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Go on……


Re: It's quiet... by JayBee14JayBee14, 17 Mar 2014 11:42

Actually, that's incorrect for mine. The correct response would have been "Hometown Gypsy" by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

The opening stanza to "Gypsy" by Shakira is:

Broke my heart on the road
Spent the weekend sewing the pieces back
on crayons and dolls pass me by

Yours would be The Fray - "Enough for Now"

—-

If I had a gun I'd shoot a hole into the sun
And love would burn this city down for you
If I had the time I'd stop the world and make you mine


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Gypsy by Shakira

—-
The daughter's father watches
quietly we assume
He's no longer with us
but he left this dusty room


REO Speedwagon, "Roll with the Changes"

—-

Riding up the coast
To find a version of the truth
Left the back door swinging
Like a dirty little sleuth


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To be clear, I have no idea how that still got in Main Engineering.

However, if I knew someone who knew someone who might know someone that had non-Synthale microbrew, would that be worth anything to you?


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Re: It's quiet... by NaotaNaota, 16 Mar 2014 10:50

Your geekery shows a flaw! The stardates of TOS don't match or line up with the stardates used by TNG and later. The calculator you used would be for calculating a stardate after January 1, 2323 - which is 53 years after Kirk's five-year mission. Naota would use the TOS calculator for his stardates and Akaad would use a different stardate system completely (which makes more sense, though it's based entirely on the human calendar which makes no sense in an interstellar republic. Wait, homo sapiens only club. Nevermind.)

See also, this page.


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Something is brewing…… *Ominous music plays.*


Re: It's quiet... by JayBee14JayBee14, 16 Mar 2014 09:57

So I found this little tool in my travels of the great Interwebz and thought that it might be useful to us…

http://www.hillschmidt.de/gbr/sternenzeit.htm

Now we can be all official in our stardates for logs and such. Yay for geekery!


The Reagan has been caught in some sort of anomaly and emerged in an unknown location. Sensors, communications, weapons, and propulsion are all offline and we're running on emergency power. We don't yet know the extent of our damage… or casualties from our trip through the anomaly, but it doesn't look promising.


The (future) crew of the Odyssey have officially begun our first mission! If you've happened upon this site and aren't yet a part of the crew, what are you waiting for!? Most positions are still open including…

First Officer
Science Officer
Operations Chief
Helmsman
Communications

And whatever else you can think of.

We take characters from literally anywhere in the long history of Star Trek… ENT era, TOS Era, etc. So head over to the application and join the fun!


Mission One has begun! by JayBee14JayBee14, 16 Mar 2014 09:28

UNITED ASSOCIATION OF STOCK POD RACING
Antarian Interstellar Speedway | October 2287

"Coming into the final sector of the '87 Antarian Speedway and it's number thirteen — thirteen, flown by Kylar Prim of Bolia. Two time winner here at this interstellar rally. And coming out of the Ligon Corridor at the number two position is Joran Xu…"

"Wait, Srom, what's that?"

"That's… This is… this is unbelievable folks. There's a stock pod emerging from out of the event horizon of the collapsing binary."

"The judges appear to be debating. Was that a legal modification of the course plot?"

"We've never seen this maneuver here, folks. In twenty-seven years of covering racing, I've never seen flying like that."

"The slingshot from out of the gravity well has put this pod out in front."

"The judges are indicating… Yes, yes they're allowing it. Kylar Prim now takes second, a parsec behind the leader."

"Who is that? Do we have visual? We have visual, ladies and gentlemen, and it's… oh my God…"

"That pilot is out of his mind!"

"…it's number seventy three. Number seventy three, first time placing here at Antaria, Naota of… Wait, what planet is this?"

"Miri's Planet is what we're being told. Has anyone ever heard of this?"

"They're hearing about it now, because I believe we can now announce the winner of the Antarian Interstellar Speedway, folks. I've never seen a landslide like this one. With the number two pod still a parsec behind, number seventy three is at the polar moon. He's crossing the equatorial axis of Antaria and… that's it. That's it, ladies and gentlemen. A complete unknown has just won the Antarian Interstellar Speedway. Did anyone see that coming?"


UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS STARFLEET ACADEMY
San Francisco, Earth | Freshman Class of 2289

“All right, plebes, LISTEN UP.”

The sun shone over the Golden Gate Bridge, a breeze from the picturesque Presidio whipping over the Academy grounds where the lieutenant in mustard gold division colors stood between the assembled freshmen and their class study for today. A well chewed cigar was held in the corner of her mouth as the hard-lined pilot surveyed her newest students for Flight Ops 101. She had a voice that was hoarse from tobacco and whiskey, a far cry from the utopian image society fostered about Starfleet. “Today you WILL learn about the Type-4 shuttlecraft. As you know, navigation is a required course here at the Academy so get a good look at this baby behind me because SOME OF YOU are going to be looking at ’er from now until senior year.”

Plucking the cigar from out of her mouth, the lieutenant surveyed her charges and then spit tobacco at their feet in utter disdain. “That’s IF she doesn’t break you,” the woman added ominously.

Pfft. Whatever.”

Every spine went ramrod straight, even before the dark look crossed the woman’s face. “I’m sorry, did a plebe just SAY SOMETHING?”

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the assembled cadets on the parade all took on step back, and then either to the left or right. Leaving just one cadet standing at the forefront. Three quick strides brought the instructor looming over the offending plebe. “Aren’t you a little short to be a plebe?”

Without waiting for an answer, the lieutenant dropped to a knee in order to look the freshman in the eye. “Is it bring your brat to school day and no one told me?” the woman demanded caustically, staring impassively into the face of the copper-skinned boy who merely smirked impishly up at the woman. He might have been four-and-a-half feet tall in boots and reeked of attitude. “What’s your name, plebe?”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the next the boy had the gall to cock his head to the side, rebel eyes staring up from underneath a veil of bangs. “Naota,” the child answered shortly.

“DID I GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK, PLEBE?”

The entire corps of cadets behind him took another step back simultaneously. But the boy wouldn’t so much as wither under the lieutenant’s gaze. Instead, he giggled.

The little shit was honest-to-Archer giggling on her parade grounds. The lieutenant stood and almost took a step back herself, to keep from choking the… whatever the hell alien he was. “Would you like to share what’s so funny with the rest of the class?” the lieutenant managed, articulating each word as they snapped in turn from behind the teeth that were biting into the cigar by this point.

The boy just gave a shrug, planting his hands on his hips as he tipped his head back and declared, “Yeah, its you.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t think I will, thanks,” the boy quipped, his accent making the words nearly indistinguishable as the sounds seemed to almost blur together in a flat murmur. Inclining his head toward the shuttlecraft, the boy added, “Because the only person who’s going to learn something today is you.”

The cadets took another step back. The lieutenant just standing impassively over the little freshman for a long moment where no one dared breathe, let alone speak. Finally, she gave a short laugh. “Okay, guttersnipe, you just volunteered to be the first to fail,” the woman announced, raising her voice as she stared out over the grounds. “LISTEN UP, PLEBES! Everyone in the short bus. Shorty-McNopockets here can show us what it is EXACTLY that he has to teach us.”

“Sure you can handle it, longshanks?”

Turning her head, the lieutenant again found herself staring down at the little upstart. “Kid, if you can even get this bucket out of orbit by yourself I’ll be impressed,” the woman remarked, taking a knee as she lowered her voice and got right in the boy’s face. “Now get the FUCK inside the ride.”

The slow smile split the boy’s face like Carroll’s Cheshire cat, the youth cracking his knuckles as he made his way over to the crowded shuttlecraft and squeezed his way to the pilot’s console. Like a concert pianist, the child’s fingers danced across the controls. “Is this a g-type duotronic interface? Seriously? How… cheap,” the boy commented, taking the most abbreviated of seconds to familiarize himself with the Starfleet layout before he began to cycle the thrusters and bring the sublight navigation controls online.

The lieutenant leaned over from the co-pilot seat. “First you want to—"

Without warning Naota hit the repulsor lifts and the shuttlecraft shot upward into the atmosphere, disappearing over the clouds. And there was silence on the parade grounds for several minutes. A half hour passing, as the time delegated for Flight Ops 101 ticked by closer to completion. As the end of the class approached, the silence was broken by a sound like that of a rocket crashing toward the Academy. And indeed, at the sight of an out of control shuttlecraft aimed at the parade grounds, there were a number of cadets who screamed and ran for cover. Kicking in at the last minute, the repulsor lifts flared to life, the shuttlecraft jerked back like a diver on a bungee cord.

And then the shuttle descended over the grounds like a feather falling in the breeze, not so much as a single blade of grass disturbed by the landing.

The stench of vomit was overpowering as the shuttle doors were opened, cadets literally spilling out and tumbling over one another as they fell out of the cramped shuttle. Holding onto the side of the shuttle for support, the impassive lieutenant stood in the doorframe. And then took two steps forward. Pulled the cigar from her mouth, and collapsed onto her knees as the waves of nausea became overpowering.

Whistling happily to himself, the young cadet strolled out of the shuttle and casually made his way toward the kneeling lieutenant. Without a word, the boy plucked the cigar from out of her hand and continued walking.

“What the HELL was that?”

“Only the beginning,” the child answered cryptically, smiling like the devil himself as he stuck the cigar in his mouth and turned his head, casually walking across the grounds with his hands in his pockets.


OBERTH-CLASS USS CURIE NCC-509
Foxtrot Sector | February 9, 2311
Present day

"Look, all I'm saying is, when was the last time someone did a deep scan geological survey of Risa?"

The small boy spun in a slow circle, situated at the astrogation console of the ship which was listing through an unremarkable part of space but for location. The ship was on a routine patrol of the Romulan border, scanning for any readings which might indicate passage of cloaked vessels across the imaginary line in the sand. Accepting a padd from the attending yeoman, the ship's black-eyed commander absently commented. "I'll be sure and recommend that when we're done doing barium sweeps of the next sector."

Sticking out his foot, the diminutive navigator rotated back the opposite direction as he swung himself back to look over at the captain. "Seriously?"

"No."

The child's face immediately adopted a petulant look, the brief moment of levity passing as the captain handed the padd back to the yeoman and everyone resumed attention on their particular stations. As such, most missed the moment when nearly every light on the communications officer's status board suddenly lit up. The brunette officer seemed to hesitate a moment, before toggling one of those lights and listening a moment through the ear piece she wore on the right side of her head. "Captain, I'm receiving a priority one signal," the woman reported a moment later.

As multiple heads on the bridge turned, the Betazoid commander calmly pivoted his chair slightly to look back at the woman without craning his neck. "On what channel?"

"All of them, sir."

The statement hung in the air, punctuated by a mixture of confusion and disbelief, feelings which would be exasperated by anxiety as the Vulcan science officer announced, "Captain, I have a massive subspace detonation on sensors." The Vulcan officer hunched over his console for a moment, before adding, "Shockwave registers ten to the twelve power."

"Red alert. Shields up," Commander Amaen ordered succinctly, turning his head just enough to give a nod at the helmsman, who also controlled the tactical capabilities of the vessel, such as they were. The Curie was, after all, a scientific and survey vessel. That was part of why Naota had selected this assignment, a change of pace from the Excelsior-class. Rushing off to meet the unknown head-on, stand-offs with the Klingons, subterfuge with the Romulans. Always another fight to warp off to. It was a wonder any of them could still consider themselves to be explorers. Adventurers.

"Displacement wave will intersect our current position in two point nine minutes."

"Naota, get us out of here," the captain barked shortly.

"Set course twelve mark two-one-nine," the boy stated, as his hands moved across the astrogator.

"Got it," the helmsman acknowledged.

"Punch it," the captain ordered flatly.

The statement was usually followed by a momentary feeling of weightlessness, before the ship's internal dampeners kicked in to compensate for the sudden acceleration. Instead, the crew of the bridge traded looks between themselves as it became quickly apparent that nothing had happened. "Warp field collapsed, Captain," Skonn reported from the science station. "Too much volatility."

Gripping the edges of his chair, the captain toggled the ship-wide intercom and shouted, "All hands, brace for impact!"

Impact may have been understating the matter. It was as though the hand of God had suddenly reached out, seized the ship, and flung it. The deck below lurched upwards, as though it were possible for the floor to smack them in the head. Internally, the boy felt inertia pull at him as the vessel was twisted to one side, as a loud, rolling sound like thunder echoed through the ship.

"Skonn, report!"

Somehow, through all of it, the captain managed not only to remain seated, but to keep enough of his wits about him to demand a damage report. "We are ensnared inside the wave, Captain," the Vulcan shouted back in answer through the darkness that had enveloped the bridge. "There is a singularity of some kind moving through the displacement. I am attempting to localize it."

"Naota, get down to engineering," the captain snapped, as the lighting came back in a wash of emergency red illumination. Part of the original appeal of the Oberth-class had been the high level of automation in the engineering. The Curie's main engineering section was ordinarily un-manned during routine operations.

Unfortunately, they were now the furthest from routine that Naota had experienced thus far in his career. "Have Frost and East meet me there," the boy chirped, popping out of the navigator's seat as he stumbled toward the turbolift, losing his footing as the doors popped open so that he went down onto the floor of the elevator.

Things weren't any better when the doors opened again either, but at least the two enlisted technicians were already in place by the time Naota stumbled out into the primary engineering bay. "Transfer reactor control to manual," the boy shouted over the din of alarms and klaxons barking for attention.

"Intermix imbalance," the ship's senior chief petty officer barked hoarsely from beside the ship's reactor core. "We've got power spikes through the roof."

Slamming up against the nearest console, the boy began tapping furiously as various diagrams of the reactor came up in illustration. "Are the injectors out of sync?"

"Negative, something else is affecting the reaction," Frost answered in the same hoarse tone.

Pausing to look over the illustrated diagram, the boy swore under his breath and then looked down to his left and his right. Dipping down, the youth smoothly scooped a spanner up from an open tool kit and tossed it toward the crewman who was nearer to the reactor. "Manually secure the antimatter injectors then," Naota ordered, as East and Frost both went down to secure the valve directing the flow of anti-deuterium into the intermix chamber.

"Bridge to Engineering, we need more power to the…"

Everything went black as the lighting failed. In the darkness, Naota felt himself go weightless and realized at once it wasn't the familiar dislocation of warp travel, but the return of the proverbial hand of God. As the ship was violently tossed, he heard only the rolling thunder and then nothing.

Darkness there, and nothing more.


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Enter the White Rabbit by NaotaNaota, 09 Mar 2014 19:00
Starship Reagan
Unknown Location

Aside from the obligatory "What the hell just happened?" Nathan's first thought was that he was cursed. That had to be it. Otherwise he'd be on some tropical planet someplace, sipping some exotic concoction and giving absolutely zero shits about the Federation's latest and greatest colony expedition. If he weren't somehow cursed by whatever cosmic prankster was pulling the strings, his life wouldn't have been such that a five year escape from it wouldn't have appealed to him in the first place.

But here he was. A galaxy or two… or wherever.. away from everything in his previous life, lying supine on a cold deck with the remnants of a bulkhead staring him in the face.

And it had begun with such promise. He hadn't expected command to give him his own ship again after the Hawking but they had. Even if it was an ugly baby like the R. W. Reagan. They'd even assigned him to a colony run in the Gamma Quadrant. He'd been allowed to pick his own bridge crew, and luckily gotten most of his first choices. Yup. Until about twenty five minutes ago things were on the up and up and he was looking forward to getting a look at the twin worlds of Tau Gamma IV and V, which was where the colony expedition was originally supposed to go.

But apparently all that wasn't really in the cards. Judging by the situation developing around him, Nate's return to Starfleet was to either be short and tragic, or long and…. probably still tragic. As he lay supine on the vomit green carpet in his ready closet… his mind wandered back to the tubby admiral that had given him this posting….

Deep Space Nine
Personnel Offices | Admiral Dodd

The office reeked of complacency. It was very comfortable, and was decorated in such a way that Benjamin's first impression was that it's occupant intended to be here for the long haul. Nathan took note of the host of pictures on the wall, all from various ground or station assignments… usually with Admiral Dodd and whatever beauracrat happened to be running the place at the time. Civilian politicians, other admirals, etc, etc. He may as well have been back on Earth at SFHQ.

He'd been sitting in the office for more than thirty minutes now, most of which had been spent watching Dodd go over his previous tour. Presidio, Pathfinder, and finally his first foray into command which had ended… in unspectacular fashion. from the destruction of the Constitution to his abrupt resignation and departure, Nathan Benjamin had every reason to believe that his next assignment would be some station or planetside thing where he'd be in charge of cataloging sensor equipment or something equally mundane. But he'd made his decision. He was going back into Starfleet. And if there was a probation period of epic suck.. so be it.

Dodd rapped his fingers on his polished oak desktop as he read the reports. Upon the middle aged human’s ascendance to the Admiralty some six months prior, he’d been given the desk by his mother. It had been owned by his grandfather, who used it during his tenure as an Admiral back in the early years of the twenty fourth century. Of course Grandpa Dodd was a security officer before he made it to the upper echelons of Starfleet. Fenton had been a personnel officer for most of his thirty three years in uniform. Before which he’d served as a staff officer for Admiral Gervais. Gervais had been the Fifth Fleet’s commanding officer at the time, and kept his headquarters on Starbase twenty seven, which was the closest Fenton had ever gotten to Starship duty. It was a fact that he never minded much, as he had a near crippling case of claustrophobia. Small spaces scared the balding admiral stiff; had all his life. So when he chose his major and career field at the academy that he’d gotten into with help form his decorated father and Grandfather, he made sure that those choices would leave him planet bound. It had worked out famously for most of his now thirty three years. But as soon as they'd seen fit to put his pips in a box, they also saw fit to ship him out to the ass end of nowhere. Aside form the claustrophobia though he didn't mind. It still wasn't a ship, and soon he’d retire and have all the pension and perks that his grandfather and father had enjoyed, and have never had to toil on a damned starship to do it. Yep. Life was pretty good for Fenton Dodd, the Starfleet Admiral in Charge of Personnel for the 8th Fleet.

Having read the young man's personnel jacket, along with several recommendation from officers now serving in the fleet, Dodd had made his decision. Personally, Dodd expected the young soon to be captain to laugh in their face and leave. The assignment, convoy duty aboard a Yeager Class Frigate currently being rushed back from near death over Tellar Prime, wasn't one that screamed "upgrade", especially for an officer that come highly recommended and had previously commanded an Intrepid Class starship on unrestricted independent operations at such a young age. But Starfleet command was still wary of giving him that kind of autonomy again… for now. If he accepted the position. he'd be commanding a death trap with a crew not half that size filed with officers he didn't choose, and serving at the pleasure of a civilian administrator overseeing the convoy. No, Dodd fully expected him to laugh in the admiralty's face and go back home to Cestus III.

"Well Mister Benjamin, I've read over everything. We've got some convoy operations going on out in the Gamma Quadrant. As you know….

Dodd’s nasal twang was just shy of irritating. As was his insistence on spelling out the region’s game plan. Nathan rubbed the emerging stubble on his jaw line absently as the admiral continued, still glancing around the office without making his disinterest obvious. From what Nathan could tell, Dodd had never even been posted to a ship. Sad. Of course common sense argued for their existence. There had to be someone to do the paperwork and sit behind the desks, but those who made a career out of it irked the young former Captain. And though he’d been nothing but cordial and accommodating, Dodd was a poster boy for the typical armchair officer.

“…so I’m pleased to tell you that command has selected you to command the Starship Reagan.” Dodd said finally, jerking Nathan out of his contemplation of the admiral’s poor career choices.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he replied to make certain he’d heard the man right. He’d wanted to get a ship someday, but was fairly certain that Starfleet’s infinite wisdom would have him commanding a desk or at best serving aboard a ship in some junior capacity.

Dodd repeated himself without looking the least bit put off from having to do so. “Command has decided to offer you command of the USS Reagan. Congratulations.”

Wow. Maybe T'Shaini or Pev had put in a word. This was definitely a departure from the way Nathan had seen the meeting going when he walked in. “I get to pick my own bridge crew?” He heard himself say before his brain had a chance to filter his mouth. It was one of the things he’d intended to ask if this far fetched scenario had come to fruition—which it apparently had. But now Dodd would snatch the carrot. They’d already picked his XO and it was some stuffed shirt asshole… or worse….

"Well, the Reagan actually has a crew mostly in place." Dodd replied. "There are a few more senior officer billets to fill. You'll be taking over for Captain Kramer, who is retiring. The Reagan is pulling Convoy support for the Tau Gamma colony mission.

And there was the catch. He'd be replacing a commander with the crew left intact. "I thought the fleet stopped the Yeager project?" Nathan replied, keeping his disappointment hidden, or at least trying. "Wasn't there some issues with their power distribution systems?

Dodd shook his head. "There was… I think, and I know they stopped production, but the ones that were built are used for supply runs and convoy duties now."

"So they managed to fix the issues?"

"I believe so. But the ship is limited insofar as she's not rated for faster than warp six." Dodd nodded. This was probably where Benjamin would turn it down. He would have. "We wouldn't even use the Yeager Class at all for a mission so far out, but frankly we just didn't have any ships to spare for something like this. It came together pretty quickly, and command in Fourth Fleet is bringing a few ships out of mothballs to run the convoys. The Reagan, the Irwin, and the Crusader have all been reactivated. All the mission details are in the briefing packet if you accept the command. So… Do you?" Dodd inquired, placing his hands on the glossy desktop, preparing to stand.

"How long do I have to decide?" Of course he'd accept it.. but you couldn't appear to eager when it was obvious they were offering you scraps.

Dodd paused for a moment. "Well, to be honest I'll need a decision before you leave. The Reagan is undergoing a refit right now with a launch date in two weeks so the ship needs a commander immediately."

Something in him told him to say no and see what else they'd give him. Possibly an XO slot or a Chief Science posting on a bigger ship. But this was an opportunity that couldn't be ignored and quite frankly might not come again for a while. To have his own ship, kinda, and his own crew… sorta, was something that he'd been thinking about since opting to return to Starfleet.

The admiral wasn’t quite finished as it turned out. “The other ships are already finished. So we’d like you to assume command by the end of the week to oversee the last systems installations and to finish getting your crew in place before departing for the Gamma Quadrant."

Nathan’s inner cynic had grown up quite a bit since his first foray into Starfleet. He'd trusted people very easily back then. Not so much these days, and certainly not Starfleet Brass. So the beast that was cynicism was now nested firmly in the once naïve young officer's psyche. He knew they were hurting to fill this billet, and at the same time he'd had to jump through hoops to even get to this point. So obviously Starfleet wasn't sold on him. He had a very strong inclination to turn it down and request another assignment. It was on the tip of his tongue. Who wants to command a deathtrap anyway?

"Yes." He heard himself say instead. "I'll do it."

Dodd stood and offered a hand “Congratulations then Captain.” he offered, a little less sincerely than he tried to sound. "Your promotion orders will be effective when you take command."

Nathan wondered if that was because he couldn’t really congratulate someone on getting an assignment that he would never seek out, or if he knew something was up with this thing. Most likely the latter.

Nathan offered as genuine a smile as he could. He was genuinely happy for the opportunity, but also wary too, like a dog who‘d been hit just one to many times with a rolled up newspaper. “Thank you sir.” He nodded taking Dodd’s hand.

Dodd nodded, breaking contact. "Arrange passage on a civilian transport and report to DS9 by the end of this week."

"Yes sir. Thank you." Nathan replied. He turned and collected his overcoat on the way out the door, leaving Dodd alone once more.

Starship Reagan
Unknown Location

A distant explosion broke his reverie. Back in the here and now… wherever that was, Nathan tried pushing the beam away so that he could get up. It wasn't budging though. However as he wriggled around beneath it, he found that the sole of his boot was the only thing keeping him trapped. After a few minutes of tugging and yanking his leg, the stitching gave out and he was able to get his foot free. Of course the boot was ruined, but if they were ever able to get the replicators working again… or any of the other myriad things that were surely down on the ship…

"Captain?" a voice called out from the entry way where the double doors to the ready room stood ajar. "You ok?"

"Yeah." Benjamin answered. "I'm great. Come help me get out of here!"

The voice belonged to the Yeager's Science officer, a fresh faced twenty one year old human kid right out of the Academy. Ensign…. Wentworth. Always eager to please, apparently even when the ship was in pieces around them, he quickly hopped over the debris to assist.

"So what's it look like?" Nathan asked as he was helped to his feet.

Wentworth shrugged. "We don't have communication with anything below Deck three and the sensors are all down."

Perfect. Nathan sighed. "So what DO we have?"

"Clean air and lights." the ensign said as the lighting flickered. "For now."

"Well, let's go check it out." Nathan replied, climbing over the support beam where he'd been trapped moments before. It was then that the lights in the office flickered once more and went off leaving the pair in darkness only permeated by the red auxiliary lighting from the bridge. "And get some flashlights." Nathan added as he squeezed through the doors onto the bridge.


Any reference to the Cage/the Menagerie is a win in my book.


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Re: Mission 001 ~ The OOC Thread by NaotaNaota, 05 Mar 2014 20:33

It appears that I've been sucked in as well. Since Akaad is from TOS (JJverse) and Benji is from DS9/Nemesis, I decided to split the difference. Naota is a stunt-racing-pilot-turned-Starfleet-engineer who hails from the Lost Era of Star Trek and was last seen in the year 2311 when his ship was responding to the Tomed Incident. An anomaly, investigated with the thought that it could have played a role in the incident between the Federation and the Romulans, has caused catastrophic damage to his ship, which is now adrift in the graveyard.


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I like this idea!


The enemy of my enemy is the enemy I'll kill last.

Re: Mission 001 ~ The OOC Thread by PevPev, 28 Feb 2014 18:39

Hey guys. I know we're still very much in the brainstorming stages, so I wanted to get all our thoughts out of various chats and onto the boards here.

That said, I'll cast the first spitball….

- The "force" bringing the eclectic crew of our ship to the as yet un-named galaxy is actually a set of aliens… (Think The Cage) that bore witness to their galaxy torn apart by war some centuries past. They're trying to re-seed it, and have been at it for some time. So perhaps some of the cultures we run across have been brought here from planets we're familiar with in our own galaxy or timeline. This gives us nearly carte blanche to re-imagine them a bit and throw our own spin on them.


Mission 001 ~ The OOC Thread by JayBee14JayBee14, 27 Feb 2014 19:58

too quiet.


The enemy of my enemy is the enemy I'll kill last.

It's quiet... by PevPev, 20 Feb 2014 19:24

I'll post the opening lyrics to a song. You have to guess what song it is. If you're right, you post the opening lyrics to another song, and so on. If you cheat, well, nothing really. I have no way of tracking it. But just assume someone somewhere will be very disappointed in you.

To begin:

As soon as you are able
Woman I am willing
To make the break that we are on the brink of


The enemy of my enemy is the enemy I'll kill last.

Guess the Song by Opening Lyrics by PevPev, 11 Feb 2014 18:30

I'm here! Dr. Akaad, physician, ready to heal you or log your time of death. Short bio: Klingon travelling in a shuttle through the graveyard. Was a doctor, then a gladiator/pit fighter, then the ship he was on was pulled into the graveyard. He escaped in a shuttle, finds the Odyssey, and will offer his services, though his views on the Federation are identical to those of the TOS Prime Universe. Much of his medicine is homeopathic/holistic (like Phlox in "Enterprise"). I'm using a picture of a Klingon from the Abramsverse to differentiate him from the Prime Universe timeline.


The enemy of my enemy is the enemy I'll kill last.

Hey guys, we're ready to roll. We've got a ship… we've got anomalies… time warps…. and all that. So OFFICIALLY… Welcome to the Odyssey!


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