Tactical Officer: Lt. Linda Alton, F, 34, Human Communications Officer: Cadet Smith, M, 20, Son of some important person (I haven't decided yet) Operations Management: (Navigation before Helm was taken.) Gatho Ves, M, 29, Bajoran Mission Status Display: Security Officer Lal Ch'qaothak, F, ??, Andorian Environmental Controls: Ensign Dex, M, ??, ??? Auxiliary Systems: ??, F, ??, Human
Security Officers:
D’wkin, M, Young, Blue Skinned Anthony, M, Young, Long blonde hair
Medical Assistants:
Nurse Dera, F, ??, Alien with Green Skin Nurse Johnson, ??, ??, ???
Engineering:
Jack Cutler, M, 36, Human David Johnson, M, 25, Human
Transporter Rooms (1-6):
(1)Petty Officer Stan Wilkins, M, 37, Human (1)Ensign Aarja Chevo, F, 28, Bajoran
Name: Catherine Linda Bishop Age: 31 Rank/Position: Lieutenant-Commander/Judge Advocate Race: Human Appearance: She stands at 5'3, an athletic build, and few curves. She has brown hair kept in a bun and grey eyes. Her skin is pale, with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She has a birthmark on her ankle. Personality: A consummate professional, she is dedicated to her work and the efficiency of her medicine. Stubborn and sarcastic. History: Catherine was born, raised, and educated in Texas, as the eldest of five children. When she was younger, she waddled between a couple different career ideas, but coming from a family of doctors, Catherine seemed destined to become a physician.
Before she entered college, she was throughly sick of biology, which lead her to studying electrical engineering, and fenced as a hobby. She competed in a few regional competitions, and won second place in saber in one competition. When she was close to graduation, she felt pressured, as she did not want to spend her life in a career she did not enjoy, but she had very little time to find a new career option. She found a job at graduation and began what she felt was a monotonous routine of engineering design. Months after her graduation, a friend of hers in college was arrested and tried in civilian court. The solemnity, order, and respect afforded to the lawyers and judge appealed to her greatly; this, she decided, was what she was meant to do. So she was resolved to enter and go through law school and become an attorney. She entered law school with little trouble, and while a student, she heard of Starfleet's Judge Advocate program. She had already toyed with being a Medical Officer, but with her newfound love of law, it seemed a better fit. She could now help keep order and provide legal services to the men and women volunteering their services to the betterment of civilization and knowledge. There was no greater honor. She was accepted to Starfleet Academy and commissioned as a Judge Advocate. She has been a part of Starfleet for seven years now. She has served on the USS Cancer, Atlantis, and Jupiter.
Skills: Has an engineering background. As a Judge Advocate, she is licensed to practice law on Federation planets. Her legal specialties are Intellectual Property, Operational Law, and Criminal Justice. She is mostly familiar with Earth's legal system, but has working knowledge of other systems of law. But like any lawyer, she knows where to look to find answers for topics she is not aware of. Her fencing gives her knowledge of sword play. Other: She speaks with a slight southern accent. Sample Post:
Her desk was the messiest part of her office, with dozens of case files stacked high and deep. A cup of sweet tea was on the far left corner near her, with papers scattered directly in front of her. The rest of the room was organized, five shelves of books dedicated to law, and one containing her engineering books. A fencing saber was held above the desk, a decoration reminding the occupants of her hobby. She sipped her tea, and brushed her finger along the parchment: a witness report of an assault. The defendant had clubbed one of his crew members with a lamp. There was alcohol involved, along with rumors and the affection of another crew member contested, which caused the men to boil over and brawl. She closed the file and rubbed her temples; so long as she could prove that he not only started, but escalated the conflict, it should be a smooth case. She opened the evidence file, glancing over the bottle of alcohol that was being used. "What could be used against me?" She leaned back in her chair in thought. These men were competing for some time. The defendant had no previous record of offenses, much less violent ones. The only people drinking were the defendant and the victim. What if the defendant's drink was spiked? If he was drugged, it would reduce culpability. She stood, quickly and briskly walked out. "Walkers! I want a blood test on the defendant for the lamp case! I also want a test done on the bottle! Now!"
Walkers, her Paralegal, was efficient, and dealt with Catherine's antics, which she appreciated. Her requests were answered with an "Aye, ma'am!", and now it was time for her to wait for the results.
When it was time for the Court Martial, Catherine was finishing presenting the new evidence to the court. "... The defendant was drugged, your Honor. This blood test result shows he was drugged with a hallucinogen to make him aggressive. In his eyes, he wasn't fighting a rival--he was fighting something else. Therefore, the Prosecution believes that the defendant, Brandon Frost, is innocent, his record should be made clean, and he should immediately be placed back on duty."
"In light of this evidence, this court does find the innocent, Brandon Frost, innocent. His record shall be made clean, and Starfleet will assign him to a new ship. This court is adjourned." The gavel rapped, and Catherine sighed, a small smile on her face. Mission accomplished, the system did what the system was supposed to do. A letter was dropped on her table, which made her look up.
"Lieutenant-Commander Bishop, you are now assigned to the USS Orion. You will report to the Captain and present your credentials in a few days."
Her eyes widened and she gripped the letter and ran. "Books! Books! I need my books packed now! Walkers!"
Race Cephanian The Cephanians are an aquatic humanoid species from the planet Cepha. Hailing from a completely submerged planet, Cephanians have mucous-producing skin, gills, webbed fingers, and other fish-like characteristics. They are a quiet, private people known for their humorlessness and brevity.
Appearance Most say Cephanians all look alike. As the only differentiation between male and female Cephanians are that one is blueish green and the other is greenish blue, this is not entirely without merit. Though Commander Poxx has dark blue stripes lining most of his body, this is hidden by his uniform, leaving the rank-denoting stripes on his sleeve the only face-value distinction between himself and any other Cephanian. Though not especially short or tall, Commander Poxx's Cephanian biology leaves him with very little fat, giving him a somewhat muscular physique.
Personality Commander Poxx's mannerisms and personality are fairly standard for a Cephanian. He keeps most interactions as brief as possible, spends most of his time off alone in his quarters, and has little patience for galas and ceremonies. Other than his work, Commander Poxx has three hobbies; swimming, underwater horticulture, and martial arts.
History Xiril Poxx was hatched on Cepha, spending his youth absorbing the culture and knowledge of his people. His father, Luril Poxx, was the Chief Medical Officer for the USS Tyson, which fostered Xiril's interest in joining Starfleet from a young age. Xiril went on to join Starfleet Academy when he became old enough and was put onto an expedited path to becoming an ensign aboard the USS Highlander, after graduating second in his class. Though originally eager to become a medical officer like his father, Xiril switched divisons after his second year, and has proudly worn Command Yellow ever since. After serving aboard the USS Highlander for several years, Commander Poxx was recently transferred to the USS Orion, where he now serves as First Officer.
Skills Though he comes off as cold, Commander Poxx's ability to distance himself from emotion and remain calm under pressure is a major asset. As a Cephanian, Commander Poxx can use sonar to maneuver in complete darkness, and stun most humanoids. His youth spent underwater has given him a heightened perception of his position in three-dimensional space, making him an excellent helmsman should the need ever arise.
"Inhale red, exhale blue."
Commander Poxx stood with his back completely straight, with a fist on either hip and his legs spread far apart. The horse stance, the recording had called it. The voice speaking to him was a soft woman's voice, resonating with an almost maternal timbre. He had spent the morning in his room -- as he often would -- practicing tai chi. It relaxed him, and for an outdated human practice, that was fairly surprising. In lieu of his usual black and yellow uniform, he wore a simple white gi.
The lights in Poxx's room were dim, set to a deep blue color that made it seem like he was at the bottom of the ocean. Enhancing the effect, the vents in his room were currently on aromatherapy mode, a setting that had been tweaked and perfected by one of the engineering ensigns eager to impress the First Officer.
Poxx took a step forward, bringing his hands with him as if he were scooping up a bucket. Poxx didn't remember what the recording called the movement, but he managed to remember the movements themselves, which he felt was enough. He inhaled deeply, raising his arms. His room smelled like the sea after a storm. Poxx took a step to the side and exhaled, bringing his arms close to his chest in a circular motion, making a mental note to thank the engineering ensign he had remembered moments earlier.
"Focus on your breathing. Let go of your stress."
The voice cooed to him over softer, almost inaudible recordings of undersea noises. Though Poxx was able to remain level-headed, stress was usually his only problem on the bridge. He exhaled again, feeling his limbs loosen. At least I no longer have to worry about superiors, Poxx thought to himself. Perhaps, with a race that had evolved from a prey species, stress is simply instinctual for me.
Poxx took another step back, dropping into the horse stance position before stretching his back. After a few moments of stretching, he reclined into his normal stance, and cleared his throat.
"End session."
The sounds of the ocean began to fade, and the dim blue lights began to shift to their regular white. Poxx rolled his neck to the side with an audible crack, and began to disrobe. He examined himself in a small mirror by his bedside for a moment. He was as blue and fishy as ever, and his scales showed no signs of molting, which was always good. He quickly put on his uniform that lay folded at the foot of his bed, flattening out any creases or wrinkles by hand.
When he finished dressing, he straightened his posture and attached a small metal device to his neck, covering his gills. The atmosphere in his room was kept wet enough to breathe comfortably without the device, though he would often have trouble without it on the ships air-conditioned turbolift.
He left his room, lumbering with his usual powerwalk he had honed over years to make himself appear hurried and ensure ensigns and cadets would leave him alone as often as possible. Sure enough, this would not be the case today.
"Good morning, Commander Poxx. Was the ventilation to your liking?" It was the engineering ensign he had thought about. Poxx looked at him for a moment, pausing to wonder if the ensign truly ran into him, or if he had been staking out by his quarters in hopes of being praised.
"Yes. I will be speaking to your Commanding Officer about my assessment of your alterations, though I believe he will find them satisfactory as well." He blinked, squeezing his sideways lenses together as he stared at the young man. "Will that be all, ensign?"
He shook his head. "Yes, thank you Commander. If there's an-"
"Excellent." Poxx turned his head and continued his march to the turbolift. He was thankful for the ensign's handiwork, but he had little time to stand by and congratulate him for it. Today would be a busy day, after all. The Orion would pick up Ambassador Spock shortly, and Commander Poxx would be standing to the captain's side when it happened. Poxx stepped into the turbolift, pressing a small blue button.
Race:Thelgoran; a race of tall, white-skinned aliens that reside on the planet Thelgora. Despite their tall height, and overall intimidating looks, they are most known for their gifted intelligence. Their pure turquoise eyes allow them to see in the dark, and they are incredibly agile runners & strategic planners.
Appearance:Like all other Thelgorans, Xyrx stands tall, towering above others at 6’3”, and has bright, turquoise eyes. His white skin is broken up by almost tribal-like black patterns that run down his back and arms, snaking around his torso and legs, also. He has slightly less-average muscle tone and strength than most over Thalgorans, but they could not be more suited for his job.
Personality:Unlike other aliens on board the Orion, Xyrx is caring and sensitive, and takes great enjoyment in human activities and customs. He has a surprisingly good sense of humour, and you can be sure to expect a good laugh or two with him. Despite his friendly and social nature, however, Xyrx also knows when to stop joking about and start doing his job. This doesn’t mean he won’t have a good chat whilst he’s doing it, though.
History:Xyrx Dra’ul was born in 2333 on the planet Thelgora. At that point, the Federation were almost friends with the planet, and helping them to get back on their feet and the like after the planet was attacked by the Borg, and nearly ripped apart. It wasn’t an easy start for Xyrx, with the toils of war lingering in the atmosphere, but Thelgora was determined to persevere and rebuild. And, when Xyrx was 3, they finally managed to. With an everlasting gratefulness for the Federation, some Thelgorans began to take up working on Federation ships. One of whom, was Xyrx’s mother. She pursued the scientific route herself, working on around four or five ships as Chief Sciences Officer, and even a nurse at one point. However, when Xyrx was 23, she was unfortunately killed when the ship she was working on was attacked. Determined to make her proud, Xyrx began studying all things engineering, whereas his father ran for Senator. The Thalgoran’s pursuits continued until he was 31, when he started work as an engineer. He continued on the same ship for a couple of years, before working on two more ships. He was then appointed as Chief Engineer on the USS Orion.
Skills:Xyrx brings a multitude of skills to the USS Orion and its crew. - Firstly, his strength may not be average for a Thelgoran, but it is perfect for him, and allows him to perform heavy repairs with ease. - The fact he can see in the dark means he can get deep in with repairs without needing an extra light to see. - His intelligence and strategic thinking lets him think his way out of any situation, and solve any problem. - Xyrx is caring and humourous, and brings a beaming aura of positivity anywhere he goes. He often boosts people’s self esteem, too.
Other:He’s incredibly good at singing, surprisingly.
Name: Vashara Vaella Age: 26 (Human years) Rank/Position: Captain/CO of the USS Orion Race: Vulcan/Romulan Appearance:
Personality:
Vashara Vaella is an overachiever; independent minded and determined. Though her early life on Vulcan was that of a taboo outsider as a mix of a Vulcan and Romulan origin, 'Vash' would prove quite socially capable once she entered Starfleet. Brilliance in multiple fields is weighed down by a strange nature, necessity has brought Vashara Vaella to the Captain's chair--not desire. This strange nature often manifests in behavior many in Starfleet would find unusual for a ship's CO: whether it's thrill-seeking in a holosuite, smoking cigarettes and talking micro-M/ARA assembles with engineers, or tinkering furiously in her own little work shop in her private quarters. This oddness creates a distinct advantage in combat operations: few living Starfleet captains show Vashara's resourcefulness, and none may match her ability to think outside the box in a fight.
History:
Vashara comes from an exceedingly bizarre pairing: a Romulan noble father that felt an outsider upon his home world of Romulus, a man that would leave the Star Empire to explore ancient stories and forgotten sites. While her father would change his name, he would drop the Romulan structure of his name but yet keep the name that meant the most within the Empire: his family name, Vaella. Hailing from an ancient noble line that had been on the wrong side of political in-fighting too often and seen it's fortunes fall in recent times, Artos Vaella found himself entranced by a unique soul he came across in his travels, a Vulcan woman that rejected the teachings of Surak.
The love affair would not last. The Vulcan woman would leave Artos and the newborn child, and disappear just as quickly as she'd come. Desperate for help raising the halfling child, Artos arranged a meeting with a merchant from Vulcan, a meeting that would eventually lead to the self-exiled Romulan noble to Vulcan itself. On the surface, Artos Vaella would become a trader stationed at Vulcan, leaving for extended periods of time, agreeing that Vashara would be best if she were mostly in the care of Vulcan tutors.
Despite Artos' best intentions, there was no easy upbringing for a half Romulan on the surface of Vulcan. Her earlier years were difficult, rejected by peers and harassed for her bloodlines, many times over did Vashara question the wisdom, let alone sanity, of her father to be a Romulan run-a-way that settled on Vulcan, of all places. Even if it was a struggle, Vashara benefited from the education Vulcan provided; going so far as to be accepted into the Vulcan Science Academy, though only after intervention from several forward thinking Vulcans.
Halfway through her time at the Vulcan Science Academy, Vashara Vaella made history: becoming the first VSA student to transfer from the VSA to an Earth based educational institute, The Massachusetts Institute of Technology. In Cambridge, Massachusetts, Vashara would find herself more comfortable than she ever was on Vulcan itself. After graduating the top of her class in Astrophysics, Vashara would go on to Starfleet Academy, focused on becoming an Engineer for Utopia Planitia. But war would have other plans for Cadet Vaella.
While on live field exercises with Gold Squadron during her time with the Advanced Tactical Training school of Starfleet Academy, the Defiant class vessel Gold Squadron operated came under surprise attack from a group of Breen. Vashara's Senior Instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet Executive Officer were all dead in the first minute of the Breen attack. Chaos and fear spread through the remaining Cadets like wild fire; forcing Vashara in the command chair with a hobbled Defiant against two Breen attack craft.
One Breen vessel was destroyed when it cloaked, losing the protection of shields--allowing Vashara to find the small traces of radiation emitted from it's older cloaking device. The other Breen vessel was destroyed with a weapon Vashara built during the battle with assistance from several Engineering major friends: nick-named the "Toy Box Bomb", Vashara took every plasma mine in the Defiant's arsenal, stuffed them in torpedo casings, added transporter remote tags to each, and teleported the seemingly single large bomb in front of the Breen vessel. The Breen awaited the explosion, diverting full power to the forward shields--just as most any starship commander would, and just as Vashara hoped the Breen commander would. Just then, Vashara and her fellow Cadets activated the transporter tags upon each mine. After the quick fire bluish-white light of the transporters finished, the Breen vessel found itself surrounded by plasma mines...mines the remaining Gold Squadron cadets remotely ignited. Such an explosion across the entire surface area of the Breen vessel overwhelmed the shield grid; Vash and her fellow cadets were ready with pulse phasers, blowing the Breen vessel into space dust.
The instructor, Cadet Commander, and Cadet XO were buried upon the return to Earth with full honors. After Academy officials finished an investigation, an Admiralty Board cleared Vashara and her fellow Cadets of any wrong doing, instead awarding them medals for bravery. Each survivor would graduate the ATT with the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade--save Vashara, who was awarded the rank of full Lieutenant and given command of a small patrol vessel, the USS Hawk, assigned to an area near the Cardassian/Breen border. Lieutenant Vaella would register a quick string of combat victories with the Hawk, showing Starfleet Operations Command the Gold Squadron incident was no accident.
After suffering grievous losses of experienced starship captains, Starfleet Command directed Starfleet Operations Command to recommend a dozen junior officers who had shown exceptional starship combat command potential for immediate promotion and assignment; Vash was promoted to Commander, having already been given a field promotion to Lieutenant Commander by her Wing Commander. She was assigned the USS Cairo, an old Excelsior taken out of mothballs for the war. Though the ship wouldn't survive, Vash and her crew would, commandeering a Breen attack vessel, and use it to complete a mission given to them by Starfleet Intelligence Command; coming to the assistance of a Romulan Warbird under attack by Cardassian and Breen forces.
The Tal'Shiar aboard the vessel recognized the name Vaella, and quickly put two-and-two together: this Starfleet Captain was the daughter of Artos Vaella. Despite the Tal'Shiar's standing kill on sight order for her father, the Romulan Star Empire expressed faith in Vashara Vaella to Starfleet Command, leading to a new mission and a new ship: newly minted Captain Vashara Vaella was to take command of the USS Orion, on a mission that came directly from the Office of the Federation President.
Her father smiled, though Vash saw little joy in the act. More a father feigning strength and a stiff lip for a child going off to war is how it seemed to her, as she stood there next to the busy cafe table. They normally met in San Fransisco. Today, however, he requested they meet in Paris. He wore a strange mix of Vulcan fashion with Romulan color added to it, and a few comforts of Earth, like a backpack. They were a strange pair meeting outside the cafe, him with his appearance, and she with a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black square framed sunglasses.
Eventually, she smiled back, and took her own seat. "How are you, dad?"
"I ordered Brandy."
Vash found her eyes opening a little wider, and a new found amusement in her voice. "Thanks for the confidence." Her tone had flipped sarcastic, and half-believing. "I might actually survive, you know--"
The old Romulan man she loved went white, his voice stronger than ever. "I believe you will, yes, but you and I must talk. I have learned through friends that the Romulan government has asked the Federation that you specifically be assigned something in some level of cooperation of the Empire."
"...the Star Empire?" Vash hushed herself as the waiter came and went, leaving a drink she very much, and very suddenly, found herself needing.
"Of course that Empire. Who did you think I meant, those brutes?"
Those brutes, he said. Klingons.
"Those brutes have been fighting and dying right alongside your daughter," her eyes rolled at the aging man as she took a long, deep, drink of Romulan Brandy.
Her father looked this way and that, before his dark eyes returned to her, his body leaning closer to the table just-so. "I understand," he said it with his hands, palm out, rising into the air for a beat before falling back to the table, "I respect what they have done and meant no disrespect, but if you are the daughter I know then you know--"
She knew, alright. "--I know we can't win the war without them."
"Yes," His head nodded, firmly, "and now the Empire has asked that you be assigned to some special mission. It's very disturbing, not to mention potentially dangerous for both of us, and I thought we should discuss it before you left."
Vashara Vaella stared, and sipped. Her mind ran every possibility twice over in her mind, then again once more just for good measure. In the end she was left with a look upon her face that mirrored the very words that came tumbling out of her lips: "What? What are you afraid is going to happen? Are you afraid they're going to try and kill me? Blow up an entire Starfleet vessel just to take out the daughter of someone they want to kill but obviously haven't ever gone to that much trouble TO kill?"
Artos Vaella, once Lord of Vallavan, merely narrowed his eyes, and lowered his voice. That's when she knew she was in trouble, since she was little more than a small girl it had always been that way. Once his voice lowered, instead of anger making it rise, she knew she was good and truly in trouble. "Vashara Tel'laa'vor Vaella, I'm a little surprised in your ignorance. They wouldn't want to kill you."
It wasn't until he said those words that Vash finally understood the game. "They wouldn't want to kill me, they'd want to convert me."
"Who better than a talented young Starfleet commanding officer to flip? I can hear the pitch now, 'Think of restoring your bloodline, with one decision. Think of restoring your father's honor. Think of your true home.' And that would just be the start of it. If the Empire is requesting you, their motive can only be suspect. You must be cautious, and guarded."
"I think I preferred it when you thought I was just going to die."
Her father smirked, crooked and deviant, rising his glass in the air. "To the good old days when I simply feared you dead, then."
Rank/Position: Subcommander acting as an Ambassador to the U.S.S Orion and the Federation.
Race: Romulan
Appearance: Herak is a pretty standard Romulan male, standing at an average height of 6' 2", his flesh of a slightly green colouring, his jet-black hair cut into the usual Romulan 'bowl cut' style, and the 'V' brow-ridge present and accounted for upon his forehead.
One thing that others may notice is, oddly, that he is actually quite handsome from a certain point of view; he possesses the Patrician features of nobility - high cheekbones, a slightly hooked nose and a finely sculpted bone structure - as well as clean-limbed body with wiry muscles from decades of hard training.
In fact, everything about the way he looks could be considered hard and generally solid in a look that only a seasoned combat soldier - or rough-and-tumble fighter - can achieve.
His otherwise unmarked skin is defaced in certain places upon his torso by what look to be scarring caused by bladed weapons, a similar healing of the skin on his face (which has left a puckered scar reaching his jawline) causing the right side of his mouth to upturn, making it seem as if he is constantly sneering, smirking or generally sharing a private joke with himself.
Personality: Private, yet nowhere near as paranoid or insular as other Romulans - he has seen things during his years of military service, both on land and among the stars, giving a dimension of curiosity and wanderlust to him that most of his race severely lack. This has affected him in other ways, primarily in that he adheres strictly to rules aboard ship, is very black and white in his views, and once heated in extremely hard to subdue in any situation. Needless to say, most of his personality stems back to his upbringing, and his time serving the Star Empire.
History: The life of young Herak is a singularly uninteresting one; born into the little-known House-clan of Prorta, he came from a line of warriors and soldiers that could be traced back to the very founding of Romulus itself. They had never had a representative in the Senate, never gained command over the armies or fleets of the Empire, but those of the Prorta had never shirked their duty and had ever done all they could to further the aims of their homeland.
From the earliest suitable age he was exposed to military matters, those of open face-to-face or ship-to-ship combat, and has always held a disdain for the Tal'Shiar and their underhanded methods of warfare. As he grew older he endured tutelage from three generations of his male line, each a warrior and each with their own knowledge to impart to him, a training that would see him beaten time and again in body and mind but returning each time a little stronger than the last.
Eventually, he made his way to the Romulan Imperial War College, showing an aptitude for studying and therefore learning how best to annihilate an enemy...something well noted by his professors and training instructors, something that would have a bearing on his overall future; upon graduation he was offered the rank of Centurion and took it gladly, only too happy to try and make his family proud of him!
What he experienced for the next sixteen years of his life would leave a lasting impact upon hi,, both mentally and with quite obvious scars which he carries to this day. Conflicts against the Klingons, Dominion and the Breen seeing to it that he gathered healthy amounts of both hatred and respect for his honoured adversaries, but also making certain that he took to studying his potential enemies - such as the Federation, Bajorns and Cardassians - in much more thorough detail.
By the time an assignment was handed to him, his peers apparently far too paranoid and undiplomatic for such a task (his wounds by a bladed weapon also rendering him temporarily less effective as a fighter...), he had become a respected - if not well liked - Subcommander within the Romulan hierarchy, now being transferred to an ambassadorial role aboard a Federation vessel. A vessel carrying none other than Ambassador Spock, the envoy between Vulcan and the grassroots movement on Romulus for reunification of the species, something that Herak supported in secret but would never dream of speaking about in public.
Skills: He contributes a number of skills, but highest on the list would have to be his knowledge of all things Romulan. Especially helpful during these trying times against the Dominion, when all need to unite. Perhaps a little lower down, but no less helpful, is his extensive and personally gained knowledge of combat in a plethora of settings, situations and so forth. If a position became available where these skills may be needed, he might jump at the chance.
Other: Anything else I feel can be figured out IC.
Sample Post:
Subcommander Herak paced back and forth within the confines of his new 'accommodation' aboard the Orion, hands fixed firmly behind his back, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed tightly together; all-in-all it was the mood of someone not pleased to have been taken from what he thought of as 'proper' duties, and placed instead as some go-between for his people. Getting cut with a Klingon weapon was nothing, certainly no reason to have attached him to this primitive vessel, far away from his beloved Star Empire, his family, and most especially any sense of excitement or thrill of battle.
These surroundings, for one, were wholly inadequate!
The artistic value of the room was none, the walls a horrid grey colour, not a lick of paint or a picture visible anywhere, and, worst of all, he was forced to endure the constant whirring murmur of the engines - engines that, he swore on his father's life, must have been placed so close to this habitation deck just to annoy the mostly non-human occupants.
Then there was the Captain of the ship...the half-breed who claimed some sort of Romulan ancestry. Such a remark was to be greeted at all turns with much laughter, at least in private, for he had seen Tal'Shiar documents pertaining to each and every senior member of this crew, and he was not impressed. Not impressed at all.
The so-called Captain certainly bore the name of a notable family from ch'Rihan, it could only be a matter of waiting in these turbulent times to see if she had what it took to bear it.
Rank/Position: Lt. Commander/Chief Medical Officer
Race: Human
Appearance: I'm not good with face claims, but Carter is a white male with black hair that has flecks of grey in it and blue eyes. He's of an average height and is slightly overweight. There's a short, deep scar on his chin from a crash he was involved in years earlier.
Personality: As a doctor, Carter has a deep compassion for life and a desire to help people. Although he does not wear his heart on his sleeve, he has a temper buried deep inside of him and can occasionally let it out. Carter enjoys the travels and adventures of space as well as meeting and interacting with the various different aliens he encounters.
History:
Born and raised in California, Carter Cole came from a background of privilege. His family was old money, the Coles having capitalized on the California oil boom centuries earlier and diversified into a large business conglomerate. He was the youngest of four children born into the family of Roger and Janet Cole. While his parents were loving, but distant, his two brothers and sister were ruthless. They all had designs for the money they would inherit and the company they one day wanted to control. While Carter never wanted for anything as a child, he was constantly lonely thanks to his parents distance and his siblings' cruelty. Carter was twelve when he was sent to boarding school. Life there was better and he made fast friends with his fellow students and, curiously enough, the school's resident doctor.
While Carter attended boarding school, his parents were busy setting the course of the lives of Carter and his siblings. Upon graduation of boarding school, they would all attend the Ivy League and graduate there before taking a mid-level job in one of the many businesses the Cole Empire controlled. So it went with all the children, up until Carter. He shocked his parents by telling them he desired to become a doctor. Furious, his father vowed he would not pay for any schooling if Carter went that route. Even Carter's trust fund would be off-limits to him.
Unperturbed, Carter applied for scholarships and student loans and managed to find enough capital to start school. Refusing even the slightest support from his parents, he took up two jobs and worked them as he made his way through UCLA as a undergrad, then medical school where he graduated Summa Cum Laude from UCLA Med, specializing in Xeno-Astrobiology. After graduation, his now jubilant and proud father offered him a job in a hospital owned by the Coles. Three days later, Carter enlisted in Starfleet and graduated with the rank of Medical Officer.
Carter served as medical officer on the USS California, the USS Shanghai, USS Resolute before joining the Orion as chief medical officer.
Skills: Carter is a skilled doctor and surgeon capable of treating patients from different species, races, and backgrounds.
Other: I'm a doctor, not an adder!
Sample Post:
USS Orion Beta Quadrant
"Okay, Ensign. What's your problem?" Carter casually asked the crewman sitting on the medical examination table.
He looked at the table in his hands. It contained all the young man's medical stats. The kid was fit as a fiddle in his last check up two months ago. He had slightly high blood pressure, but nothing the medicine Carter prescribed him couldn't fix.
"Well, Doctor...I have this strange burning sensation...."
Carter nodded and scribbled the information down on to the tablet in a scrawled handwriting fit only for a doctor.
"Okay. Where exactly do you feel this burning at?"
"Well, sir...it's uh....below the waist."
He looked up suddenly at the ensign, his eyes wide with apparent alarm.
"How long have you been having this feeling?"
"For about a week now."
"Yes, and we were at port two weeks ago," Carter said with a slight grin. "Did you happen to visit any women when we were at port?"
The fact that the kid's faced turned red as all the information Carter needed, but he wanted to hear it from the ensign firsthand.
"There was a guy, actually."
"Oh," said Carter. He shrugged his shoulder. "Well then it's the twenty-fourth century. Nothing to be ashamed of. I have some medicine here that can clean it right up."
"But, doctor. He wasn't a human, he was an Orion!"
Carter sat the tablet down on the table and looked at the young man solemnly.
"Oh, well then. I'll have to prep you for surgery. The body fluids of Orion's contain acid highly damaging to all humans, your....member, could be rotten and have gangrene. I'm afraid it will have to come off."
"NO!" The ensign cried out, holding on to his crotch for dear life.
Carter chuckled and picked his tablet back up, quickly tapping out a message on it before sending it to its recipient.
"Joking," he said without looking up. "Go see the nurse down the hall, she'll give you a shot and fix you right up."
"Thank you, doctor," the young man said with a nervous laugh.
"No, problem." Carter looked up, another serious look on his face. "Remember this: flies spread disease... so keep yours closed."
“Controlling” is the word I would use to describe Brown. Malachi values discipline above all. That is not to say that he doesn’t have a sense of humour or that he’s highly strung, much the opposite, but due to the nature of his work Brown has a propensity to micro-manage. Malachi has a strong sense of right and wrong and sees the world in black and white. His own actions however seem exempt from this and Brown does not see the hypocrisy in sometimes compromising his principles to his own end. He is ambitious, driven, and demanding which over long periods can wear those under his command down. Brown considers those that can withstand his approach to be worthy of his respect. Once someone has earned Malachi's respect and trust he is fiercely loyal to them. Earning it however is something of a Herculean undertaking.
History
Brown grew up on a council estate in London, England. His father died before he was born and his mother spent much of Malachi’s childhood trying and failing to keep him out of trouble. With no strong male role model in his life Malachi looked to the criminal element on his estate for recognition. He fell in with a wrong crowd at a very young age and took to pretty crime for entertainment. After several brushes with the law Malachi’s mother was deemed an unfit mother and Brown became a ward of the state.
Malachi was placed in almost half a dozen foster homes before one stuck. Each time he would abscond back to his old estate or wear through his welcome after some run-in with the police. Finally Brown was placed with retired Starfleet Lieutenant G. H. Russell and some semblance of security was achieved. Russell and Brown butted heads to begin with, particularly over Malachi’s refusal to attend school, but finally Brown relented to Russell’s will. For the first time in Brown’s life he became a functioning member of society.
And then his mother died. Brown left Russell’s home and returned to his estate. The old man tracked him there, unmoved by the threats of violence directed towards him by Malachi’s so-called friends, and made one final appeal to Brown. Come back with him, come home, and make something of your life. For the last time Malachi left his estate in South London, the “friends” he had amassed there, and the memories of his mother that were tied to that place. The very next morning Malachi and Russell sat at Russell’s dining room table and wrote his application for the Starfleet Academy together.
Malachi’s first application was rejected and Russell and the boy would spend the next year working tirelessly to hone Brown’s body and mind for the Academy. To Brown’s surprise the structure and discipline seemed to bring the most out of him and he took to it as if it were second nature. He rose each morning, undertook several hours of physical training, and spent his nights being regaled by Russell’s stories from his own Starfleet days or being rigorously tested on Starfleet protocol. Through their year of hard work Brown’s second application to Starfleet was accepted.
At the Academy he would show a natural aptitude for military tactics and strategy as well as proving himself to be almost unnaturally accurate with a phaser in hand. Early on his was earmarked for Starfleet Security and would spend several years as a Security Officer on the USS Hawk before being appointed the Chief Security Officer on the USS Orion.
Skills
Brown is a physical specimen. He was lean prior to meeting Russell and has spent an inordinate amount of time on his body as part of his daily routine ever since his first Academy rejection. He is skilled in hand-to-hand combat though somewhat reliant on brute strength over technique. Against physically superior species this can leave him at a disadvantage.
There are few better shots in all of Starfleet than Brown. Phasers are his forte. A combination of a steady hand and a cool head makes him deadly with a phaser in hand. Brown has an intricate knowledge of the weapons onboard USS Orion and their capabilities. He is meticulous in ensuring their maintenance and upkeep and does not trust others to handle his phaser.
First and foremost though Brown plans ahead. He makes contingencies and contingencies to contingencies. Malachi is always planning, always war gaming, borne out of a fear of coming up short when he’s needed most. The first Academy rejection still weighs heavily on him and though he rarely puts voice to it his doubts as to whether he, a boy from a council estate in South London, ought to be onboard the USS Orion at all motivates much of what he does. He plans for fear of being revealed to not belong in the first place. It is both a blessing and a curse.
Other
Malachi bears a startling resemblance to twenty-first century actor Idris Elba. That fact seems entirely lost on his colleagues but Brown is convinced that Elba is a distant ancestor of his.
Sample Post
Many years ago London, England
G. H. Russell smiled as an uncharacteristic flicker of nerves showed on Malachi Brown’s face. The boy was something of a stoic and the past year of intense training had only hardened that. This morning was the day all that hard work came to fruition. Malachi Brown was leaving for the Starfleet Academy in less than five minutes. It brought a smile to Russell’s face to know that despite everything that had happened Malachi was still felt overwhelmed by the occasion. Russell had felt overwhelmed by it too when he had first left for the Academy all those years ago. It was good to feel overwhelmed by it. Anyone that didn’t feel overwhelmed by that kind of thing probably no place at the Academy to begin with. A little bit of caution was always a good thing. What Russell saw on Malachi’s face was more than a little bit of caution.
The old man smiled wryly at his ward. “Nervous?”
The second the word left his mouth the nervousness on Brown’s face disappeared.
“No, sir.”
It only broadened Russell’s smile. The retired Starfleet Lieutenant remembered when Malachi arrived in his home as if it were yesterday. The young man that showed up on his doorstep then was equal parts angry at the world and listless. He didn’t care less about Russell’s approval then but it was clear from his denial that had changed. A lot had changed. Russell found himself tearing up a little as he thought about how far they’d come. Far enough that Malachi calling him “sir” at a moment like this seemed out of place.
“Come on, kid, there’s no need for that anymore.”
Malachi nodded dutifully. “Sorry, sir.”
The young man caught himself and smiled at Russell. If Malachi were able to blush the old man was sure he would have been.
“Sorry, George.”
In the distance Russell spotted Brown’s ride approaching and he felt the tears welling in his eyes fall from his eyelids and onto his cheeks. He thrust his skinny arms over Malachi’s broad shoulders and pulled him in close for a hug.
“Listen, things are going to be a little overwhelming up there to begin with but you’ll be fine as long as you keep your head down and work hard. You hear me?”
Brown patted him on the back gently and nodded in recognition. The young man’s drive pulled up in front of the pair of them and Russell felt his ward move to pull away from him. He clung on to him for a few seconds more.
“I’m proud of you, kid.” Russell muttered to Brown. “Your mother would have been proud of you.”
He let go of Malachi and saw the touched look on the boy’s face. He saw him search for an adequate response for several seconds before opting for two words. They said more to the old man than a thousand words might have.
“Thank you,” Malachi said with a nod.
Brown bent down and lifted his carry bag from the ground and hoisted it over his shoulder with a grunt. He turned to his ride and hoisted the bag inside and climbed inside. As the door shut behind him he saw the driver turn to him and mutter something,
“You ready?”
*****
Now Aboard the USS Orion
A siren cutting the din of the security deck and Malachi Brown’s brow furrowed. He had been lost in thought, daydreaming about the day he’d left for the Academy, but that sound had jolted him back into life. It was a red alert. Captain Vash’s voice sounded through the comm and Malachi and his men listened in silence as she recounted the Dominion threat. Finally the Captain’s orders for Security came through and Malachi leapt into action as the Captain spoke.
“Security, ready a boarding party, as armed and armored as you can get them.”
The security officers looked to Malachi for instruction and the Chief Security Officer simply pointed upwards towards the bridge with a satisfied smile.
“You heard the captain.”
The security officers burst into life, each scrambling towards the armoury for weapons and armour, and Brown began to formulate a boarding plan in his head. Though the USS Orion had been ordered away from the fighting he had long since been preparing for this day and was determined that the Orion would succeed where other ships had faltered. Out of the corner of his eye Brown spotted a blue-skinned security officer frozen in place. Where the others were fiddling with weapons or putting on armour he seemed glued to the spot.
“What’s wrong?” Brown said with a hearty slap to the young man’s side. “Are you deaf or something? Mount up, kid.”
The blue-skinned security officer looked up at Malachi with eyes filled with fright. “I… I’m… I just…”
“Nervous?”
Brown remembered the terror he’d felt the day he’d left for the Academy and the way he’d hidden it from G. H. Russell. The old man had seen through his terror that day and Brown could see in this young man’s eyes that the moment was too big for him. He seemed afraid to admit it, ashamed even, but finally he met the Lieutenant’s gaze and nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Malachi looked around at his other men, all busy preparing themselves for battle, and then leant towards the young man. For the first time in a long time Brown’s taskmaster act slipped and he channeled his foster father. His voice was soft and reassuring.
“You can do this,” he muttered.
The words seemed to sooth the blue-skinned young man somewhat and he smiled back at Brown. Malachi patted him on the arm reassuringly and then stared down the sights of his phaser to make sure his weapon was good and ready for what lay ahead. He looked to the men and woman, weapons in hand, and muttered a phrase they had all heard dozens of times before.
Personality: Most people think that Vulcans never lie, and are always either friendly or at least neutral. Those people haven't met Teruk. He will do whatever he believes is the most tactically sound in the moment. In the past, he has resorted to actions that many would consider cruel. He, however, considers them necessary, and, as the saying goes, what is necessary is never unwise.
History: As a young man growing up on Mars, he quickly became known as a bit of a delinquent, much to the disappointment of his father. His mother, however, thought that he was just misunderstood. After all, there weren't many half-vulcans on the planet, and none his own age. He ended up winning a bit of popularity by preforming various tricks with his telepathy, but soon the other kids grew tired of it. As the attention he craved left him, he started doing more and more daring things, including picking fights and a bit of minor theft. At the age of nineteen, the later got him arrested. As part of his plea to get out of detention, and at the request of his father, he asked to join Star Fleet. He graduated and served as an ensign in the medical department for several years before receiving a promotion and being transferred. The location to which he was transferred has been hidden on his record, but he came back just months ago, being transferred to the Orion.
Skills: Science, medical, counseling
Other: none
Sample Post: Teruk felt the heat of a phaser as it shot past his cheek. "If I remain under fire like this, it will be difficult to render medical assistance, Captain."
The Captain, a Human dressed in leather, fired back. "I know, Teruk, I know. This wasn't supposed to happen." They had come here to meet a Ferengi who said he could get his hands on a tri-cobalt device for them. He had sold them out to the Cardassians, though.
Teruk fired back, hitting one of the Cardassians in the chest, knocking him down if not killing him. "Captain, I believe if you can buy me some time, I can get a signal through to the ship so that they can beam us out of here."
"But isn't there too much ionic interference in the area with all of these power conduits around?"
Teruk fired his phaser, now on maximum, at the power conduit behind the nearest group of Cardassians. It exploded, sending shrapnel into the crates they were hiding behind, missing him by only centimeters. "Not for long." he said.
The next thirty seconds were filled with a hail of phaser fire, as the Cardassians began advancing on their position. Thanfully, they were able to hold the now flanking forces off long enough for the wounded to begin disappearing in a reddish beam of light. A few seconds later Teruk stopped firing, noticing that his gun was almost depleted, and was also swept up.
In the transporter room aboard the antique Klingon freighter he stepped off the pad and, laying his rifle down, opened his kit and began to run a dermal regenerator over the wounds of his injured comrades. "He'll need to be taken to sickbay, I can't do enough for him here." Teruk told the two crewmen standing there. They put the man on a stretcher and started carrying him away.
The Captain walked over the door and hit the button on the comm panel. "Are we still hidden T'Sil?" he asked.
"Cloaking device is operational and has received no damage." she said.
"Good, then get us back home, Maximum warp." He responded. A few seconds later there was a lurch in the ship as it jumped to warp.
"The mission appears to have been a failure." Teruk said. "We failed our only objective and received three casualties for our trouble."
The Captain slapped him on the shoulder. "That's what I like about being a Maquis," he said, "There's never a dull moment."
Twenty-One /\ Human /\ Ensign – Helm “Say oh, got this feeling that you can't fight Like this city is on fire tonight This could really be a good life A good, good life”
Appearance: Young. Black hair, medium length. Boyish face. Bold affect. Green Eyes. Kyle is average height, 5’11 as per his military profile and 185lbs. He has no tattoos.
Personality: Kyle is easygoing, but emotionally reactive. He’s an artist, and sees things in his own way, from a unique and different vantage point. He is quite orderly, and enjoys precision in his life. His things are neat, his quarters are immaculately cleaned, organized… it borderlines on obsession with him. With that being said, the back side of that coin is that his social/emotional life is a mess. Optimism is a defense to hide the inner pessimist, something he learned early on in life. What he says and what he thinks are often two very different and opposing things. He has a problem with honesty and openness. He fears being judged on his true merit, and thus hides his true self behind a mask of who or what he thinks he should be. But none of his problems are on display. From the outside looking in, Kyle will appear as happy and content in life as one would expect from a young ensign on his first assignment.
History: If, a few years ago, you had told Kyle that he’d be piloting a starship in the middle of the Dominion war, he’d have laughed in your face. A concert level pianist, son of a concert level pianist, Kyle’s idea of the future circulated around music halls and concertos. He grew up a child prodigy, heralded a raw and natural talent by critics. By the time he was 15, he performed in Carnegie hall, and the Royal Albert Music Hall. His life was a storybook, he knew no problems, even though the Federation was ripe with them. He was untouched, unhindered, until one day on a transport to his first off world concert, the first taste of the harshness of life came to him.
The USS Galadrial was a civilian transport ship which transported young Mr. Avery and his family from Earth to a concert venue onboard a Federation Starbase near Trill. To this day, Mr. Avery isn’t exactly sure what had happened, but what he remembered is harsh red lights flashing, claxons blaring, and the panic that churned his stomach and caused him to hold tight to his mother’s hand. A violent decompression rocked the ship, and he was thrust hard into a bulkhead. He awoke hours later in a Starfleet medical bay, a dermal regenerator being waved across his head, and his mind flooding with questions. They told him it was an accident. The words explosion, and survivor were mingled into the conversation, but Kyle had stopped listening. He fought free of his attending, pushed himself off the bio-bed, and started to call for his parents. There are nights, even now, where the sound of his voice yelling the name of his mother and father haunt his dreams, because it’s always echoed by that honeyed voice of that young, blonde hair nurse, who took his hand in her own, and with bitterness in her eyes that rivaled his own sorrow, told him that he was alone.
Being a minor at the time, he was awarded to the custody of his father’s brother, who served onboard the USS Reliant as the ship’s Chief Medical Officer. It was thanks to him, Lt. Marjire, the ship’s counselor, that Kyle come to grips with the accident. They worked through the anger, the abandonment issues he had, and the trauma of having been through such an event. It took a few years, but by the time he was 17, he had announced his intention to join Starfleet.
The Orion is his first posting. His career is new. Who he is, and what he will become is largely still undetermined.
Other: Kyle enjoys writing holodeck novels. When he’s not on duty, he’s often working on his next idea.
The hardest part about being on a starship: no sun. Kyle finds himself constantly looking up, in moments of irritation or strife, as though to convey some prayer to a higher power housed within the brilliant globe. Before, he found it therapeutic, as if he was evoking some spiritual or deep belief in something higher or mightier than he was; now he just felt ridiculous. Kyle stands, dressed in his duty uniform, underneath the brilliant rays of an artificial sun, his eyes closed, head tilted up to the warmth of it. If the absence of sun was the worst part about being on a starship, than the holodeck has got to be the best.
Arms snaked around him, and the familiar feeling of a body pressing against his back awoke him from his daze. Sure, strong hands rose up to clasp over those that met at his stomach, and his fingers, nimble and deft from years of the piano, wove with those beneath, allowing that familiar touch to melt away the tension. He couldn’t help but smile as his eyes leveled out on the ocean before his feet, his breath drawing in a deep lung full of salty sea air, fake salty sea air, and he for a moment he felt as though he understood bliss. It was sun, warm sea air, the touch of a woman… it was belonging.
The claxons rang. The intrusive sound pulled the warmth from the sun, and drove an sighed exhale from his thick chest. Kyle twisted in the arms the held him, looked down into the deep, brown eyes of the women who stood before him, carefully stroking the soft slope of her cheek. Gently he brushed his lips against hers, letting the fiction linger just another moment before having to put an end to it all. He smiled the boyish smile he had been known all his life for, successfully hiding his disappointment in the presence of this emergency.
“Computer, end program,” Kyle spoke tentatively, and around him the world shimmer, faded into nothingness, replaced by the grid of black and yellow lines. It was a testament to technology, that man could create a world, all its people and complexities, in a room no longer than his own quarters, well, a little larger than his own quarters. A world fitting the size of a box… truly, he had been enamored with the holodeck the first moment he stepped into one.
“We’ll continue this later,” a voice asked, soft, feminine. As she looked up with those brown eyes into his, seeming as upset and disturbed by the turn of events as he was. She too, was dressed in her duty uniform, the collar pips of an ensign decorating her neck as they did his, but where his burned with red, hers was a subtle and soothing yellow.
“Ofcourse ensign,” Kyle spoke in a soft, calm voice, pulling her hands from around him, keeping the left in his fingertips. “We were just getting to the good part.”
