Personal Log, Ansha Bast Wind-People

[jackascii]

(( IF YOU READ THIS IT IS CONSIDERED OOC KNOWLEDGE ))

98968.6
IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR
Yay, Psyche Evals, Joy To the World, spin the Dreidel, Qapla’ it’s fishing time, etc…

Summary

There’s a litany of 19th, 20th, and 21st century Earth songs about the Western Traditional Holidays that center around Earth’s Winter Solstice. Some are of a religious nature, some are just marketing tools, and some… sheesh. I am beginning to hate them all, and while it’s a sublime experience (I’ll explain that and the Wind People philosophy of life later) that’s just not a good attitude to have. Looking back, being security on a small escort class starship with 90 souls as crew was not a good preparation for the girding of mental loins necessary for the Holidays at a Space Station that is the nexus of travel in its region. I have had to stun 3 people already and it’s only Tuesday.

I do not sleep and I do not require it. I do require ‘me-time’ and recuperation in my cabin which is essentially my personal terrarium, but that is it for rest. That said I have a bad habit of letting the others go early and working doubles and triples. I’ve got to stop doing that. Getting frazzled is a sublime experience indeed but not one I enjoy.

Good for me experiencing this bipedal thing and choosing to be a woman and Starfleet officer in the modern universe. I’ve learned and experienced regret, embarrassment, shame, and the notion that there are some experiences that suck.

For future generations that may look upon this journal and be awe-struck by the pearls of wisdom, let me explain the desire for experiences that my species has.

First, I am a fungal colony. A sentient fungal colony, that is currently clinging to a now 20 year old, and quite rickety skeletal structure that was made for me when I was 5. It is short, based on a human 9 year old, and made of materials lying around. Enough on that. I could with a few years of adaptation and the right structure, be anything. I could be a targ, a spider, a Gorn, whatever. I was harvested as mycelium and grown to full fruit on a survey ship, surrounded by several bipeds, so I tried to emulate them.

We are the Wind People from the Grove of the Sweet Wood. We don’t stay in one place. We travel. Our colonies form ligatures around bones and sticks, figure out how to walk and communicate so that we can emulate others. Why do we do this? Because we want to know what it is like to be them. We want to experience life as that creature. We crave the “Sublime Experience.” We then come back to the collective and share those experiences as well as receive new ones from others.

What’s that 20th century Earth cartoon? Jungle Book, has a song “I want to be like you.” Yeah that’s us, except we aren’t apes, we’re fungus.

And you may ask, what is the sublime experience? It is the new experience. A new sensation. A fresh perspective. A new lesson taught. A rich new set of emotions felt. All of this. Neither good or bad, enjoyable or horrid, there is simply the sublime experience.

I have the collective knowledge of generations of Wind People up to my harvesting, at which time I was taken away, and disconnected from the collective, but not like the Borg, fyi. I’m not running around saying “resistance is futile” while turning people into fungus. I can go back and share my experiences, that is if I can ever find the planet. All the sights, smells, tastes, feelings, emotions, memories, friends, enemies, celebrations, disappointments… ALL OF IT.

The time Nashal zh’Bast said my name was Ansha, and that I was her zhi (daughter).
My first ‘I love you, Ansha’ from my Zhavey (mother).
The time Nashal was killed
The torturous experiments by Starfleet researchers that were finally stopped by Dr Singh.
Dr Singh and his wonderful family that made me one of their own in Punjabi on Earth
My first kiss with Sheenalla back at the boarding school in Mumbai.
My first ‘I love you, Ansha’ from Sheenalla, said in a completely different way than I had heard it before from my zhavey.
Getting caught with Sheenalla behind the cricket field house.
My acceptance into the Starfleet Academy
Finding our instructor commander dead while on my training cruise.
The embarrassing rumors and shame they caused.
Getting stood up because my date said he was “allergic to mold.” … I’m closer to the Eauscomycetes-like Morchella Tuber family than I am mold. I’m a bloody truffle for god’s sakes! And he was in the Science branch. Should know mycology. ANYWAY
Getting my first assignment, the USS Huntsville
The first successful rescue
The first unsuccessful rescue
Being called ‘my little green problem solver’ by the CO
Taking another being’s life in the line of duty

All these are Sublime Experiences.

You see, the Wind People, were low to no tech. I am the first in collective history to be harvested and to leave the planet. Since then I have experienced and accumulated a millenia’s worth of knowledge comparatively and I am compelled to share it (not all of it, not the classified stuff… gotta get with the telepaths on that) though I would need to argue my case against the Prime Directive.

Nonetheless… here I am. I walk, I talk, I laugh at stupid jokes, I fall in love, I get heartbroken, I cry ugly, and I dance like no one is watching. I experience all that I can, and I am a fungal colony clinging precariously to a rickety, undersized, carbon fiber skeleton.

With the exception of the fungal part or perhaps the carbon fiber part, I guess that defines us all.

So now here I am in my room with a full day off after my psyche eval, thinking Commander Sedai is right, I NEED TO GET OUT AND DO SOMETHING ELSE. Yeah, going to dance again. There’s a club. There’s a dance floor. NO ONE USES IT? Time to get that party started.

Be right back

Back in my room, knees acting up, met a new person, Lieutenant Naixon? Smartass… I like her. I think. Also, I talked to Capt Drake Tungsten. He so nice. Handsome to boot… OK be professional, girl. Anyway, the Dragon THE FREAKIN DRAGON! has openings, and as much as I hate to leave Blake and Loxton short (DID THAT WHEN I ARRIVED HAHAHAHAHA ), I have to do this. Captain Tungsten was… he likes me. What I can bring in. I was so embarrassed. I’m sure I sounded like an idiot. BUT THE USS DRAGON IS A BEAST OF A SHIP. The firepower that thing has.

He said, “I saw you had tactical experience.” I could have spored and died right there.

Did I mention we are talking one of the most badass Lexington Class Dreadnaughts, which is already a badass class of ship? Cadets dream of that duty assignment.

I’m sitting here thinking I’ll take the (S)Whitworth if I they offered that stinky crate, or back to the Huntsville which was not a bad Soyuz class, BUT THE FREAKING DRAGON! THE CO OF THE DRAGON IS RECRUITING MY GREEN BUTT FOR HIS BRIDGE?!?!?!?

Ok, chiquita-verde, get it together, girl. I can hear those words as my Academy roommate Felina said them, in her Puerto Rican Spanish colored English.

I should have never changed from Tactical to Security. That was stupid. I should have ignored all those people. The rumors. I one hundred percent deserved to be training cruise captain, I did earn it. I worked hard for everything I did. Nothing was handed to me. I should have listened to Felina then too, and stood my ground. Anyway, I’m going back. One day I will command a ship. That was my dream then, and as it is now. I proved I can do it with that convoy on the bridge of the Atlantis, so now it’s time to start that journey for real.

Now I imagine she will say “Do it, girlfriend. Show 'em what the jolly green giant is capable of.”

First, I have to get rid of this damn kid’s skeleton and get something more adult looking and stronger. That’ll be a month of recovery possibly as I reform and cling to the new one. I can’t see doing that until after the Holidays because we are so busy and short-handed in security since the Terran breakout incident (may the dead rest, their watch is done).

I want to be taller, but not too tall as it’s still handy to be short for EVAs and boarding parties. I want to have a longer neck for a deeper voice . I want a larger chest cavity so my air bellows will be able to make me speak louder. I want to have a more adult looking face. I want to keep the rest of these dangerous curves though, ‘cuz I got it goin’ on, as Felina would say. I gotta call her and see how she is doing. I miss her. She was good for my self-esteem

So, self-image issues… another bipedal thing and a sublime experience. Another first for the Jolly Green Giant. Hahaha. You know, maybe Lieutenant Naixon was right when she said " wear all those insecurities like armor and you’ll be invincible." I pretty sure that was sarcasm, at least that’s how I’ll take it.

Anyway, gotta call Felina and check in my (not-really) homegirl, then Dr Singh about how we should do this skeleton exchange. Darnit, Vaana is going to be upset I won’t be home for Vaisakhi but if I transfer I don’t want to take leave and be behind my bridge watch qualifications. She will understand.

the future calls,
Wind People out.

[jackascii]

(( OOC KNOWLEDGE ))
Stardate: 98984.9
New Packaging, Same Great Taste!

Summary

I finally getting that post-pubescent growth-spurt like all my school friends got, albeit by brute force, but I am getting it.

What changes, what stays? It’s the decision we all have a chance to make in a way. Some changes happen by choice, some happen by way of fate. Dr Singh was fond of telling me that a house torn down is a chance for a new improved house. It is a chance to rebuild. Do not lament what once was, rejoice in the opportunity to build anew. Rejoice in the divine inspiration that will come from the choices that we will make while rebuilding.

In a few days I’m going to be a boneless blob of fungal flesh floating in a nutrient tank as my old skeleton is removed and my new skeleton is introduced. I will be taller (roughly 1.6 meters) but not to much taller, and my face will appear more adult. I’ll have a deeper voice as I’ll have a long neck and voice box, and a larger rib cage for my air bellows to operate in. I’ll have new, better eyeball lenses. I’ll have new synthetic hair (WHAT COLOR??? I JUST DO NOT KNOW). And… I will still be green because there’s not much I can do about that without impacting my ability to breath and because… well, that is me. I am keeping the antennae because they actually do have a function and because… that is also me.

Do you know what else stays? The true me. The inside me. The morals, the ethics, the desires, the ideals, the attitudes, the skills, the love, the hate… all that is truly me stays. I am keeping that like it is gold pressed latnum and I am the stingiest mizer in the galaxy.

I am scared. Not for the pain, which I will not feel. I will be awake through all of it. I am in no danger of dying as long as the team doing this are cautious as to what chemicals they use. But, I am scared that people will not like what they see. I am scared it will not work. I am scared I will not like it and have regrets. I am like many, scared of change. I truly novel sublime experience, as will this whole process.

Still, what if I look in the mirror 14 days from now and do not like what I see. Will I recognize myself. Will you still love me? … or well at least like me? OKAY Tolerate me? I will settle for tolerate.

Dr Singh and his wife, Veema, have said time and time again, that even though my skeleton is fabricated, that it was God’s will that inspired it’s creation and therefore my looks are Divine. I should not change. I countered with, then it was therefore God’s will and inspiration that this skeleton be temporary and would be replaced with an adult as is yours by growth. They did side with me, begrudgingly, on the condition that I call them first thing once I am healed and abel so that they can see the grown up me. I love them. I beginning to see this deity they worship as good one for placing me in their care.

XOXO
Ansha

[jackascii]

IN TANK FLOATING

S TESTT TSST+++
SD
G

TEST AH GOT IT.
CANT TYYPE WELLS WTH TENDDRRSIL NO BONS.
NEED EYEABBBBLSLLL TO

AT LEST I CAN HEAR. BACK TO TACTICALL GUIADES MUST STUDY FOR NEW JOB!!!

BLOBANSHA

[jackascii]

Stardate 98998.4

Hello from the tank.

OOC Knowledge

Seems a shame to get rid of my handy dandy tentacle now that I have gotten the hang of it, but it might spook the other humanoids. I don’t know, maybe if I can hide it… OR what if I had a tail? eh… I will think on it.

Today’s literary masterpiece is Tactical Console Operation, which I am taking a break from because for one thing, the only thing I can get is a general operator’s guide for the old mark five that were on the excelsiors. I couldn’t get anything on the Lexington class because it’s restricted and need to know, which I do not have until I transfer. I mean, I imagine it is in the ballpark. Nonetheless, I think I will use my handy dandy tentacle to watch a 2D movie or something.

The day before last was horrible. Some cleaning routine went off and started putting cleaning fluid in the tank from what I gather. I did not feel pain from anything else done so far but that was truly painful. There are three things that I find painful, and toxins are one of them. I am so very thankful of Jodi and her staff.

Yesterday was wonderful. Made so much progress. I was still pretty worn out from the day before but doing well enough. I have almost wrapped myself around the new skeleton. Then I will get my air bellows in place, sort out my various, somewhat decorative lady parts, get the facial features set up, and I guess after that it’s out of the tank and testing everything.

I need to eat
I need to defecate
I need to speak
I need to see (after eyeballs are installed)
I need to stand, walk, sit, run, pickup, grasp, etc… all the motions

Today is hopefully going to be a good day. I’m ready to be done with this.

[jackascii]

Personal Log, Stardate 100348.7

I wanna walk like you, talk like you…

OOC Knowledge

I have been horrible at this logging thing. I have been distracted with life I guess, between my position as Chief Tactical Officer on board the USS Dragon and getting ready for my promotion boards things have been really hopping, and by the time I settle in for down time, I just want to sit around doing nothing.

There is nothing wrong with doing nothing. Even I, the always growing fungal colony, need time to ruminate on the day’s events. Almost everyone does need that. I don’t sleep but it is still important to relax.

Still, I should start personal logging again for many reasons. First of all this becomes important the higher rank one achieves in Starfleet. A captain’s log is an official record and the more information a ship’s commander puts into a log the better. Second, ever since that whole rediscovery of the Wind People Collective on Risa, and my connection to it was broadcast UFP wide, I get asked questions about my life.

A lot of questions…

… from strangers…

… in the strangest places…

… about some really weird shit.

“You talk funny for an Orion.”

“Are you an Orion midget?”

“If you breathe through your skin, why do you have a nose?”

“If you breed asexually, why do you have tits?”

It goes on.

SO… I figured one day I will write my memoirs and explain it all one day. Maybe way in the future so as not to embarrass my Earth mama and papa. Like when I’m an Admiral or something.

Anyway, this collection of my sublime experiences in my personal log is not going to be in order. It will be as I feel motivated to talk about them. Right now this log is for me and me alone, unless I perish, then perhaps my Earth family will get first crack at it.

By the way, to answer the above questions, I have both a nose and breasts because I want to blend in with those I am around. We Wind People liked to emulate those around us to better experience what they experience. I have mentioned this before but we crave the sublime experience. We want to feel, smell, taste, see, and hear all that you do. We want to be like you. To that end we try to be like you in shape so that you can relate to us in the same manner as you would others of your kind.

Who is ‘you’ in that statement? It is anyone.

I currently look like a shorter, green, version of my Earth family who hail from Punjab, a region on Earth on the Indian Subcontinent. I speak with an accent similar to their accent. I celebrate their holidays. I dance their dances. I sing their songs. I sort of eat their foods (as much as is possible given my differing dietary requirements). I kind of, almost, sort of took on their religious beliefs, which is Sikhism. I don’t know. I will get into that later on. There is a lot to unpack.

When I was first discovered floating frozen in a lifepod on Stardate 47634.44, I looked and talked like a very young Andorian, with the obvious exception of being green. This is because my first mother was Andorian and most of the crew of the Slygo Surveyor where I was grown from mycelium were Andorian.

I kept the antennae for a long time, but recently got rid of them as 1) few of the Andorian’s I meet nowadays communicate with their antennae in mixed company and 2) they kept getting ripped off when I was in a jefferies tube fixing stuff.

I mean, it is not so bad now. I get mistaken for an Orion rather than a hybrid Orion-Andorian which raises even more questions. Generally, if someone’s sense of smell is not too sensitive they would not know any better.

I did get a new skeleton when I went home for Hola Mohalla this Spring! I have, in the last two years, grown from 1.21m to 1.57m to 1.72m. That is quite an artificially spawned growth spurt. Earth Papa gave me my new skeleton, because when I got my last upgrade a year ago I did not want to be too much taller, I just wanted to not be confused for a child all the damn time. The problem was that I still had trouble reaching things and on some occasions was still treated as a teenager. The new skeleton has a stronger neck joint so no more accidental, mid-mission decapitations which I will tell you is hella inconvenient, and my feet can finally touch the ground when I sit in chairs!

To that end, I have a nose and breasts because as the song from the classical animated movie “Jungle Book” goes, “I wanna be like you.” Honestly, would anyone be able to relate to me if I took my natural state of existence which is an undulating, green blob? Maybe but I would not get any propositions at nightclubs if I was an undulating , green blob. I supposed if someone has an undulating, green blob fetish I might, but… let’s not go there. Plus I would not be able to dance as effectively.

Nope. I am going to continue rockin’ this bod’ for now.

I think I shall end this log here.

[jackascii]

Personal Log: Stardate 100360.5

ya daft truffle

OOC Knowledge

I have been getting my ass kicked on this one single simulation. It is not a tactical simulation either. It is quelling an onboard riot/mutiny. Granted this sort of thing hasn’t happened in many years in Starfleet, but it is important to know how to handle this correctly.

I have read the manuals. Followed code and protocol to the letter and yet I still can’t get it right. My marks end up in the low 60 percentile which is far from passing for this module, and I cannot finish my promotion board submission without it. Why can’t I get this one right?

I decided to back away from it for a couple of days and see if a mental reset would bring me a fresh insight. Time to play some cricket.

Anyone who knows me knows my love of cricket. I played in grade school in India and was a slow bowler or I played short, mid-wicket, or cover. Given my short stature (I was 1.21m at the time with the same skeleton I had been given earlier in my life) and short legs, I really didn’t have decent speed. I was never very good at batting which requires running, and stuff, but I loved playing.

Fortunately for me, there are a wonderful selection of cricket test sims available on the holo-deck that will scale to my abilities allowing me to play without too much frustration. There are a few crewmates that play but not as many that play sports like baseball, softball, basketball, football, golf, irazo, t’shink, etc… Nonetheless the sims will fill out the 11 player field depending on the number of living participants.

None of those who play cricket have been available so I decided to see what other options I had to get my game on. With my increased height, the consequent improvement to my run speed, and in fact my PT times have demonstrated as such so I decided to try the ultimate and very immersive “International Test - realistic mode”

It comes with warnings and disclaimers and I was not ready for the level of realism in this game. Holy moly…

Not only does each player have a fully dressed AI, but the spectators do as well. It gets better, you do not as a living participant choose your position. There is a team captain that looks over your record from your previous simulation activity and assigns you a position they feel is best suited for the team.

W. G. Grace would be pleased.

I had been fielding given my new found speed and height and had been doing quite well with the deeper positions. In this sim, things got serious though. The captain needed a slow bowler for a SouthPaw (left-handed batter) and… get this… The captain, known as Richard “Dicky” Phillips, also had access to my primary school records and knew I was ambidextrous and a slow-bowler back in school.

There I was, on the pitch, pads on, no helmet as I usually trust in the simulation safeguards, and ready to roll. Team Captain Phillips was a wee upset that I wasn’t wearing a helmet but I assured him I would be fine, not wanting to reveal this a simulation and break the wonderful immersion. He shrugged and said “Suit yourself, Wind-People, but if your bloody face gets mashed it won’t be on me.”

Can you see where this is going? It is called “Foreshadowing”

Alright, time to bowl. I run up to the popping crease (the line I must stay behind on the pitch), decide my throw, and let her rip! The batter misses. The throw is in, but I just missed the wicket. The wicket-keeper caught the ball fortunately and I prepared to bowl again.

I do a three step runup, throw, and BAM!

When I sat up from being planted on my back by the force of the ball hitting my face, I could not see out of one eye and everyone was in a state of shock except me, who was really more perturbed than anything. It happened very fast, but the batter hit the ball and drove it straight into my face which is not very good at fielding.

Now I would suspect that this simulation’s AI controls were trying to teach me a lesson about wearing the appropriate equipment but there are numerous safeguards to prevent sims from seeking retribution in that manner. No, even reviewing the event logs, demonstrated that this was a lucky, unfortunate shot that landed perfectly in my mug.

I tried to stand up, but numerous hands of both teammates and opponents alike held me back and demanded I await the medical team and stretcher now coming onto the field. I could tell these AI sims were reacting as real flesh and blood players would. They really thought I should be dead, and were very upset. The batter was most upset, even with me telling him it was my own stupid fault for trusting the safeguards, a phrase he did not understand as he was not aware he was a simulation. I felt so sorry for him.

The horror that those unfortunate AI players saw was a fellow player with half her face torn apart, green ooze pouring out like blood, and an eyeball missing from a damaged socket. The spectators would see the same, and the announcer was even sort of chiding me passive-aggressively about my lack of appropriate kit by telling the kids that situations like this were the reason why all should wear helmets while on the pitch.

I was carried off the field with a towel over my head covering my horrific wound with the opposing batter holding my hand and begging me to hang in there and not to die. I mean, I wasn’t going to die, I wasn’t even close. This sim was programmed in a way so that I would appear to all as a human, and they were not aware of other species so to them my Wind People resistance to damage that would cripple or kill anyone else was meaningless. This was extremely immersive, as it was advertised.

Reaching our team’s pavilion, the batter let my hand go with a reassuring squeeze, then into the field house I went. Just as I was about to tell the medical team not to prep an IV, everything froze, except for the team captain, Dicky.

“Really, I will be… fine,” I said, suddenly confused by the sim freezing.

“I know, Leftenant,” Dicky said in his ANZAC brogue, “I know, you’re a walkin’, talkin’ fungal colony (wh)o’s had ‘er bloody ‘ead ripped clean off with only minor impact to yer bloody position on the bridge. I know damn well you ain’t ‘uman.”

“Oh, and do you also know this is a simulation then, Dicky?” I inquired carefully.

“Of course I do,” he replied. “I bloody well know what I am. I’m the safeguard. I did not do my job well enough by MAKING YOU put on appropriate safety gear. From now on I will. Next time, leftenant, you WILL wear a bloody ‘elmet. ”

“Oh…I…” I was stunned. I have never been in a simulation this realistic to the point where I was getting a down-dressing from an AI. I mean, even though the program was frozen, it was still bloody immersive.

“I am so sorry, Dicky. I really am. I just thought…” I stammered, apologizing to an AI.

“… that safeguards would prevent you from getting ‘it in the face? Ya read the bloody description when you started this, Leftenant?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, ashamed of myself for ruining all these AI players’ test. Did I mention this was immersive?

“Now, I’ve filed the appropriate incident report with Commander LaSalle, contacted medical, and they are gonna to escort ya ta the sickbay, and you will cooperate with them. Roight?”

“Yes, sir,” I again replied, feeling like I was a child guilty of some major playground infraction.

“Dicky,” I said sitting up and putting the flap of face tissue back in place, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I ruined the game for everyone today. I suppose this means… I am off the team?”

“Bloody ‘ell no, girl,” he replied. “I still needs me a slow bowler. Next time, ‘owever, AFTER you recover, you WILL wear a bloody ‘elmet, ya daft truffle. I mean, I would not let you die or notthin’. I know what anyone (wh)o comes in ‘ere can take, but there’s only so far I can push it for the sake of immersion. I’ll shut this down now, we’ll pick ya up where we left off when start it up again… and… I’ll rollback everyone’s memories ‘ere. Don’t want everyone to be traumatized when you get back.”

The doors to the fourth wall that is the USS Dragon’s passageway opened.

“Medical’s ‘ere, so off with ya, mate,” Dicky said with a smile and a friendly grasp of my shoulder. “Go get ‘ealed up, alroight?

Medical came, helped me upright, and escorted me to the door. Before I could say “thank you” or “goodbye,” the simulation was over.

This got me thinking about the other simulation. The command one that involves a crew riot. There are the usual safeguards to keep me from getting hurt there, but there is one safeguard that is not intrinsic to the program that I have not been taking into account. That safeguard is me. I’m like Dicky Phillips. I’m the team captain. I safeguard the crew.

You see, there are two sides to a response to any situation: reactive and proactive, namely. When you act reactively, you rely more on training, codes of conduct, and instinct to respond to an already developing situation. When you act proactively, you are still using training and codes of conduct, but now we add empathy, contemplation, and our moral compass to guide us into perceiving a situation developing and responding in an appropriate manner.

This time, rather than waiting for the alarms to sound, the situation to unfold, and all hell to break loose before rallying my loyal officers, securing the bridge with my command codes, sending out a security detail, etc… I put my first officer in charge, went down to the mess decks and sat down with my crew, who are robustly programmed AI just like the immersive cricket test program. I walked around asking them how they were doing.

AND THAT was when I found the root of the problem. The food replicators were putting out some of the nastiest, foulest, barely edible grub this side of a Klingon penal colony. Granted this is a scenario that was not of my making as part of the scenario narrative, but expectations and hopes were that my arrival as the new commander on this ship would mean an improvement in this situation. It did not because I did not take this seriously enough. I just saw it as humourous fluff to aid in realism and not a part of the narrative. I thought these were artificially intelligent characters. Who cares, right?

Like Dicky, I realized I made a mistake here. It was on the change of command reports, in feedback from the crew themselves, and I, a being that survives off of wood pulp, etc…, has very little in discriminating tastes, and does not inherently see a difference between a bad thing or a good thing right out of the gate, did not take into account how poor tasting food would affect the morale my poor crew…, my poor, disgruntled, artificially intelligent crew. I failed them as the safeguard that they needed me to be.

I stood up on a table in the packed mess hall, and asked for their attention. I then apologized for my lack of attention to this problem. I then vowed to fix it, which, right in front of them, I followed through by contacting my first officer to have her put a message into Starfleet, declaring the ship not mission capable. I then, still in front of all, ordered a change of course to the nearest Starfleet approved repair facility for emergency repairs to our food replicators, as well as the release of emergency rations until all could be corrected.

With that, I received a hearty “three cheers” from this holographic crew and a passing grade with a “Crisis Averted” and a 92 percentile.

I am just a bit peeved at the 92 percentile. I was rated down for declaring the ship not mission capable, but in my mind, I did the right thing. We were not mission capable without sustenance. The needs of my holographic, AI, or otherwise crew comes first in this case, and just because I declared us unfit, did not mean we weren’t capable of responding to emergencies. Maybe I should have said Partially Mission Capable, but this demanded immediate attention.

As Starfleet, my crew and I will put our lives on the line for the dream of peace and prosperity. We will risk our own health and safety for the needs of others. We will operate in this harshest of conditions to insure our families and the families of others can live in comfort. We give up some of our freedom to fight for freedom throughout Federation space. Why then, should my crew, my family, my surrogate children, suffer so much for a problem like this, that can be, should be, and could have been rectified with haste by many means if it weren’t for the sheer laziness and apathy of the previous commander. By the Supreme One, I will stand by this decision until the day I move on to the ultimate sublime experience.

As far as my cricket-induced injury, I am better now by the way. I had that weekend off anyway and though this did impact my desire to go dancing that night by the inclusion of forced bedrest by the nurse, my broken eyeball lens was replaced and I have acquired a proper, Dicky approved, well fitting helmet.

I would hate to traumatize my teammates again. Poor artificially intelligent fellows.

[jackascii]

Personal Log, Stardate: 100398.5

sant-sipahi

OOC

I decided to take a moment and collect my thoughts on this war we are in.

It is not my first, but it is bigger than what small conflicts I have faced, and I will not lie, I am worried.

I worry for my friends whose lives and experiences will be lost. Unlike Wind People, most species have no way of passing on their experiences beyond written word or recorded messages. On my way back from my sister’s graduation from Starfleet Academy, I made a visit to the new Island of the Grove of the Sweet Wood, and was able to share my recent, non-restricted, activities with the collective as well as find out how they are doing. My fleshy friends may not have that option and that makes me sad for them.

I worry for those that have never experienced war, who have just joined our crew. Some are puffed up with bravado, some less so, but you can tell they are all worried. I do my best to encourage my people in Tactical to talk about what they are thinking and to come to me or go to counseling if they are not dealing with all this.

Killing is serious business. Killing is not something to brag about. That is, however, what we may have to do. I have, and in a very intimate. graphic way. Despite the fact that the end was truly justification for the means in all regards, I still find myself affected by it, any time I pull the trigger, or fire the Dragon’s weapons. Nonetheless, I will keep these feelings when a life is at stake as I have seen my brother’s past and felt his feelings. I know there is a difference, and I discuss this openly with any of my crew that is in doubt about what we must do.

In my Earth family’s culture the sant-sipahi, or saint sword is only used in last resort as a means of killing. Sikhism is a warrior culture, but from the aspect of defending the weak. Taking a life is counter to the teachings of Sikhism, even in extreme cases of Dharamyudh, or war of righteousness.

I realize many jokingly call me murder mushroom, I prefer Trouble-shooting Truffle, but in truth, I pray for an end to the loss of life at each other’s hands.

I believe our leaders have done their utmost to secure peace through non-violent means. I trust them to guide us and stay true to this Federations principles. I believe, however, we will not have a choice. From what Evoch showed me, there is too much ambition. God, I pray I am wrong. I pray that even the Star Empire can see the benefit in peaceful coexistance.

I must return to my duties. I must, as I discovered in that Quelling Mutiny sim, continue being my crew’s safeguard, and I must embolden their hearts, bolster their courage, and set their moral compass to seek the path of peace but be willing to know when they must do what needs to be done to defend the weak.

Bole So Nihal…Sat Sri Akal
Feels so right to say it now. I don’t know, maybe I am not religious, but just faithful.

[jackascii]

Personal Log, Stardate 100413.3

My brother, the good bad guy.

OOC

So, I got confirmation that I was not hallucinating when I heard Evoch’s name when they were announcing the recipients of the Legion of Honor. He’s working for the Romulan Republic, not only that, he’s working for someone I really respect, Commander Nathes. NOT ONLY THAT, but he is doing reconnaissance for the war effort.

I have never been prouder of my brother ever.

Now I hope he is not in harms way. I guess he would be. He is good at what he does though. I have to remember, that he has been an agent (for the Tal Shiar) before I was even learning to put on clothing. He is younger than me but yet, older in many ways.

I am still so proud. I knew he was a good person. I could tell he was.

[jackascii]

Personal Log, Stardate 100535.5

There’s always a bigger fish.

OOC

We went into another battle the other day with the 38th fleet and against a large RSE force at Beta Reticuli. The Dragon seems more powerful than ever. We ran the lance at a greater than normal power level for minutes on end and she held, the whole time while enemy forces pounded on us.

LCDR Reese said shield levels never dipped below 90% and our EPS stayed at 10.62 Gigajoules/second. The only damage we sustained was self-inflicted given the over-driven lance and creative use of the deflector array. Our fighters took damage but that was expected. They are brave souls and true warriors.

Even without sensors we still had full control of the battlefield situation. Essentially we had sensors in a way. Our sensor array was meat eyeballs using special range-finding scopes that were wired into our fire control system in such a way that they took they took the place of our EMR/DSP systems. It was something that I mentioned to CMDR LaSalle a while back that I had my people doing visual spotting drills. It’s an old school approach I got from watching a movie about naval warfare in the 20th c, that harkens back to the days artillery: howitzers, ballakas, goom sacs, and navak shorren… I mean we are truly talking old school.

When I mentioned it a while back, I honestly thought she would consider it a pointless waste of time, but she instead took the idea and ran with it… and in fact legitimized it, more so than I could have dreamed of. She made this a required drill, added key steps to improve accuracy, and then added the motion sensing, telemetry range-finders, which stepped the process up tenfold. I never even dreamed of this.

From my stand point, at the tactical console, with nothing but the flesh and blood sensor system, I noticed only a lack of long range scanning. That was it. In face I caught myself in the heat of battle referring to incoming ships on the “sensors” which was really data inputted by my visual watch standers and their range-finders. All the fire control spotting was spot on, pun intended. I missed a few targets that were in motion but leads are hard to calculate on the fly manually, which is something we shall work on. I seriously didn’t noticed the difference but once in a while.

Here is my problem with all this. We are getting an air of invincibility about us and we are not. I fear we are in danger of being lulled into a statement false confidence.

There is always a bigger fish and at some point it’s not going to be a supernova but rather an enemy of great power that will clean our clocks. I fear that day.

I hope to make sure my people do not get arrogant and lax. We have to be prepared for that bigger fish, or swarm of smaller fishes like piranha, or whatever.

Anyway, I hope CMDR LaSalle can push this to the rest of the fleet. They need to know about this. This is how we can evolve, by de-evolving somewhat, and expanding our abilities beyond our much relied upon electronic suite. I’m going to send her a message on the success rate and my thoughts.

[jackascii]

Personal Log: 100573.7

Powerboarding, Dating, and Other Signs of Struggle.

OOC Knowledge

Yay for vacay I say! Well, almost yay. There were many sublime experiences and consequently there were high points and low points.

My love life sucks. There I said it. Now this is not anywhere as important as what is going on in the state of the galaxy today but all is relative and it bears saying.

So we made it through a rough time against the Romulan Star Empire with our allies in the Romulan Republic. I am thankful we have triumphed and that this event has hopefully laid out a better fate for our friends in the RR. I also wish for the people of the RSE eyes that are opened to the truth of what their government does. While I am a huge fan of democracy and self-determination under the auspices of the social contract, I would accept the simple idea that they can at a minimum hold their leaders accountable.

Maybe there can be peace between those two entities. Idealistic but nonetheless I will wish it.

I pray for those who died and those that they left behind. We will not forget them. Our mates in arms as well as our allies, as well as all those caught in the crossfire or subject to terror inflicted by the RSE. May they rest in eternal peace of the sublime final experience.

So that brings me to the earned time off.

I love powerboarding.

I hate dating.

I also love dating.

Sometimes I have to ask myself what the hell is wrong with me? I am asexual. I do not need a mate to breed. I just need to die, which I am not wanting to do any time soon. While I would love the sublime experience of motherhood, it will have to come via adoption and not born forth from my womb, because I do not have a womb.

So… why do I like dating? Why do I like sex? Why am I thankful Mama Veema is not going to read this and yell at me about not being more respectful of my body like when I got caught behind the cricket field house with Sheenalla when I was in primary school? That last one is a trick question by the way.

Risa is such a fun place which to the credit of the natives, has been engineered to be a resort paradise. I think whatever vice one could want to indulge in, it could be had for the right amount of latinum. Granted, I stick to mostly activities like floaters and powerboarding, and it is the new home of my species after they (were) migrated there. It is one of the few places I can walk around without an exosuit underlayer to stay warm and moist.

Still, Mama Veema gives me the what for about going there.

“It is nothing but hedonism and evil desires!” she says. “Do not wear one of those beekeenees like those trollups do! It draws the wrong kind of attention!” Well maybe I want that , I would say… if I had the guts. I just nod and assure her I will simply be visiting my people and powerboarding.

I do not dare tell her about hooking up. NO. That would be the end of me. Maybe not really but she would have a cow. I mean there is hooking up, but I would love to have that special someone that I can come home to I guess.

I kind of envy Vonn and Heidi. Seeing them together makes me so happy. Childhood sweethearts and true soulmates. Also Evette and her mate. They seem so comfortable with each other. I would love to experience that.

So it starts on the shuttle. I sit next to this really handsome young engineer named Lt Brett Summers. Oh my gosh he is gorgeous. New to the Dragon having just been billetted right before the war. We talk and we hit it off. Next thing you know we have dinner plans.

Now usually I will not date someone from the same command. Too many issues with that if things go badly. It is hard to remain professional when emotions are involved and with love and sex there is much emotion. For this moment, however, I throw caution to the wind, as my people, the WIND People, often have for the sake of sublime experiences, and accept his request to meet me later.

He even joked about me not being an Orion. It wasn’t crass. It was funny. He had already heard about me and my species and unlike that creepy guy who was a mycologist from the botany lab who kept asking incessantly stupid and probing questions about my body as though I was a lab experiment and not a woman whom he was attracted to, Brett was more interested in me… as a person… as I am. Oh heart be still… figuratively because I don’t have a heart.

Well, as sweet as he is, and as funny and charming as he can be, and as much as we clicked over music and old movies, that is unfortunately where it ends. We vacation in completely different ways. I am a doer. I like to do everything. I don’t sleep and honestly though I love the moist, warm event known as cuddle time and such, I can’t just lay there in the dark for hours doing nothing. That is just boring to me.

He likes the lights off, curtains drawn, noises drowned out, and no stimulation at all. I NEED STIMULATION.

So I go down to the casino, or out to the beach, which he admits bothers him.

Waking hours are eating, sex, napping, eating, sex, drinking, maybe holovids, sex, sitting around, and maybe more sex. With the exception of the sex part there was too much doing nothing. That’s his kind of vacation.
So I go powerboarding, or floating with the jet pack, and he admits to me he wishes I could just sit with him.

In the end we realize we are not compatible. Amicable split and we decide that we should remain friends, maybe with benefits but we will see. He is still a sweet guy, and I have no animosity towards him as he was always honest about his feelings.

Now that this was unfortunately over, I decided to have dinner with Stephen and Linda from Earth. This is the couple that I met last year in the casino. They were so nice and invited me to dinner. They then told me they were looking for a ‘unicorn’ when we met last year. I had no idea what this meant, but Linda explained what they wanted, and then I realized I was the unicorn they were hunting.

OH WOW… I am a unicorn. In spades. That was truly a sublime experience.

Well they visit every year and I had run into them on one of my sleepless, late-night, boredom inspired sojourns to the casino this year. They invited me to dinner, to which I mentioned I was with someone who was not a unicorn nor pro-unicorn hunting most likely, and they said bring him anyway and we would just sit and talk, so that was the plan before Brett and I broke up.

Post break up it was SADDLE UP COWGIRL YEEE HAW!.

So I am still a unicorn. As much as I hate vulgar words the only phrase that describes my feelings on this are “fuck yeah”. Yeah, so, that healed my broken heart.

Then we get to Ennis… Ennis McGovney, Ensign, USS T’Lathis. Charming, seductive, and manipulative! A total tool. Narcissistic to the core. That was a sublime experience that I will hopefully never be suckered into repeating I hope.

Met him powerboarding. At first he was charming and complimentary.

“I just love how you can glide in sideways then cut so gracefully to the other side,” he said to me. Apparently I am a sucker for praise which I really need to get over. We went to a secluded beach and talked for a long time. He seemed knowledgeable and at first he was listening and agreeing with me, sometimes offering a counter to what I would say but not so obnoxiously at first.

Over time though I started to notice he would become more assertive as his comfort level with me grew. I always try to stay polite so I usually let things slide. Still he was charming and polite so I blindly ignored that big red flag.

He asked me out and I accepted.

First thing he said to me when he met me outside the restaurant, “Isn’t that a little much for a first date? I am more attracted to women who wear less makeup and are a bit more modest” Minus one point. I laughed it off but that was not appropriate.

Then we get to the table and I order my usual non-alcoholic beer to drink, which causes consternation on his part.

“Usually when dining it is appropriate to order wine,” he said, chiding me as though I was a child IN FRONT OF THE WAITRESS!

“I am different than you,” I said sternly. “I do not like wine anyway. Non-alcoholic beer has nutrients I need, it will not kill me.”

“Well!” he replies, looking up innocently at the waitress “someone is in a huff, my apologies. We’ve had a long day.” Classic narcissist. He is throwing it back on me as though I am the bad guy here.

Oh, mister, you are about to find out how much of a huff when you keep on. Keep on, he did. That was minus another point.

It was at this point I was not very happy and it was obvious.

“Look,” he said, “I really didn’t agree to come on a date with you (NOTE: he asked me), just to have you treat me like this.”

“Treat you like this?” I replied, seething. “Treat you like how? You seriously do not think you have said anything wrong to me or acted in a manner that was inconsiderate?”

He sighs and relents.

“Fine, look,” he stumbles through his words, “I just guess I was expecting something different. I’m sorry if I said anything out of step.”

I could not say anything to this oblivious fool. I just glared.

“How about we just have dinner and try to make the rest of this as pleasant as possible,” Ennis said, trying to smooth things over. “I’m just not used to a fiery, independent woman I guess.”

Really? What century are you living in? Are you a temporal agent from Leave It To Beaver land?

Then came the meal which I could tell he was itching to critically analyze my skills at eating, but he kept his mouth shut offering a “I wish you could eat this lobster, it is amazing.”

Now we have dessert offerings which I do not eat as it makes me intoxicated and at this point I have decided I should remain clear-headed with this fool. He is insistent that I try the tiramisu and I adamantly refuse which of course he throws back at me again.

Finally, the nail in the coffin. He is a tactical officer as am I. I am more experienced and a chief tactical officer which he is not.

“I find it really hard to believe you could manage a sight to lock time of 1 minute, 5 seconds using only visuals. There’s just no way a Lexington class can do that. It’s impossible. Everyone knows they are useless without their targeting scanners.”

Seriously, who are these ‘everyone’ and where did they get their information?

I take a deep breath into the ‘lungs’ which generally have just for speaking as I breathe through my skin, and then remind him that while he is a junior officer with less than a year out of the academy working on a support vessel, and I am the CTO of a Lexington class warship of the line.

“Acting, right?” he snidely asks.

“No, I AM billeted as the bloody CTO!”

“There ya go, getting hostile again,” he says.

Another long, unnecessary but calming breath later I respond.

“Hostile? You are not seeing hostile? I will show you hostile, Ensign McGovney.”

With that I got up, put my napkin on the table which I am sure was not the right place for his liking, and walked out, head high and my dignity intact. I stopped at the front, found our waitress, paid for my half of the meal, and on the way out she told me she did not blame me one bit.

I spent the rest of the time powerboarding and jet-packing. I spent some time with Evoch until he slammed into a tree while we were jet packing, and some more time at the Isle of the Sweet Wood, my species’ new home. I got in some more quality time with Stephen and Linda, and then decided it was time to go home, that being the USS Dragon.

I suppose at this point I would say something about never dating again or even leaving the ship, blah blah blah, but…

… I met this really gorgeous woman on the shuttle back. She’s a doctor on board one of our ships! She likes powerboarding and 20th century Earth music.

Nope, Sorry, Mama Veema. The girl can’t help it.