I just improved one of our most popular recent features.  PMs now come to you with good formatting, preserving bolded text, italics, line breaks, etc.  So instead of getting PM notices that can be a bit jumbled, you now get much more readable text via email.

Furthermore, I'm adding the same functionality to thread notifications!

Hah.  Looks like the new server didn't have a core service (sendmail) installed.  This is resovled, email notification should work again.

That was a new upgrade.  Don't worry, I'll get it fixed.

Looks like email notification isn't working right now.  This will definitely be due to migration; I'll check it out.

With a site that is usable again, perhaps it will help people to post!

Also... lol @ Bromern's silly graphic.

Hey folks, we have successfully migrated to the new webhost... and it's a revelation in terms of speed and responsiveness. 

I'm so sorry that it took me so long.  I should have given up on the previous racket long ago.

Enjoy!

Wow, look at those old faces!

Too bad I can't see more of them! 

No argument, here.

For the record, Reid is spot on.  "Archin" is what the Calcians call their own system, much like how other Federations species might use the term "Terrans" for inhabitants of Earth.  A quick analyisis of Calican transmissions will verify innumerable uses of the word "Archin" in this manner.

I thought of doing an in-game post, but it seems silly to give Aoife one line and little else to do right here, so I figured a Q&A would do the job - especially since Reid has it right.

There we go.  The post is up.  Let's bump this along, shall we?

Stardate: ?
Coast of Connemara, Ireland

The west wind wasn't particularly strong this evening, but it still carried the familiar salty scent of the sea.  As she walked, Aoife picked up on a related fragrance - the rain was coming. 

The blonde woman didn't quicken her steps, even as she knew that the rain would arrive before she could reach shelter; after all, a spring shower never hurt anyone.  Sure enough, less than two minutes later, the first drops struck her exposed skin.  Rather than flee, she paused, threw her head back, stretched out her arms, and gave herself over to the tactile stimulation of the drops gently contacting her flesh.

-----------

Stardate 2365.05.16 - Impact minus 51:07
USS Peregrine, Deck 5 - 1435

Even after stepping out of the holosuite, Aoife carried the same small smile on her face.  She enjoyed her job here in Starfleet, truly she did.  The ship itself was a marvel of technology, able to transport her to places she had never dreamed of, exposed her to things that she had never imagined could even exist.  But even so, she was surprised at how much she missed the simple rain.  Back home, it rained nigh to two out of every three days; many considered the rain a bother, a hindrance, but Aoife had never really felt that way.  To her, the rain brought renewal, it brought cleansing; the simple walk in the holosuite helped wash away her stress in ways she didn't quite understand.  The ship, though wonderful, was quite sterile, with no variation in the environment.  The rain helped her stay grounded, connected.

Even if her hair did drip for some time after.

-----------

"Na lass, I won' hear of it!  I've nothin' to do today, anyway; I'll grab me uniform on and be on tha bridge in five minutes!" Even as she argued in her singsong Irish accent, Aoife was a model of efficiency, pulling on her clothing and brooking no objections. 

She regarded the Betazoid women's pale, pinched expression.  "You're hurtin' plain as day, Miyahaya.  There's no sense in ya strugglin' through a shift like tha'.  Give me regards to tha new doc, wha's 'is name, Veen?  Ye feel better, I'll handle yer watch, sure."

Petty Officer Amai gave a weak smile in acknowledgement.  "Thank you, Aoife.  I shall do just that."

"Ná habair é, lass," Aoife replied with a grin.  "Don' mention it!"

-----------

O'Connor arrived on the bridge in plenty of time for shift change.  Lieutenant Ferrero was taking over as the officer of the watch, so she presented herself to him with a salute.  "Petty Officer Frist Class Aoife O'Connor reporting, sir.  Petty Officer Amai is medically indisposed, sure.  Herself is on the way to Doctor Veen now; the poor lass 'as a terrible headache on her, so I d'be standing her Ops watch today."

OOC: assuming some affirmative response

"Aye, sir," O'Connor replied.

After taking over the console, Aoife first swept down the various sensor readings, followed by the ship status indicators.  As expected, everything was nominal. 

At least there was a directive in place to work on analyzing the planetary communications.  While comms and languages were not her forte - not like Miyahaya - Aoife was hardly a slouch in the arena.  Having an active task - as opposed to simply keeping a sentient's eye on the various readouts for any abnormalities - was a godsend that would help pass the time so much quicker.

-----------

Stardate 2365.05.16 - Impact minus 47:59
USS Peregrine, Deck 1, Bridge - 1829

More than three hours had gone by, and Aoife had found herself grown numb to the work.  So much of the planetary broadcasts contained fear and sadness; the poor people knew that they would die, and the citizens were dealing with it as best they could, by and large. 

Oh, there were wild plans, arguments about launching nuclear-style weaponry, of sending a desperation rocket... apparently, one had already been sent, and had been a complete failure.  Calican II simply lacked the ability to save themselves. 

Apparently, there was some sort of large religious movement afoot on the planet, as well; the human woman had a hand stray several times to a pendant around her own neck without even realizing that she did so.  Faith was a great part of the fabric of the lives of her family, her people; O'Connor knew that many in Starfleet scoffed at such matters, but faith grounded her, helped her to make sense of the senseless - and to accept what she could not make sense of.

But truth be told, this was quite a test to that faith.  Why did these people all have to die, through no fault of their own?  She brushed blonde hair back behind her ear, trying to set the analytical part of her mind aside.  This was not her choice to make, she had a job to do, and moping about wouldn't get it done any sooner.

Naturally, it was far beyond the ability of any sentient to filter through an entire planet's transmissions; as such, there were many algorithms set up to help filter out the noise, the repetitive items, the unimportant material.  A tremendous amount of processing power was devoted to dividing the proverbial wheat from the chaff and to help Aoife identify anything that might be of interest. 

As it turned out, the ultra repetitive nature of one broadcast is what caught her eye. 

O'Connor almost ignored the broadcast that was being repeated every half hour on the half hour.  In fact, she had ignored it several times; the computer kept presenting this in the batch of items for manual review, and in a fit of pique, Aoife gave an exasperated sigh and started playing the translated recording.  Moments later, her breath caught in her throat and her hand went back to that cross-shaped pendant. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

She swallowed, took a breath, and spoke aloud.  "Lieutenant Ferrero," she opened, "I've a broadcast found tha ye need to hear, sir."

OOC: assuming that Ferrero wants to hear it...

"This message is being sent every half hour," she explained.  Aoife pressed a button, and translated audio filled the bridge.

=/=Attention, space faring beings.  We, the citizens of Archin, know that we are not alone in this universe.  There is no possibility that so many habitable planets exist in our galaxy with no other intelligent life on them.  We may not yet see you, but we know that you are there.

Our world will be destroyed by an asteroid that we cannot prevent.  But if you are here and receiving this broadcast, then you surely possess the technology to do so. 

Please, we beg of you.  Save our children.  Save our species.  Save our world.=/=

"Tha's all of it," Aoife pronounced as the audio went silent, her alto voice even lower and more husky than normal.  "They're askin' for our help, sure, sir."

How can we deny it?

I'm a heartless jerk, so I'll do terrible things to my players with no remorse. 

Actually, that's a lie - I feel for them, but I'll still do terrible things.

No, I'm hating my writing.  I'm challenging myself to go a little out of my comfort zone to better tell the story here. 

Another pst is in the works.  It's taking longer than I expected, as I keep hating what I'm doing.  Bear with me, please.

That's just a little fluff post, but it's something.  Plot advancing post to come soon.

Please be careful advancing the timeline.  It's always fine to backpost, but please don't post farther ahead unless a command staff individual okays it.

No harm done here, but jumping ahead can cause timeline issues! 

Lieutenant Collins gestured for Drake to take his seat at the head of the banquet table, and he did so while trying to ingore the rumbling in his stomach.  The smells of the cooking food wafted around the room; admirality had sprung for actual chefs and cooking as opposed to replicators for the occasion.  An attractive woman, Collins took the seat to his right, while an old friend whose face he couldn't quote place took the one to his left.  With a start, it hit Silas that the table was improbably long; more than forty people were seated at it, murmuring politely to one another.

Disquieted, he reached forward, took the wine glass in his hand.  Silas had never been much of a wine drinker, but the alcohol called to him now as he searched for a way to calm the roiling emotions inside.  "A toast!" came a call from a woman seated just a bit further down.  She smiled widely, something that Lieutenant Tal hardly ever seemed to do.  Why was she so happy?

Collins likewise beamed beside him. 

Michelle.

The call for a toast was taken up further down the table.  Eric nearly laughed at the consternation on the Captain's face.  "What's the matter, Silas?" he asked in his easy, familiar manner.  "Have you forgotton how to give a toast?"

"Come now, dear," Michelle urged.  "Give them their toast.  They are all here because of you."

Suddenly, it hit Drake like a warhead.  The attendees weren't just here to honor him - they truly were hear BECAUSE of him.  Kara Tal.  Eric Thorson.  Bradley Garner.  Many whose names he had to pause to recall.

Michelle.

They were here because Silas had killed them.  Or had allowed them to die; what was the difference?

Michelle frowned.  "You know, Silas... I think that we will need a much larger banquet room soon..."

--------------------------------------------

Silas sat bolt upright in his bed, pushing the sweat-soaked sheets off of him as sleep fled his body. 

He couldn't let those people die.  There had to be a way.

Hey all,

I've gotten busy, posting got slow.  My laptop keeps trying to die. 

Excuses, excuses.

I'll have a post up within 24 hours, let's get this baby hopping again!

A week without a game bump seems a bad thing.  I'll see if I can get a post out today.

Welcome back!

I've been offsite for work, and some of us have hit RL, so we've been a tad slow.

Yo mamma jokes are always appropriate, however.

No worries.  Looks like we all had a rough week. 

I'll wait a bit longer, then I'll make a bump post.  Maybe I'll do an NPC post in the meantime.

Length lmit is 65,535 characters.  Let me know if that's not enough. 

If you need hekp with Trek terminology, tech terms, etc - feel free to reach out to myself, Eol, and/or Bromern.

No worries.  We all can get busy, I get that.  I'm always a day later to post than I plan to be. 

I just don't want people sitting around saying "I don't know what to do" and not posting if I can help!

Hey folks,

I felt like we set things up pretty well to give people things to do.  But if you're not feeling it, let me know.  I'll be happy to work with you, set up some prompts, brainstorm, do another Captain post, whatever I can do to keep things rolling.

Squee!

Breath held for the next round of posts...

Meeting over.  Get to work!