Star Trek: The New Adventures (IC Thread)

[AmenRa]

Space....the final frontier...

USS Arizona
Captain's Log, stardate 2324.1

I transported over to Arizona last night, and had my first night's sleep in my new quarters while we are still in spacedock. I'm going to have to get used to the larger quarters, for sure. Make a note to re-program the replicator unit for coffee, not tea.

Key personnel have been assigned, most have not reported in at this time. We aren't scheduled to leave for another day, so that's really not an issue. No one except me knows our mission, and I can't tell them where we are going and why until everyone has reported in and the ship is secured. Admiral Janeway's orders.

I'm not sure about the Cardassian assignment. I went on record on the opposition to it, but as Admiral Pellaeon pointed out, we are watching her as much as she is watching us. At least she will do a damn fine job in engineering, and we are well-to-do with her there.

My first officer is someone I knew once, and she will be a great asset. I'm looking forward to getting to know her again.

The security/tactical officer will be relentless in his duties, and that's why I pushed to have him assigned. Nine is a good man, a better tactician than anyone I've heard of.

The rest will prove themselves, each according to their gifts. Mainly, I'm sure they'll be watching me, so I've got to prove myself as well.

Where we're headed, though, may well prove each of us as the whole.

-End Recording-

Captain John Harper swiveled around in the chair behind his desk in the Captain's Ready Room. He looked at the PADD in front of him, and touched the Ship's Stores access menu. He scrolled until he found a stock number of a crate that was delivered to engineering. He smiled to himself as he listed the crate's number to his Message Reminder file, notating it to remind him when he called the Staff Meeting immediately after departure. He then closed the PADD down, and swiveled his chair to look out the transparent aluminum window at the other starships moored in the expansive bay.

Across from him, the next slip over, was empty. A day or so ago it had been occupied by USS Enterprise, a sister Soveriegn class vessel. She had since departed. There was an older Intrepid class ship the next slip beyond, and worker pods flitted here and there throughout the bay.

 

[ChasNicollette]

"There is no Arizona."

For some citizens of The 24th Century, the idea of being transported is as natural as traversing the front steps of an abode, or walking across a street, so little sensation involved so as to not merit comment.

For others, the idea is a fearful, phobic thing, sometimes even panic-inducing. The mere notion of having one's particles juggled by a not-infallible piece of technology, an ocean of quanta and Heisenberg compensation...

With this, as she was with so many things, Kahlest Raan was a person in between. She feared not stepping onto the circular plate Earthside in San Francisco, she feared not the transit, she feared not being puzzled back together again in a room at McKinley Station. This held no dread for her. But as for sensation...

Maybe it had something to do with a sensory echo caused by a back-up nervous system somewhere. Or maybe it was one of the Betazoid regions of her brain. But she could feel it... she could feel the eddies and the currents and the tingles and the sparkles as she bounced off of a relay satellite, ricocheting around The Earth before being caught by one of the receptor dishes on McKinley's underside. She could feel it as particles became hands became fingers became fingertips.

She opened her eyes as the annular confinement beam vanished, and she was whole.

[ Kahlest Raan - Commander, XO - McKinley Station ]

"Welcome back, Commander," the youthful ensign remarked from behind the control console, with a respectful bob of his head. He felt like he was having a good day. "I hope you enjoyed your trip."

More than likely, Kahlest mused as she stepped down from the transport platform and adjusted the strap of her bulky carry-bag on her shoulder, the lad was just referring to the three days of shore leave she'd enjoyed in The City By The Bay. But there was some small dry-witted part of her brain-- Klingon or Betazoid, she wasn't sure --that was dead certain he was talking about the transport she'd just undergone.

"It was remarkably pleasant, Ensign," she decided, a little smirk tingeing the edge of her lips, "as these things go."

"Glad to hear it," the ensign nodded easily, and he felt gratified that other people were having the same kind of good day he was.

Kahlest's grin broadened after she'd moved past him into the station proper. Cute kid. If a little oblivious.

She strolled the corridors for a few minutes, taking the long way 'round to the temporary quarters in which she'd stored her few things whilst waiting for the opportunity to join The Arizona in an official capacity. Artificial gravity felt exactly like its natural equivalent, but really, it was the feel of the deckplates on an orbital facility that took the most getting used to. That and the scent of the air... she'd become accustomed to it quick enough, but her nostrils were full of the scent of processed Class-M atmosphere as opposed to the real thing.

She wasn't opposed to the processed stuff, but that didn't stop her from picking up on things. Klingon senses didn't make her a bloodhound, but it did make for an interesting spectrum of sensation every time she breathed through her nose.

The hybrid woman slowed to a stop, however, when she came face to face with a great panoramic set of viewports. And through those viewports...

The ship. Sovereign-class.

She strolled closer to the transparent aluminum panes and ran five of her fingertips (newly reformed fingertips, put together by a not-infallible machine) across the cool surface of one of those panes. At this distance, it wasn't likely that her empathic abilities, such as they were, could produce more than the faintest impression. For a real feel, she'd have to communicate directly with someone aboard, via vidscreen or holoprojection or somesuch.

But she stood there for a moment, running her eyes across the cool, refined lines of the hull's engineering, the saucer and the nacelles, and she wondered... she wondered, curiously, as she was gazing out at her ride out into The Final Frontier, who might be gazing back at her?

She had met the captain once. Once.

She wondered if his bruises had healed as quickly as hers. (She wondered, with an odd pang of curiosity, if the man bore a grudge.)

Another little smirk tinged the edge of her lips as she proceeded to her quarters.

She needed to fetch her books. She needed to fetch her betleH. She needed to fetch her cat.

The time had come to be gone.

 

[Varshanka]

M'Chel Raica S'Tarr - Marine MSgt

The Squad stood at parade rest as she walked past them. A squad she'd lived, and died with. Hell, she'd died so many times the doctors were calling her The Zombie. This was the last she'd see of them. Reassigned they called it. Transfered.

More like being sent back into HELL. But that was ok. She was a Marine, that's what she did. She scoured the edges of Hell for the trouble makers that needed an ass whooping. And she delivered. Often.

Collecting the bag at the end of the squad she hefted it to her shoulder and looked back. "Don't forget to bring the cat in.." she murmured. A couple marines nearby couldn't help but chuckle, and her helf breed ears could tell whom it was. But she wasn't gonna bother busting them. Not now.

Walking the corridors for the last time S'Tarr recalled every combat drop. Every bloody corpse whose eyes she'd closed for the last time. Every Marine she'd sent to die. Every Marine and Fleeter that had next to her on this rusty bucket of bolts. SHe walked past the hatch that exploded on her defensive mission. They'd been hit by BORG, and the plasma conduit behind the panel had ruptured. She'd died that day.

She walked past the Security Chief and saluted him without stopping. He wasn't up for talking much either. A full Vulcan he didn't like idle chat. Passing beyond him she continued down the corridor, finally stopping at an airlock.

A good crew this ship had. Better than most. Not nearly as good as The Enterprise, but better than most. Reaching out she palmed the hatch and stepped through, waiting as it cycled. The door ahead of her hissed and slid out of the way on pnuematic cylinders. Revealing the empty corridor beyond.

She'd been half expecting a suprise. Maybe the Captain wishing her a farewell and good voyage. Something..

But that wasn't her lot.

Alone she walked.

Forever alone. Through Hell and high water.

The Arizona security officer looked her over for a moment.

"Permission to come aboard," she requested. A formality, but it had to be done.

"Permission Granted." He replied, waving her on with a gesture.

Stepping across the threshold M'Chel RAica S'Tarr - Marine Master Sergeant - stepped onto the USS Arizona. Another ship to die on. Another ship to die for. Another Captain.

 

[subxboi]

"Lieutenant Isaac Emerson, serial CC-1019A, Engineering."

Said the young man, with a crisp salute to the officer with the pad in his hand, a large black-skinned human man with a smile on his face as he examined the duty roster. "Prettyboy, eh?" The Lieutenant gave his superior only a shifting of his eyes, as if to cautiously ask permission to frown.

"Relax, kid. I'm just giving you a hard time...Was your nickname at the Academy, right?" the man said with a chuckle. "....Sir, yes sir.", came the flat-voiced reply. The jovial elder fellow only shook his head. "Try to loosen up, okay? You're gonna' need it out there, trust me. You have a good record...Time to make that into a great record. Captain Harper'll make a good man out of a mind like yours. Good luck!" He said, motioning the youth on board the Arizona. With a short nod, the engineer lifts his two shoulderbags and a large rectangular case from the ground, before passing out of the bay and for the first time into the interior of his new world, his new life. With his nose completely buried in the register of plans, orders and duties for his first day, he misses entirely the greetings of the few other crew members he passes on his way. "Sixty one fourteen, fifteen....Sixty one sixteen." He murmurs to himself, pausing and staring up into the numerically marked doors of his assigned quarters. Inhaling a deep breath and puffing out a sigh that heaves his slender chest, the arm slung over with his bags reaches forward and presses the pad next to the partition, causing it to slide open with a hissing of compressed air. Simply dropping his things next to and on the bed, he takes no bother in unpacking any of them, instead still clinging to the plans on the pad in his hand. He was to report immediately to Engineering....Or at least, that's what he was going to do. Just a low level, here. Just a new guy. So nobody would notice unless he was called for...The doors shuffled open and closed again shortly after they had swallowed the man, his pallid figure nearly running into a uniformed woman outside of it as he darts off in the direction of his assigned department.

 

[AmenRa]

Captain Harper stood and headed towards the door to the bridge. He stopped, and for a moment he studied in detail the model of the original USS Arizona that held a place of honor on a crafted wood table along the far wall of his Ready Room.

It was a World War II battleship, intricate in her lines and fittings, and powerful in her gunnery.

Just like the vessel on which Harper now lived.

The plaque below the model ship read:

USS ARIZONA - BATTLESHIP - UNITED STATES NAVY

Harper nodded his head. There was another plaque, just inside the doorway to the Main Gangway, the largest and primary entranceway into the starship. Harper had its wording memorized.

"So that their memory shall never fade, this ship is so named in honor of the vessel and her crew who gave the ultimate in honor, bravery, and duty on Earth, December 7, 1941."

Harper took one last look at the model, and he swallowed hard, a knot of pride forming in his throat. He turned and stepped through the bridge doorway as the doors swished open.

 

[Screech]

It had been only a single day since Marjia had come onboard the USS. Arizona, assigned as it's ned cheif engineer. A position which the Cardassian was going to relish. Of course, she had done engineering jobs before on various ships, but this would be the first time she would actually be in charge of an entire department! Quite an achievement, for a Cardassian, on a Federation ship. She was still getting used to the idea, although it *had* only been a day since her arrival..

One day. And she'd spent most of it in main engineering. She remembered that there was an introduction gathering for senior staff once all were onboard. Planned for 1700 hours, if she recalled. But, untill that time, or until she was called away, Lt. Commander Marjia Orsoth would stay in what was undoubtedly the mechanical heart of the ship.

Casually, she circled the warp core, it's blue light pulsing slowly, indicating that there was power available for the warp engines, but that it was safely being held in check by the matter/antimatter injectors. She knew that, with but a moments notice, those two injectors would pump into the core's intermix chamber, where it would react with the dilitium, and propell the Soverign-class ship faster than the speed of light itsself.

Tapping some data into her padd, she moved over to one of the engineering stations, and pressed a few buttons. A scan of the displayed information told her that the impulse drives, while offline at the moment, were ready to burst into life. Turning from that station, she moved over to the master system display and checked the power flow regulators. Again, everything looked nominal. An efficient ship. She mused to herself that, if the ship stayed at this level, her life would be quite boreing, and that just wasn't on. Taking a longer look at the display, she started to memorise the layout of the distribution systems. If anything, even a tribble-sized blip appeared, she wanted to be right on top of the problem instantly

 

[ChasNicollette]

"Mama's baby is in the heart of every schoolgirl."

She stood in the turbolift, attentive but relaxed.

[ Kahlest Raan - Commander, XO - En route to Bridge ]

She hadn't had many things. And her while her cat had woken up out of his stasis carrier and panicked a little, disoriented, hid under the bed, the move had gone all right. The books still needed to be shelved. She still needed to hang up her spare uniforms, her civilian attire.

She still needed to set up the little shrine to The Four Deities, her mother would be so upset she hadn't done that first.

But overall, it had gone smooth. From the ride across on the Runabout-- no transport this time, she wanted to take the scenic route, she was all about the scenic route, you couldn't grow up on the shores of The Opal Sea and not be all about the scenic route --to the brief, formal exchange with that security officer.

"Permission to come aboard. He's waiting. Should I tell him you're on your way?"

The first time Kahlest had been an XO, she'd waltzed onto that ship, late-model Galaxy-class, thinking there might be fanfare or what-have-you. But her captain then had been as gruff as they came, straight-to-business, 'what are you smiling about, Commander, go degauss the holodeck, Commander,' and it had been wholly humbling.

She was not going to assume that this captain's day was hinging on her appearance.

"No need, thank you, Ensign. I'll be along momentarily."

So she'd gotten changed, and now here she was, riding the turbolift up to the bridge.

Her hair was down, curls and waves spilling back behind her shoulders. She wore grey and black with red beneath, and on the left side of her chest there hung a commbadge. She glanced at the commbadge for a moment...

Golden slopes. This had once been the symbol for The Enterprise, back in the olden days. (Not the olden olden days, with Archer. This was more recent, Bob April and Chris Pike and Jim Kirk. But still so long ago.) Back in those days, every ship had their own insignia... but then The Enterprise had become a symbol, a symbol of The Fleet and everything to which The Fleet should aspire. And somewhere along the line, as The Enterprise had become a symbol for Starfleet, so also had The Enterprise's symbol become the insignia for Starfleet.

She had had a conversation, once, with a man who had, briefly, been a captain of an Enterprise.

And that conversation had led directly to her meeting the man who was now captain of The Arizona.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you," Dean Jellico had wondered, hands steepled on his desk, voice weathered and mood dour, "not to reinforce cultural stereotypes?"

Sitting across from him, spine straight, eyes meeting his gaze stiffly, Kahlest had pursed her lips. "My mother, sir, told me that only idiots solve problems with violence."

Jellico had arched an eyebrow at this. "Cadet. You knocked cold four upperclassmen. That doesn't seem a touch... idiotic... to you? In that sense of the word, I mean?"

"In all fairness, sir," Kahlest had replied, choosing her words very carefully, "the first idiot knocked himself out. By headbutting me."

"Fair to say," Jellico had returned, face utterly neutral. "And what of the rest of them?"

Kahlest had reddened a little bit, had found it more difficult then to meet Jellico's gaze. "They were having a contest with themselves. To see how many different ways they could invent to mock my elegantly craggy forehead, sir."

Jellico had kept his face neutral, locked down. "Out of curiosity. Out of curiosity. How many had they come up with before you took it upon yourself to put a stop to this contest?"

"Four and a half, sir," Kahlest had admitted. "It got old for me after that."

"I see," Jellico had mused.

He'd turned, and had risen from his desk, and had gazed out at the gardens, crossing his arms behind himself. "They had to drag you off of them. Three of your classmates tried and failed--"

"They had to fetch a Brikar alumnus, sir," Kahlest had volunteered. "He complimented me on my thickheadedness. Granted, that's not normally a compliment, but with silicon-based lifeforms--"

"D'you know we've expelled students for less?" Jellico had interrupted her, turning to look at her sharply, he'd felt so cold and so furious and conflicted. "Mister 'One-Punch' Calhoun got lucky, the instigators of his fight took full responsibility. Cadet, it's not likely that this bunch are going to be quite so selfless."

Kahlest had nodded quietly. Bowed her head. Done so quickly.

"No, sir," she'd murmured. "It's not likely. They consider their perceived limits of my abilities to be a violation of their civil right to privacy. It's almost a matter of patriotism to them that I be expelled."

Jellico had looked away again, looked out his window. "Patriotism. Supposedly covers a multitude of sins. Or it's been used for that, over the centuries."

He had bowed his head. "Be a damn shame for you to lose this opportunity because of misguided patriotism, Cadet. But this cannot go unanswered. And you cannot go off like a Type Ten phaser with an overloaded coil every time some snotty upperclassman takes issue with the physical manifestations of your genetic heritage."

"Sir," she'd agreed, though she had been on pins and needles, wondering where he was going to take this next.

He had run his tongue over his teeth. "Every freshman cadet is required to take basic self-defence courses. From there, you'd progress to the more advanced ones. Obviously, you've mastered the basics. So I'm putting you in the advanced course, ahead of schedule. With one stipulation. For the rest of this semester, you are not to fight. You are not actually to engage in combat, under any circumstances, not even in class, just sit and watch. You've proven to me that you can fight and fight well. But if you're going to have any future in this man's Starfleet, you're going to have to prove to me that you can not fight."

Half the tension had vented out of Kahlest's backbone, and she hadn't been able to keep the smile off of her face. "Consider it proven, sir."

Of course... it hadn't been exactly that easy.

The turbolift doors hissed open and she stepped out onto the bridge, and there he was, there he was, just coming out of his Ready Room.

"Captain Harper, sir," she spoke aloud to him, approaching, trying to keep any sound of overmuch familiarity out of her voice. "Reporting for duty. Apologies if I've tarried overlong."

But then. She couldn't help herself. She remembered how that first self-defence class had ended up. And with a combination of wry humour and self-deprecating apology she flickered her eyeline down to his collarbone and back up to his eyes. "How's your clavicle?"

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Lt. Connor Jace

As far as taxi's go the Medallion wasn't bad. There were no starfleet vessels headed to McKinley station, but this freighter was so one quick transporter ride (God I hate that thing!) to the civilian ship and I was on my way. At least I was spared the whispers and stares I got for Starfleet ships. There were still people that thought I should have been courtmartaled and imprisoned, and that I got off light just being busted down to Ensign and sent off to the edge of the galaxy.

Funny thing is, I agreed. Any analysis of my case (and I had all the files) shows that I should be doing twenty years hard labor somewhere for getting a starship destroyed and half the crew of another, but here I was, a Lieutenant again and on my way to a new assignment.

It didn't make sense, and to be honest I did not have the luxury of enough free time to go through the evidence line by line while serving on the Phantasm. Captain Dranick kept me busy as hell, especially once he learned that I was very seldom wrong when it came to intelligence analysis.

It had taken well over a year, but not a member of the Phantasm thought I was guilty, and the Captain had to be talked out of re-opening my case.

The week long trip back to McKinley station had given me the much needed time to go over some things, and to just let my mind wander where it may. I was close to breaking through on something, but it was annoyingly just out of reach.

Arrival at McKinley station was about what I expected. The security officer that greeted me was polite (barely) and got me to the Arizona as quickly as he could.
I thanked him and made my way to the hatch, then cycled through the drydock airlock and onto my new home for the foreseeable future. I was met by a young security officer, actually one of my subordinates now.

"Permission to come aboard."

"Granted Lieutenant." he replied, not in a friendly tone but not openly hostile either. Better than some greetings I had had. "There are a change to your orders Sir. You are to report to Captain Harper on the bridge immediately upon arrival. Your things will be taken to your quarters sir."

"Thats OK ensign, all I have is this kit bag, and it can ride with me."

We saluted, and I left a very relieved junior officer on door duty as I made my way to the turbolifts, and from there to the bridge.

I mentally prepared myself and when the doors opened I stepped out and surveyed the bridge. Nothing seemed out of place except a dark haired and dusky skinned female (never a good idea to assume species from a backside view) talking with the captain. I stepped to the side out of the way of the door, then assumed a relaxed parade rest position with my kit bag on the deck by me, while I waited to be acknowledged by the Captain. Wouldn't do to interrupt the old man on my first five minutes on the ship.

 

[AmenRa]

Captain Harper

The bridge wasn't exactly in a state of chaos, but it was very loud. Technicians scurried from console to console, ensuring the operational status of each. The helmsman, Lt. Reeve, appeared to be animatedly in discussion with a sensor technician.

Harper's yeoman spotted him from across the bridge, and she made her way through the hustle and bustle towards him carrying a PADD.

But when the bridge doors swished closed, the Captain found himself greeted by his newly assigned Executive Officer, Commander Kahlest Raan.

He had made an official, formal request through the Chief of Starfleet Operations to have her assigned to this vessel.

When he saw her standing there on the bridge, though, his voice caught in his throat and for just an instant, he couldn't say a word. He was, truly, speechless. He had remembered she was beautiful, but not like this.

And then she greeted him, and he let a small smile escape at her remark about his collar bone.

The yeoman stepped up with the PADD, and Harper looked over the display, noting the ship's crew manifest. He signed it digitally, something Starfleet had insisted on since the beginning: every starship commander must visually inspect each Report of the Day and digitally sign each one as presented. Harper then took the PADD from the yeoman and stepped towards his XO.

"Welcome aboard, Commander Raan," he said to her, his eyes betraying just a hint of smile. Inside, though, he was literally butterflies, his stomach in knots, his mouth dry. He had not been prepared for that.

He handed her the PADD. "The crew manifest is updated. If you would look over it and make any suggestions as far as staffing changes or postings, please."

He saw Lt. Jace standing near the turbolift doors. As he stepped around Raan, he made eye contact once more, and he held her gaze for just a second, and said to her, "my collarbone is fine," in almost a whisper.

Harper then stepped over to Lt. Jace.

"Welcome aboard," he said to the man. "Let's take a walk until your security chief arrives," he added, stepping through the turbolift doors as they parted.
He turned around, waiting on Lt. Jace to enter the lift.

Harper wasn't looking at the new crewmember, though. He was looking past him, into the bridge, and into her eyes.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Lt. Connor Jace

"Welcome aboard," The Captain said in a friendly voice. "Let's take a walk until your security chief arrives."

He then opened the turbolift doors and stepped in, but his eyes were on the woman who had obviously entered about a minute before I did.

"Yes Sir, Right behind you." I said, picking up my kit bag and stepping in.

When I entered the lift I turned, and got a good look at the woman. Commander by her rank, command staff by her uniform, mixed Klingon heritage by her physical characteristics. Could be human or any of a number of near-human races in the known galaxy.

This was going to be one interesting ride with her as the XO.

 

[MilkManDan007]

Nine of Nineteen

http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll178/MilkManDan007/CyberBoy-1.jpg

He had been up for nearly twenty hours studying the new ship, the manifests, the crew registry, the construction logs. He read every shred of information on the new ship and her crew that he could. It was his duty to know the ship, know her weakness, to know her strengths.

“This ship suffers from inefficiencies,” he muttered to himself as he paged through the duty logs for the Arizona’s maiden voyage. He had been one of the first aboard, directing the engineers assigned to transport and install the modified Borg Alcove into his quarters even as the final fitting for the ship were still being installed. He rubbed his forehead and placed the duty log on the desk in front of him. “Stop doing that Nine,” he said aloud, standing and stretching for the first time in nearly a day. “You’re not in the Collective anymore. Everything is inefficient in comparison, but it works.”

He pulled small thermos from his duffel and unscrewed the top.

“Just focus on what you need to know, the ship,” he said, shaking off the nagging feeling of emptiness that lingered in his head since his separation from the thousands of voices that were the Collective. He began to rattle off figures of the ship from memory. Sixteen phaser banks, 10 torpedo tubes, quantum torpedo yield, shield harmonics, interior force field locations and strengths, locations of phaser lockers throughout the ship. He paused and drank deeply from the thermos and winced at the cool liquid that greeted him. Cocoa, one of the few human pleasures he had taken to, just didn’t have the same calming effect when it had cooled to room temperature.

“An efficient ship would have the replicators working by now,” he muttered, sitting once again and reviewing the cargo manifests. He would not leave his quarters until the captain had arrived and he was summoned to discuss the departure from McKinley station. Until then, there was much to review.

 

[MilkManDan007]

Emma Watkins

http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll178/MilkManDan007/red-hair-long-1.jpg

It was still two days before she put to space, but Emma Watkins wanted to get settled and get to know where she would be working before the docking clamps were released. She was almost giddy as she made her way to the transporter room at McKinley Station to be beamed aboard. Her broad smile and bounce in her step brought a smirk to the young ensign working the console.

“Headed out for the first time, miss? he said to her, assuming she was another scientist or researcher assigned to the state of the art vessel docked at the station. Quite a looker too, he thought to himself: nice curves, green eyes, red hair.

“Just a new posting,” she replied as she turned to face him as she stood on the pad. “Emma Watkins, Chief Medical Officer of the Arizona.”

She could hardly believe the words as they came out of her mouth. She was going to do it, take the plunge and a position that would let her get out there and use what she had learned; to make the snap decisions that she had trained for; to keep those around her safe and alive, no matter the situation.

“Chief Medical Officer?” the ensign stammered. His face began to redden with embarrassment as he realized his lack of professionalism could get him written up, or worse. “Sorry, Sir. No disrespect intended. I’ll be joining you in a couple of days, just before she casts off.”

She smiled widely at his reaction.

“If I’m not in uniform, I’m just a friendly face. See you soon!

She waved lightly to him as he slid the transporter controls up and sent her to the Arizona. She made the short trip to her quarters to drop off her bag before heading down to her new office on Deck 7. She had never before had an office of her own and was taken aback at the size and grand feeling of where she would be working. The medical bay was outfitted with the newest and most technologically advanced equipment Starfleet had to offer. It rivaled many of the facilities she had worked on during her stints on Starbases 121 and 210. She her smile widened as her eyes roamed the bay. It was hers to command, and she knew that she would finally be doing more than just running labs and mending broken bones.

 

[AmenRa]

Turbo Lift 1

The lift descended to the officer's quarters.

Captain Harper turned to Jace, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Your service history is questionable," he began, "and it has been questioned, more than once, more than you probably even know. There are a few well-placed threads that stuck the course during your administrative hearings, and only by close association with the Judge Advocate General did you miss a General Court Martial and subsequent dishonorable discharge.

"As a matter of fact," Harper stated, "it's a damn wonder they didn't criminally indict you."

"I know you know all of this, Mr. Jace," Harper's voice softened now, "and you are well aware I know it. But I know some other things, too, and so do a few well-placed persons in Starfleet Command. These people, myself included, know that evidence can be altered, truths be hidden, and good men's integrity and character ruined by deceit and falsehoods."

Captain Harper stuck out his hand. "If this speech sounds rehearsed, it's not. I've been thinking a lot about what to say to you when I saw you, and this is how it came out. The only thing I expect of you is what you've always given to Starfleet: one hundred percent. And, along the way, while you're aboard this ship, maybe you'll have a chance and the resources to uncover a few things that might set things right again."

"You can rest assured I've got your back," Harper said.

 

[Wyldfire]

Ryika.

The looks had begun again. They always did whenever she arrived in a new place. From most of the men and some of the women it was little more than a thinly veiled leer. The rest were better about it, but it really didn't surprise Ryika. As a matter of fact it entertained her and when it started she played it to the hilt.

Her hips took on more of a sway, her spine went straighter bringing her other assets higher and more prominent. The fact that she was wearing what basically amounted to an extra wide white leather strap across her breasts, tight white leather shorts, and white knee high boots with her notoriously high heels. She knew what she was doing, and she knew what it did for her reputation. But it also helped with her secondary occupation. Most everyone would talk to her, letting their guard down. She had been an assistant councillor on the last ship she had been aboard. Ms. Troy had taught her several tricks once her ship's councillor had recommended sending the bartender to her for extra training.

She boarded the Arizona with minimal problems. She could hear the men behind the transporter console as she was leaving, muttering to each other that the Crew Lounge was going to be their new favorite place. Her smile got bigger.

Following the directions to her quarters on her padd, she got to her quarters and unpacked. After that, she went and reported to the Lounge and began her day's shift.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Lt. Connor Jace

The captains words hit me like a blow to the gut. I could see it in his eyes. He believed every word he said.

I met his hand with mine. "I always give it my all Captain. I don't know any other way to operate. I do have one request though. Let the crew decide for them selves how they deal with me. If the old man tells them to play nice with the screwup, it will only make it worse for both you and me. It took me a year on the Phantasm, but by the time I left I wasn't someone inflicted on them anymore, but a part of them. If that is all Sir then I need to report to Security and familiarize myself with some new things and make things ready for my new chief."

 

[AmenRa]

Harper nodded his head to Jace, agreeing with the man.

"One thing I can tell you about a starship crew, as you well know, is they will decide for themselves."

The turbo lift stopped. The doors opened, and Harper waited for Jace to exit.

"You might want to stop by the Security Chief's quarters on your way," Harper remarked, "and say hello. I'm sure he has some things for you to attend to."

The doors closed once again, and Harper, now all alone in the lift, said quietly to the computer, "Bridge."

It was time to get under way.

 

[ChasNicollette]

"taH pagh, taHbe"

"Welcome aboard, Commander Raan," he said to her, his eyes betraying just a hint of smile.

[ Kahlest Raan - Commander, XO - Bridge ]

...beneath the surface, though, she couldn't help but notice, there was a fluctuation amidst his rhythms, an empathic impression not unlike the sound of many flocking wings. Starfleet captains were notorious at keeping lids on their emotions, however, so she couldn't quite make it out. Was this just the excitement of a CO before a maiden voyage, akin to pre-wedding jitters?

"Thank you, sir," she inclined her head. "Good to be aboard."

Was she making him nervous? She couldn't imagine why. Maybe he remembered their impromptu "tussle" just as well as she did... but he had given as good as he'd gotten. Given better, really. As much damage as they'd done to each other, he'd still come out the victor... she hadn't managed to wipe a triumphant grin off of his handsome face.

He handed her the PADD. "The crew manifest is updated. If you would look over it and make any suggestions as far as staffing changes or postings, please."

With a dignified eyebrow arched, she nodded. "Of course, Captain. I'll give this my closest scrutiny."

(As first assignments went, this was far less ignominious than degaussing the holodeck.)

Apparently, he'd noticed something behind her, and he moved past her, and she turned to follow him with her gaze, and she discovered that he'd noticed someone.

As he stepped around Raan, he made eye contact once more, and he held her gaze for just a second, and said to her, "my collarbone is fine," in almost a whisper.

She grinned at him, a slow-burn of a grin with a twinkle in the darkest reaches of her eyes, and her reply was equally low in volume: "Glad to hear it. So's my rib cage."

(...as a Klingon hybrid, she possessed twenty-three ribs. He'd cracked or broken almost half of them. She'd found out only later about the apocryphal John Harper Facts that had circulated The Academy, one of which was that he'd been "born knowing moQ'bara.")

Harper then stepped over to Lt. Jace.

Standing there holding the PADD, Kahlest took a moment to scrutinise not the data display device but the man standing poised like a royal guard by the turbolift. He wore a scar, which was... unusual for a human. Unusual for a Starfleet officer in general, but especially unusual for a human. Off-hand she could only recall two other Starfleeters who had opted not to have such scars surgically removed-- well within the capacity of Starfleet medicine --and only one of them was human. (He'd resigned from Starfleet and become a terraformer on a hellish ice-world, last she'd heard.) The other had been Xenexian...

This one would bear close examination. The wearing of scars was a far more Klingon trait than human.

Intriguing.

"Welcome aboard," he said to the man. "Let's take a walk until your security chief arrives," he added, stepping through the turbolift doors as they parted.

He turned around, waiting on Lt. Jace to enter the lift.

Harper wasn't looking at the new crewmember, though. He was looking past him, into the bridge, and into her eyes.

She met his gaze, unflinching, though she perceived, on the edges of her senses, felt the eyes on her of this Lieutenant Jace, examining her just as she'd examined him. She let him look, as all the while she met the captain's gaze, and she did not flinch from either man.

The turbolift doors hissed shut.

And Commander Raan stood there, amongst the myriad goings-on of the busy busy bridge, and she smirked her wryest smirk. "Suppose I'll have the conn then, Captain."

She glanced about herself, and realised, with a bit of a start-- though not much of one --that a number of the bridge crew had stopped what they were doing and were also staring at her. Even Lieutenant Reeve, apparently quite a talker from the sound of things, had stilled his voice.

Kahlest stood there for a moment, glancing around, glancing back at them, and with a shake of her head and a soft chuckle, she tugged sharply down on the lower half of her uniform top, smoothing it out, the infamous "Picard Manoeuvre," and then waved dismissively to the lot of them. "As you were, everyone. Formal introductions later, I'm sure."

There seemed to be a collective sigh-- of relief, mostly --and the most of them returned to busy busy business as usual.

She paused, however, and regarded the center chair.

Another wry smirk adorned her lips, and she sat herself down upon this, and crossed her legs one over the other as she regarded the PADD.

Not as comfy as a Galaxy seat. Probably for the best.

Ol' Korvawn would probably bitch at me for sitting in a chair that wasn't made of rough-hewn tritanium.

Still, I could get used to this. Probably shouldn't.

Her thumb takked the scroll-down button and she perused the highlights of the staff. She'd take a closer look later when there wasn't so much going on around her, maybe break out her old D'Har lessons and commit the whole thing to memory.

(Korvawn had been insistent about D'Har, and had always been disappointed in her that she hadn't ascended to "leader" level whilst under his tutelage. She still intended to do that someday...)

Still, even with that ancient mental training, she wouldn't compare with a Vulcan for data-retention, or a Soong-type android, or a Borg...

Huh. Speaking of which.

He'll be an asset.

But will he be so Borg that he enforces only the letter of the law, or Human enough that he attends to the spirit of it, as well?

And a Vulcan, too, a half-Vulcan like the near-mythic Ambassador Spock. Though from her training record, this one seemed to take more after her Human side.

Nothing wrong with that, especially when it comes to defending the cause.

Peculiar, though, this one was listed as having been KIA. Officially. The rest of her service record was locked up tighter than a carbon-neutronium dreadnought, but that little detail stuck out like a sore opposable digit. 'Deceased.'

And yet, here she was, posted to The Arizona; "The Dead Yet Live."

Perhaps this is a typo? Or perhaps she thinks every day is a good day to die.

There was a Cardassian in Engineering. A tinker rather than a tailor.

But she refused to judge the woman based on the history of her species; Kahlest had had her Klingon side judged harshly a thousand dozen times over the course of her career, she would not inflict the same prejudice upon another if at all she could help it.

But she'd heard tell of The Federation's first war with Cardassia, and she'd lived through The Dominion War. She'd had Cardassian blood on her d'k tahg as much as Jem'Hadar during that raging perdition of a conflict. Memories like that were hard to purge, she didn't need D'Har techniques to lock them amongst her dendrites.

Kahlest didn't like being near people when they died. She could feel it. Maybe that made her a lousy Klingon, but she liked to think that it made her a Hell of a Betazoid.

And the Betazoid in her refused to judge this Cardassian woman just because she'd fought her species once. That would be as idiotic as blaming 24th-Century Spaniards for that ancient Inquisition.

...elsewhere in Engineering, she caught a glimpse of a lad with long hair and fingernails. Hardly standard fashion for Humans.

But then again... as she recalled, Earth had a great and storied history of iconoclasts who were as brilliant as they were unusual. Zefram Cochrane had apparently been quite a whiskey-swilling ruffian, for one thing; outward appearance hardly dictated Engineering skill.

The CMO looked lovely, a red-haired girl-next-door. She wondered, wry smirk, if some of the more impressionable Ensigns might be scraping their knees or suffering holodeck-induced concussions more than usual just to be in her presence. But all that aside... it really seemed as though the good doctor was striving to be the best she could be, ascending from doctoring tourists on Starbases to get herself elbow-deep in some "frontier medicine." Impressive.

Kahlest couldn't help but regard the spotless record of Chief Torres with a long, low whistle. He'd make the turbolifts run on time, it seemed like... with sheer force of will, if necessary.

Skipping back and forth, pausing when she was struck by a personnel file that seemed like it was a matter of solid import...

...the civilian postings on a Sovereign-class vessel were by necessity far more spartan than those on a Galaxy-class ship, but still they had mess-decks, traditionally manned by an unofficial sort of "morale officer," and The Arizona was no exception.

A psychology degree, Kahlest reflected, contemplating the emerald beauty. How spectacular. Conversations with her could probably help me parse the emotions of others when my paracortex gets too mixed up with my amygdala...

And then.

And then there was Lieutenant Jace.

Hm.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Lt. Connor Jace

"You might want to stop by the Security Chief's quarters on your way," the Captain said "and say hello. I'm sure he has some things for you to attend to."

And with that statement and one last smile the Captain closed the door to the turbolift and was off.

Well, he didn't rise in rank from Security. If you go to the head mans house, it better damn well be on fire and even then you might loose a chunk.

I consulted my PADD and made my way to the security bridge, or as we like to call it, The Hole. Each ship had it's own Hole. Some were tight and coiled, ready to spring, others loose, with tendrils out feeling the ebb and flow of the ship, responding to problems before they grew into catastrophes.

The Arizona's was still forming. I walked into the control center and stood there, just observing. All work stopped for about three seconds as all eyes swung to the new guy, the lieutenant that was to be their boss for the foreseeable future. The guy who had gotten over a hundred people killed. Then everyone but one put their game face on. The Chief looked at me, his years worn on his collar and his face, then walked over and saluted.

"Welcome to The Hole Sir. I am Chief Warrens, welcome aboard."

The slight tightening around his eyes betrayed the feeling his words had. He would do.

"Thank you chief. I'm not going to get in your way, you have enough to do clearing personnel and cargo in preparation for our leaving. I'll be in my office unless the Boss calls. Carry on."

I walked into what was now my office (completely barren, just a chair, desk and a few other pieces of furniture) and dropped my bag down by the door. I then moved over to replicator.

"Coffee, hazelnut with one cream and one sugar, 12 ounces"

The machine swirled and in the receptacle before me was a tall glass of blue liquid, with a little umbrella in it. With one eyebrow lifted, I picked up the glass & took a sniff.

Blue Hawaiian. Not virgin either.

"Computer, please add the replicator in my office to the daily bug report, flagged non-priority"

"Acknowledged"

I touched a series of commands and my desk formed itself into a archaic keyboard and a viewscreen rose from the surface. I quickly sent a communique off to my new boss, Nine of Nineteen, informing him of my arrival and assumption of duties. Then I pulled the personnel records for the ship.

On another window the contents of the ships weapons lockers were listed, as well as the heavy weapons on board.

A squad of marines. Interesting. I pulled their files for closer scrutiny, then moved on to bridge officers.

The XO was definitely interesting. A Klingon hybrid, while not unknown, is very very rare, and a Betazoid/Klingon is a combination I did not ever expect to see. The file didn't mention if she gained her Betazead gifts as well as her Klingon ones.

My boss was equally interesting. A Borg, rescued from the collective and returned to duty. Looking into his past record I saw much that was technical, by the book and to the letter of the regs.

This too would benefit from firsthand contact and knowledge.

I shifted through more files. I once had a old commander who likened my mind to that of a Soong droid in it's ability to process data, (in reality, I was about as fast as a human can process data, but Dr. Soongs minds that he breathed the spark of life into, magnitudes faster and more efficient, but I get the job done.) and the files flowed in front of my eyes, occasionally stopping when something caught my eye. And then something made me stop so hard I had to remind myself to start breathing and that that drink in my hand was not regulation!

What in God's name was a Orion woman doing on this ship? Hell, she was more dangerous than the Quantum Torpedoes we had in the munitions bay!!

I brought up her record and began reading. If something was missing, I damn sure planned to find out what it was!

 

[LuckyVic]

Lt. Commander Torres

The pod made it’s way towards the dry-dock. Miguel was sitting near the back of the small travel pod reading a PADD. On it was the most recent status of his new assignment, the USS Arizona. She was preparing for launch, however it seemed as if several systems were still quite not up to snuff. At least as of an hour ago when he had received his last briefing at Starfleet Command. He still didn’t know what the ship’s mission was, but that wasn’t anything new. He had been in Starfleet long enough now that he knew that such things were at times an emergency.

“There she is Commander.” The pilot said breaking the silence.

Miguel stood up and stood next to the pilot and looked out of the transparent aluminum canopy. Sovereign class starship, nearly 700 meters long, making her longer then a Galaxy class, but she wasn’t as wide as one. In fact the ship had a much more graceful look. Almost like a hawk or an eagle. She was beautiful.

The pilot brought the pod in line with the Arizona’s starboard side. Miguel could just see the small blinking lights coming from dock workers finishing up last minute details on the mighty ship. The pod slowly made its way along side of the ship as if it were performing an inspection. Then as it reached the end of the saucer the pilot turned it around to face the larger vessel.

Miguel then was given a look at saucer section. He actually liked the little tour he was getting, after all he didn’t know when he’d get a chance to see the ship like this again. After a few minutes the shuttle had made it’s way to the aft section of the saucer and had once again turned, this time lining itself up with the main shuttle bay. Once the pilot had been given clearance he entered brought the pod down for one of the softest landings he had ever had. Miguel stood up with his bag, his other things had already been sent to his quarters on ship. “Thank you Lieutenant.” Miguel said with a large smile and once the door opened he exited the small pod.

His first stop was his quarters, where he dropped off his bag and made sure that his other things had arrived. From what he could see they had, and were all intact. So he left and then made his way to the bridge. One the turbo lift opened up he took a quick look around and his eyes went immediately the Operations station where he would be spending most of his days. He then looked towards the command area and saw a rather tall woman there. She appeared to be a Klingon hybrid, which meant she should be Commander Kahlest Raan the ship’s Executive officer. He walked over to her and stood attention. “Lieutenant Commander Miguel Torres, reporting for duty ma’am.”

 

[ChasNicollette]

Eight-chambered heart. Broken, once.

He walked over to her and stood attention. “Lieutenant Commander Miguel Torres, reporting for duty ma’am.”

[ Kahlest Raan - Commander, XO - Bridge ]

She sat in the captain's chair and she looked up at him. And up and up and up.

She was tall by Human female standards, but this man...

You're a tall chalice of fire wine, aren't you?

And his aura. The only thing she felt from him was confidence. Attitude like that, he had probably beaten The Kobayashi Maru without blinking. She had a feeling he'd probably make command before she did. (Quite right, too.)

"At ease, Commander," she nodded to him, and then gestured beside her with the PADD, indicating the chair to her left, proper spot for this Second Officer, "feel free to have a seat, while you're at it. Good to have you along."

She smiled at him faintly, and laid the PADD across her lap as she steepled her fingers. "Point of interest, though, Mister Torres. Isn't it convention among Fleet personnel to refer to senior officers as 'sir,' regardless of gender? Call me crazy, but so far as I recall Federation Standard honorifics, 'ma'am's' a term reserved for married women, and I've never been that."

Once. Almost. Very nearly.

He ditched me at the altar.

Long time ago, now.

The smile metamorphosed slightly, became less faint, more wry. "So. Since I'm neither a male 'sir' nor a married 'ma'am,' I'll defer to the preferences of a certain Admiral Janeway. You can call me 'Commander,' Mister Torres. And I'll just call you 'Chief.' Copasetic?"

 

[Wyldfire]

This close to departure was never a good time in the lounge. For a Starship it took almost the entirety of the crew to get underway, especially a beast the size of the Arizona.

Thinking of it that way triggered a cascade of information. Arizona had a tradition. They were always big, bigger than any other ship of it's era. Prior to that fateful day in December of 1941 the original Arizona had been an imposing beast. Not many ships in that era had 16" guns, nor as many as it had. There was an old military adage that Ryika knew but didn't understand about the ship. It fired shells the size of a Volkswagen, whatever those were. She had the impression that they were big for their time though. Something for her to look up in her free time.

The second, third, and now the current incarnation of the Arizona had all maintained that tradition. Not many ships could match the sped, firepower, or sheer size of a Sovereign class. She ran the massive and over the top specs through her head in no time. Sometimes having the intelligence she had was a very good thing. Sometimes it kept the boredom of a slow time in check like it was doing now.

Ryika took up her Padd and began a search on these mythic "Volkswagens" as well as a comparative study on all of the incarnations of the Arizona, just to see if the traditional was upheld in the current ship. She also brought up the crew roster again, to remind herself again of the diversity of races aboard the Arizona to make sure she had a proper stock of the various preferred beverages of the variety of races aboard.

She had an oddity to the way she ran her Lounges. She refused to use a replicator if it could be helped. She hand made almost every drink that one could imagine. She knew the ingredients came from a replicator, but the crews seemed to appreciate the effort of the hand made drinks.

Now if only the ship would get underway. Ryika found herself eager to get to work so she could begin to get to know the rest of the crew and maybe even find a nice bed warmer or three or four.

 

[Screech]

It had taken some time, but Marjia had commited all the power distribution specs to memory, and was fairly certain she could recall any one part of the diagram on command. Her upbringing will most definatly come in very handy on this assignemnt, with so much to look after.

And, it seemed, from a beeping console not too far away, that there were already problems cropping up on the ship. Moving over to the console, she lightly touched the screen, bringing up a short, but growing list of faults all over the ship, ranging from lighting malfunctions to door sensor shutdowns. Marjia sighed to herself sshe scanned the list. Of course, shakedown runs were supposed to show up these faults, and there wern't really that many for a ship this size (so far), but still. It was almost as if Humans enjoyed it when things didn't work right, just so they'd have something to fiddle with later!

Still, there were two listings of faults on deck 3. Officers quarters. She would definatly have to look into these. After all, if she was going to get this ship working correctly, she might as well start by making sure the command staff are comfortable, before moving on to the lower ranks. Besides, if her engineering team showed up today, they should be able to handle some of those other problems. Share the workload, and all..

"Computer. Who is assigned to deck 3, room 112?"

"Lt. Connor Jace, secondary security officer"

"I see. And room 193?"

"Nine of Nineteen, cheif tactical officer and head of ship's security"

Marjia winced at the name. A Borg name. She didn't like Borg much. Not that she'd had any first-hand experience, of course, but from what she had heard, they were as a malevolent species as existed, destroying everything they come across, and assialating everyone in their path. They wern't interested in just defeating an enemy. No, they were on a mission of galactic genocide. Still, if one was onboard, and part of the crew roster, then someone in the higher ranks of command must have cleared it, and it's not her place to question the commands of Starfleet.

Collecting a repair kit, she left main engineering at a brisk pace and, after a short walk, arrived at one of the ship's turbolifts. At least there were no reported problems with these. The doors slid open, and Marjia stepped inside. "Deck 3, section 2" The turbolift hummed in response, and lights stobled down wall panels. It wasn't long before the lift came to a halt, and the doors slid open once again, allowing her to disembark.

Again, it wasn't too far a walk to room 112, but the various crewmen's stares at her as she walked made the journey a little unsettling.

Arriving at the door, Marjia unconciously straigtened out her black uniform, and ran her thumb across the gold piping on her left shoulder. A little good luck charm she'd started doing a few weeks ago. Had worked so far, too. The door slid open, and she stepped inside, only to be greeted by a group of security officers preparing the room, and one other in a side office. All had stopped when she had entered Marjia kept her expression neutral. "Someone filed a report of a broken replicator?"

 

[subxboi]

The crew roster looked impressive thus far; A former Borg, a Klingon/Betazed...? "....Well that's a new one.", he thought to himself. An Orion? A brow visibly perked over his touchscreen, breaking his trademark blank expression for a moment, almost like a Vulcan discovering humor for the first time. But, there was no time to go on with thinking about what the others would be like; He'd have to find out soon enough. Passing into Main Engineering from the forward section hall, he was expecting to see her...


...But no one was there. "How sloppy...", he thought to himself with a frown, striding over to the consoles and bringing up a few scans of the systems. The pads still had a warmth to them....Had someone just been here? "Hmph....This is a wreck. Excellent work....Commander....", Isaac muttered to himself, as he began typing in figures to tweak the balances in the M/ARA It may not have been regulation-- But it used its energy more efficiently this way, right? The EPS could use a little work, too...It was going to be a long day. A very long day.

He had learned through experience in the Academy and on the Poughkeepsie that you don't have to be friendly to rise in the ranks; Which was a good thing, because opening up like that scared the hell out of him. The only thing you have to do is your job, and do it very cleanly, and most importantly...Perfectly. Even in practice, 'Perfect' was all he knew how to do. Was there any other way? In his log from his last assignment, it was noted that he would sometimes be days without sleep, still focused diligently. The Poughkeepsie had been an older ship, but it had run hard right up to the limit with the newer ships that replaced it.

But, the Arizona wasn't even finished preparing to depart yet. So the only thing on his mind at the moment is making a good first impression...And getting lost in a Holodeck as soon as allowable.

 

[Abraxas Winterlight]

Lt. Connor Jace

I was still scanning reports. Now I had another screen up on my desk and was processing that information along with the personnel files when a knock on my office door broke me out of my work. I hit the button to blank out both screens and got up from my desk.

I opened the door to find a Cardassian woman standing there in a fleet uniform, a tool kit on her side.

"Someone filed a report of a broken replicator?"

"That would be me Lt. Commander Orsoth. Correct me if I did not say your name right." I said with a smile.

"Minor glitch with the office replicator. I ordered coffee, and got a alcoholic beverage. Complete with umbrella and garnish. Do you think it's terminal ma'am, or will it pull through?"

 

[MilkManDan007]

Nine of Nineteen

http://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll178/MilkManDan007/CyberBoy-1.jpg

The days ticked away slowly as Nine of Nineteen sat in his quarters, pouring over each detail of the ship. The fix list at his side was growing slowly, and currently numbered three critical security concerns, seven crew files that showed inconsistencies that would need to be investigated, and one phaser bank that showed a slightly elevated feedback level. As he took another drink of the cold cocoa from his thermos, a small alert came across his computer screen.

Lt. Connor Orion Jace, his Deputy Security Officer, had logged into his terminal in the Security Section. Efficient. No time had been wasted with introductions or the human concept of bonding. He had simply come aboard and gotten to work. While his efficiency was something that would serve him well on the Arizona’s security team, there was still something troubling about Lt. Jace. His file had been sealed and little could be gleaned from the sections that had not been completely redacted. It was the most pressing of the personnel concerns that faced the new Security Chief. He had to know who was aboard his ship, and especially had to know those who had been tasked to defend it.

Nine of Nineteen stood and stretched. He fought the urge to simply slip into his alcove and rest until the ship was set to depart, instead leaving his quarters and making his way down to the security station. It was a struggle he lived with everyday: the choice to be Borg, or to be Human.

As he walked, he remembered the scientists who had studied him at the Daystrom Institute. They were trying to get him to connect to the part of him that was still human; to shed the notion that he was Borg and only a part of the Collective; to regain that which was individuality again. The last few years had been a hard road to walk. There was much hatred for the Borg, and it seemed that everyone had either lost someone or knew someone who had. He still had no real memory of himself before the battle at Wolf 359. The only thing he could remember for certain is that being the day he joined the Collective. The science team at Daystrom had severed him from the hive mind, removed all they could of what the Borg had done to him, but he still bore the scars of that life. Those who passed him often gave him a second look, a look of fear as if he were going to turn and utter those words: You will be assimilated. Resistance is Futile.

Even the members of the crew he passed as he walked gave him a wide berth, their eyes fixated on the implant still visible on the side of his head and the clenched mechanical hand that hung from his uniform. He knew that it should bother him, that he should be having some emotional response to the negative looks, but he simply found it easier to retreat into the cold, mechanical portion of his mind and focus on the tasks at hand. He stepped into the turbolift and closed his eyes as the doors hissed shut. Who was he? Who had he been? He had pored over the files from the USS Ahwahnee, the ship they had found him on, but no one was a match for the man that he stared at in his own reflection.

The doors hissed open and he stepped out into the security station. Lt. Jace was in his office with a woman. There was a tall, blue drink on his desk, complete with umbrella. He had logged in not twenty minutes ago and was already socializing. Perhaps he was not as efficient as first thought. Nine of Nineteen made his way to the door and spoke over the woman’s shoulder to Lt. Jace.

“Lt. Jace, you will find the first security shift personnel log and duties in the computer,” he said. The woman turned slightly at the sound of the voice. He recognized her immediately: Lt. Commander Marjia Orsoth, Head of Engineering. A small smirk came to his face. He could deal with two issues on his fix list at once. Efficiency. “There is also a deficiency in accessible defense weapons between cargo bays three and four. Please see to it that a phaser locker is installed before we leave McKinley station. Lt. Commander Orsoth, when you are finished here, I need to speak with you about increasing the interior force field strength around engineering and the bridge.”

He turned and crossed the security station to his office. There were no decorations, only the bare desk and computer terminal. He sat and touched the communications panel in front of him.

“Nine of Nineteen to Captain Harper. I need to discuss Lt. Jace’s personnel file with you before we depart. Nine of Nineteen out.