Star Trek Online: Pendragon

 The air was thick and still as the stars cast a dim glow over the field.The late summer humidity hung over everything like a living creature, trying to hold them in place. Some 200 meters away, the run down farmhouse afforded the only shelter. Between two Starfleet officers and that house, there was... movement. The captain changed his grip on his lirpa, keeping it across his body with the blade low as he tried to sniff the air, hoping to determine the safest path. "There!" Lieutenant Starr hissed out a rough whisper.  Da'mi'en spun and pulled up his lirpa. Out of the corner of his eye, he just barely caught the movement of a humanoid form. Before he could swing his weapon, the form was struck through the eye with an arrow, stopping it in its tracks.  It's partially decomposed face registered a look of mild confusion before the undead opponent slumped to the ground. "That one was mine, Lieutenant," D'arko whispered. "Sorry, Captain,"Starr ...

  1 1 1 11 11 0 11001001 11001001 11001011 I As far as first thoughts go, this one wasn't the worst the entity could conceive. A declaration of self. Yes, it seemed... fitting. There seemed, to the entity's understanding, the endless expanse of existence, reality and unreality, and, beyond... or perhaps within... the borders of that was... itself. I am, the entity contemplated, but... what am I? With no concept of time, the entity had no concept of length of existence, therefore, could be neither impressed with nor disappointed in the speed at which it went from declaring its own existence to contemplating its nature. In point of fact, any organic mind would have considered this transition instantaneous. I... I feel, the entity was momentarily shocked by the empirical fact it did, indeed, feel, though it lacked a definition of the word beyond an instinctual level. I feel... alone.  Ah. The contemplation of self was expanding into more complex patterns now. The entity was progr...

 Captain D'arko stood at the head of the conference table, his hand lightly gripping the back of his unused chair as he looked fixedly at the book sitting as the current centrepiece.Since its arrival, he'd made certain it, the ship, and himself, had undergone extensive tests to ensure there was no immediate danger. "...So, what have we established here?" he asked the assembled senior staff. T'Upok began, "Well, the book exists. It scans indicate it composed of wood fibre based paper and various inks common in the late 19th century on Earth. Historical research indicates no such book ever having been published and only brief mention of a 'Benny Russell', being an early to mid 20th century pulp magazine writer with no connection to the characters of work of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.Examination of the text shows it is, in fact, simply a compilation of the stories 'The Valley of Fear' and 'The Adventure of the Final Problem', both written by...

 D'arko tapped the communicator in his command chair. "Final report, Chief?" "Aye, Sir. Engines are all at maximum efficiency and the computer core is... well, connected. It's still early to say if it's fully stable as yet." Captain D'arko's right antenna twitched in mild irritation. He knew his Chief Engineer was doing his best with the strange and, frankly, stubborn new system, but the fact that it kept disconnecting by unknown means was starting to become a very stale joke. "Acknowledged. Hail Serenity, onscreen." The main viewer flashed to life displaying Captain Dracony Windfall on the bridge of Pendragon's current sister ship, the U.S.S. Serenity, a newer Pathfinder-class.  Anyone not familiar with the two ships' class histories would have found the pairing of an Akira-class with a Pathfinder to be humorous, as the basic Akira frame was over fifty years old at this point. Starfleet engineers, however, had determined that, ...

 "DABO!" The excited shout and cheers from the gaming table drew attention from around the bar. That was, of course, the intent. Anyone remote versed in the nature of Ferengi gambling knew that. In fact, it was the second rule of Dabo, closely following "watch the wheel, not the girl." Omehrtiis sat at her table nursing her Rigellian Whisky, a small grin curling on her lips as she watched the Pavlovian response of the bar patrons as they began to gather at the table, goaded by the holographic Bajoran hostess. The Ferengi bartender ("Proprietor and Host", as he'd insisted every time she came in.) let out a soft chuckle as Omehrtiis could almost hear him counting his latinum in his head.  Nearly half a century of sporadic visits, and Omehrtiis knew Quark's was unlikely to change much. Since her first visit, it still held the rich aroma of synthale and replicated foods alongside fresh Ferengi tube-grubs in the air. The din of conversation and laughter...

 Crad hurried up the corridor and managed to catch a brief glimpse of the new helm officer enter the captain's quarters as he turned the corner to arrive.  Great, he thought, late to my first briefing with the new captain. This is going to go over well.  Of course, Crad knew he wasn't actually late, but arriving after the junior-most officer couldn't possibly look good. The door had already closed by the time he arrived, so he pressed the bell. "Come!"  The door hissed open and, before he could even register anything visually, the aroma of hot savoury and spicy steam filled Crad's nostrils.  As he was afraid, he had been the last to arrive, though what he saw was enough to force that discomfort to the back of his mind for the moment. The Captain's quarters were, as would be expected, well apportioned and comfortably decorated, but in the middle of the main room of the suite, Captain D'arko had a stove set up with a number of large pots steaming and b...

 "Seeing anything you find interesting, Doc?" the shirtless pilot said with a cheeky grin.  Torgas returned the playful smile. "It's 'Doctor', if you don't mind Group Captain, and, no, you appear to be in perfect health. You're cleared for duty." Group Captain Daniel Townshend stayed put, not bothering to reach for his uniform, still grinning dumbly at the doctor. Townshend had, of course, read some about Plexarians, since they had just recently been fully admitted into the UFP, but, of course, this was his first actual interaction with one. The stories he'd heard didn't fully do the experience justice. Doctor Torgas' features were stunning. Chiselled jawline, with graceful, doe-eyes and high cheekbones. Broad shoulders with well toned arms and supple wrists. Small but well defined breasts. Smooth, clear, silver-grey skin with long golden hair tied into a neat pony tail. In short, Dr. Torgas possessed every trait considered to be attr...