time before the invention of this toy, no one had thought to try to combine the two together.

When I was telling Corey about the odd thing a physicist had invented, he insisted we had to replicate one. It took a bit of fussing to get a pattern for the replicator, and ultimately we had to reinvent the thing based upon what I'd been able to find out about it while writing my paper, but I think we were ultimately successful. Corey bored of it quickly, so it was a good thing we only actually bothered to replicate one, but I still find myself picking it up to play with years later. It also helps that Delilah is absolutely fascinated with the things, and will happily sit and watch me play with them for hours. Certainly comes in handy when I need to distract her from something else.

I was very underwhelmed by how the party went, but we seem to have picked up a couple more crew members at random and they made it to the party for me to meet them. One's human, seems like she'll be fun to get into trouble with. I didn't catch her last name, certainly sounded Russian, but her first name is Svetlana. A touch of a mouthful, I'll have to figure out something shorter to call her. The other's an Andorian, named Imaru, but she's weird for an Andorian. Not like standard I'm in Starfleet Andorian weird, but something else. She bristles at the presence of other Andorians, and some of her remarks implied that she considered herself different from the others. It doesn't seem like it'll be anything to bother me, and it will be nice to have someone else to share the feeling of personal vendetta against the Blue Bastard with.

One other thing about her that's worth noting... She had been serving aboard the Terra Nova the same time as I was, but I somehow hadn't encountered her. I guess she usually keeps to herself down in Engineering or something like that. At any rate, that part is less weird that it should probably seem. The weird thing is, I had somehow not heard of what had happened to the Terra Nova not long after I'd be transferred to that shit hole, Milliways. Apparently there was some big to-do, whole ship got fucked up, official report claimed subspace anomaly destroyed her, and we lost a lot of good people. I looked up the official reports I had security clearance for, thankfully no one had bothered to take away my clearance levels left from Delta Force, as there was a little more information in the reports one level up. Not enough to actually explain what happened, but just enough to support the cryptic remarks Imaru made when she was bringing me up to date at the party.

The worst part about it was I knew a good chunk of the crew lost, partied hardy with more than a few, and they'd been dead and gone for over a year before I even heard about it. I knew Milliways was basically a black hole in the fleet, but I thought Mouse had kept me up to date on most of the big events that happened in the fleet during my sentence there.

I think the full impact of what I had missed hearing about, the lack of a chance to timely mourn the loss of so many good people, was what left me melancholy enough to dig out that silly Astrojax toy. It's a good way to distract oneself enough to left stuff sort itself out in the back of one's head without having to consciously think about it.

Test Flight, Mark II

Thu, 09 Oct 2008 19:36:14 GMT

Leaving the mess, I kept hearing my name float up in the conversation. I made a point to ignore it. Reaching the corridor, I let out a sigh of relief as I was now out of ear shot of the damned gossip brigade. The Shingen easily had the most active and rabid gossip network I'd ever encountered on a fleet ship, which is saying a lot given the level of crap I'd heard about on Milliways sometimes.

I swung past my quarters, and checked my messages. There was something from Mouse with a note about how I should have put in a change of address with the post office, and he doesn't appreciate having to forward my mail for me. Also, when would I have some leave to come back and visit. I tossed back a quick reply that I had no intention of stepping foot on Milliways again if I could avoid it, but if he wanted to coordinate leave somewhere like six months down the road, I'd be happy to meet him somewhere. Also, I asked if he was reading my mail before forwarding it, and if so, was this anything interesting?

As tempted as I was to open the message Mouse had forwarded to me, I knew that I couldn't waste too much time before showing up down at the flight deck. Johnson hadn't had much left on his plate when I made my hasty retreat, and Cryn had stopped eating after I'd poked fun as his replicated gagh. He did claim to appreciate the real thing, so I wonder if he'd even been to Valanna's in San Fran. So I reluctantly made my way down to the flight deck.

"During her debriefing, she mentioned a program Spiegel put together for her to monitor comm channels. I'd like to get a look at it," Cryn said to Johnson. I entered the flight deck just as he was saying this, his back to me, and frowned slightly. Johnson was first to acknowledge my presence with a nod in my direction. I did the same so as to not break into their conversation, but apparently they were going to draw me into it anyways.

"Voralis was just telling me about a comm program that Lucas made for you," Johnson directed at me. I'd gotten so used to hearing everyone just call the dork Spiegel that it still throws me off to hear anyone use his given name. My face must have reflected this as the look that Johnson directed my way expressed confusion.

"He prefers to be addressed as Spiegel," I corrected, making an effort to be polite about it. This only seemed to confuse the Admiral more, as his mouth twisted into a slight frown.

"Mr. Spiegel didn't seem like the formal sort," he commented back at me, and I shook my head slightly.

"Just call him Spiegel, no mister attached." I explained, following Johnson and Cryn as they headed towards the Obama. As we reached it, Johnson stepped aside with a gesture to indicate he wanted me to go first. I awkwardly smiled as I moved past him, and darted inside without waiting for the door to finish opening. Demonstrating more patience than I was typically capable of, both men waited for the door to open all the way before they followed me in, giving me a chance to start settling in before they were there to watch and evaluate. I sat at the right front console, and pulled up the configuration I'd saved during the last trip in the Obama.

"How does the customization interface work?" Johnson asked as he settled into the chair to my left. I'd just started the preflight check, so I only spared a moment to reach over and trigger the customization mode on his console. Cryn was standing just behind me and to my left, so that he could easily look over both mine and the Admiral's shoulder, and without looking back, I could tell he was doing just that.

"For someone who complains about fleet consoles and training being so human specific, your console isn't that far off from fleet standards," Cryn observed after a couple moments observation, to which I shrugged.

"First ten years of my life were on Luna, I can't help it if I picked up some human habits," I dismissed. While I was saying this, Cryn placed a hand on the back of my chair and leaned forward to take a closer look at my console. Glancing back at him, I saw his eyes were directed to the lower left corner where I had a couple of programs displaying readings for me.

"Is that Spiegel's program?" he asked pointing it out among the group he'd been looking at, and Johnson finally turned his attention away from trying out the console customization. As I nodded, I elected to send the program to the main display to avoid having the two men move too far into my personal space. "You mentioned it would crash if someone it didn't recognize were too close, but it's running fine with us here." Cryn observed, and I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyebrow raised.

"When I opened it, it identified both of you from internal sensors, and asked if you were authorized. It gave me your name, rank and serial number," I explained, and indicated I was talking about Johnson, then turned my gaze to Cryn. "But it couldn't give me anything more than your picture and security clearances. It did list off some interesting security groups I haven't seen since my time with Delta Force and Terra Nova." Cryn coughed, then frowned, but Johnson had an amused look across his face. "I knew you were a spook," I couldn't resist ribbing him, and he retreated to the chair on the other side of Johnson.

"What would it take for me to get a copy of the program?" Cryn finally asked. I let a sly smile play across my lips and let him sit in silence a moment before answering.

"Spiegel really should give me a commission, I've spread more of his creations than he has," I quipped, not actually answering the question posed to me.

"Except for his book," Cryn corrected, and his tone of voice told me he was trying to regain an advantage in the conversation.

"I heard they're giving copies of the book to undercover agents for Starfleet Intelligence," Johnson commented.

"That'll really stroke the dork's ego." I initiated the takeoff sequence as I said this. "It tickled him pink enough when the Bastard started carrying around a copy of it with him."

"Bastard?" Johnson asked with a furrowed brow. Cryn chuckled a little.

"That's what she calls Shan," Cryn explained, and Johnson frowned.

"Therav's a good officer," he objected.

"He shot me in the back in a bar on Milliway's, sir." My statement was brisk and not without a tinge of anger.

"I'm sure he had a good reason."

"Apparently he was trying to keep me from getting into more trouble than I'd already found myself in," I all but growled. The Obama cleared the docking bay doors as I said this, and I pulled her sharply up, keeping the roof of the craft about a meter away from the outer hull of the Shingen. Johnson held onto the edge of his console, and Cryn steadied himself by holding the arm of his chair. "I don't care what his reason, there is never a justifiable excuse to shoot someone in the back. Ever."

"You turned the inertial dampeners down, didn't you?" Johnson asked as I banked the craft right and headed out to the open space just past the ship.

"Airsick bag's available from the replicator, pattern Diziara Greenhorn Four," I explained as I laid in a course. Cryn chuckled as Johnson looked back at the replicator a moment, but eventually elected to stay seated. I hardly paid him any mind, as I was laying in a course so I could focus on the holographic extension to the console.

"So, is it the fourth version of an airsick bag you've created?" Johnson asked, commenting on the pattern number. My laugh surprised him, and I took a moment before I responded, so I could display the stock holographic interface options on the main screen as I scrolled through the list.

"Do you know how to count on your hand in binary, sir?" I finally asked him as I paused on one that was labeled Stearman PT-17. Cryn smiled slyly as Johnson went through the motions to count out to four, ending up with only his middle finger extended.

"How subtle," was all Johnson had to say on that. I locked in the Stearman configuration, grinning widely as the console in front of me morphed into one that resembled the instrument panel in a PT-17 Stearman biplane. Analog gauges, switches and the control stick all laid out like I remembered it, and my hands wandered a moment without actually activating anything.

"Corey actually sent me the pattern when I'd complained about the greenhorns making messes in the shuttles I'd fly for away missions," I explained as I started actively adjusting the panel. Reassigning this gauge, adding that display, relocating the odd switch, there were so many things wrong about the preconfigured layout. Whoever had designed the adaption of the antique craft's panel to Starfleet technological needs clearly hadn't flown the biplane in question.

"Corey Waterhouse?"

"Yes sir."

"Will you stop calling me sir?"

"Yes, Sir." I felt like the Cheshire cat as my grin managed to double in size as I ribbed Johnson. Cryn chuckled softly, and Johnson looked from me to Cryn and back again a couple times.

"Waterhouse should have been an Engineer," he finally said, probably realizing that I was just needling him at this point. I couldn't help snorting in amusement.

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious to the most casual observer. It's Jack's fault he's a pilot instead."

"Figgins? How do you figure?"

"Went through the Academy with the pair of 'em." Finally satisfied with the configuration I'd settled on, I saved it and took the Obama out of auto pilot. "Corey freely admitted that he went through flight training to keep an eye on Jack and help him out, and he didn't have the time to spare to double major. I know he could have done it, if he wanted, but Jack and I would have seen almost nothing of him outside of class. It would have made my downtime horribly boring."

"Wasn't Jack in Red Squad? Why would he need looking after?"

"Corey and I shoe horned every last bit of education into him that he needed to maintain the grades for Red Squad," I explained, and tested the Obama's response to the stick by throwing her into a barrel roll. Johnson opened his mouth to object to this statement, so I continued talking. "Corey didn't care for the elitist attitude of the group, and I was too much of a trouble maker for them to let me in. Jack about had 'em sold to accept me, but then Admiral Paris went and spoiled it by making me punch him."

"Interesting take on that event, Owen tells it differently," Cryn commented with a chuckle. Before I could retort, Johnson took control of the conversation again.

"Jack's been a department head on the Monitor for a while now, he's shown no indication of needing as much help as you're implying. And Corey only recently transferred in, so he wouldn't have been able to prop Jack up into the position."

"Once you get the information into him, Jack holds onto it especially well. He had to eventually figure out what it was that Corey and I did to get him to retain information, and figure out how to do it himself. He's certainly not stupid," I explained, and started running through some of my favorite maneuvers. I tried to bite back my smile as I noticed Johnson glancing back towards the replicator.

"So, if you're not saying he's stupid, what are you saying is wrong with Jack?" Johnson finally asked. I pulled the Obama up short, and turned her back towards the Shingen.

"Nothing is wrong with him. He's just got a learning disability, and doesn't respond to the medications most people take to handle it," I explained with an annoyed sigh. Conversation came to a dead halt with this statement, and I fussed with the holographic controls a little more. "There's a little bit of a lag, but it probably wouldn't take much effort to iron it out," I finally declared. "So, are we going to get to keep the Obama for a little bit, or are we going to have to send her on to someone else soon?"

"I had to pull quiet a few strings to get you the first crack at her, but I'll do what I can to keep her here for a while. They're working to build a second one, so depending on how quickly that goes, it might take some of the pressure off to hand this one over," Johnson told me.

"They're going to upgrade the phase inducers on the second one, to the specs that Spiegel and Noelle recommended in their reports, right?" I asked, a slight frown on my face.

"As far as I know," Johnson answered. "Though knowing engineers, it's entirely possible they'll insist on not doing it and just posting a warning against playing near tachyon eddies."

"I don't know an engineer worth the air they breath that would dare do such a thing," I shot, possibly a little defensively. This brought the conversation to a halt, and I sat back in my chair, letting the Obama pilot herself from the course I'd laid in.

Eventually Cryn and Johnson started interrogating me on the ship's customizable consoles as if I was the one who wrote up the specs or built the damn thing. Even though I managed to satisfy their questions, I was wishing I'd insisted on bringing Spiegel along to field these questions. I saw some of the notations he'd made on the copy of the specs he'd been reading over in the mess earlier. At least my experience with holoprogramming helped me on fielding the questions about the holographic interface.

When they finally decided they'd had enough, and I was clearly growing weary from having been cooped up in the ship with them for so long without even my normal music to help balance things out, I laid in a course back to the Shingen. That's when they really blind sided me.

"How long has it been since you last got promoted?" Cryn asked me. His tone was innocent, but a quick glance in his direction made it clear he was up to something. Johnson's attention snapped up from his console as Cryn said this.

"You tell me. You're the one who went over my extended dossier with a fine tooth comb," I shot back.

"Nearly seven years," Johnson helpfully answered for me. Wondering what they were getting at, I turned to look at them both. Johnson had produced from somewhere a little box and had popped it open. A little gold pip, to replace my black one, was sitting in the box. "You're more than overdue."

"I think she was convinced she was going to die a Lieutenant junior grade," Cryn commented with a chuckle, and Johnson grinned at me. I was sitting in my chair slack jawed, and Johnson handed the box over to Cryn. I could tell there was more said in this gesture than I could decypher, but at the time I was still blind sided so it didn't even occur to me to even attempt to parse it out. Cryn changed out my pips for me, and Johnson told me that he had some good spirits tucked away if I wanted to celebrate later. I made a polite reply that neither accepted or declined the invitation, and the rest of the way back to the Shingen I was quiet.

Though, once I'd parted company with the Admiral and Cryn, I did hold my chin especially high to show off my new rank.

Debriefing

Thu, 02 Oct 2008 03:43:09 GMT

The arrival back to the Shingen wasn't too bad, given that we'd been to the mirror universe and back, and of course they had to take precautions that we really were ourselves and not our doubles. Noelle took it quietly and patiently, but it was clear she was relieved when they finally decided they could leave her alone, let her get on with recovering from the abuse Maddie put her through. Spiegel bitched and moaned through the whole process. It wasn't exactly a cake walk for any of us, but the True New Yorker came out in the dork during the ordeal. It wasn't good enough to suffer quietly through the indignities and insults of the welcome we were receiving, but he had to make it clear that he was receiving the worst of it. I know for a fact that he got the lightest and kindest touch, I think Marla likes him for some reason and doesn't realize he has a very strict no crew mates policy.

We'd written our reports on the Obama on the way back to the ship. There was a good amount of downtime with the distance we had to travel back to the ship, and without the stops at the various bars we had on the first half of the trip, it felt like it stretched out quite a while, so those are likely the best reports Spiegel and I have ever filed. It was probably pretty safe to assume that copies of the reports were distributed to everyone who had reason and authorization to read them, well before we actually made it back to the Shingen. That would explain why within 24 hours of our making it back on the ship, Admiral Johnson and his entourage arrived and noises were made about a proper debriefing.

Spiegel volunteered to go first, probably to get it over and done with, to better enable him to get back to his routine in Engineering. Since we brought him back from Andor, and his multiple year undercover assignment, Sharad had found himself tucked into Johnson's entourage. He got the task of debriefing Spiegel, which went fairly casually based upon Spiegel's mood and what he was babbling about when he got out. We didn't actually talk about the debriefing, but Spiegel had new topics for his book, and was talking about his cascade virus again, which lead me to guess that Sharad had approached these two topics during the debriefing. I had assumed that Johnson was just going to have Sharad conduct all the debriefings, so I was a little surprised when I entered the room to find a man I didn't know waiting for me. The debriefing itself was odd enough that I feel compelled to lay it out as accurately as possible so I can better analyze it later.

“Lieutenant,” he acknowledged me as I walked into the briefing room. As he was already seated, I made no effort to salute. I could easily have claimed it was to save him the need to stand in order to return it properly, if challenged. I sat down across the table from him.

“You're not Sharad,” I commented with a smirk. His blue-green eyes looked me up and down, and I let my gaze evaluate him likewise. He fiddled with the PADD in front of him as he silently considered what to say to me, so I took in the superficial details I could see. His hair was dark but starting to grey along the sides, his uniform immaculate, commander pips shining like a new penny, and the spots, not unlike my own, gave him away as Trill.

“You've been talking to Spiegel,” he finally said, as if this were a fact.

“Not about the debriefing,” I corrected him with a grin. When all he gave me was a silent look, I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. “This doesn't seem to be your garden variety debriefing.”

“You've been spending too much time around Spiegel,” he suggested, but couldn't hide the mild amusement in his voice.

“Most of the colorful metaphors in my arsenal predate my making acquaintance with that spiky haired dork.”

“Now that you mention it, I do recall the dedication on his book mentioned you as an invaluable resource for a non-human perspective.”

“It's kind of scary how far that silly book of his has traveled...” I muttered. This provoked a raised eyebrow from him. “You know, I haven't even bothered to skim the thing. I have no idea what he's got in there, other than knowing the page number for a couple of key phrases he's pointed to the Blue Bastard.” There was a silence after this comment.

“You really shouldn't talk about your superior officers like that,” he finally told me.

“It's not like I haven't done worse, and he was the one who shot me in the back.”

“I did skim the report filed by Lieutenant Commander Navarro after that incident.”

“I'm afraid to hear how horribly she characterized me,” I sniped. The Commander chuckled, and I tilted my head to the side in question.

“I'll leave it at there's a very good reason she's posted to Milliway's.”

“So, are you one of Johnson's pets?”

“As much so as you are.” When I growled at this statement, he laughed. “Zack and I go back a long time. It's more likely you could consider him my pet, than the other way around.”

“That must be handy, having brass in your pocket.” He laughed politely at this like it was a social jab, and I bristled.

“I can see why Zach likes you, Diz.” There was a pause. “It is alright if I call you Diz?”

“I'd be more inclined to say yes if I knew your name,” I answered, and he grinned as if this were a tactical jab I'd made.

“Where are my manners? You can call me Voralis Cryn.”

“Manners don't seem to be a strong requirement for those Johnson surrounds himself with.”

“You would know, you certainly test the limits of social graces. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?”

“It's hard to dance around social graces without knowing where they are first. Besides, my mother wears combat boots and eats men like you for breakfast.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“And what would you know of my mother?”

“More than you'd think.”

“What is the game here?” I stood, leaning towards him across the table, my palms spread across its surface as my arms supported my weight.

“Game?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and a sly smile graced his lips. Until now, he'd been sitting upright and professionally, hands clasped together on the table in front of him.

“Someone like me, the fleet's going to drop on a station like 668 to rot, not give nice assignments that involve combat and recovery missions, or the ability to play with prototypes like the Obama. Now you're supposed to be debriefing me, but instead we haven't even addressed the subject that plunked me down at this table across from you.”

“Okay, we can talk about what happened. Tell me about crossing over.” The ease and speed with which he changed gears on the conversation surprised me, and I had to take a moment to catch up as I sat down again.

“It was pretty much a non-event,” I started. He nodded as if he already knew this, but was patiently waiting for me to get to the juicy tidbits. “I was testing the handling of the Obama, in the Denorios belt, when suddenly the power dies. It's only a moment before it comes back on, but the comm traffic died at the same time, and comes back all wrong.” He made a small noise in the back of his throat as I mentioned the comm traffic, and I frowned.

“Why would you notice the comm traffic anyways?” As he asked this, he leaned forward with interest, tucking his hands together again. I leaned back in my chair as far as I could.

“Spiegel tossed together a program for me, when we served together on the Rothmore,” I explained, and he nodded at this. “It monitors comm traffic and informs me if anything interesting or important comes across.”

“How does it know what's important? And better yet, what about encryption on Federation and Starfleet channels?” His grin told me that he was impressed and amused by the concept of this program, but he was ready to stress test the idea.

“I feed it my security clearance when I open it up, and it's got a kill switch which disables it when I move too far away, or someone unfamiliar to it moves too close, which it monitors by way of the internal sensors. If I move away from the console it simply hides itself, but if someone else gets too close or tries to meddle with it, it acts as if it's crashed.”

“And how does it know what's of interest?”

“I can configure it with key words, phrases and frequencies to watch for. I've got maybe a few dozen preset combinations for standard away missions, and I can edit these settings on the fly as needed.”

“And Spiegel just threw this together for you?” His tone of voice made it clear he was impressed, but his body language tried to say it didn't really matter. I shrugged this question off.

“He said he had upgrades he could do to it, but we haven't had a chance to talk about it yet.”

“Understandable.” The silence that fell between us could be cut with a knife, but I was perfectly fine to wait for him to decide where he wanted to go next. I was starting to develop a morbid fascination with his thought processes, and wasn't sure what he was getting at, but it certainly didn't seem to be debriefing. “So, whose idea was the program?”

“I used to just leave an open comm when on away missions, scanning frequencies known to have activity I'd benefit from knowing about. When Spiegel started getting frequently paired with me for away missions, he expressed a desire to get the same data without all the noise.”

“Where'd the comm habit develop?”

“During my years with the freighter company, before enrolling at the Acad. Orion pirates just never figured out the advantage of radio silence.”

“I assure you, there are plenty of Orion pirates who understand radio silence, but those usually aren't the ones tasked with laying over freighters. I do remember your pre-fleet occupation being mentioned in your service record.”

“Interesting you'd feel the need to read my service record before a routine debriefing,” I commented dryly.

“You have a bit of a reputation. I just like to come prepared.”

“What are the rumors about me like these days?” I was pretty sure that if my tone of voice failed to convey my amusement, the smirk plastered across my face as I asked this made it pretty damn clear. He seemed mildly taken aback to be losing the control of the conversation, and he raised his eyebrow at me. “I could use some amusement, so tell me what the latest rumors are like.”

“A few crewmen who served with you on the Remington believe you're the devil incarnate,” he offered up, his face unreadable, but it was pretty clear this wasn't intended to be of any interest. I snorted.

“One of them happens to be the step brother of the kid in sickbay that foams green slime when he's nervous. Old news.”

“Others call you a black widow,” he continued. I didn't remember hearing this one before, so I leaned forward to indicate my curiosity. “Seems a little odd, since only one of your past lovers has turned up dead.” I narrowed my eyes, and he seemed to enjoy knowing he had the upper hand in conversation again. “Speaking of him, your report said you encountered his double in the mirror universe. Let's talk about that...”

“What's there to talk about?” I demanded. He winced at the sharpness of my reply, but didn't let up.

“Of everyone your team encountered, he seemed the most capable and the most likely to succeed, had he decided he wanted our technology or our people. Yet he seemed satisfied flirting with you. You claimed he'd never met your analog, yet he knew exactly what to do to provoke the reactions he wanted.”

“Is there a question in there?”

“Why do you suppose he paid so much attention to you, and didn't coordinate his efforts with that of the others?”

“He clearly didn't like Maddie. He even offered to help when I went to deal with her before leaving. I didn't get the chance to follow through on that particular task. As much as she needed to be properly dealt with, getting my team home was my primary concern.”

“That universe's Storvik was clearly not working for Maddie. Why would he not work with him instead?”

“Vicky was a fucking moron.”

“But your report-”

“Don't get me wrong, he had the book smarts needed to hijack the Obama, but socially speaking, a new born babe had more innate people skills than his pointy eared ass. Travis was somewhat coordinating with him though, but it was pretty clear he didn't trust the Vulcan any more than I did.”

“Do you suppose your choice of attire might have affected his actions? You weren't in uniform.”

“It's possible. But if you're suggesting I should have marched into a potentially hostile situation in uniform, when that uniform likely would have only made it worse, I'm going to have to insist-”

“That's fine, I get your point,” he interrupted, and cleared his throat. “You could have dressed a little less provocatively.”

“You sound like a father dressing down his daughter,” I quipped. A look flashed across his face quickly, too quickly for me to identify it. “The more normal, by your standards, one dresses in a place like that, the more suspicion one draws. If it weren't for Spiegel finding Travis and plunking me into the middle of that fight, my attention drawing outfit would have kept people from watching Spiegel and would have allowed him to find what we needed.”

“So you're saying it's Spiegel's fault you got captured?”

“It's Spiegel's fault that Noelle was there to get captured with us, but the fight was just shitty luck. Of all the people to run into and of all the people for him to be looking for... Well, the odds are pretty obscene.”

“That universe is known for being very closely related to ours.”

“We didn't know which universe we were in. Technically there are an infinite number of them and we hadn't had the chance to do much recon yet.”

“That is the universe with the most known crossovers with ours.”

“However, I've had dealings with a man from a different parallel universe, so I don't just assume I've ended up in Starfleet's pet mirror.”

“That's right, you've had dealings with that Storvik character.”

“Is that in my service record too?” I snorted as I pushed back from the table. “I really should take a look and see what crap they've added to my service record since I last got a look.”

“You don't have access to the version I do.”

“You have your sources, and I have mine.”

“Mister Spiegel has gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar a few too many times. He should be a little more careful. We're not amused.”

“You should play your cards a little closer to your vest,” I suggested as I brought my left ankle up to my right knee and started tapping on the heel of my boot. My tapping spelled out 'get the stick out of your ass' in Morse code. He glared at me, and I wasn't sure if he was just annoyed with the tapping, or if he knew Morse code.

“You should be more careful too. It would be a shame to see one so talented throw it all away chasing ghosts and sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.” This comment made me think back to a conversation with Spiegel not long after we'd met. He'd spewed conspiracy theories at me as to why he ended up in the fleet.

“Is that what happened to my father?” This question seemed to take him by surprise, but it was almost entirely his silence as he formulated a response that told me this. His face had only registered any amount of surprise for but a fleeting moment, and I only caught the most trace amount of it.

“Such an overactive imagination you have,” he finally said with a chuckle. I was up out of my chair, and had slammed my palms down to the table top, even as the last word passed his lips. Leaning across the table, so my face was as close to his as I could get it without actually getting on top of the table, he coolly looked me in the eye as I took a moment to queue something other that cursing to pass from my lips.

“That is the one topic I have zero patience left on,” I finally forced out between clenched teeth. He sat and waited for me to continue. “I've gotten nothing but lies, red tape, runaround and pure bullshit, ever since I joined the happy fleet family. Fifteen years of that, after twenty of knowing nothing at all except that my mother was still pining away for him without any indication he was even still alive, has left me just a little spring loaded on the subject.” After a moment of silence, he reached up and put a hand on my shoulder to push me back across the table. He wasn't forceful about it, but it was pretty clear he wasn't going to accept my fighting his efforts. Despite figuring I could probably take him if it came down to it, I elected to move back, but I remained standing in front of my chair.

“He must be a pretty worthless man, if he's still alive and hasn't been in contact with his wife at all,” he said once he realized I wasn't inclined to sit again yet. “Unless he has been in contact with her, but had a good reason for staying away and not letting you know about it.”

“If she had proof that he was still alive, I'd know about it.”

“I know you're not on the best of terms with your mother.”

“Is that in my service record too?” The absurdity of the conversation I was having with a complete stranger hit me, causing me to let out a sharp laugh as I flopped back into my seat.

“No, but you just confirmed the rumors for me,” he conceded and I growled.

“My father is about the only subject that my mother and I don't fight about. She'd tell me if she'd heard from him,” I muttered, staring up at the ceiling as I did so. When he didn't say anything, I dropped my gaze again. “Aren't you suppose to be debriefing me?”

“So, let's talk some more about Travis.”

“Sure, fine, let's drag me through some more of that.” I growled, then exposed him to a colorful string of Klingon cursing.

“Watch the language,” he directed me, and for some reason it caught me short and I stopped midword.

“So, have the universal translators improved that much without my notice, or do you actually speak the language?” I finally asked, leaning forward with my head cocked to the side. He chuckled a little.

“I know a few of the important words,” he dismissed, and I made a small noise of amusement in the back of my throat.

“Some of those important words caused me to have to buy my own regenerator before I was eleven years old,” I explained.

“I know, that's-”

“In my service record too?” I drug my chair forward and leaned on the table. “Now you're getting out of the scope the Federation typically allows, and considering those incidents occurred on a non-Federation world, I'm pretty surprised they'd end up in my file.” I paused, and he opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly continued. “Frankly, I don't care what your sources are.”

“Smart girl.”

“Oh, don't go getting any ideas that it's because I'm afraid of you, or anything silly like that. I just don't care. I wouldn't be surprised if you had a list of everyone I've ever slept with, dated or both. Probably even includes blood type, rank and serial number where applicable...”

“It's interesting how the only person on the second list who isn't also in the first was Patrick, but the first list is significantly longer than the second.”

“I said I didn't want to know.” There was a moment of silence between us, then I suddenly slapped the table. “Okay, fine. Let's hear it.”

“What?”

“Blood types.”

“I don't exactly have the list memorized.”

“The hell you don't. I can smell a spook a lightyear away.” He stared me in the eye a moment, then sighed.

“Travis, O neg, Toby, A pos, Patrick, B pos, Jack, AB neg...” I waited when he paused, expecting him to just need a little time to get rolling again, but as the silence stretched out, I started to grow annoyed.

“Oh, but you're only scratching the surface. Why stop there?”

“You want me to run through twenty years of your overactive sex life by name and blood type?”

“Why not? It certainly would be more productive than what we've covered during the debriefing so far.”

“No wonder your mother hates you and your father ran off.”

“You're over simplifying, but any way you look at it, those are topics you really shouldn't disturb unless you want me to walk out that door right now, best case scenario.”

“And worse case?”

“I'll punch your lights out so hard that your children will feel it.” This comment amused him enough that he chuckled a minute before saying anything to it.

“Didn't you learn your lesson the last time you did that?”

“Clearly not. This time the difference in rank won't be as big and frankly, I don't care if they drum me out for punching a jackass who thinks some of the topics we've covered today are appropriate.”

“I could make you miserable enough, just for what you've said,” he threatened. I grinned at him, and we stared each other down for a long moment.

“And to do that, you'd have to admit you were baiting me on topics like my missing father, my sore relationship with my mother, or encountering the double of the man I loved more than life itself. All things likely to lead to your misery too.” There was an awkward pause on his part after I said this.

“What is wrong with you?” he finally asked.

“Do you want the Starfleet related list, the counselor's favorite theories list, or just the top ten?” My answer came back quicker than he clearly was comfortable with.

“Just forget I asked.” Again there was a pause, and he fiddled with his PADD as I waited for him to decide what topic to bring up next. “So, in both your report, and earlier in this debriefing, you made mention of wanting to deal with Noelle's analog, Maddie, but not having the chance to do so before the Obama was repaired enough to make the return trip. I'm pretty sure I know what you mean, but I want you to clarify for the record.”

“I had every intention of killing her,” I answered coldly. He frowned.

“I was afraid you'd say that.” The look that crossed his face was troubled, but it wasn't the typical ranking officer looking down upon the junior officer for poor choices troubled look. He seemed almost as if he was concerned about my well being and career.

“You read the report, you at least have an idea of how Maddie left her. I don't think my report effectively conveyed it, and I don't know if you looked up the report from the medical staff on DS9 who checked her out when we made it back to this universe. Maddie actually claimed she wouldn't be too terrible to Noelle, her words."

"So you wanted to sink to her level? That's what makes us better than them, that we don't reduce ourselves to their level."

"But we can and do reduce ourselves to that level, because sometimes that's the only way to effectively communicate with people like that.” I paused a moment to let that statement sink in. “What we call being better, being more humane, they call weakness. In the past, after previous crossover incidents with the mirror universe, they often pursued us back across the barrier. I was concerned, and am still concerned, that Maddie may attempt to pursue us."

"So you intended to break Federation law for your vigilante justice?"

"Isn't that what has endeared me to Johnson, my willingness to work around the rules to get shit done? Hell, we wouldn't even have the Blue Bastard right now if I didn't violate the rules, I disobeyed his direct order to save him."

“I know I'm not the only one to be confused by your actions during that mission, but let's not get sidetracked. There is a large difference between violating orders to save a life, and committing murder.”

“Challenging someone to combat to the death isn't murder, it is honorable.”

“Perhaps in the Empire, but you're a citizen of the Federation, and you're in service of its military.”

“Last I checked, the mirror universe is not within the Federation's jurisdiction.”

“You were still representing Starfleet.”

“So, is this just going to be a slap on the wrist and a warning not to follow through with such behavior, or is there any actual point to this line of interrogation?” He regarded me for a moment, as if considering something, then finally seemed to make up his mind.

“Everything else in your report seemed clear cut enough, so that will be all for now,” he told me, then stood up. “Though I do reserve the right to call you back for further debriefing if we find anything we need further clarification. No hard feelings?” He offered his hand. I stared at it a moment before I accepted it to shake.

“Just a word of advice,” I said, choosing not to acknowledge his attempt to make amends. “Since you seem a hands on kind of a man, not an administrative bull shit and debriefings sort. Leave awkward family history and relationships out when you're debriefing someone.” He favored me with a half grin as he took his hand back from me.

“I'll try to keep that in mind, if you'll try to remember that not everyone who outranks you in the fleet is out to get you.”

“I already know that, the problem is that they need to learn that blind faith and unconditional respect for officers often leads down the path of good intentions into hell.” Not giving him a chance to respond to that statement, I tossed off a sarcastic salute, and left without waiting for him to acknowledge it.

Distortions, Ghosts and Tempation.

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 18:52:10 GMT

It felt like I was being haunted from the moment I met him. He was Travis, but he wasn't my Travis, is the best I can explain it. I think the most unsettling thing about it was that unlike my Travis, he was combat adept. It caught me off balance that he'd never met my double in his universe, but could find each and every one of my buttons to push, but given that my Travis was doing the same before he even considered me worth talking to, I can't say that it surprised me.

I didn't want to admit that he thrilled me. I'm afraid to admit that had we had more time together, had there not been this whole issue of almost everyone trying to kill us, steal our shit, or all together treating us like these undeserving brats who'd been given wealth we didn't deserve, I probably would have fallen for him. I'm not sure how that would have worked out though, Toby would likely kill me if I up and ditched him to stay in another universe, and I really don't think it would have worked to bring him back to ours, even if I had been inclined to ignore starfleet regs.

Part of me is afraid to talk about any of this with anyone else. It was pretty clear that he was simply taking advantage of a weakness in my armor. However, towards the end, part of me wanted to believe there was chemistry, that there was passion and desire there, that I could have recaptured what I'd lost. The rational part of me, no matter how quiet her voice and how often she fails to weigh in on my actions, kept telling me I was deluding myself, that I was reaching for a shadow and a reflection.

I think knowing that, it was part of the reason when Spiegel called me back early, stopping me from settling things with Maddie, I didn't insist on going and finishing. Travis offering to help me settle that, it would have given him more time to worm his way in, to convince me to do something that would have only shattered me later when it blew up. I think I can at least take some small measure of comfort to know that some version of him is out there, still alive and thriving, though in a way that's nothing like what my own Travis would have done.

I need to talk to either Blue or Toby now. Either one of them would be able to help me sort myself out over this. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll have time before debriefings, and those are only going to make it harder. Trying to stay detached, clinical and professional in my reports, when half my attention while I was there was being inflamed by this doppelganger.

Lost and Found.

Wed, 03 Sep 2008 09:03:23 GMT

“There's no one following you,” I heard, causing me to come to a quick stop, pivoting to see who said it. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face. “So, where's the fire?” Between the body language and the use of metaphor, I could have mistaken him for my Travis if I hadn't known better.

“Leaning against the wall, at the moment,” I retorted as I bit back a growl. This provoked a laugh that tugged at my memories and only served to irritate me that much more.

“I figured you were going to relieve me of that problem named Maddie.”

“That's next on the itinerary once I settle the small matter of my d'k tahg,” I explained much cooler than I expected myself able to. He shrugged.

“Then don't let me stand in the way,” he responded and produced the blade from a random pocket. He then offered it up by holding the handle towards me. I stared at him and it was a moment before I all but snatched it out of his hand. As I carefully inspected it for damage or abuse, he watched me. Finally satisfied he'd not defiled it, I slowly slid it back into its sheath. “I take it you expected a fight?”

“You had proved difficult so far,” I muttered. He cocked his head to the side as he looked at me and chewed his lip a bit.

“He wasn't, was he?”

“He was, but not in the same ways.”

“I must feel like a bad carbon copy.” His statement amused himself enough that he snorted over it.

“So many things are the same. The choice of metaphors, body language, nervous ticks...” I started, then forced myself to take a step back. “But then you do or say something to remind me you're not him. Hold my blade correctly, effectively respond to my defensive moves, fail to respond the right way to my ticks...”

“So you want me to be combat inept, and throw you against the wall for a quick fuck?”

“You're not him,” I said, easily as much to remind myself as to push him away.

“No, I'm not. I'm probably better suited to you than he was-” he started, and I cut him off by violently pinning him to the wall with a snarl. He chuckled and jutted his hips out to meet mine, while putting up no fight to escape my grasp. “Careful, Darlin', or I will take this as an invitation.” I had one hand on his throat, the other holding both wrists against the wall above his head.

He slid one wrist free of my grasp and brought that hand to the back of my neck. He drew me close and caught my lower lip between his teeth, drawing from me a soft growl. My grip on his neck slackened, and I involuntarily arched my body towards him. His other wrist came free of my grip, and found its way to the small of my back.

As suddenly as he'd caught me, I realized what was going on and pulled away. “I don't have time for this,” I insisted. He tried to close the space between us and I slammed him back into the wall again, keeping an arm's length between us.

“I can make it quick, if you'd like,” he offered with a grin. He was clearly finding amusement in this struggle I was going through. I made the mistake of blinking, and found myself pinned to the opposite wall, his leg between mine, my hands held against the wall about shoulder height, and his body was right against mine. "I wouldn't want to come between a predator and her prey, but I think the hunting might go better if we cleared your head a bit first," he suggested, his lips within an inch of mine. I could feel my heart pounding, and I wasn't sure if it was the anger, the frustration, or the thrill of it. Quite probably all of them. It took me a moment this time, but I managed to focus enough that I could shove him away. He stood back and looked at me when I pulled my d'k tahg to keep him at bay.

"Nice scar on your hip. He did it, didn't he?" he smirked as he asked this, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Thought so. That's one of the places I would have likely focused upon given the chance."

"If you want to keep this up, I'll put you onto my to kill list right before Maddie-" I started to threaten. He laughed at me.

"I don't think you could do it."

"I've killed warriors twice your size." I rushed him with my d'k tahg raised.

"It's not your skill I doubt," he spit out when his knife met mine to block my attack. Our eyes locked for a moment, then he pushed me away. "I'd expect nothing less than kill or be killed, if it really were as simple as that." When I didn't charge again, he put his knife away, and stood looking at me. I spit a string of profanities at him in a mix of English, Klingon and the occasional sample of Andorian, causing him to laugh and I quickly turned to stalk away.

"Don't think of this as victory, I will return to settle this with you," I directed over my shoulder. I heard him chuckle at me, and growled.

"I expect nothing less. Meanwhile, I think I'll try to track down your counterpart, she should prove fun if you're any indicator." I elected not to say anything in reply to that, and turned my focus towards finding my way back to the engineering section.

Ride of the Valkyries.

Wed, 16 Apr 2008 19:25:52 GMT

After inviting Spiegel and Noelle on the mission to go collect the Obama-class prototype, we had a good conversation in the mess, and I think I've unintentionally started a new nick name for the trio of women that serve as the next level of authority under th'Shan in tactical/security. They seem to be known as the Valkyries now, and what's worse is that despite his lack of appreciation of opera, Spiegel has managed to retain one bit that has been twisted for this particular application. He started humming Ride of the Valkyries when I first called them such, and next thing you know, half the peons in the mess are humming it along with him each time they came up in conversation. I wonder if they'll take it as a compliment or insult, only time will tell.

On my way out of the mess, I noticed Grace sitting with her friend, and I stopped by her table a moment to ask her to find me in my quarters after my duty shift today. She hasn't shown up yet, but I believe her duty shift today was the same as mine, even though she was down on the flight deck and I was elsewhere. The look on her face when I asked her to come talk to me told me she had an idea of what I wanted to talk about, but she assured me she'd be here, so I should be seeing her soon.

Being an Admiral's pet does have it's perks.

Sun, 06 Apr 2008 07:22:26 GMT

I just got a message back from Admiral Johnson about that report I filed about the state of current fleet craft. Where most admirals would likely wonder where a lowly lieutenant junior grade who's been puttering around in the fleet for over a decade with little upward motion to show for it comes off ripping apart Starfleet's best so completely, Johnson actually said it took balls. Yeah, he used that outdated sexist term that Spiegel wouldn't even include in his book. Johnson's a piece of work, but then any human who'd embrace my insanity and violence, and so generously overlook my obvious lack of respect for brass, could be nothing else.

The man really does want to win me over. Not only did he attach a complete official copy of the tech specs for the latest craft they're currently testing out to replace the aging fleet of Danube-class runabouts, but he's also said that if I'll send him a list of who I want on the team, he'll let me go pick the prototype up from the shipyards they recently opened in the Bajor sector for in the field testing out of the Shingen. They're calling it an Obama-class, seems a strong enough name for the craft. I haven't taken the time to skim the specs yet, so we'll see if the craft holds up to the name they've selected for it. I do hope they're including some of the trick shit they've backwards engineered out of the various Dominion tech that was acquired during the war, and I'm sure they'll include some of the better borg tech now that they've had lots of time to interrogate collaborate with that former drone that Voyager brought home with them.

Of course, I'm going to suggest Spiegel to come along. He wouldn't forgive me if I got to go and pick up a new toy and he didn't get to come along. I'll likely see if Noelle's interested in coming too. The Admiral suggested that I bring a security officer along, but I don't know and trust anyone in security on the Shingen yet, and I'm paranoid given that the bastard was in charge of security until recently and likely had influence on most of the officers here. Noelle can hold her own with and without a weapon, and so can I, so I'll explain to Johnson that she and I should be able to handle any security needed for the trip. Now I just need to decide if I'm going to ask Noelle if she's interested in coming, or if I should just assume she is and surprise her when the Admiral's orders come through.

He made it sound like it'd probably be a week or so after I get back to him before he'll be able to iron out all the bits in order to give the orders. That just gives me time to get my fun brewing in the holodeck and drop the specs he so kindly provided into the program. I wonder how long it'd take someone to find the Obama-class specs if I didn't say anything about making them available in the program.

The ghost of loves past.

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 23:41:08 GMT

When getting into the transport to leave, Blue handed me a letter as he hugged me goodbye. He told me it was something he'd originally written for me all those years ago when we parted ways after Travis' death, and he'd been intending to give it to me sooner, but never got the chance. I tucked it into my bag as I told him I'd read it when I had some privacy again, and he bowed his head in that way of his people to indicate he understood. Another tight hug, and we parted ways again. I watched him through the window on the transport, as long as I could before he became an indistinguishable little speck in the sea of blue people, then had settled in for the trip back to the Shingen.

Horrible and easily distracted that I am, I'd forgotten about the letter until Spiegel told me today that he'd disabled the bugs th'Shan had in my quarters. Spiegel just laughed at me when I expressed surprised, and a little anger, that the bastard would bug my quarters. When he explained that they'd likely been there for years now, and used to spy on any number of occupants who'd had my quarters before me, I calmed down a little. Spiegel also explained that a good ninety-something percent of the ship was bugged this way, and that by using one of the borg bugs he'd picked up when sweeping that room in the restaurant on Andor, he now had control of the bug network. I laughed when he admitted that other than disabling the bugs in his quarters and mine, he left the network otherwise undisturbed so that the bastard wouldn't know the difference, but now he can spy on the bastard as the bastard spies on everyone else. When I commented it was nice to have my privacy again, even though I hadn't realized I was missing it before, I was reminded of my promise to Blue to read the letter.

When I made it back to my quarters later, I dug the letter out of the hidden pocket I'd slipped it into and settled down with Delilah in my lap to read it. It was a short letter, though it said and explained a lot. Andorians have a natural way with words, their language is full of subtleties and grace that a lot of species can't even imagine. Blue, having spent a significant amount of his time cooped up in that little cargo ship with Travis and I, had the advantage of having gained a similar mastery in English that most of his people don't have the patience to learn. Most people, humans especially, seem to assume that Andorians are rough, lacking a sense of humor, but often it's just that it doesn't translate well.

The letter boiled down to this: He felt Travis' lost as deeply and painfully as I had, that he had loved both of us. Knowing this now, some of his actions, some of the things he said, all those years ago, make so much more sense. I had always wondered why he hadn't been there for me during my haze, my initial mourning period. Why I had woken from my deepest depression alone at Starfleet Academy, instead of with my dear friend. I know he'd shunned his people, and a loveless bond, because the idea offended him, that he felt it betrayed the true soul of his people. One could not be whole if one did not love their bond. Finding and losing that bond, being reminded how fleeting life is sometimes, this made him realize he was being selfish, that is what drove him to his homeworld to produce children.

He's certainly coped with the loss of Travis better than I. I assumed it was because the loss wasn't as deep for him, but now I think it's just because he's better adjusted than I, allowed himself to let people inside. His bond may be a loveless one, but there is a love there for the children that resulted, and while his zh'yi may have neglected the bond once the child bearing was done, he at least seems to have a solid and trusting friendship with his other bond mates. Since the loss of Travis, the only person I've let even remotely close is Toby, and even him I keep at arm's length to some degree since he too hurt me by running off on me for those years.

My brother and Me, we're best of friends.

Sun, 30 Mar 2008 07:12:49 GMT

Upon returning to my quarters on the Shingen, my amazingly cunning feline owner made a break for the door. Even despite the fact that I foiled her escape attempt, she purred for me even as she attempted to trip me again. Dancing around her ankle wrapping movement, I got my bag onto the bed and had managed to shed most of my uniform as I was starting to ponder calling my littlest brother, only to have the comm chirp at me.

When I greeted him by calling him my favorite brother, a truthful statement, he returned the greeting by calling me his favorite sister. I pointed out that I was his only sister, but before I could see why he called, I launched into the reason I'd been pondering calling him. I told him of the stain on the suit I wore on the away mission, we even exchanged commentary on the federation, the fleet, Andorians, and their relationship, as well as mine, to the first two. Kang dropped a couple hints here and there that I should come home for a visit even, and the subject of our mother came up.

The woman drives me absolutely insane, she tells everyone else that she cares about me, that she's worried about how I'm doing, what I'm doing, and that she wants to be involved in my life. However, the moment she even opens her mouth in a manner that I might possibly hear it? All I hear about is what I've done wrong, how I should fix it, and why can't I be more Klingon like my two little brothers! The last time there was a civil conversation to be had with her while she was in my presence, Travis was involved. If there'd been more time, I might have eventually repaired my relationship with her, given his help, as she liked him. I have to say that the potential to repair my relationship with my mother is probably the least of concerns I had over his loss, but it would have been a nice bonus.

We shot the shit about the vagaries of the mission that I could talk about, mostly the dynamics of the team, and what little rumor and gossip had spread about what of the raid on the THA base could make it to the public. My budding "Admiral's Pet" position that Johnson seems interested in foisting upon me came up. When I explained that I wasn't above milking benefits of such a position as long as the favors expected of me in turn didn't require anything of me I wasn't interested in doing anyways, Kang seemed to understand.

I don't understand how I could have failed to mention to Spiegel about Kang, but have told Kang all about Spiegel. I suspect that Spiegel may have had a hand in this, as he seemed to be violently opposed to talking about my family given the way he met Kaith. At any rate, I've now informed Kang that I was going to have to introduce him and Spiegel. Now it's just a matter of getting the two in the same sector at once. We'll see when that'll happen.

In better news, Zia and Kang have finally decided to take the plunge and have kids. The whole genetic mess that my brothers and I got due to our parents, it usually requires some medical fussing to make us viable to breed with anyone. This has been a blessing for me, as it makes one night stands, flings, and torrid love affairs easier to handle, since there's literally a snow ball's chance in hell that an unwanted child can result. Zia and Kang weren't in any rush, they wanted to enjoy their marriage a bit before bring children into the picture. I look forward to having a niece or nephew to spoil and use as a tool to torture my favorite brother. I've already threatened dangerous art supplies, weaponry, and any number of other vagaries that would require a locking art gallery to be added to their house so that it would be otherwise child safe. I am a wicked person, and being an aunt is going to be fun.

I am curious what new toys my brother's going to send me now that he knows Admiral Johnson has interest in using me for violent bits of special projects. He's still working on the personal clocking device, he's been at that for a few years now. I'll bet Spiegel could get his hands on some of the info gathered from the Dominion after the war, and what he could pick from that would likely finally set Kang in the right direction. That would be a fun toy to have, even though I'm sure federation scientists likely are on the cusp of mass producing the damn thing for fleet use. I'm sure anything I can get under the table from Spiegel and Kang would work better, have more fun features, and still look sexy when not in active use.

I really need to teach the damn cat that my legs are not scratching posts though. She climbs into my lap at the worst times, always when I've just returned from a long day and want nothing more than to be out of my damn uniform. I should find which box I left that squirt gun in, her majesty could use some water based reminders of who's in charge.

Andorian Blues, Reprised

Wed, 19 Mar 2008 04:17:20 GMT

When the monitor left, I was left wondering what I'd do with my time until Thil's bonding. Spiegel was still distracted by Thil or still trying to recover from the wild sex, Noelle doesn't seem to drink much, and I either don't really know or get along with the rest of the team. Pukey was on transport out of town pretty quickly anyways, so was Princess. I'm not sure where Pukey was headed, but I suspect Princess was looking to get some quality time in with her bond and children before the wedding and having to go back to the Shingen. I really can't blame her.

I did wander out into the city in search of some pretty chain mail. I never did get to buy the pretty Spiegel and I had found at the beginning of the mission. I did find a couple other pieces of pretty though. One thing that actually closely resembled the little thing I wore for the festival, that did little more than point out exactly how little I was wearing. The other a good piece to layer over a long flowing dress. Having accomplished this, I wasn't sure what else to do with my time until the bonding. So I called up Blue.

Good friend that he was, he was down from the Shan-Zhess keep in record time. He brought the children with him though, his ch'te works in Laibok and the kids wanted to see their charan. This worked out well enough though, the six of us went to lunch, and Shrelas took control of them after that. Lunch was interesting though, one of the sex positions I'd learned from Toby, and passed along to Blue, turns out to work well for a bond, with some modifications. Shrelas mentioned it casually over lunch, and after he'd described it a little, I knew which one he was talking about. I was surprised when their thei pointed out that his zhavey had especially loved the position, even though she couldn't walk for a week afterwards. I actually spit my drink in response, less at the comment and more at the source of it. The five of them all laughed, and one of their shei made an off handed comment about pinkskins being so silly about sex.

Blue showed me around to all the awesome things in Laibok that only an Andorian could find, pointedly ignoring most of the touristy things I would have found had I been on my own. I think the best place we visited was the roof on some random tall building, that gave us a breathtaking view of the city. It was a little awkward to reach, but Blue assured me it was worth it, so we'd made our way up there. Even better than the view was the sex we had. It was also hinted that Shrelas would probably be receptive to experimentations, but the timing and the logistics of where to do it without leaving the children bored and neglected prevented us from doing anything. I believe there's an open invitation for the next time I'm on Andor though, and maybe even their sh'za would join too, if I was interested. I'll have to ponder that one a bit. There was no mention of their zh'yi though, I got the impression that once she spit out three children and passed her fertility window, she kept her distance from the bond.

We did run into Noelle at one point, as she was headed out to find a dress for Thil's bonding. She convinced me to come along when I admitted I didn't have anything with me to wear. She was surprised when Blue was receptive to coming along, but when he made a crack about how we'd need someone to hold all our weaponry outside the dressing rooms, Noelle laughed and welcomed his company. We hit a few different shops, and from the way she blushed with his commentary every time she'd step out of the dressing rooms to show us what she'd found, I'm surprised she was still talking to us by the time we'd both selected dresses. I ended up with a dress that was pretty tame by my standards, even Blue was surprised I was electing to be so well behaved in my choice, but I liked the subtlety of it and the light colors. It also made me think I looked a bit like a goddess when wearing it.

We later caught up with Spiegel, who had finally emerged from sex based stupor and recovery, and had dinner with him. I almost provided an encore of my spit take from the lunch with Blue's bondmate and children, as when Blue asked of how things had gone with Thil, Spiegel was literally bubbling forth with more details than I'd ever heard from him before. Spiegel was surprised at my reaction, but Blue teased me and accused me of getting prudish in my old age. When I punched him in the arm, and promised to kick his ass on a dueling ground later, he kept further such commentary to himself, and probed Spiegel for more information. I wonder if this new found appreciation for an open and casual attitude about sex is going to stick around, or if Spiegel will go back to his normal self after a little time back on the Shingen. Only time will tell, I suppose.

We're going to spend a little more time with Blue's ch'te and children before getting ready for Thil's bonding. The rest of the team is going to meet us at the place it's being held, but Spiegel insisted he wanted a little help getting ready. His new found casualness about sex hasn't kept him from realizing his awkwardness, and being concerned about making a good impression at what's clearly a very important day for Thil. Blue finds it amusing, and slightly charming, that Spiegel's so worried. He and I are going to help the dork out, and hopefully keep him from being nervous enough to do something stupid and ruin this friendship he's built up with Thil. I'm going to try to talk Spiegel into not elmer's gluing his hair into spikes, see if he'll let it be natural and curly.

Excerps from the "current fleet craft sucks^Wspits" report.

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 06:34:13 GMT

So, at dinner with Admiral Johnson, I promised him I'd write him a report as to what's wrong with current fleet technology, what could stand improvement, and what could be done to improve it all. I suspect that he actually latched onto my suggestion to write the report because he wanted the subject change, but not one to let sleeping dogs lie, I've elected to write him that report anyways. I wasn't able to fall asleep when I got back to the Monitor last night, so I elected to hammer out the report then and send it off to the Admiral while he might actually still recall his agreement to read it.

Now that the debriefing seems to be done, I think he's off to whatever thing is to keep his attention this week, and the Monitor is to head out soon after. I'll have lots of time to kill before the wedding, and figure I'll sleep then, so it seemed like a good choice to slam out the report last night while I was still on my bar hoping high. To follow are some of the things I said in the report:

The OS needs to be rethought on the shuttle craft and runabout class ships. They start to get a little sluggish if the regular maintenance isn't run, but with all the other stuff that happens on a starship, they tend to end up at the low end of the priorities list. Talking with Spiegel and Waterhouse, it sounds like the main computer core on the starships also suffer from this problem, but because their processors and memory are much more powerful, and because their deficiencies are in the face of the engineering team day to day, they tend to get the maintenance they need. The smaller support craft, they suffer greater for their sluggishness, and it gets in the way of a skilled pilot trying to do their job.

Perhaps we need to look into scaling the OS designed for the fighter craft. I know a special system that does its own maintenance was designed for those, and that doesn't suffer from the same level of performance drop when the maintenance fails to run regularly. Why haven't we scaled this up to the other craft in the fleet?

Spiegel and I have talked about the OS used on the fighter craft before. I think he even started playing with scaling it up for shuttle craft and runabout use, though the last time we talked about it was four years ago. He's probably had other things come up that held his attention more, so I'll have to remember to remind him of the subject once we're off Andor again. He's been quite a bit distracted by Thil, though it seems to be doing both of them good.

Also, aerodynamics have been pretty much shot all to hell on craft design. Yes, in space it doesn't matter what shape the craft is, as there is no atmosphere to give resistance for the maneuverability of the craft, but the smaller craft are intended for in atmospheric use also. We need to start considering the aerodynamics for in atmosphere use much more. I know I'm not the only pilot in the fleet who's complained that bringing a shuttle or runabout into atmo is like trying to pilot a lemon wrapped brick by telekinetics alone.

I am a fan of the delta flyer, the craft designed by Tom Paris while Voyager was stranded in the delta quadrant. With some adjustments to various systems, it could be a good starting point for new craft design. I find it interesting that I so like that man, but can not stand his father. I also find it interesting that my time spent playing taxi service for the Admiral was what led me to meeting his son in the first place. I decide that waxing poetical about Tom's delta flyer might have gone over weird in the report.

If I get positive response to this, maybe I can start hinting at adjustments that could be made to the delta flyer. I do have some things hammered out in the holodeck already, it'd just be a matter of building a prototype for them. We'll see how Johnson responds to this report though. Hopefully all the tech specs don't make him go cross eyed. I would have liked it better if I'd gotten one of my engineering boys to skim it before I sent it off, but I suspect that the Admiral wouldn't know the difference and I wasn't sure how long of a window of opportunity I had on this. I know enough about ships, because I fly the damn things, that I should provide enough detail that a competent engineer could explain it to the Admiral and end up at the same points I was trying to make.

Smashing the stone mask.

Fri, 14 Mar 2008 09:22:58 GMT

After the last session of debriefings, Admiral Johnson pulled me aside on the way out of the briefing room. Spiegel was distracted by Thil, the two of them had been spending a lot of time together since arriving on the monitor. Probably for the better, Spiegel could use a friend that he isn't so awkward around actually. When Johnson pulled me aside, I was expecting to be dressed down for something I'd done to offend, things I'd been surprised he hadn't said anything about in fact, but instead he opens up with telling me how impressed he'd been of my performance on the away mission.

He told me about how a month ago, he'd heard rumors that Owen, I suppose he expected me to know Admiral Paris' first name, was looking to offload a trouble maker with skill, which seemed a pretty diplomatic way to describe me, so Johnson had jumped on the opportunity, thus my transfer. He asked if I was glad to be away from 668, even surprised me when he called it Milliways, usually something only people who'd been stuck there do. He managed a polite laugh when I explained that that station was a cakewalk compared to the time I spent taxi-ing "Owen" around during the start of my career. He seemed to enjoy my willingness to mimic his use of familiar names instead of professional.

He kind of made small talk, and I started to get twitchy. He didn't take long to notice, something a lot of brass fail to do. This got him some points with me actually. He explained that he wanted to take me out for a nice dinner on Andor, get to know me and understand where my skills could be best put to use. No messing with uniforms, no pretense, just conversation and dinner. Seemed awkward at best, but it didn't look like something I could tactfully dodge without having to pull an encore of the performance with "Owen" during my days at the Acad. He suggested the Silver Shaysha Fork, that place the team hit when we first made it to the planet. I suggested we try something a little more authentic Andorian, and he said he'd have an aid inquire among some of the Andorians in the crew.

As a precaution, I lined up plans with Corey and Jack planet side for after dinner. I made it explicitly clear to them they were my calvary, and that if I don't contact them by the appointed time, they were to check in with me and play dumb as to who was occupying my time. Jack kind of floundered, I think he's afraid of Johnson, but Corey insisted that I could set a watch by the time they'll call and check in with me. Then came the fun of coming up with something to wear that wouldn't get me in trouble with the "this is off the record" brass, but would also be suited for seeking trouble with the boys later. I managed to find a pair of well tailored black leather pants, and a cerulean top that I could retie into something a little more fun after the dinner, but had a relatively conservative neckline until then, for dealing with the Admiral.

I met him in the transporter room at the appointed time. He was wearing olive slacks and a fine gauge cable knit sweater in a couple different tints of brown and green over a white collared shirt. As I greeted him with a relaxed salute, I noticed he took inventory of the weaponry he could see. Being Andor, and planning on getting into fun trouble later, I was wearing a couple pieces of sharp pretty in addition to my d'k tahg, He actually asked me if I was expecting trouble, and seemed amused when I pointed out that it finds me, prepared or not. When I asked him where we were headed, he admitted he wasn't sure, but told me his aid had asked Sharad's advice. I suppose that explains the look the chan had been giving me during the afternoon.

We ended up at a fancy little place, something the equivalent for Andorians of what a chique little bistro in Paris would be for a human. Sharad doesn't pull any punches when he advises on dining locations, and I'll have to keep that in mind next time I need an Andorian tour guide. When Johnson opened up conversation, I addressed him as Admiral, but he insisted I call him Zach since this was informal and off the record. To his credit, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I requested the most potent thing on the alcohol menu, as he was insisting that this dinner was both informal and off the record, even though he went with a safe non-alcoholic drink himself.

Having no idea what his goal was for this dinner, I let him lead the conversation. This resulted in a lot of questions about things like why I joined starfleet, life goals, hobbies, etc. He seemed a little dismayed when I explained that I was still trying to figure out just why I'd joined the fleet, and that so far I was just hanging around because it was something to do and kept me flying. He also picked up on my mild hostility towards the fleet, even though I didn't actually say anything about it, but when I started to explain the thing with my father's disappearance, he very quickly changed the subject. I'm not sure if that was because he just didn't want to get into the politics, or if he knew something that he didn't want to share, probably the former though.

He made the mistake of getting me started on flying though. I think I easily filled an hour of our dinner talking about all sorts of crazy things I'd done, what got me started, why I loved it so much. He listened attentively, asking the occasional question if he suspected I was running out of steam, and looked like he was mentally cataloging notes the whole time I was talking. I didn't mind, I'd happily prattle on about this and that flight related thing even if my audience didn't understand a word of the language I was speaking, as long as they pretended to be interested. I just like talking about that stuff. He did start getting a little deer eyed when I started getting into details of craft I particularly liked, and started listing off things that could stand improvement in the current class of shuttle craft in service. When he flagged the waiter down to specifically ask for the alcohol menu, I offered to put the details of my critiques into writing for him, so he could pass it along to the right people, and he gladly took the opening I provided for a subject change.

When he started dangling bits of tactical related conversation in front of me, almost as if trying to bait me, I assumed he was trying to get into Starfleet style tactics with ship deployments, ground troops on alien planets, etc, and responded accordingly. He reined in his subtlety, and made it clear he was actually looking more for my improvised bar brawl style stuff, and hand to hand combat type things. I took a moment to try to figure out how to most tactfully tell him I don't talk combat with anyone I haven't either met in combat or fought back to back with. He surprised me when he actually agreed this was a good point. A quick glance at the chronometer told me I had a good fourty-five minutes before Corey and Jack were to call and save me from this dinner, and the Admiral and I had long since finished eating, so I offered him the chance to spar, so we would have common grounds on which to speak.

This suggestion was the first time I actually saw his mask fall from his face. From the moment I first saw him in the transporter room on the Monitor, he'd been careful to keep a false face up, to appear as a stone cold and emotionless authority figure. There was clear amusement, and at least a little surprise, visible now. When he admitted he was only armed with a type I, I took the opportunity to rib him for this, which only provoked him into taking my challenge. Our tab for dinner was quickly settled, and directions to the nearest ritual dueling grounds were acquired from our waiter, who was generously tipped for this information.

On the walk to the ritual dueling grounds, he attempted to negotiate the loan of one of my blades for the duration of the sparring. Being highly amused at having an officer who clearly ranked above me at a disadvantage, I elected to be difficult and simply ribbed him for his poor tactical planning. When he threatened to order me to hand over one of my knifes, I pointed out the last Admiral who I'd had a disagreement with met my right cross in front of a roomful of my fellow cadets. He elected to take this as a joke instead of a threat, and chuckled it off. While usually not inclined towards loaning my weaponry out, I decided I approved of his sense of humor, and I'd likely be able to take the knife back by force if necessary.

His presented cold face left me unsure of his likely combat skill originally, but the time spent exchanging barbs over if he could make use of one of my blades left me with a reasonable impression of what he'd likely be like to fight. As we took to the dueling space, a group of Andorians gathered to watch, curious about the statuesque steel haired human, and the exotic red-headed hybrid. Before we started, he elected to ditch the sweater, and roll up the sleeves on the shirt under. Given that I've fought in everything from nothing but a pair of boots through full formal wear, I didn't feel any need to alter my wardrobe before starting.

We circled each other a couple times, and I could see the tiny indicators of someone who maintained his combat training. Another thing uncommon among Admirals I'd encountered thus far. When he lunged towards me, I sidestepped his attack, intending to catch him as he passed, but he compensated and avoided my reach for him. The next pass, I caught him behind the knee, and brought him down to the kneeling position. Before I could get any sort of hold on him, he rolled and forced me to jump over him to keep from being toppled myself. The Andorian crowd watching us slowly grew as we continued much like this for the next twenty or so minutes, until I finally managed to pin him for victory.

As I offered him a hand up, he asked me if I'd learned enough to properly engage in combat related conversation with him now. I demurred, and explained that while he'd shown himself to be able, it might take a couple more times of throwing him to the ground to convince me. To this he actually laughed, and said he normally wouldn't stand for a junior grade lieutenant to throw an Admiral to the ground, but he might indulge me if I'd kindly explain to him the logic behind this. Our Andorian audience quickly dispersed during this exchange, having now pegged us for fleet, and we were soon left alone in the dueling grounds. When he pressed me on the explanation for the throwing him to the ground a few more times, I admitted it wasn't often that I had the chance to toss around brass without the threat of reprimand. I received another laugh out of him as my communicator beeped, and Corey's voice announced himself.

I brushed aside the draped collar on my top, tapping the badge as I told him to go ahead. He played dumb, as agreed, as to where I was or who I was with, and asked if I was ready for our night out. The Admiral's face fell back into his cold mask, realizing his monopoly on my time was coming to an end, unless he wanted to actually order me not to go spend time with my friends. Given that the impression I'd gotten all night was he was trying to earn my trust and better understand me, possibly so he could use me on future special missions of the same sort of nature as the one we'd just completed, I believe he realized such an order would have only put a kink into his plan. He gave me a nod to give me permission to go, and I told Corey that he and Jack should beam down, and we could head out from here.

When the boys beamed down, they both saluted the Admiral as he called up to the Monitor to beam him back. He stiffly wished me a good night and disappeared in the whine and sparkle of the transporter beam. Once he was completely dematerialized, Jack looked around and dumbly asked why we were standing in a the middle of a ritual dueling ground. Corey had already guessed, and asked if I'd won, the tone of his voice indicating he already suspected the answer. During this conversation, I had been slipping my arms out of the sleeves of my top, so I could tie them so that the top became a strapless one, and I indicated I had won, and possibly would have been able to score a couple more victories, had the eating portion of the evening had taken less time.

From there, the three of us wandered to find what bars and entertainment we could. Corey and I had little trouble getting along with the locals, but for some reason, they all seemed to give Jack a wide berth. Corey accused him of reeking of starfleet, and Jack pouted for a while after that, until Corey bought the next round of Andorian Ale. Over the evening, they interrogated me over the dinner with the Admiral, and the three of us speculated as to what his goal was. Corey seems to agree with my theory he's trying to groom me for more special missions, and Jack just thinks he wants sex with me. I'm pretty sure Jack is projecting his feelings upon the man, as while it was mildly awkward at times, I did not get a sexual vibration out of it at all. We stayed out until Jack and Corey absolutely had to turn in because of their duty shifts the next day, and while none of us found any sex, we did have fun enough talking and bar hopping.

I am skeptical of the Admiral's motives, but I had a nice enough dinner, and the sparring match at the end was a nice surprise.

His booze box brings all the boys to the yard!

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 09:35:36 GMT

"So, rumor has it that you made quite a spectacle of yourself at the festival before the run on the base," Corey shot at me as the door closed behind the three of us. I had just shed my duty jacket, and started to pull off the duty tunic under it. Jack dropped the package from his father upon the table.

"I had some very public sex with a couple of hot Andorians, under the influence of saf, if that's what you're talking about," I answered as I drew my d'k tahg, and offered it to Jack as he struggled with the seals on the package. The duty jacket and tunic ended up on the bed, and I yanked off my boots also.

"Only a three way?" Corey asked, then the three of us turned out heads in unison towards the side of my quarters that shared a wall with Thil's, as there was a loud impact with the wall. I grinned, and Corey must have been guessing the same thing as I was, as he grinned also.

"Yeah. It started out just with Blue and I, he's the one who hooked me up with the saf, but a chan decided to join the fun and I ended up sandwiched between the two. Hralek was his name, I think. It was most delightful," I grinned wider. Jack finally cut open the seal on the package and offered my d'k tahg back to me.

"Sounds like it would have been good to watch," Corey said, mildly disappointed, and poked into the package before Jack could. He came up with a bottle of blood wine.

"Spiegel wanted to record it, but he didn't have any pockets on the skin tight leather pants I made him wear that night, so he couldn't get at his pocket space."

"Mmm, hot geeky engineer in skin tight leather pants. Now I'm really jealous I didn't get to come play," Corey muttered. I laughed.

"Is that a 2309?" I yanked the bottle of blood wine from Corey's hand as Jack came up with the expected bottle of Romulan Ale. "Why would this be seized? Aren't we still allied with the empire?

"It could have easily been sitting for years before Dad decided to send it out to me. Also, you know that a lot of things go on and off the illegal import list as often as Ambassador Troy changes her hair color." Jack yanked open the bottle of Romulan Ale as we heard Spiegel give a cry from Thil's quarters. Jack winced, Corey and I let out wolf whistles and cheers. "So, tell us more of this festival and the public sex involved," Jack demanded, changing the subject.

"Other than me, Spiegel, Pukey and Noelle, everyone there was Andorian. A lot of the crowd was only half dressed, and most of the rest was wearing even less than that. I was sporting a paint job and some shiny chain mail bits that did little more than emphasize exactly how little I was wearing." I opened the blood wine and took a pull straight from the bottle. "It feels like it's been forever since I had to wear a uniform, this thing is smothering me."

"You're half out of it already," Corey pointed out, and decided to ditch his duty jacket also. I dug into my bag laying in the middle of the bed, and came up with a pair of shorts. "Don't mind us, we'll try not to grope anything you expose while changing," Corey teased and took the blood wine from me. The quarters didn't have a divider between the sleeping and living areas, so I didn't really have anywhere private to go other than the tiny bathroom.

"Speak for yourself, death would be a small price to pay for being able to grab that ass of hers," Jack shot.

"I am not ready to be a murder witness, nor do I want to be delivering your eulogy any time soon," Corey warned Jack. I slipped out of my pants, leaving myself in nothing but the tank top that'd been under my duty tunic. "You could just go nude, if you want..."

"You could bounce a slip of gold pressed latinum off that ass," Jack observed. I grinned as I pulled on the shorts. "Why you ever bother to wear clothes is a mystery to me."

"Chaos would erupt and no one would get anything done. A goddess in the nude is a thing to behold," Corey declared. I shoved him and he sprawled on the couch. "Jack tells me I need to add guardian angel to your list of titles. I think I've even heard people speaking of your thrilling heroics saving Shan's life."

"th'Shan" I muttered in correction, and Corey looked at me curiously. "I think saving that bastard's life is going to turn into a production I'm going to regret. All I was doing was my job, and everyone's acting like it's a big fucking deal." I took the blood wine back from Corey, and downed a large gulp.

"I've heard some shitty rumors about the guy, but you're not one to follow rumors, or get set off by the sorts of things he's rumored to be horrible because of," Jack pointed out. "What makes you call him a bastard?"

"He shot me in the back, after I bought him liquor and shared conversation with him. He even had the gall to insist he did it for my own good." I growled, and Jack relocated across the room, taking the Romulan Ale with him.

"Bastard he is," Corey said, as if this were a fact like water being wet, or fire being hot. I flopped down on the couch, ending up half sprawled across Corey's lap. He petted my head like I was a cat. "So, Blue... that's the thaan from your days before the Acad, yes? How'd you end up meeting up with him during the away mission?"

"Would you believe he married into the clan that shares a keep with the bastard's clan? We ended up there because of the two Andorian officers on the mission, his clan's keep was the closest to the objective. Bonus points that I got to catch up with a good friend and have some good sex and combat because of it."

"Speaking of good sex, do you suppose Spiegel will be able to walk by the time she's done with him?" Jack asked, grabbing a chair from the table as he crossed back to the side of the room with the couch. The sounds that'd been coming from next door had quieted down a bit by now.

"Jack, you couldn't handle Dizi's detachment about sex, how could you hope to keep up with a woman from a culture that encourages such beliefs from the womb... er, pouch, or whatever it is they carry to term in," Corey started out lecturing, then drifted off into a bit of confusion. As I laughed in amusement, the sounds erupted from next door again. "So you and Spiegel are just platonic friends? How could you resist such geeky hotness?"

"The first time he and I actually talked off-duty, he very firmly stated that he doesn't sleep with crewmates. I've simply respected his wishes."

"And he seems pretty firm in his heterosexuality?" Corey asked softly. When I laughed, he flushed red.

"I think Thil's about as far across the spectrum as he goes, but it's not a topic I've actually asked him about. He actually seems to go for more girly girls, normally. Thil's a little far off center for him. You know that Klingon Opera diva, the human one, Sky?" Corey and Jack nodded. "She dated him before she made it big, and last I heard they're still on good terms."

"Yeah, that's about as feminine one can get without being a limp noodle of sterotypes and stupidity," Jack commented. "I don't suppose he'd introduce me to her sister, would he?"

"Jack, you are hopeless. For your next birthday, I'm just going to buy you an Orion slave girl," Corey insisted.

"But don't they manipulate men and make them submissive?" Jack asked.

"And that's any different from how you are now?" Corey countered. Jack shrugged to accept his fate.

"Why do you still hang out with this loser?" I asked Corey.

"Probably the same reason you're here tonight," Corey answered.

"I'm too adorable to desert?" Jack asked hopeful. Corey and I laughed.

"Your care package of booze brings all the boys to the yard," Corey told him. He pouted. The conversation kind of died there, and the two bottles of alcohol were passed between the three of us while we waited to see if Spiegel and Thil would come up for air and join us.

I'll debrief you.

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 06:39:38 GMT

The was a crazy mission. I eventually ended up saving the bastard's life, assuming the guard has medics worth their weight and keep him alive once I got him out of harm's way. He should pull through though. At least there was some fun violence, and delightful lewd commentary shared. Spiegel even caught some of it.

I did get some more time to spar with Blue before we left the keep, even borrowed Spiegel's little music pyramid. He must have built the thing recently, it's pretty slick but there are a few bugs. It switched songs on us without warning a couple times, and the random play heavily favored the Led Zeppelin for some reason, much to Blue's frustration. He's just never been much of a Zeppelin fan. Oh well, it was nice to have the time to spend with Blue. We've both picked up new tricks since we'd last seen each other, and ended the night pretty evenly split on wins. There was also some good sex to follow that, and new tricks to share there too.

The travel to the base was mostly without noteworthy event. We did get caught in a stampede. One of the beasts we were riding was killed, and the stampede interrupted some quality time of Blue trying to figure out why I still haven't gotten myself together from losing Travis. Over a decade and a half ago, and I still can't talk about it. He insists this isn't healthy, and a dishonor to Travis' memory.

The bastard did get a little pissy when I didn't pretend everything was sunshine and lollypops with the mission. He was trying to pretend that we weren't going into what almost amounted to a suicide run. Funny thing was he came out of the mission the worst off of us all. We will probably have to come up with an epic song to commemorate this mission. I'll get Spiegel started on it next time I get him good and drunk. Sounds like that might be soon, Jack and Corey probably aim to get me sloshed while we catch up, and I'm sure Spiegel will plead to be allowed to join the fun. His eyes almost rolled back into his head at the prospect of Romulan Ale.

I really should know better than to wear my nice clothes on away missions. I think I'm not going to be able to save the leather that the bastard's blood got all over. I suppose that's what I get for doing the right thing. Once I'm sure he'll heal up okay, I can probably torment him over the loss of the outfit, but my brothers will probably enjoy the challenge of having to hunt up that many albino targ again. It's not like I wore the outfit often though, so no big loss at any rate.

We're going to start the debriefing soon. That should be fun. At least, so far, Admiral Johnson hasn't shown himself to be any worse than the standard upper brass jackass. Most would have either dressed me down, or ordered the rest of the team at ease, for falling from attention without orders to do so, so I'm not sure what to expect with him. It might be my ego talking, but I thought I detected a hint of morbid curiosity behind the cold mask. My crack about needing someone to do the dirty work may not be off the mark, even though it was intended in jest.

She thought she could boil away the sea.

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 06:31:26 GMT

That wasn't enough to make up for lost time, but it certainly was nice. I got to play with a new toy, one that Blue used to taunt me with, threatening to make me learn how to use. The ushaan-tor is beautiful in its utilitarian ugliness, and it is wicked fun in its sadistic rules. You tether yourself to your opponent by a gauntlet, then have at. Blue and I, even though years had pushed us too far apart, we were still on that same wavelength we used to share. He won our match, but it could have easily gone the other way too. If I'd had my way, Blue and I would have spent another hour or two continuing to spar, but unfortunately we had an audience and had to yield to their needs and wants.

Granted, watching Noelle and Thil square off was almost worth the lost sparing time. It was like when Fire and Water meet, fire only ever wins when it gets close but does not touch the water, it always yields when the two osculate. Thil is so used to winning because Fire is so strong, that she didn't know what to do with herself when she encountered a water force. When she didn't understand, she stormed off, and Spiegel, ever the lost puppy, followed after her. I can only hope she allowed his presence to ground her, and that he didn't regret the choice to follow her.

The kids were taken with Noelle's demonstration, but they soon were jarred away from her by Pukey being stupid, and the bastard being as stupid. With some egging on with the kids, the two faced off. The bastard had the upper hand at first, as while he's very by the book, he at least learned from the book, unlike the Pukey one. What did amuse was that after the bastard chose to turn this into an object lesson, and a threat to Pukey's career, Pukey turned around on him and showed him exactly where the chink in his armor was. The bastard does not think outside of the box, if he thinks the match is over, he's good as dead if that's your goal. I'll have to remember to include details like that when I make the holodeck program.

Unfortunately the bastard called for a briefing not long after that. I'll have to corner Blue after the briefing and convince him to head back up the dueling grounds tonight, just the two of us. I'll have to see if Spiegel can spare his mobile emitter, as I do miss music with the sparring matches, it leaves us both less inclined to talk through it and leads to more creative actions as we both have a tendency to fall in time with whatever we're listening to.

On the subject of Blue and the briefing, apparently the bastard trusts Blue enough to let him help a little with the mission. He gets to come with us part of the way, so that might help lighten the mood and improve part of the trip. We'll see.

Eclipse

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 19:32:27 GMT

So, by most peoples definition, I am an open and experimental person when it comes to sex. Those same people would not be surprised that I ended up in a triad in the middle of an Andorian festival, and that that triad was the focal point of much attention. I can honestly say I remember less of it than I'd like. I don't typically try out mind and perception altering substances when involved in sex, it seems to do less to help and more to fog things up. I think my reason to give it a go was three fold. First of all, I knew it would piss off the Blue Bastard, second of all, it was recommended to be by Blue, and third of all, Spiegel couldn't do it so I had to see what he was missing so I could both make him jealous and report back to him about it.

At any rate, the sex was fabulous. At least what I can clearly remember was fabulous, the rest was probably just as much so, I just don't remember more than abstractions of those parts of it. After Blue and I retreated from the festival, I had asked him about Hralek. Turns out, he doesn't really know the dude much, other than a few passing interactions here and there. He's another southerner married into a northern clan though, so he's easily as bored as Blue is normally. Speaking of normally bored, not only is Blue happy to see me because I'm, well, me, but he's happy to see me because I mean something to do that isn't boring and cold.

Apparently, that's part of the reason he learned to do the fancy fire handling, it was something to do that wasn't cold and boring. He's looking forward to when his children are old enough to join their own bonds, so that he can wander off world for extended periods of time again. At least his children sound great, when he starts going on about them, he just will not shut up, but it's the good sort of not shut up. I did tease him a bit considering he used to be so starkly opposed to producing offspring, and didn't used to understand why Travis and I were even interested in doing such ourselves. I get to meet the little ones later today, after they wake up in the morning.

Once he got his proud parent bragging out of the way, we turned to the topic of Travis for a bit. Well, he did, I was mostly quiet at first. I curled up, and laid with my head in his lap while he tried to start conversation. It took a lot of effort on his part, but he finally got me talking when he asked me to show him that scar on my hip. He traced it a bit, and then asked if it was accidental or planned that it scarred like that. I hadn't been aware of it at first, Travis pointed it out one time and admitted that for some reason he just felt the need to bite there every time he saw it was mostly healed up again. Blue laughed, and mentioned that he did remember Travis being a little focused on details.

Blue asked if I still had that corset Travis gave me. I had to think a moment, as I hadn't worn it in a while, and I wasn't sure when the last time I'd worn it was. I finally remembered it was in a box with some of his things I'd decided to keep before turning the rest over to his family when he died. I admitted that I didn't even remember the last time I'd opened the box. Blue asked me what else was in the box. I still had the blood wine and romulan ale bottles from our engagement, that orange work shirt he lived in all the time but I insisted I hated, a copy of the wedding invitations we'd sent out, the ring I'd given him with the holo of the two of us in it, and a random selection of other things I couldn't remember off the top of my head.

The conversation kind of died there, and we curled up together to sleep. I couldn't fall asleep at first, and I actually cried for a bit. I'd been handling the loss of Travis by just trying not to think about it, and between Blue having been around most of the time I was with Travis, and his insistence on talking about him, I was slapped in the face with the fact that this coping method probably wasn't the best. Fifteen years should have been enough time for me to bundle up the pain and handle it, but I just keep running from it. There isn't much else I'll run from, but I have to admit that I am the biggest coward in this. Blue was quiet and comforting. He said small words to try to calm me, softly petted my hair, and otherwise just let me know he was there for me.

I did eventually fall asleep, but my sleep was unsettled because of my dream. It started off I was in the bar it happened in, Travis was right beside me like he'd been that day. We were talking and teasing each other over who was taking the other's name. Suddenly things jumped forward, and then we've skipped past the fight and I'm finding him dead across a table in the back. I found myself back in that moment of despair, feeling like all I wanted to do was curl up and die.

There's a hole in my memory starting from that moment, continuing until about a year and a half into my time at the Acad, but in the dream I've pulled Travis into my arms and I'm sitting in the middle of the floor rocking us back and forth. The bar tender had been headed over, a hard look on his face until he recognizes Travis as the person I'd come in with, then a wave of sympathy washes over his face remembering the conversation we'd had about our upcoming wedding. He squeezes my shoulder, and asks me if there was someone he could call for me. I manage to say Blue's name, his real name, and the name of our ship.

Time skips forward again, and I'm still sitting in the same spot, clutching Travis as if he was my last thread of life, and Blue arrives. There's a med team of some sort hovering in the background, but they looked as if they were afraid of me and wouldn't approach until Blue had first come and coaxed me into laying Travis' cold body on the floor. As he'd pulled me back, and held me tightly, the med team swarmed in and did whatever it was they had to do to legally certify he was dead. I hadn't cried up until that point, but when I did, I buried my face in Blue's shoulder, and he held me as tightly as he could.

This is where I woke up with a start, tears streaming down my face. I woke Blue with my sudden movement, and seeing the tears in my eyes, he quickly took me in his arms and asked me what was wrong. I told him about the dream, and he told me that it sounded pretty accurate from what he witnessed and what he could piece together from what I'd told him and what the bar tender had said when he'd called him. Once I'd calmed down again, we tried to go back to sleep, but I just couldn't. I eventually excused myself, and told him I'd see him in the dining hall in the morning.

I retreated to the sleeping area that'd been set aside for the away team, but was still so unsettled by the dream that I just couldn't fall asleep again. So I pulled out my journal, hoping that writing it all down would help me work past it. However, it's almost time for me to head down to the dining hall to see Blue again and meet his children. Sleep is for the dead, I suppose.

Flying in a Snow Globe.

Sun, 09 Dec 2007 02:12:39 GMT

Once we're off this bullet train, we have to fly into Shan-Zhess keep from the trading post that's at the end of the line. The Blue Bastard really really amazes me sometimes. Here I am on the mission, with all my natural flight skill and experience, and he thought we were going to be hiring someone else to do the flying. I'm not some petaQ who can only fly Starfleet designed craft, my service record states that I've got experience with any number of craft, everything from antique internal combustion earth craft all the way through large fleet battle ships. I'm not sure if he's just being dense, hasn't read my service record (even though he is ranking officer on this away mission, undercover or not), or if he was intentionally being a jackass.

At any rate, flying through snow is a fun challenge. The last time I did it was the one time Blue brought Travis and I to visit his family on Andor. Outside of the flying, it was kind of a shitty trip, every other sentence out of family and anyone else he interacted with was something along the lines of "when are you going to join a bond and produce children?" Speaking of Blue, I'm probably not going to get the chance to catch up with him while I'm here, if we're going to a remote keep up in the middle of snow covered nowhere.

The name of the keep has been nagging at me since Thil said it back in harbortown. It's probably just that the Blue Bastard mentioned it during some point leading up for the mission, as I know he and the Princess both offered to host us at their family's keep, and probably even mentioned them by name when discussing the topic. I still can't help but think I've heard the name before. Oh well, it'll eventually come to me.

Sittin' on a subway train, watching the years roll by.

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 09:02:14 GMT

We're currently on a train to the next stop in our mission. We're headed to meet some contact who is an under cover agent for a political group that supports succession from the Federation. Spiegel, having sampled near everything on the alcohol menu he'd never had chance to try before, is out like a light. If he didn't have me to watch his back, I don't know how he'd survive in a place like this.

When Thil arranged our transportation, she only arranged for four bunks in the compartment we're sharing for this leg of the trip. I remember from when I worked with Blue that Andorians keep a different schedule. They only need to sleep four hours in every twenty-eight, so she probably figured that she, Princess and the Blue Bastard wouldn't need to sleep. I'm not tired myself, so I'm keeping watch over Spiegel while I'm writing here.

Pukey crashed in the other top bunk, and while he looked tired, he didn't seem comfortable falling asleep while I had my d'k tahg out. He only settled in and fell asleep once I put it away and pulled out the journal instead. Noelle selected the bunk under Spiegel and I, so I feel comfortable letting my leg hang down as I doubt she'll take offense to the presence of my leg. For whatever reason, the Blue Bastard settled down on the floor, but once Thil saw that I was keeping watch over Spiegel, she sat down on the empty bunk.

Princess wandered off elsewhere on the train. It's clear to see that every moment she has to spend with us pains her, so it's probably for the better she wandered off. She doesn't seem to get along with her people either, so it's not going to be relaxing for her to be elsewhere, but at least I don't have to put up with her for a little bit.

Once I have a better idea of where we'll be, what we'll be doing, and how much down time we might have between objectives, I really do need to look up Blue and see how he's doing. Being forced to spend the time around the Blue Bastard and the Princess has reminded me how much I miss him being around. The two of them may be insufferable to deal with, but Andorians are relatively rare these days due to the population crisis, so all it takes is to see one and Blue is one of the first things I think of.

There's little better to make someone lose contact with friends than being in the fleet. Being transferred here, assigned there, and suddenly a couple weeks becomes a couple years and you wonder where the time has gone. Last time I had the chance to talk to him, his children were the focus of his life, and so he probably hasn't noticed the time pass much either.

His blue skin might make a nice belt.

Fri, 30 Nov 2007 10:01:25 GMT

Bowling was a delightful exercise in pointlessness. We dressed up in hideous shirts and shoes, got piss faced drunk, and found out that the amazing Pukey actually had one thing he could do well. I also found out there was a more annoying Andorian than the blue bastard. I've nick named her Princess. It's odd, considering until these two, I've usually found the Andorian people to be good honorable people, worthy of friendship and trust.

I'm starting to think that the blue bastard, he's just lost, confused and socially inept. I still find it hard to justify shooting me in the back even if he thought he was doing me a favor. He clearly doesn't have combat skill and the ability to size up his environment if he felt that the morons who we fighting actually posed enough of a threat to justify saving me from myself.

Due to a freak bowling accident, Kinnara was taken off the mission. In her place, we received Pukey. While Kinnara is certainly a more skilled, better disciplined, and combat adept person, Pukey might actually turn out to be an asset, as much as I hate to admit it. If nothing else, he seems to have a talent for ineptitude that leads to shit house luck, and he certainly does a good job of drawing the attention of others to allow the rest of us to better slip around and do what we need or want. Very clearly not the sharpest knife in the drawer, he actually decided that going into a crowd full of people before a big festival while wearing an easy to grab target like a purse was a good idea, or at least failed to realize what ripe fruit he was providing the pick pockets and thieves with. Lucky for him that the only one who tried to take it was a small child, and I felt it would be easier to finish this mission with his purse, and the contents there of, still in his possession.

I saw as the child grabbed it and ran off, and managed to capture the young thief before the rest of the away team quite realized what was going on. The oddest thing about it is that in the process of trying to teach the child some manners and get Pukey back his property, I ended up with the child's zhavey, mother, feeling that she owed me a debt of gratitude. Even if the race has attempted to pacify itself in the name of solving it's population crisis, there is still very much the cultural undertones of a warrior race left in these people.

At the suggestion of the blue bastard, we ended up taking the mother and child under our wing to accompany us to the city that is our destination. I suspect that the blue bastard enjoys the hero worship that he's the recipient of from the child. Also, regardless of what I think of his actual combat and observation skills, his by the book methods do support this sort of pairing. It allows us to blend in more if our group is half made up of natives, instead of being made up of mostly aliens. If nothing else, it makes for a good excuse to have some ego stroking at the hands of a child. I can't say I blame him for enjoying the attention, I know I certainly enjoyed the ego boost that came with being Grace's hero when she was young.

We've almost reached the city, I can feel the shuttle starting into a landing pattern, so I'm going to wrap up this journal entry. We get to make our way through another layer of customs. I am glad that I took the time to brush up on their laws before the trip, I did check most of my weaponry in with the proper paperwork, and it has made the trip a little easier. It makes me uneasy to be so lightly armed, but I didn't have time to get together the paperwork needed for anything but my d'k tahg to be on my person, and if we're supposed to be blending in, it's only going to make for problems if I'm getting into brawls with customs officials over what constitutes an acceptable weapon to bring onto their planet and what doesn't. I probably shouldn't be so uneasy though, after the years of school yard and bar brawls I grew up on, I typically never want for a weapon even if I enter the fight unarmed, being so easy to lift a weapon off another person as it is.

Life is pain, highness, anyone who says different is selling something.

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 08:25:14 GMT

I don't understand people. Why do they play all these games, pretend they're not interested, and generally waste time instead of finding out if anything of worth will come of the attraction? There is little worse than wondering what could have been, regretting the time you could have spent together if only you'd pulled your heads out of your asses sooner and just talked to each other.

I can not stand that blue bastard, and Noelle seems too nice for him, but the two of them just have a chemistry together that is hard to miss. The two of them just keep dancing around it. Granted, I'd probably be the last person to volunteer to help him out, but I just can not stand to see two people who could be happy together squander that time. She listed off excuses for me, and they were really little more than that, when I challenged her on the topic. I haven't talked to him about it, but since I still think so ill of him after he shot me in the back, I doubt I will talk to him on the subject.

I did run into him in the hall, and where anyone in their right mind would have reacted to having a gun, a projectile weapon, aimed at their head, his antenni didn't even twitch at the prospect of the gun being pointed at him. It doesn't matter that the thing was unloaded at the time, it still should have provoked some sort of response, especially out of a former security chief and a tactical officer. I did not actually put two and two together until I realized after I'd passed him, I'd also passed Noelle's quarters, and he was muttering to himself about stupid things he's said, a favorite pastime of someone who's got the lust and doesn't know what to do about it.

I wonder if the reason why so many people do stupid things and squander precious relationship time is if they've never felt the true and utter loss that too little time, and a love taken away too soon really means, so they don't understand. Sure people have broken up, had rip roaring fights, but losing someone you love to the end of the universe, never getting the chance to truly say goodbye, it makes one better appreciate what they have, what they could have, and what they may lose. It's easier to throw yourself in all the way when you know what you have to lose, and that you want to enjoy every last moment of it you can. More people need to learn this, to stop wasting their time, their love and their life, to games that ultimately do nothing more than harm themselves.

Splat goes the objective.

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 19:48:11 GMT

So it seems we've technically succeeded at our mission. We were to bring him back dead or alive, and due to a transporter accident, death was the winner of the day. Growing up with Klingons, one develops a strong stomach for blood, guts and gore, or one simply does not survive, so being in the transporter room when they materialized him didn't bother me one bit. Spiegel on the other hand was white as a ghost.

He handled the gore when we'd gone on away missions together during the Klingon war, so it didn't occur to me to drag him out of the room for this mess. There really wasn't a good chance though, the blue bastard's goons easily took up a majority of the space in the transporter room, and when they left, they were quickly replaced by a med team. And even if we'd been able to make it to the door with them in there, our chief engineer showed up about the time we should have been headed out the door. I'm not sure if Spiegel had known what to expect, or if he was just trying to get out of the way by getting in the way, but I had to firmly keep him out of the way of everyone else coming in to do their jobs.

The one who took it worse than Spiegel was Noelle Connor. From the way she reacted, you'd think she'd never seen combat before and that she was personally responsible for every action of the ship's systems. I tried to talk to her, but as usual, I was absolutely inept at dealing with human sensitivities, and Spiegel was so stunned himself all he could think of was alcohol. Noelle wasn't interested in getting drunk.

I was going to have Spiegel check in on Noelle some time this evening, but dude got so drunk that it was all I could do to get him into his bed to let him try to sleep through it. I did set his alarm for the morning, so he'd hopefully make it to the briefing, and I'll make a point to check on him with a prairie oyster, his favorite cure for hangovers.

For now, I'm not happy with how the Trafalgar handled on the way down to the planet this morning, so I'm going to set up a simulator in the holodeck and see if I can work out how to better handle such situations again, or how to improve the shuttle design to better work with such conditions. I have half a mind to surprise Grace and her friends, and invite them to join me, but I have no idea when their duty shifts are, so I don't know if they'd be able to join me. Also, I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to be on the receiving end of hero worship again. It was flattering coming from a little girl but I'm not sure how she's changed since then and I don't know if she still considers me her hero.

I might also need some combat time in the holodeck, there was entirely too little excitement on this away mission compared to what I'd been hoping for given my blank check and the build up. Maybe the Tennis Invasion would be good for me.

We Will All Go Together When We Go!

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 07:53:11 GMT

There is only so long one can keep violently expelling words in any language while swinging a katana with every last ounce of strength, only to attempt to stop it very precisely at the point where it wouldn't likely get stuck in your opponent, had you one to be slicing and dicing, before one realizes their friend who was coming for an education in self defense and the art of knife play is late.

I realized Spiegel was overdue in the middle of my favorite Klingon Opera. I put the sword away, and calmly tapped my combadge to ask him where he was. He gave me some comment about a pending litter of children for one of the Engineers and how it required alcohol consumption. That boy would open a bottle of good liquor to celebrate his impending doom if he saw it coming. "Oh, I guess I won't get another chance to drink this. Bottoms up!" he would say as photon torpedos shower down by the hundreds on his very location. Granted, I can't say that much given that my line of too many excuses to drink isn't much better than his.

He invited me to join the fun, given that the father to be is very excited and Spiegel always believes more the merrier with these sorts of things. I suppose it couldn't hurt to meet more of the crew. I was looking forward to beating Spiegel around in a good natured manner, but I suppose that can always come later. I'll even bring what's left of that romulan ale. Seems as good of an excuse to finish it as any.