Have a look and enjoy ...

Thank you @Rayne and @skyggen957 for your #WritingContest entries!  And with those entries, our Writing Contest is now closed!  We'll be reading everyone's amazing entries throughout the week and will announce the winners by next Monday (December 12th!)  Good luck to everyone!

Just wrote this on a morning coffee buzz. I'm on a rather different time zone, so I hope i've made the deadline and not screwed up somehow..

*

He had heard that the Cardassians said that the Romulan heart was as grey as their planet. But as Aegnor remembered Romulus, grand old Romulus, he remembered only colour. Perhaps not the vivid gold of Cardassia or the blues of Earth that he had seen on holograms. But it was an elegantly, discreetly hued planet as befitted a planet with an Empress.

The Republic Flotilla Command of course immediately saw through the Republican veneer that Aegnor put up. One does not create a whole new space power overnight without seeing who your friends and enemies were. At his heart he was an Imperialist. Who in the right mind would get rid of a perfectly good Empress? Exchanging the power of one mind, one voice, for the clatter and dissonance of the many. Perhaps the Borg had a point. Wasn’t it bad enough that the Senate had absorbed power over the centuries and diluted the voice of the Crown? The ruin that came to Romulus was no doubt because of that partisan bickering – a bickering that rewarded the vainglorious and that would be multiplied many times over with a Republic, and the ruin that would surely again follow.

Aegnor stood at the tall, cold, windows of D’Tan’s flagship and regarded his new command with feelings so mixed it felt numb. The Republic had found use for his capable command and his inadequate loyalties. The Merothrax was his reward. An aging D’Deridex warbird. A 24^th Century ship for his 24^th Century loyalties. Outdated, but to his eyes, a vast and grand starship still unequalled in beauty by the new Republic designs. Just like his sentiments for what he had heard a Human describe as ‘Pax Imperia’ – the peace of the Empire. But the Republic would keep its Federation friends close, and those like him closer still.

Even his command staff were like mirrors of the pieces of his soul. No doubt the Cardassians would call his soul a grey soul. At this moment he felt inclined to agree. His First Officer, a capable man but seemingly obsessed with his vanished sister. Three tactical officers formerly from the Tal Shiar. Their dossiers indicated that they had been top-tier operatives specialising in locating the vulnerabilities of their foes, but as with all things Tal Shiar Aegnor wasn’t quite sure if they were locating vulnerabilities within or without the ship. A science officer whose only interest appeared to be the study of the disintegration of molecular structures. An engineering office who was mainly concerned with the explosive nature of things. It seemed the Merothrax would be an antimatter keg adrift in space.

He sourly fingered the new uniform and the data crystal in his hand that carried his new orders. His mission sounded just as doggedly desperate as the name of his uniform. The staff of the Flotilla referred with pride to the uniform as the Survivor’s uniform as though it reminded them of a battle hard-won. It rang poorly in his ears, sounding only like the bleats of immigrants scattered through the stars with no birthright, no proper place in the galaxy.


Still his orders held some hope. Assigned to the lowly patrol of the distant corners of the new Republic, perhaps some opportunity could be made of being forgotten. After all, obsolete or not, the D’Deridex was still a formidable power compared to the lesser species of the quadrant. As he looked on at the Merothrax, its running lights and windows glowed on as the engineering team powered up the starship for flight and the edges of the ship glowed green where the shield energies curved around its wings and crenellations. The sight filled him with some sense of purpose, and for a moment the numbness left him. Where the Merothrax went, a piece of the Empire would follow. And there was some satisfaction to be had in that.

You'll find my rather lengthy entry here.

Thanks @Teknomancer, @Duriansol, and @Iconoclastix for your #WritingContest submissions!  Can't wait to read them!  Good luck!!

This isn’t really a story as such, think of it like the “cold open” scene before an episode’s starting credits. It’s basically the prelude or prologue to a mission or adventure, setting the scene for whatever story comes after the show’s opening credits run.  

~~~~~
“A little to the left,” Emil murmured, moving his head slightly to make his lobes easier to reach. Just then, the ship’s alarm klaxons cut through the angular yet strangely relaxing Rigelian jazz. “Unidentified vessel approaching at high warp on an intercept course, DaiMon to the bridge!” came Balingi’s nervous voice over the comm, rising to a panicked shriek with his last phrase.

With an exasperated sigh, Emil looked into the nearly nude Deltan’s opalescent eyes and grumbled, “Computer, freeze program and open a channel to the bridge.” The expensively-programmed holographic fingers stopped their massaging, and upon hearing the almost imperceptible change in audio as the microphone opened, Emil didn’t wait for the computer to announce the channel’s readiness. Rising from the couch, he barked “All right you idiots, what is it this time? You know my 223^rd Rule breaks are never to be disturbed! This program cost me more latinum than your combined net worth, but I’ll never get any value out of it if you keep interrupting me! And turn off that infernal racket!”

The alarm went mercifully silent as a crisp female voice broke in, “Sorry for the interruption sir, Gon here. The ship’s transponder codes don’t match anyone we’ve dealt with before and they’re not responding to our hails.  They could be either new customers or raiders, but whatever they want they’re in a really big hurry to get here. Your orders?” Eardrums still ringing from the deafening alarm, Emil looked wistfully at the softly-illuminated Deltan’s smooth, chiseled body and sighed, “Computer, end program.”

His surroundings brightened and resolved back into his private holosuite’s familiar grid as he started toward the door for his quarters, saying “Gon, send the standard inventory advertising hail. Just make sure everything mentioned in the ad is actually in stock and ready for delivery, include the 1^st Rule disclaimer and remember that all pricing offers must be pre-approved by me. Keep shields down for now but be ready to initiate full tactical status if they’re hostile. Raise shields and take evasive action if they lock weapons after they drop out of warp, return fire if they start shooting. Oh and Balingi, why are you even up there? Get back to main engineering where you belong! I’m on my way, DaiMon out.”

As he passed through his quarters on his way to the turbolift, the light reflected by the latinum bindings on his collector’s copy of the Rules of Acquisition (Golden Knowledge Ed., inside cover stamped with the Grand Nagus’ administrative assistant’s clerk’s certification seal) caught his eye. ‘That reminds me, I really need to have a ship-wide seminar on the Rules,’ he considered as the turbolift slowed, ‘I know I recruited them right out of the Academy, but it’s absolutely scandalous that so many of these lobelings know the Prime Directive better than their own Rules of Acquisition.’ Walking toward the DaiMon’s chair as the lift doors closed behind him, he demanded, “Status report!”

“They’ve dropped out of warp and come to a full stop just at the edge of our visual range now, sir. Scan results are inconclusive and there is still no response to our hails. Switching main viewscreen from tactical to external.” Emil nodded his approval and turned to the viewscreen, knowing that Gon needed little direction from him. She had been his most expensive recruit, commanding almost triple the signing percentage of the others; Starfleet indoctrination hadn’t dulled her profit motive by a slip’s worth. Then again, he had known ahead of time that any Ferengi’s verifiable Starfleet credentials wouldn’t come cheap.  Her cum laude tactical status had fetched quite the premium, but she was turning out to be worth almost every bar.

“What is that thing? Maximum magnification.” The screen filled with an indistinct, shifting, distorted mass, barely distinguishable from the surrounding space and constant only in its size.  “What’s wrong with my ship? Why can’t I see it and why are the scan results inconclusive?” Emil was unable to focus his eyes upon any detail of the ship, yet the stars onscreen with it were perfectly visible.

“I can explain that, DaiMon,” Glupara replied while turning from the science station, “they appear to be using a ship holo-emitter configured to project that visual camouflage effect instead of a static disguise. The problem is that they’re also masking their energy signature so the sensors can’t get a fix on them any better than our eyes can. We know roughly where they are but we have no idea who they are. It’s not quite a cloaking device, but it’s close enough.”

Emil stepped closer to the viewscreen. “Broadcast on all system-range frequencies, full translation.” Hearing the control’s faint beep, he began, “Welcome, friendly customers!” Gon rolled her eyes and kept her hand by the shield controls. Emil continued, “Like many of my customers, it’s clear that you value discretion in your business transactions. Allow me to assure you…” he trailed off as a buzzing noise began, then rapidly multiplied in volume and pitch. Hands raised to his ears, he shouted at his bridge crew, “Cut the channel, you idiots!” The sound’s pressure on his eardrums was agonizing as he turned and saw them already slumped unconscious at their stations. He started to black out, forcing out the words “Computer, lock out all command functions, authorization Emil letra deemo mirra…” while collapsing to the deck.
~~~~~
 

Sometime last week...

Durian stood up, this was his third attempt at reconfiguring the holodeck. The modifications that Voyager had brought back shouldn't have been that difficult to implement. Whatever the Hirogen had done was subtle, but expanding the holoemitters across the entire ship was causing a significant power drain from the auxilary systems.

Out of frustration he chided himself, "Sol, we're not engineers! Why am I doing this task?" He then pulled his phaser, aimed it at the interface and fired. The panel exploded with a small shockwave.

Durian hit his combadge, "Captain to Engineering, we've had a power coupling explode in panel 254-A. Please send a repair crew." Durian left the hallway and returned to his quarters. "Sometimes the best offense is an engineering project."

The End

Unfortunately my wife and I own/operate a small business and I just don't have the free time to write a full story this month. However I did want to participate in some small way so I'm entering the bio of Ross Well, one of my alt characters. The above stories are great and my entry is simply not in their league, however since Ross (and his wife, Rose) are both very short, perhaps it's fitting that my entry be short as well...

Imagine, if you will, an alternate reality where life evolved on Sol's 4th planet instead of the third. You and your spouse work in a secret government department, Management of Inter-dimensional Barriers (M.I.B.). You attend the company picnics, the year's end party, dress casually on casual day and of course, when it's "Bring Your Kids to Work Week", you bring your children to work. 

Now imagine during one such week, a clumsy co-worker, a glass of liquid, and a spill at just the right time onto just the wrong junction panel. A shower of sparks, a power surge to the hypertachyon containment field, and three children sitting too close to the omni-directional viewing portal when the resulting implosion manifests into an uncontrolled trans-dimensional chronometric-spacial anomoly.

As the young ones are sucked into who knows where/when, you and your spouse leap in after them. Fortunately you arrive in the proper dimension (this one), however due to vortexes in the timestream the kids land in a different era. Now you're a stranger in a strange land, with the impossible task of rescuing three lost ones who have been ripped through time and space. You have entered... ...the Twilight Zone!

So we've learned how to survive in this dimension. We made friends, notably Philip Cray who told us of the many reports of "flying saucers" in the mid-20th century North America. A description which bears an uncanny resemblance to Starfleet spacecraft. 

With a sympathetic heart he also speaks of rumours of government capture and cover-up, secret interrogations, experimentation and vivisection in hidden laboratories far underground or deep within mountainsides. Facilities guarded by heavily armed soldiers. We want to believe that they're out there. Because even if we have to join Starfleet to gain access to your temporal technology, by Barsoom's watery canals, we swear we'll rescue our children and return them safely home! You grok?!

yay!

how was it?

There's a few other things you can do for nice images in your posts. If you want your images to have the popup viewer when clicked, instead of using the amazonaws.com link to the images, just put the image link directly in your post:



This will automatically handle all the necessary image code too, so no fussing with img tags or the like. Just plop the entire page link in the post. This actually works anywhere, so if you upload a photo and want to include it in a note or a topic you can do this.

Also, every time an image is uploaded, there's five different versions saved; original, large, medium, small and square. If you look at the image URL, you'll see one of these sizes appended at the end. Just change it to another size to get the different image. You can use these to select a more appropriate size or build a fun little mosaic in your post.

Also, our images are hosted on Amazon's S3 service right now so it'd be pretty impossible to fill it up. Its really just a matter of price and last month our image hosting cost a total of $0.09.

Awesome, thanks for this!!

That is just epic :P

This may have been posted somewhere already, but on the slim chance it hasn't:

http://imgur.com/gallery/wpZ4w

Okay, someone somewhere, asked the question: How do I upload an image to the forums?

And I thought to myself... Self! Let's upload a bunch of screenshots on how to upload images to the SGN Forums, then quickly hide our IP address from the internet so Nick et al don't hack our computer for more storage space.

For "normal" forum users, you upload your image to a site like imagr and then use the

[img] [/img]

codes to drop the image inline of your text. I, personally, like to do things simpler by using the already accessible SGN server to host my forum images.


** First start by clicking your avatar in the top right of the forum screen.**


**Next, select Photos**



**As you can see, select +Upload**



**I'm pretty sure I don't need to explain this screen again. :) **


**The uploaded images are waiting to be uploaded**



**You can name a new set and hit "Add to a set" if you want.**

The next part is trickier. Once the images are uploaded, go back into the Photos (see beginning of tutorial) to see the files. In the tiny icon previews, right click and select "Open in new tab". This will take you to a page with the full address of the image in the address bar as seen in the image below.


**This provides you all of the necessary steps to gain access to the image from a publicly hosted image. Time to start a new thread or reply to an established thread with your images**



**And that ladies and gents and genders of all species, is how you add images to your forum posts. Please do so sparingly, I like my head attached to my shoulders.**

#SWCSale

Thank you, @Tlara and @Jacien for your #WritingContest entries!  Good luck!

Angel of Vengeance
 
Stardate 8130.4, Mutara Sector
The ship listed amid the deep violet vapors and cerulean discharges of the nebula, its once pristine hull scorched and broken in a dozen places. Angry black gashes marked the dorsal and ventral sides of the saucer while the primary weapons and impulse arrays were a fiery ruin. The port warp pylon ended in a jagged stump, venting warp plasma into the void. In the distance, its erstwhile opponent was doing its best to beat a hasty retreat but its own very noticeable battle wounds were greatly hindering its progress.
The bridge of the starship fared little better than the rest of the vessel. There were no hull breaches, thankfully, but the air was filled with acrid smoke from several burning stations and the smell of charred flesh. “Is it my own flesh I smell,” mused the burned man, “or is it the flesh of my brothers and sisters?”
He had just barely regained consciousness after activating the weapon and hurling one final curse at the ship, the crew and the man who had bested him yet again for what seemed, the final time. The burned man took comfort in the fact that his hated nemesis would not escape the blast radius before the weapon reached the end of its countdown sequence and wiped them all from existence with the fires of creation itself.
 
Despite the excruciating pain, he managed to drag his burned and broken body back into the central command chair. He would meet his fate with a dignity worthy of his name, worthy of a Khan. From here he could see the digits on the display of the Genesis console inexorably counting down to their doom, a doom he would face proudly.
Pride, after all, was his greatest strength; this unwavering belief in his innate superiorty had seen him survive the Eugenics wars and years of exile on a hellish planet, it had brought him within a hairsbreadth of regaining not only complete victory over the hated James T. Kirk, but on the cusp of Godhood itself.
But was it not also pride that had doomed him? That same belief in his own intrinsic superiority had allowed him to underestimate Kirk for the second time, third if he counted the debacle with the command codes the previous day.
 
A strange stillness seemed to settle upon the bridge, muffling the multiple alerts issuing from every remaining undamaged console. Time itself was stretching out, yawning like a languid beast woken from its linear slumber. Everything from the image of the retreating USS Enterprise to the countdown on the Genesis console slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl. “Is this how death comes for me?” He asked the corpses around him. “Does he mock me by drawing out my final moments of anguish while robbing me of the chance to witness the moment of my final victory before he takes me on his dark wings?”
As if in answer, the shadows deepened, taking on form and substance, shaping itself into figures. They stood all around the bridge, their baleful blood-red eyes and pale grey skin, demonic visages the stuff of old horror movies. 
“Is it Mephistopheles who sends his demons to collect me then?” he asked the silent assemblage.
Paying him little attention, they began moving about the bridge, scanning consoles and bodies alike, murmuring to one another and checking readouts on their handheld devices. A number of them converged on the on the genesis console, its 20 second countdown somehow reduced to a mere trickle. They attached a device to the Genesis console as well as several other stations. They spoke in a strange guttural language full of hisses and ululations and judging by their tone and demeanor, they were becoming increasingly agitated.
He chuckled then, blood burbling from the corner of his mouth, “you can’t shut it down, you know,”  he said to them. All eyes turned to regard him as if truly noticing him for the first time. Two of their number, a male and what he assumed was a female stepped toward him.
“And why is that?” Asked the female.
“I deleted all shutdown command subroutines, I didn’t want anyone beaming over and disabling the countdown.”
The two aliens exchanged a look and the male began hurriedly issuing commands into a wrist communicator.
“You won’t be able to shut down the device itself manually either.” He said, referring to the actual Genesis device down in transporter room one. “I engineered several failsafe measures into both the hardware and the software; it will detonate at the barest hint of tampering.”
The female hissed in frustration and issued commands to several of the aliens attempting to access what was left of the functioning computer displays.
“If you’re looking for the plans in the ship database, also I deleted them, only one copy of the design remains.” Speaking was beginning to become a concerted effort, as was maintaining consciousness.
The female took his chin in her clawed hand, fixing him with a baleful gaze; “And just where is this copy?” she demanded in her harsh, raspy voice.
With considerable difficulty he lifted his gloved hand to his temple and whispered, “Up here,” as the darkness threatened to take him.
The female pressed something to his neck, a moment later he felt a cool tingling sensation spread form that point throughout his entire body. His vision returned as the excruciating pain he had been in began to subside. The female’s face was directly in front of him fuming with barely contained rage, “TELL ME!” She bellowed, “or I’ll leave you here to die!”
“Silly girl,” mocked Khan, “Do you think I am afraid of death?” 
“I am no mere girl, human, I am Vreth of the-“
“I know what you are Nah’khul!” snapped, Khan, his strength finally returning. “Your kind has been known to me since the Eugenics Wars. One of your kind served me after I rescued him from a prison in Kirgizstan, they thought he was one of my augments. He told me much about your war against the Federation. You want revenge for what they did to your people, yes?”
“Yes, I want revenge,” she the growled.
“But what do you want?” asked Vreth.
“Why the very same as you, my dear,” replied Khan. “Revenge! Revenge against James Tiberius Kirk, and I shall have it!”
“Oh my dear Khan,” said Vreth condescendingly. “Kirk survives, fool! His pet Vuclan sacrifices his life to restore warp power to the Enterprise.”
“Then help me destroy Kirk,” he beseeched Vreth. “Give me my revenge and I shall give you Genesis.”
“Don’t you think we’ve tried?” she replied. “Agents of the Temporal accords guard him at all times, he’s not due to die for another century at least.”
“No!” bellowed Khan, “This cannot happen, I am superior!” Khan slumped back in his command chair, a burned and broken man in both body and spirit.
“Go,” he croaked, “leave me here to die. Let cruel fate have me.”
Vreth studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “The Great Khan,” she sneered, “Most cunning and mightiest of the Augments. What a sorry excuse for a genetically enhanced human you turned out to be.”
“I survived it all,” he retorted, outlived the petty governments that exiled me into the blackness of space, survived the hell that was Ceti Alpha Five, - I”
“-but you’ve decided to give up now, haven’t you? The lowly human that bloodied your nose a couple of times has taken the would-be Emperor of all humankind and turned him into this despondent wretch that sits before me.”
Vreth knelt in front of Khan, placing her clawed hands on his knees and leaning close to him almost tenderly. “Wouldn’t the best revenge be to destroy that which he devoted his entire life to protecting?” she asked softly.
“Come with me Khan, help us destroy the Federation and you shall have your revenge against Kirk and all the humans who rejected your rule!”
Khan considered her words, rolling them over in his mind. He saw the countdown timer on the Genesis device had reached 2, their time-manipulation technology was certainly beyond anything in this time period. It dawned on him that Kirk was simply a convenient target he projected all his bitterness and frustration at the human race for rejecting his benevolent rule. If they hadn’t rebelled there would never have been a third world war and their civilization would not have almost annihilated itself.  Under his benign rule they would have reached the stars far before the Vulcans ever found them, creating an Empire, no, a Khanate that would have conquered all in their path.
Kirk had been a distraction from his own personal sense of failure but it was time he took ownership of his mistakes and learned from them. “You will take me with you, but I have certain conditions we must discuss before I reveal anything to you of Genesis, my dear.” Said Khan.
“Very well,” replied Vreth. “Gorsh, prepare for transport back to the ship and take Lord Khan directly to the medical bay to see to his injuries.  Prepare for temporal shunt to our last coordinates. This works out better anyway,” she said to her second in command. “Reliant explodes and the Genesis planet is created and no one will be the wiser that we possess the Genesis technology until it is too late.”
“You don’t possess it yet,” said Khan, “but if you will be my angel of vengeance then I shall be yours and we will both get what we want.”
The countdown timer reached zero as the Nah’Khul and their new compatriot dissolved in the green light of a transporter beam.
 
Jacien Mandrake awoke from his nightmare drenched in sweat. He didn’t jerk upright in bed as there was a warm, fur-covered mass on his chest that could easily dig very sharp claws into him if displeased. Bast regarded him that unique combination apathy and intensity only feline species seemed to be able to muster. Her ice blue eyes met his dark brown ones and he knew what he had seen had been real and that the Aegis had sent him this ‘vision’ because they believed he could do something about it. But those events happened over a century ago, and as he knew, the Aegis only ever liked to act from ‘the present’ when attempting to preserve the timeline so that meant that Khan Noonien Singh was here, in this time period and was most likely ready to take his revenge at long last.

As if sensing his thoughts, Bast, who was so much more than she appeared, jumped nimbly from his chest and landed on the ledge by the viewport and promptly began to groom herself. Jacien walked from the bedroom to his workstation in his living quarters and began pulling up data on fleet movements, intelligence reports and long-range sensor data. If Khan had truly returned, he feared he the worse for the Federation and their Klingon and Romulan allies. The Nah’khul’s gambit had paid off and now they had a weapon of cataclysmic power at their disposal and a genius mad man to wield it.

[This is our entry for the writing contest. It's about our Deep Space Stonewall character "Five of Five", a liberated borg. He was the second character we've designed in STO, and he was our first engineer. Please note that we are not native english speaking, so please forgive any mistakes we've made :)]

It was cold. Very cold and very empty. There is a lot of space in space. I know it, believe me. I learnt it the hard way. It took me about 39 years. That was the time I was floating in that vast empty space. It all took place at a location called Wolf 359. But let's start at the beginning.

My name was Walther Schmidt, born in New Berlin on Earth's moon. As there was not much to do on the moon I took my chance to get off that rock as soon as I could, thus joining Starfleet. My career as a redshirt was nothing special, but I've managed to become a Lt. Commander, serving as a tactical security under the command of Commander Ted Hembach. Commander Hembach was head of security assigned to Planitia Utppia, so one of my jobs there was joining the crew of ships that were refitted at the shipyard to secure a correct security procedure.

My last assignment was on the U.S.S. Chekov, NCC-57302, a Springfield-class starship. The ship was on a deep space test-flight because of it's refit with a secondary hull. Just as the hull stress-test began the code red message from starfleet headquarters came through, rerouting the ship to react to an emergency call of the U.S.S. Saratoga. The Saratoga was engaging a borg cube heading for earth. There was not much we could do, only staffed with a skeleton crew, but every helping hand was needed to ensure a victorious fight against the borg cube.

As we arrived at the battle scene everyone was giving their very best. I tried some special tactical maneuvers to lure the cube away from the Saratoga, but I failed. The Saratoga was destroyed right in front of us. The luck was on our side, as the Chekov was ignored by the borg for a while. Our odds changed dramatically, when they started to invade our ship. We gave them a hell of a fight but there were too many of them. Nearly every second the borg beamed a new away team on our ship, and soon we were fighting against about 20 of those creatures on the bridge.

I was the last man standing. Equipped with a phaser in each hand I fired till they reached me. Then one of the borg touched me with a bite of a vampire, ejecting something into my throat. Everything turned green in my sight, and in a moment of despair I blew off the emergency hatch of the bridge. In a second everything and everybody was sucked into space. My last thought was that I've managed to die while on active duty, giving my life a reason. But the thought never ended, and I was not dead.

Something that borg had injected into my body kept me alive. I didn't need to breath nor did I feel any hunger. But I felt the cold out there, and it is cold, really. For a while I heard voices in my head, many voices, but they disappeared after a while. And than there was only loneliness, vast space, and the cold.

My body was found 39 years later. It was the U.S.S. Boudicca under command of captain Tara Mareil that retrieved me. They were able to deactivate one of my implants and after that I was able to remember. My borg designation was Five of Five. My last order from the collective was still in my memory core. It states that I should assist in the assimilation of the crew of the U.S.S. Chekov.

As we know, that never happened. After I was revived by the Boudicca, I rejoined Starfleet. As I am still partly a machine myself, I decided to become an engineer. My first command was the U.S.S. Thermopylia, today I am in command of the U.S.S. Kobane. Why do I mention this, you may ask. Let me tell you: I want to honor the crew of U.S.S. Chekov. These brave men and women gave their life to protect humanity itself. So do I, and because I was the only survivor of the Chekov, I decided to name my ships in the tradition of great battles that were lost against tyrannous attackers while the defenders put up a great fight we remember for centuries. Keep those names alive, as we do it today at Wolf 359!

[Thanks for reading. We hope you enjoyed it!]

 Awesome, thanks for entering the #WritingContest @GXV3!  Good luck!!

(This is my first ever written story, since school, but I wanted to give it a go, forgive my grammar. it was kinda fun thinking it up though)

The Joining Of life


The doors to the meeting room slid open as 3 senior federation admirals stepped through, each carrying a bundle of padds under there arms.
The room was bigger than what the Joined Trill Captain was used to, the luxury was more different in earth space dock than it was aboard a starship... Standing to attention Capt.Gareth Zaahn watched as the admirals made their way around the large oval table to meet with their chairs.
"As you were", one of the admirals said as he nodded toward Gareth, The captain knew full well that this wasn't going to be an easy meeting. The conflicts in the Dyson sphere between the aligned federation and Klingon defense forces had been marching toward a never ending war it seemed..  with the U.S.S. Pendragon called back to ESD for this very meeting, that will involve a top secret mission.
It wasnt a normal meeting of admirals.. this time it was direct and to the point, the stone faced admirals outlining mission details and Strike plans on the enemy wand what was expected of the Pendragon and her crew.
Gareth was handed padd after padd of target structures, no doubt some poor soul was responsible for getting these blueprints that showed the enemy's base of operations.. if crippled it would give the federation the extreme upper hand in this war..another padd was slid in front of him... the two hand selected officers who were the main Strike team responsible to infiltrating the Target building, and destroying it.
The Two Specially trained offers appeared on the screen of the padd infront of him, The Admiral gave a run down of what he was seeing on screen,  a young female Bajoran.. a master at infiltration. and a male Trill an advanced demolition expert.. The Pendragon was to ferry these experts to the target area and let them do their thing. it was extremely risky, maybe some broken bones and bulkheads along the way.. Though the two man strike force will be in a worse situation, Through his many life times as a joined Trill.. Gareth knew what sacrifices had to be made, he had almost become numb to it. This would more than likely be a one way trip for the two Volunteers he sees in front of him.

The Admirals continued to talk, as Gareth glaces over the Bios once more, he looked deeper at the images of the two officers, The admirals voices were blanketed out and became mear mumbles as Gareth transfixed on the Male trills picture, "I know him".. The captain thought to himself, It cant be?
He looked down toward the officers name, Lt. N'rall the Bajoran female.. and The Trill Male Caleb, eyes darted over the letters that caused the feeling of severe familiarity and a unconscious inhale of breath.
"Oh my Gods.. its him, it is.. him, oh please no" The panic stricken words ran through Gareth's head until he was interrupted by one of the Admirals calling the meeting to a close, Everything was in place, the plan was a simple one.. the two Experts were already briefed and aboard the Pendragon waiting to set off toward the Target. 
As the Admirals got up from their seats, a somber good luck was exchanged, and they promptly left.
Gareth reached down to his glass of water.. looking down at the Male demolition expert on the padd once more.
"No Gareth, let it go, let it drop", he ordered to himself.

U.S.S Pendragon: On route to the Contested Zone: ETA of target 2 hours

Gareth had made the decision not to meet with the two strike force officers Caleb and N'all during the journey to the Dyson sphere, instead letting his 1st officer handle all their needs and go over plans of action. His first officer hadn't said anything but this was an out of character move on behalf a Captain that always likes to go over every single detail with all involved. But there was enough trust between Gareth and his crew that it wasn't brought up.
The Pendragon as always was ready to deal with anything, the crew was exceptional, and the Nebula Class Starship had seen more battles and came out of them more times than he could count.
The voice of his navigation's officer chimed through to Him as he sat in his ready room, "One hour until we reach our destination sir", Gareth acknowledged, and his eyes darted over to The padd that held the young Trill males bio, all throughout the journey he had forced himself not to look at it. But a sudden urge came over him to look at the young mans face once again, Feelings grew inside of him as he looked at the mans face, a small smile crept up on the corners of his mouth as a rush of warm feelings of familiarity washed over his body.
"No"! Gareth blurted out, "I cant", with that he put the padd back on his desk.. stood up and straightened his uniform, filling his mind with the where he needs to get the ship in order for the strike team of two can breach the Target building. it wont be easy, the ship needs to be in and out before anyone can even blink. The Calculations and timing alone would be enough to occupy every bridge officer mind. A warp in with a split second transport and warp out isnt an easy thing to pull off, So concentrations must be focused on that.

The time was near, The Pendragon was ready to warp into the target area, "Lieutenant!, standby to break out of warp", Gareth noted toward helm, Tapping his comm badge, "Transporter room three, are you ready from Transport"? 
A voice other than the Transporter operator answered The captains request, "Yes Captain, we are ready to beam down, Good luck to you and your crew" .. it was The Trill male, Caleb.. Gareth inhaled at the unexpected response, he bit on his lip slowly as another blanket of emotions tried to cover the Captain. He paused, and replied. "Good luck to you.. .. to you both".
Knowing full well this was a definite one way trip for the two officers, there was no time for the Pendragon or any other ship to hang around to wait for them to do what they had to do, by all accounts the detonation would envelop a large area around the target.
It was war, wars need sacrifices to see an ending, Gareth kept telling himself.
Things went smoothly, The Nebula class Pendragon Dropped out of warp at the exact location that was planned, beamed the officers down, a second later warped out as fast as it could, This probably left the voth Confused at what had just happened, hopefully giving the Strike team the distraction they needed.

Two hours had past since the drop off, the Pendragon was now in a safe zone, they had come out of this mission unscratched thankfully, however no word on the sensors of a large scale explosion, had they managed to infiltrate the prime target?, to cripple the Voth to buy the Federation enough time to  grow  a stronger foot hold in the sphere. The voice of the Trill Caleb kept repeating in Gareth's head, The feelings of guilt, the need  to hear him one more time, He should have met up with him before they beamed down.. he should have spoken to him more. The voices of "should haves" wouldn't pass despite Gareth's best efforts to silence them.
Suddenly a voice came over the Con, it was his first officer informing him that sensors picked up a massive explosion, and the mission was successful.
Gareth Slowly sat back in his chair, and stared out at the small view port of his ready room window.

He remembered when Caleb was born, He was his first child, he was not prepared for fatherhood, even though he had been a mother twice before, the surprise of love that came with this new bundle of joy, the feeling of protection that needed to be put into place for his son, the change of life all for the good was amazing.
Seeing him learn how to walk, how it took so long to get teach him to ride a bike, give or take a few medical packs being opened to patch Caleb up. Life was perfect, Perfect job at the Trill Science council, perfect wife and now a Son who loves and looks up to his father and wants to follow him everywhere.
Things changed when Caleb was 7 years old, his father was no longer in his life, Caleb's father Bren'k Zaahn had died.
His Symbiot now belonged to another young Trill.. Gareth Zaahn.

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