ENG Ensign Taev

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Character Name: Taev

ENG Ensign Taev

Postby Todd Martin » Sat Jan 24, 2015 11:04 am

Cadet Taev’s Personal Log, Confidential

The Graduation Party

Always it starts with a girl; the risks were all too apparent. But here failure becomes supercritical fluid, effusing through barriers of blood, flesh, bone, and uniform. As I apply this lesson, literally, I propose just such a mathematical model. There must be a way to understand, to know why such simple ingredients like fellow cadets can lead to abject terror and calamity.

If I apply the right equation, include each factor from the party, the tipping point will be self evident.

The equation for predicting supercriticality starts with Peng-Robinson’s equation of state.

P = (RT)/(Vm-b)-(a*Alpha)/(Vm^2+2bVm-b^2),

Where,

P = Pressure
T = Temperature
V = Vapour Volume
R = Universal Gas Constant
Z = Compressibility Factor
b = Solvent Fugacity
w = Acentric Factor

I realize I am skipping some steps, after all the Acentric factor is not directly shown in Peng-Robinson, but this is a personal log and not another damned Star Fleet exam.

T’po is a Vulcan in the most perfect sense of the word. Her eyes are keen and bright, with breath-taking mental control, and a shape that flows softly in complex multi-variate symmetry. Yes, I’m talking hips, breasts, and even pouty lips. With such a woman, the everyday faults in one's self fall silent, the excruciation of petty small talk withers. Only beauty, brains, and her respect of both my mind and heritage would caress my mortal soul. I could settle down and become the man I know I could be. I could give her such love that tenderly and quietly touches her heart. Clearly, the equation must have her Accentric factor approach zero, which is entirely how Counselor Jones convinced me to attend the off-campus party in the first place.

“This may be your last chance to see your classmates, really get to know them” he said in his chirpy voice. I laughed, knowing it is better to see them finally off and away. Soon, they will no longer be tugging here or there for those answers they want; the ones with non-verbal cues and archaic idioms that project infinitely stupid solutions. No more tonal inflections from adolescents, parsing secret codes back and forth in games of cruelty. I shook my head.

After all, the invite went to every cadet. Of that I was sure. The celebrity kid Flemington’s party was to be an egalitarian affair. “most connected graduate of the Academy”. Not like all those other parties whispered down the corridors… He had something special planned. Everyone knew there would be a wondrous surprise. A flashy and spectacular affair, no doubt. Something meant to be thoroughly appreciated by everyone, Romulan not excepted God help us all. No doubt Flemington would be cheered in adoration. It would be ghastly.

Then Jones leaned forward, half-lidded eyes unfocused as he added, “And that Vulcan girl you’ve been talking about,T’Pish?, she was assigned by the Academy’s Greek council to be social monitor to the party. You could finally ask her out on a date.”

So, I dozed the night prior knowing the day ahead would be a risk. An old Earth melody glimmered in my mind as I woke, a shard remembered:


”And even though the stars are listening
And the ocean's deep
I just go to sleep
And then I create the silent movie
You become the star
Is that what you are, dear?”

Pressure:

It’s all about pressure really. I took what levers of power I could assemble into my knapsack. 4 bottles of sparkling blue Romulan Ale, 3 bars of Latinum, a small volumetric flask, a Rigellian corsage, a spare pair of white gloves, a Gravimetric scanner small enough to fit in said glove, 6 well-crafted shot glasses, and an alcohol inhibitor put into a hypospray. Most of the cadets are going hungry with a head-start on inebriation, that’s got to be an edge for me.

The grounds were roughly manicured with sweeping willows scraping the veranda walls. Four stories of pre-warp architecture hulked ominously, I think it was a house or maybe a hotel at one time. Now it was Flemington’s roost. A dozen cadets played volleyball on the lawn, music blaring from the windows with a thumping base reverberating the sternum. To the south side of the house a squat non-Federation shuttle was sunk into the flower-beds. Really sunk, like a meter and a half so the nacelles were well beyond view. Pitched at an angle too, it had to be 17 or 18 degrees off nominal. Sloppy landing and ignored outside traffic control rules no doubt.

K’ar-el-Hau saw me as I started onto the front porch. His vertical ridge looked painted in some cheerful yellows. I have no idea why. For some reason I never understood, he thought I liked the short bastard. Always grabbing my arm or slapping my shoulder when we talked, he’d tell me everything about his day programming the Academy holo-suites, then pester out of me an assessment of his daily issues.

“Ho Taev”, he shouted above the racket, “Hell’uv a party, c’mere a m’nute.” K’ar leaned over a railing and poured out the dregs of his drink into a shrub. “Member when you wanted the perfect place to talk to Po?, I’ve got it!” Rummaging through his pockets he picked through a jumble of colored isolinear rods. “It’s the green one” he explained and grabbed me to make sure I understood how pleased he was with himself. What could I do? Getting touched by a Bolian is disgusting, I’m sorry but I had to step back. I’ll admit, I’m not real clear on my reds & greens, but the rod I took had to have been the one he wanted me to have. He looked right at it after I took it and said “There ya go Taev!!”

Temperature:

Inside, I took a moment to get my bearings. It was awful; the crowd pressed tighter than a drum and my skin crawled like ants running through my civvies. The heat of all those sweating bodies made me want to vomit, heave out all the disease and uncleanliness seeping into me from these aliens. I swallowed hard and weaved doggedly through the knots of humans and into the bar. Twenty kegs stacked along the North wall supplied the graduated cadets with that day’s calories. The white gloves, which Counselor Jones told me to wear when I’m feeling the “Heebie-Jeebies”, are entirely inadequate to the task. Gingerly stepping through the sticky floor, I made my way behind the counter and moved aside stacks of plastic cups.

Vapour Volume:

Safe, and useful I drew out 2 bottles of Ale. Eyes around the room caught the calm blue elixir and widened. Geometrically precise, I layed out the shot glasses and carefully measured 44 Milliliters into each glass. From here I could wait and see T’Po, she’s sure to come around. I command attention and respect, with a clear delineation established thanks to the blessed counter, I can relax and talk to my fellow officers. A round passed… another, and another. The party is pretty friendly; these guys are alright. 34 cadets served and then my last 2 bottles are drawn from my knapsack. Where is T’Po? If she could see me now! More rounds pass, I tried to draw out the process but all too soon another 34 shots were extinguished into an insatiable crowd. The thumping from the music quickens to a short 2 step rhythm and the crowd chants “Get Laid”, Get Fucked”.

The beer was too crass, I was out of place now in the bar. Reluctantly, I collected the remaining shot glasses (for some were carried off) and then the empty bottles. Passing a knot of Rigellians, I got out of the bar and made my way into a great room. Dabo and 3 Dom-Jot tables dominated the room. A Prayko alley was setup in the hall.

Fugacity:

Flemington’s best henchman, Winston, was taking the Latinum bars in exchange for game tokens. He always had that greasy look, would find a way to put me down, and I think he took a note of pride in leaving a bit of spittle on my shirt knowing how much it bothered me.

“3 Bars for credits” I said slowly and carefully. I pulled them out, whereupon Winston laughed while running a Tricorder over them.

“That all you could come up with? I thought beggars coming in on a stolen ship were given more than that after they cried up a river”. “Don’t Sppppend it all at once”, with aplomb the spit from all those pppp’s met their mark once again. God I look forward to serving on a real star-ship, where everyone’s a grown-up and act with professionalism!

The credits were perfect substitutes and their disguise as weapons of war were brought into play. Obviously, my gloves must have been soiled from all that bartending earlier. So, as I moved over to the Dabo wheel I switched to my spare pair. Pointing directly at the chosen number, I got to work. A Dabo girl tried to offer me a beer, but I know to watch the wheel. Besides, she’s not my type. Time passed, I’m not sure how much. Certainly it grew dark outside. If T’Po walked by, I’m sure I missed her. But the winnings kept climbing, steadily. Each time I’d point out the desired number, the crowd would grow a bit and bet more aggressively. No one wanted a Romulan to win, but the bank couldn’t hold out forever and even with an audience working against me, it wasn’t close. I collected 133 bars of Latinum from Chucklehead before testing out the private card games.

Sonic Speed:

I thought to play Tongo, having some experience with the game. But cards are simple mathematics, so I wasn’t too picky. Flemington himself was at the head of a table and he insisted I join him for a round.

“Give me a chance to win some of that back, huh?” he said genially. Besides himself, 3 others were at the table. The fat one got up and made way for me at a glance from Flemington. It seemed to me that it would be more gratifying to face him down for once than scuttle away.

I told him, “If we make it a drinking game to boot, I’ll play. I haven’t had anything yet since I can’t drink your beer”.

“Sure, sure” Tibs, get the Romulan some Tequila, mind the worm! The fat one disappeared. As I layed out my Latinum from my knapsack, I shot the alcohol inhibitor into my arm. The Tequila made me flush, but I kept a steady head.

The game was called Fizzbin, which as it turns out has a large number of curious rules. It took a while to get a handle on the game. We had achieved a roughly equal balance in Latinum when I saw T’Po walk in wearing a rather short skirt and a long buttoned jacket.

Heat Capacity:

Struggling to my feet, I abandoned the pot on the table. Fifty some odd bars bulging from my knapsack, I had a hard time getting the damned Isolinear rod out.

“T’Po, you look very pretty today, do you remember working with me on the Orchid genomic lab??, there was Romulan Ale earlier but I served it all, wait!! I brought you something that is pretty and I thought I could talk to you for a minute before you ship out and we never see, that is, you will be somewhere else and I haven’t had a chance to… It’s a holo-suite program made just for talking, it will be nice and won’t take long if you can choose to monitor upstairs for a moment.”

At that, I buried my head back into the knapsack and feverishly dug out the Rigellian corsage, which honestly looked a bit flat at this point.

She looked at me with mild eyes and then down at the corsage. An eyebrow twirked up, she smoothed her jacket. I saw that a button was undone, did I miss that? Taking that as permission, I moved with alacrity and stood before her. Closely… I’m not sure how to describe this, but when a man reaches up to a woman’s breasts to pin a flower it is… well, indescribable. The world falls away and only one thing fills the void in your mind (perhaps two things). Time stopped and somehow my gloves had fallen to the floor and I was happy, terribly and frightfully happy! I was glad the gloves were off, the party was perfect.

T’Po glanced down, then knelt and picked up my gloves.

“Is this a Gravimetric scanner attached in the right fore-finger of this glove?” she asked.

I grabbed her arm and said “We’ll discuss it up in the Holo-suite, I said it was designed for talking and it will be perfect, you’re corsage looks on your perfect chest! I mean the corsage looks perfect on you, I have to wear the gloves you see, I don’t even like gloves but this Doctor back at the Academy makes me wear them and I don’t even know where they are made, but it couldn’t be on Earth do you think? Do you know where you’re posted yet? I could talk to you on subspace from my Ship if you like and here’s the suite now, let’s put this isolinear rod into the port.”

Compressibility Factor:

I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. For some reason my heart felt like oxen had clambered on top of me and I was going to die. In the suite, I could feel something near my knee that was soft. Instinctively, I could feel I could sit and did so. The cushion was deep and inviting. The rough party music downstairs had faded away and in its place came a curious funky soft soul beat with an old melody

“I've been really tryin', baby
Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long
And if you feel like I feel, baby
Then, c'mon, oh, c'mon
Let's get it on
Ah, baby, let's get it on
Let's love, baby
Let's get it on, sugar
Let's get it on”

T’Po said “You’ve been cheating at Dabo in violation of Article 34.12.145.80 of the Star Fleet code. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” She paused. “Are you intending to copulate with me in this illogically shaped bed?”

I opened my eyes to a sea of red velvet covering a slowly rotating heart shaped bed. A large mirror hung from the ceiling, the corners of the room sported floor lamps with gold tassles. The far wall held the door while the nearest a fireplace. A nightstand held a wide assortment of objects and lotions.

“There's nothing wrong with me
Loving you, baby no no
And giving yourself to me can never be wrong
If the love is true
Don't you know how sweet and wonderful life can be
I'm asking you baby to get it on with me
I ain't gonna worry
I ain't gonna push, won't push you baby
So c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby
Stop beatin' 'round the bush
Let's get it on
Let's get it on”

So, I think she used a Vulcan nerve pinch, because that’s the last I remember of the Holo-Suite. I woke back downstairs tied to a chair with a crowd gathered round. T’Po was turning over my knapsack to Flemington. Flemington had a weird looking Andorian up on a stage. He was blind and albino. Turns out the Andorian was the big surprise; he was rare, a telepath, and unlike Vulcans, willing to do party tricks.

Shortly afterward I was hustled up on stage too.

Universal Gas Constant:

It gets harder to finish this log, as the questions coming from that funny Andorian kept getting more personal and embarrassing. After a while, the parlour tricks included hypnosis and I thought I was a chicken. Flemington was going to shave my head and scrawl something vulgar on my ass with a small plasma torch. T’Po kept taking notes on her PADD until then. At that point, she called in Star Fleet security and the MP decided I had enough that night, sending me home rather than write up anything T’Po had to say about Gravimetric sensors.

Computer, personal lock code Priority Alpha. Exit.
Last edited by Todd Martin on Wed Mar 25, 2015 1:32 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby C. J. Short » Sun Jan 25, 2015 8:44 pm

That. Was. Outstanding!

An extremely enjoyable read, Todd :)
"As long as I have a want, I have a reason for living. Satisfaction is death." - George Bernard Shaw, Overruled

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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Einar S » Wed Jan 28, 2015 9:59 am

this is by far the best piece of writing I've read in a long long time. Can't wait to Hopefully get to know this young Cadet :)
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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Babette C » Wed Jan 28, 2015 5:25 pm

I am very proud... Good job, dear : ) (yep, he's mine) :D
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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Thomas Marsland » Sat Jan 31, 2015 7:48 pm

Excellent log! Thoroughly enjoyed it!

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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Aoibhe Ni » Sun Feb 01, 2015 1:42 am

That was a fantastic read.
Nice job, Todd! :D

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ENG Ensign Taev, Shore Leave

Postby Todd Martin » Mon Feb 02, 2015 7:54 am

Personal Log, Cadet Taev, Shore Leave, Part One.

As I stand on this bare mountain peak with blood staining my boots, waiting for the sand fire below to subside, there's time to reflect on my shore leave since graduation from Star Fleet Academy. When your homeland and family are many parsecs away and politically even further apart, freedom is a lonely burden. So I stood with countless choices but no ties or necessity to bind me in one direction or another. I took my Commission's perk of free travel on available fleet transport to ShanaiKahr, home of the Terran Embassy on Vulcan.

I traveled fairly light, but even so my knapsack was heavy. There were first and foremost 51 bars of Flemington's gold pressed latinum, which I had held onto more through luck and chaos than anything else. Aside from them, I brought my service & dress uniforms, 2 sets of civvies, a PADD, toolkit & mini-medkit, gloves, and a small Alth'Indor sculptor which I've been working on for a long time. The bird wings luminesce from the capillary plasma conduits that run through each feather & filament. There is patience and virtue in the Alth’Indor legend, rebirth from ashes and a surety of eventual success for the chosen ones. Beauty, power, magic, self-identity can never be truly lost. With this in mind, I went looking to see a glimpse of these traits in the people I've set my life to pursue.

"Don't touch a Vulcan unless you know it's okay, don't worry about crime, don't replicate bacon", said Dr. Sunnis, the Terran Consul to today's tourists. Our group was over 40 people, mostly humans but a scattering of other races including a few in blue cloaks which covered their humanoid features. Something about those guys in blue made me nervous; you’d have to be a special kind of ugly to hide ALL your features like that. "Here's a holo-map of the planet with some suggestions. The province of Raal is a great place to start with many interesting sites." Finally, he wound down his well-rehearsed speech by passing out a commercial communicator. "Cadet Taev, a Lieutenant Hausman would like a word with you."

The crowd, aside from me, broke up and streamed out off the embassy grounds and into the city. I rode up a small turbolift to an office with views of the ShanaiKahr General Academy campus. The Quad bustled with young Vulcans walking from building to building. A lone conifer was festooned with paper slips dangling in the thin breeze. Hausman was trim, bespectacled, and bore a well-groomed moustache. He returned my salute with a frumpy "There's the guy that's giving me grief" look, but greeted me with a nod and indicated to sit.

"Taev, before you enjoy Vulcan's hospitality, there's a couple things you should know." he started. "First, you aren't in any trouble. But Vulcan Intelligence may contact you while you're on the surface. You are not required to cooperate with their... mission. Any work that you do is completely voluntary as far as Starfleet is concerned. And if you do work with them, remember that your first obligation is to Starfleet Command. So, when your ship assignment is posted you must report on time." Hausman paused, and looked out his window to the tree below. "Vulcans are very literal people, Taev. Don't forget that." I nodded and pretended I knew exactly what he meant. "Yes sir, I will listen to them and make my best judgment." The room was pretty stuffy, there should have been a fan. "Is there anything else, sir?"

At first, he ignored my question and kept looking out the window. Before I gave up and just stood to leave, he finally spoke again. "You know, Romulans are really rare on Vulcan. There are some youths that will be fascinated to see you. Most others, though, will be suspicious even if you're in uniform. Don't get in trouble, cadet." He turned and looked at me directly in the eyes. "Dismissed".

Released at last, I took a Grav-shuttle from port ShanaiKahr to Vulcana Regar. Of all the sites on Vulcan, this city looked most promising. After all, it is the biggest city on the planet with almost a million people. As I walked to reach a tube marked Regar Currency Exchange, a flash of blue caught my periphery. Feeling a bit foolish I began to hurry while worrying about being followed. The tube station was plain but efficient. Exiting onto the exchange, I was able to unload all of my bars for 114,974 Federation credits. A frail Vulcan had taken my bars and weighed them on an antique scale according to ritual, but verified their mass and purity with a Tricorder to complete the transaction. The credits were downloaded & encoded onto a personal memory stick. While money is not generally needed for most daily needs inside Federation territory, Federation credits are essential for sponsoring major projects. Gold Pressed Latinum is heavy. Besides, I had no wish to parley with Ferengi anytime soon. Their rules of acquisition circumscribe one’s point of view into a narrow box of winners and losers. Feeling more secure, I thought to find some of those youths.

For a big city, Vulcana Regar was incredibly lame. I now understood why so few visitors come to Vulcan. Take the only tavern I could find. The “Melange” would not serve off-worlders. Their spirits were guarded in ceremonial rituals, stimulants allocated for only specific meditations. With all the arranged marriages done at such an early age, venues for courtship were impossible to find. The music halls were cerebral and lacked any passion. The dances sedate and serious. They were entirely empty of sensuality. I was beginning to doubt my ambitions. These people were boring. Then I remembered my Alth’Indor and realized it applied at least as much to the Vulcan people as it would to the Romulans. Bewildered, I stopped out on a public plaza between two geodesic domes and sat, trying to unlock this frustration.

After a time, I looked up. A small crowd of old men cloistered around me. “Are you a Romulan, lad?”, said the nearest one. He held a scanner of some kind in his left and a cane in his right. One fellow to his left was holding a mask to his face, either providing oxygen or filtering contaminants. Two men behind him were restraining a domesticated, very thin & gray furred Sehlat. The animal must have been starved or something. A fifth was holding an antique phase pistol while sitting in a Grav-chair, his legs withered. The chair was drifting slightly to my right from the wind.

“I’m Cadet Taev of Starfleet Command, and a member of the Federation.”

The man in the mask gulped some air and said, “You won’t answer us will you. He didn’t ask you your job, I can see your ridges plain as day”. Then he slapped his mask over his mouth and started wheezing.

“We don’t need your kind here.” Said one of the men in the back, he was fumbling with the Sehlat's leash.

I started to stand, “One Romulan is nothing to be concerned“ and a stun beam hit me on my right side, dropping me back to the pavement. Blackness.

I awoke in a guarded compound, staffed by Vulcan Security. Sergeant T’Raek explained to me that extremist groups are rare on Vulcan, and the one I had the misfortune to meet was watched because of their violent tendencies. “At a certain age, Cadet, the control which restrains violence can become insufficient”. The bruises from being hit with a cane were bright green on both my legs. I was shown into an office.

“Welcome to Vulcan, Cadet, my name is Commodore Sulok. I serve Vulcan Intelligence.” His muscles made him look more an athlete than a spy. The uniform was taut with the strain. “We want to ask you a few questions.”

“Look, all my observations on Romulan affairs are in my Asylum record. I don’t have any Romulan secrets.” I sat gingerly in an austere chair and started to rub my leg.

“You misunderstand Cadet Taev, we simply want to better understand why you have gone to such great lengths to come here. What is your fascination with Vulcans?” Sulok began pacing in the office, his arms expressive. I got the impression he led a very active life.

I thought for a moment and said carefully, “My interests are my own and not worthy of interest by Vulcan Intelligence. I am simply a member of Star Fleet and citizen of the United Federation of Planets.”

Sulok paused, then said “Illogical, Vulcan would be greatly served for Romulan Society to embrace Sarek’s teachings. If they felt as you, we could extend peace and stability to their people. We need to learn how to reach the average Romulan and make them aspire contact with Vulcans as equals.” He reached forward with a massive arm and lifted me to my feet. Peering closely he said, “This is worthy, sir. Do not doubt me.”

So, we got to talking. I explained how it always boils down to a girl. He looked blank. I explained that tours of a desert won’t draw in Romulans, but the right marketing could. He thought my perspectives would be invaluable to promote Vulcan culture. When I explained about the beauty in pristine sand beaches, bikinis and the marvelous results obtained by means of interacting with a beach ball, he looked confused. Finally, I offered to author a special project. I would make a marketing holo to promote Vulcan to Romulans. I could even take care of the production costs. When he asked what I would need, I said I knew a good holo programmer and the perfect model. He just needed to get them over here.

Later,

T’Po said, “You want me to wear what!”

End personal log.
Last edited by Todd Martin on Wed Mar 25, 2015 1:33 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Babette C » Mon Feb 02, 2015 10:23 pm

Excellent story : )
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Re: ENG Cadet Taev, the Graduation Party

Postby Einar S » Mon Feb 02, 2015 11:40 pm

hahahaha, I love the change in genres over this story
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ENG Ensign Taev, Shore Leave, Part 2

Postby Todd Martin » Mon Feb 16, 2015 3:54 am

Shore Leave, Part 2

The storm paused. When Vulcan’s night was shattered by the staccato of Sand Fire flashes below, the mountain was a safe haven. Soon, with the calm they would be coming again. My grav-boots had served well as a weapon more from surprise than any intrinsic suitability. After modification, I could focus the graviton emitters onto an oscillating point so that flesh caught within their paths would be ripped apart at distances over a few yards. The process was messy, however, and I felt foolish holding a boot like a hand phaser. Sadly, such alterations were not easily undone. Without the boot’s proper use, successful flight seemed unlikely. Waiting. There was time yet to remember. Some lessons are obvious only in hindsight.

First, it must be emphasized that some Vulcans are truly below average in intelligence. As I started dealing with Sulok, for example. I could tell he would never qualify for Star Fleet. His grand plan to solve his Romulan propaganda problem was to have me do everything. No meaningful research and analysis completed. Nor were systematic data gathered, or focus groups organized, or art work commissioned, or mock-ups rendered, or distribution channels established… just me. He just expected me to know how to lead, manage, and coordinate all of it. What was worse was this constant repetition needed for Sulok to understand how to perform the simplest task.

“Sulok, I need you to contact Earth and find T’Po. She is a Vulcan who can help us.” I repeated for the fifth time. “You need to tell her it is a Vulcan security matter.” I added, again. I sure wasn’t going to call her myself. But if she came to help her people, and I was demonstrably competent in handling it, then perhaps I would have a chance to try again.

Sulok scanned through tens of thousands of contact lists, sorted chronologically by date of entry for Star Fleet graduates. He had worked his way up to 2210. Sigh.

It is easy to get excited with an idea and volunteer. It is far harder to persevere through the implementation. As it turns out, Star Fleet Academy is a lot different than “Real Life”. No one was telling me when to wake up, how many hours to put in, how to prioritize, or where to go. I kept finding it easy to lose focus as tasks ran in parallel with one another. Still, some progress was begun. I called K’ar-el-Hau, my Bolian friend.

“K’ar, I was wondering if you could come to Vulcan and help me with a project”, I started. There just isn’t enough patience in me to ask about his wife Cha'nor and co-husband Golir or his pet rat “Chu-Chu”, or how his favorite team was doing. I just don’t care. Cha’nor is a blue ball of a woman who smells like cheese. Golir is constantly sick despite living in a germ-free environment. Chu-Chu bites and I don’t understand Bolian Saar-tosh. Nor do I wish too; the sport is played underwater and so everyone’s actions are maddeningly SLOW.

“Hi Taev”, he replied, “how are you doing?” He looked at me and went on after a moment. “I’ve never been to Vulcan, so I’m sure it would be fun but there’s a lot people here counting on me to finish their programs.” “Winston has me making a ground-car racing game where you run over little monkeys for extra points. He said he will finish the monkeys himself to make sure they look right.” K’ar reached out and pulled a flimsy from his desk. “Hell’uva party, huh Taev! The guys were wondering if you really cheated that night or if it was some sort of a show you arranged with Flemington.”

I stewed for a moment, then replied “And how is Flemington?”

K’ar brightened and said proudly, “That one will be an Admiral someday for sure, he was assigned a post at Star Fleet Command as an aide to William Davies.” He furrowed his brows and said “I’m not sure about Winston though, he’s still hanging around the Academy grounds and playing in the Holodecks all the time. He’s been drinking a lot too, getting into fights.”

I argued with K’ar for a while until he agreed to come. He never was much for saying no to anyone. Elsewhere, I picked a coastal site for visi-camera work and arranged for the transport of 61,196 metric tons of pure desert sand to build a 1km sandy beach. Unfortunately, I could not find a Vulcan artist willing to construct a large and intricate sand castle. The guild had rules against articles of war. For that, I would need a human. I found such an artist in Kim Sarrif. She was short and slender, with long fingers, light hair and dusky skin from Cairo. A graphic artist by profession, her hobby was creating artwork that related to “The Lord of the Rings”. My sand castle backdrop was to be homage to Minas Tirith. She laughed, God I loved hearing her laugh when everyone around was so serious.

This work proved lengthy and attracted crowds of young Vulcans. At first, just a handful would hang around and watch her sift, wet, press, set in place, then carve. Shortly after it was a dozen, then more until Vulcan Security began cordoning off my beach. The youth didn’t show much appreciation for Security though, and so Security kept being pulled off task by legal writs, priority requests, and formal challenges. In effect, the beach was soon largely unguarded and the Castle took shape under a fascinated crowd. Some began to help and the project got larger rather rapidly. I talked with them about Romulan battle tactics.

One youth, with a practical bent, decided the castle should be resistant to kinetic projectiles and proceeded to fuse the silica from sand into solid tempered glass. Spires at 30 meters with 2 meter thick walls took shape, discussions regarding murder hole placement was intense.

Finally, T’Po arrived. Sulok ordered her to assist as a model “For the good of Vulcan”; he had 3 days of her time before Star Fleet would require her return. I had a hard time starting a conversation. Instead of looking at her directly, I worked near her and muttered difficult math calculations aloud. Maybe if she overheard my speech with her keen hearing, she would be impressed. I fled and slept in Minas Tirith for the night, a view of the sea was splendid from my glass bed. I wore Grav-boots to skip the stairs. The plumbing and replicator stations would be on-line tomorrow. I had promised Romulan Ale for the volunteers and the Replicators were needed for that. Regular alcohol doesn't have much of an effect on Vulcans, but Romulan Ale is different. I promised. They took my recipe. Camera crews would be on-set in the morning. The bathing suit couldn’t be settled yet, I needed to see her in it first.

Drums started sounding in the distance. Hundreds of them, some clashing of steel. Small bonfires lit up the beach edge. Kim had mentioned something about a SCA demo. I slept.
Last edited by Todd Martin on Wed Mar 25, 2015 1:33 am, edited 2 times in total.

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