- Board -

JOIN: Cadet has entered.
JOIN: Cadet has entered.
JOIN: Cadet has entered.
711a4, •Azeri Sull: *Azeri nods, and throws the bag inside the quarters on to the nearest armchair.* Damn, that Vulcan's fast! *Azeri rushed to catch up, trying to keep a good impression, they rounded the corner to Turbolift.. Just as it closed. They tapped the Delta command button to call another car.*
cd20c, ºNarrator: The USS Tempest hangs in serene orbit above Earth, her hull gleaming in the warm blue reflection of the planet below. The ship’s running lights blink in a slow, steady rhythm—new, precise, and unmistakably proud. Starbase One dominates the nearby orbital space, its massive structure alive with activity. Docking arms extend and retract, cargo modules glide along mag-rails, and long arcs of blue forcefields shimmer as vessels pass through the station’s bays. Between the station and the Tempest, a steady chain of shuttlecraft travels back and forth like a quiet, orderly procession. Their impulse trails glow a soft amber as they ferry freshly assigned crew, last-minute supplies, and departmental specialists to the young Nebula-class ship. One shuttle drifts closer, navigation lights blinking as it approaches the Tempest’s forward docking port. Another breaks away from the starbase moments later, angling toward the ship in a gentle curve. The space between vessel and station feels alive—full of purpose, expectation, and the hum of preparations. The Tempest herself waits in perfect stillness, her hull reflecting the pale gold of the rising sun over Earth’s horizon. The ship’s newly calibrated systems thrum quietly, as though awakening piece by piece with each arriving officer. For just an instant, a faint shimmer ripples across her dorsal hull—subtle, fleeting, almost dismissible as a trick of reflected sunlight. Then it’s gone. The Tempest remains poised above her homeworld, gathering the last of her crew before her first true voyage begins.
22351, ºShar: *taps her comm* Belay that, have all command officers meet in the ready room. We have...a potential anomaly. * She turns to Shar and nods* Stow your gear and meet us as soon as possible. *Shar turns and with Vulcan formality walks off towards a turbolift*
711a4, •Azeri Sull: *Azeri chose to ignore Q, not wishing to pool his irk. Instead, they chose to hone their anger as he spoke, and turned some of the portraits around to face the bulkheads. They still listened intently but chose to ignore.But the act was wasted as he then vanished.* Sir, if I may... *Azeri tapped her communicator* Commander Sull to Security, intruder alert!
22351, ºShar: *The voice fades. Silence returns. This time, Shar feels it in her bones. She takes a controlled breath, smoothing her uniform tunic with precise, mechanical motions before turning back to Azeri.* …we will address this. Together. *But her eyes—usually so calm—carry a new weight. A new tension.A new fear she has no name for.*
5a1b2, ºQ: Not yet. * A whisper of amusement trails through the air.* I want to see what you do next… without me.
22351, ºShar: *Shar’s spine snaps straight, eyes narrowing, every trace of emotion pulled back under razor discipline.* Show yourself.
5a1b2, ºQ: Oh, Shar… you say “infuriating” as though it’s a complaint. I consider it a sign of progress.
22351, ºShar: *Shar stands rooted to the deck as the cave dissolves in a single, soundless blink—stone replaced by smooth Starfleet bulkheads, glowing lichen replaced with standard illumination panels. The air shifts sharply back to regulated temperature, the scent of minerals replaced with sterile Federation neutrality. Her breath leaves her in a slow, controlled exhale. And then— just for a heartbeat— something breaks through her discipline. Her jaw tightens. Her eyes narrow—not in analysis, but in something dangerously close to anger. Her hands flex at her sides, unclasped for the first time. Her pulse stutters, just once. She turns away from Azeri, pacing two deliberate steps into the center of the restored quarters, shoulders tight beneath her uniform.* How dare... the gall... the... He cannot be permitted to manipulate the crew in this manner. To fabricate sacred sites. To speak in riddles regarding the fate of— *her voice falters, the first sign of strain cracking through her Vulcan calm* —the fate of everything. *She stops. Her hands press briefly against her temples—human frustration bleeding through Vulcan discipline.* This is unacceptable. Illogical. Infuriating— *A deep, resonant laugh echoes through the room. Disembodied. Smug. Unmistakable.*
5a1b2, ºQ: *Q lifts both hands in exaggerated delight, as though Shar’s precision and Azeri’s outrage were the finest performance he’d witnessed this century. His grin stretches wide—too wide—and yet somehow still elegant, as though tailored to the moment.* Ahh, magnificent! The calm, cutting logic of Starfleet’s young Second Officer…and the incandescent fury of a J’Naii-Trill anomaly. You two are absolutely delicious together. *He steps backward, arms folding behind him with a catlike grace, watching Azeri’s trembling fists with amusement.* Commander Sull, if I had known a cultural faux-pas would provoke such passion, I would have brought the entire symbiont library with me as décor. *He snaps his fingers and the carvings pulse—mocking, shimmering with impossible authenticity.* The Caves are sacred, yes. I should know—I’ve visited them more times than your Symbiosis Commission would be comfortable admitting. *He turns sharply, pivoting toward Shar with a sudden predatory intensity.* And you, Shar… Always so composed. So principled. So utterly convinced that logic and procedure can shield you from the unknown. *He steps closer, his voice lowering, tone growing darker—like a velvet curtain dropping over something unfathomable.* But let’s drop the theatrics for a moment. *The cave lights dim. The pools fall silent. The air itself thickens.* I did not choose this setting merely to mock your cultures…or to amuse myself with your reactions. *He paces between them, gaze flicking from one to the other with an expression no longer amused— but calculating. Testing. Judging.* There is something ancient at play here. Older than Trill symbionts. Older than Vulcan logic. Older than the Federation’s naive belief that the universe is understandable at all. *He raises a hand, and an echo ripples through the stone—deep, resonant, unsettling.* You two are intertwined. Bound by a thread neither of you can see yet. A thread that—and let’s be clear—affects far, far more than your little shakedown cruise. *The walls pulse with an ominous glow.* This is another test. My test. And unlike the others… *He steps between them, his voice dropping to a soft, deadly whisper.* …failure here will not simply embarrass Starfleet… *He snaps his fingers. The cave shutters. A distant rumble echoes, as though time itself winces.* …it could unravel everything. All timelines. All futures. All that you understand as reality. *He straightens, smile returning—but colder, sharper, hungering for the outcome.* So do try to keep up. I would hate for existence to end simply because the two of you failed to cooperate. *And with that he flashes out of existence and the room returns to the standard quarters for an officer of Azari's rank*
711a4, •Azeri Sull: YOU! *Azeri instinctively reached for their phaser... The one she had yet to be assigned!* These Caves are SACRED! You have no right to baster*ize them in this manner! Remove it at once! *Azeri is not just visibly angered, her fists shake with every ounce of it.*
22351, ºShar: *Shar does not move at first.Her breathing remains level, posture straight, but her eyes—green, sharp, unblinking—narrow by a fraction. She takes one measured step forward, placing herself subtly between Q and Azeri with the unconscious precision of a senior officer protecting a crewmate. Her hands clasp behind her back, posture impeccable, voice cool as Vulcan stone.* Q. You have manipulated this environment without consent, violated restricted cultural imagery, and breached security protocols aboard this vessel. Your penchant for theatrics is noted. However, your timing and your presence remain… inconvenient. *Her gaze flicks around the cave again—cataloguing the impossible detail, comparing it to known Trill geological records, and filing every data point away for later investigation.* This is not a memory, Q. It is an intrusion. *She steps closer—just enough to signal control, not aggression.* You will restore the quarters to their original configuration. Immediately. *A pause. A micro-expression—so subtle only someone like Q could detect it—betrays a thread of concern for Azeri.* My crewmember is not a specimen for your amusement.
5a1b2, ºQ: *Before Azeri can respond, the air inside the false Joining Caves shimmers—a distortion, subtle at first, like heat rising from stone. The lichen’s glow flickers. The pools ripple without breeze. Shar’s posture shifts minutely: feet widening, shoulders squaring, spine straightening into threat-assessment readiness. Then— A soft, deliberate clap echoes through the cavern. The space brightens. Not with light— but with attention. Someone is here. Q steps out from behind one of the carved stone pillars with theatrical grace, as though he had been there all along. His uniform is immaculate—Starfleet command red, but with a captain’s rank that absolutely does not belong to him. He spreads his arms wide, his expression almost tenderly amused.* Ah, Shar. Always so vigilant. So composed. So delightfully irritated by the unexpected. *He steps closer, hands clasped lightly behind his back as he circles her, admiring her reaction without needing to look.* Welcome back. And really—don’t you think the caves add a certain ambiance? Far more interesting than those dull Starfleet quarters. *He turns sharply toward Azeri, as though noticing them for the first time.* And you must be Commander Azeri Sull. What a fascinating blend of biology, secrecy, and politics you are. The Trill Symbiosis Commission would faint if they knew I was examining their little… anomalies. *He leans in, eyes sparkling with ancient amusement.* But fret not—I never faint. *He steps back, raising his arms slightly as though introducing himself on a grand stage.* I am Q. Cosmic connoisseur, meddler extraordinaire, and the most charming omnipotent being you will ever meet aboard this lovely young starship. *His gaze slides back to Shar—warm, mocking, affectionate in a way that should not be possible.* I’ve missed our conversations, my dear. And I simply could not resist a housewarming visit. After all… *He gestures around at the impossible Trill cavern.* Why should you give Azeri quarters… when I can give them a memory?
711a4, •Azeri Sull: *Azeri follows in step, carefully noting each of the underperforming systems.* We shall have to get those systems up by at least another 15%... *She stops short of the remaining list of reccomendations as the doors to the Quarters hissed open.* This is not my, doing, Sir! I requested no change be made, only that a bathtub be made available in place of a Sonic Shower... What is the meaning of these unauthorized modifications? *The question was not posed directly to Shar, but to the empty room itself, in wonderment.*
22351, ºShar: *Shar inclines her head in a small, measured acknowledgment—accepting Azeri’s boundary, shelving the matter of the Joining for later analysis. She turns crisply toward the transporter room doors, her boots landing with disciplined precision as she gestures for Azeri to fall into step beside her.* Very well, Commander. We will address mission-critical systems en route. *The doors slide open with a soft hiss. Shar steps into the corridor, the lighting freshly calibrated, the panels still carrying the sterile sheen of a newly commissioned vessel. Azeri walks alongside her as Shar begins her brief, verbal status report.* Several systems remain below operational specification. Engineering reports ongoing delays in gravitational flow calibration— we believe we have identified a phase variance in the secondary plasma conduits. Until correction is completed, inertial dampening will remain slightly imbalanced during high-impulse maneuvers. *They walk past a crewman struggling to adjust an open panel. Shar’s eyes flick toward the work for only a moment before she continues.* Environmental controls are also experiencing irregularities. Decks Three and Five cycle between one-point-two degrees above and below baseline. Minor, but undesirable on a ship where consistency is essential. The sensor pod has been integrated but not fully harmonized with the main computer core. We are currently operating at… she checks the nearest wall panel without stopping eighty-three percent cohesion. Acceptable for shakedown. Not sufficient for operational deployment. *They turn a corner, passing a row of unused cargo containers. Shar folds her hands behind her back again, the cadence of her walking steady as a metronome.* Long-range communications continue to fluctuate. A two-point-one-second latency spike occurred during our last relay test. Unacceptable for a vessel tasked with frontier operations. *They reach a set of quarters: STANDARD CREW QUARTERS—DECK 4, ROOM 4-157. Shar stops before the doors and turns slightly toward Azeri.* These will be your quarters for the duration of your assignment. If you require... *She steps forward and the doors part with a gentle hiss. Shar’s words stop. So does her movement. The interior is not a standard Starfleet cabin. Not neutral gray bulkheads. Not LCARS panels or neatly arranged furniture. Instead— *The air is humid and warm. Dim, amber light reflects off stone walls etched with ancient Trill symbology. Pools of still water line the floor in smooth, circular formations. Lichen glows faintly around the cavern edges. The soft, earthy scent of subterranean life fills the space. It is a perfect replica—down to the mineral resonance—of the sacred Joining Caves of Mak’ala. Shar steps inside one measured pace, her expression controlled… but her eyes sharpen dangerously.* This is… *she glances around, taking in every anomalous detail* …not standard Starfleet quarters. *The air vibrates with a presence unfamiliar to the Tempest. Something is wrong. Something—impossible—is here. And Shar knows this is no malfunction.*
711a4, •Azeri Sull: Actually, not quite. *Azeri accepted the returned PADD.* My joining happened inside the Caves... But that is a discussion for another time, Sir... We have work to do, I believe. *Azeri moved her arm slightly forward, towards the Transporter Room doors.* After you, Sir...
22351, ºShar: Shar’s expression does not shift—not even by a micron. But internally, her mind recalibrates. Rapidly.Her eyes track the faint Trill markings again, then return to Azeri’s face with a steadiness that suggests the analysis is now complete and filed away with clinical precision. She steps closer—just half a pace—entering a range where most humanoids would feel the gravity of her scrutiny, yet she radiates no hostility, only exacting focus. Your candor is noted. And your confidence in my discretion is… logical. I do not anticipate this posing an issue. Starfleet’s regulations on Joined physiology—however enforced—are designed to protect the host and the symbiont. Not to prohibit their service. *She tilts her head by a fraction—just enough to indicate curiosity without compromising discipline.* You have undergone a Joining outside Trill? That is… statistically uncommon. Politically inconvenient for certain committees. *She extends the PADD back toward Azeri—formality complete, trust established in the quietest, most Vulcan way possible.* If you are prepared, I will escort you to your quarters and brief you on the Tempest’s current operational status. There is much to be done.
711a4, •Azeri Sull: Ah, yes, Sir... Starfleet Medical and the Trill Symbiosis Committee decreed it should be striken from my record... *Azeri lowered her voice, barely a whisper but still loud enough, just, for the Vulcan to hear.* They didn't want it known just how compatable most speices are to the Joining... I trust this will not pose an issue for you? *Azeri studied Shar, for just a moment, before deciding that the Vulcan exhibited that cool, calm and stoic Vulcan-ness to not let the information fall outside the Senior Officers gaze.*
22351, ºShar: *Shar remains motionless as the transporter cycle completes, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she observes the pattern coalesce. The final shimmer fades and the J’Naii stands fully formed—tall, composed, and flawlessly centered. Shar notes posture, bearing, uniform crispness, physiological markers… and then pauses. The Trill-like spotting along the cranium is not in alignment with the J’Naii baseline she had reviewed moments prior. Shar steps forward exactly one pace, her hands clasped behind her back. Her gaze travels from the extended PADD to the officer’s face, evaluating with the precision of both a Vulcan scientist and a Starfleet second officer responsible for shakedown crew integrity. Finally she accepts the PADD, her fingers brushing the edge with controlled deliberation.* Commander Azeri Sull. Your arrival is timely. The Tempest is still in the midst of calibration and departmental integration. Your efficiency is appreciated. *She examines the PADD with swift, fluid movements—eyes scanning the transfer orders as though absorbing the information directly into eidetic memory. Sull remains steady, but Shar takes careful note of the unexpected Trill markings again. She looks up, expression unchanged but scrutiny intensified.* Your orders are valid. Welcome aboard the USS Tempest, Commander. *She allows one heartbeat of silence. A Vulcan would not ask—but Shar is not fully Vulcan.* Your personnel file identifies you as J’Naii but your physiological markers appear to deviate from standard J’Naii presentation. *A slight tilt of her head. Not a challenge—an inquiry. Calm. Precise. Yet unmistakably expectant.* Should I assume this is a medical anomaly… or that your file is incomplete? *Her posture remains perfect, her tone level—yet her eyes carry a keen, analytical sharpness.*
711a4, •Azeri Sull: *The twinkle of the Transporters annular confinement beam, now fully stabilized, white at first, with the unmistakable blue shadow of Starfleet, and looking almost like Christmas Tree lights appeared... It enlarged from its micronometer size to it's fullest potential as the J'Naii being materialized in front of the officers. In less than 3.2826 seconds, it was complete. The officer stepped forward, hand outstretched with the PADD that held their transfer orders from Starfleet Command. With her other hand, she offered it to the senior officer.* Azeri Sull, Commander, reporting as ordered for final transfer to USS Tempest, Sir! It is a pleasure, and I look forward to serving under you in whatever capacity the mission demands. *The only unusual thing about Azeri was the unmistakable appearance of TRILL spots along her cranium.*
22351, ºShar: *The doors to Transporter Room 2 slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the newly lit chamber. The hum of the energized pads is the only sound at first—clean, precise, almost too quiet for a starship moments before a beam-in. Shar steps through the doorway with her usual measured precision. Her boots touch the deck exactly heel-to-toe, as though she calculates the gravity vector with each stride. She pauses just inside, hands clasped behind her back, sweeping her gaze across the room. Fresh circuitry. Pristine consoles. And—predictably—no transporter chief. A young yeoman stands at the console, posture slightly too stiff, fingers hovering uncertainly over the LCARS interface. His uniform still carries the faint creases of recent unpacking. He looks up sharply the moment Shar enters. *She raises her brow as he speaks, "Commander Shar—ma’am. Systems are online, but… ah… we are still awaiting Chief Pral from the next personnel shuttle. Temporarily, I’m handling—well—monitoring—". Shar approaches him with slow, deliberate steps. She stops at the console, examining the diagnostic readout over his shoulder. Her expression remains neutral, but her presence radiates an unmistakable authority. She taps one control lightly, adjusting a minor imbalance in the annular confinement field, and the console’s tone stabilizes.* Your assessment is adequate, Yeoman. The transporter will function within normal parameters. *She studies the blue silhouette rotating on the display: the encoded pattern of an incoming passenger. Distinctly nonbinary physiology.* The new arrival is a J’Naii. Their transport signature should be stable in this configuration.*The yeoman nods and says "Yes, Commander. They are requesting final transport clearance. Ready on your order." *Shar steps toward the transporter pad, hands still clasped behind her back, chin lifted with Vulcan calm. The faint light from the pad reflects softly across her features and the edge of her asymmetrical red hair.* Very well. Initiate transporter lock. Prepare to beam them aboard. *The yeoman nods, swallowing his nerves as he begins inputting commands. The transporter hum intensifies—steady, rhythmic, precise—awaiting Shar’s final confirmation.* You may Energize. *The pads illuminate in a rising white-blue glow. The signature stabilizes. The air shimmers. The newcomer begins to appear.*
711a4, •Azeri Sull: *The Console in Transporter Room Two began to beep in that iconic way, the status panel illuminated, indicating a request for the Pads to be activated and the confinment arrays to be narrowed. A new crewmember was requesting authorisation to beam aboard the USS Tempest.*
cd20c, ºNarrator: *Fresh circuitry scents the air. The transporter platform gleams under sharp overhead lighting, every panel flawless, untouched by months of wear or battle. The console hums with synchronized diagnostics, its LCARS interface cycling through calibrations. The room is empty for now—quiet, waiting, charged with the subtle tension of a newly launched starship ready to test its limits. The transporter pads glow faintly. The humming intensifies. A status light blinks. As we saw before, the doors open*
cd20c, ºNarrator: *Stars drift silently in the velvet-black expanse of space. Each point of light flaring against the darkness like distant, ancient lanterns. From the void, a soft blue streak cuts across—fast at first, then slowing as a shape coalesces. The streak resolves into the elegant, angular form of a Nebula-class starship: the USS Tempest, NCC-4186-C. The ship sweeps majestically past a golden-hued star, her hull catching the light in gleaming arcs across her broad saucer and sturdy neck. The mission pod perched atop her dorsal support glows faintly—new, pristine, powerful. As she turns, the starlight glints off the name etched along her hull: U.S.S. TEMPEST NCC-4186-C A deep, resonant hum fills the moment as the starship banks gracefully, its impulse engines pulsing with a newborn rhythm. The ship is fresh out of Utopia Planitia—its hull unscarred, its systems untested, carrying a crew eager to define her legacy. If this were a tv show the camera drifts closer—past the sweeping curve of the saucer, down across the gleaming phaser arrays, over the newly calibrated deflector dish—until it slips through a windowed corridor and into the ship’s interior. The hum of the engines becomes more intimate now, vibrating faintly through metal decking and polished bulkheads. LCARS panels glow with soft amber and violet light, displaying the ship’s status during this early shakedown cruise. The camera travels down a pristine corridor, walls spotless and bright. Crew voices echo faintly in the distance—muffled, indistinct, hints of activity aboard a newborn starship. The corridor lights brighten slightly as we approach a set of double doors. The panels along the frame pulse with a soft blue illumination. A soft hiss. The doors slide open.*
Chat cleared by Narrator.

Last Post:5:36am, November 10 (UTC) (1)

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