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Post by Einar on Mar 1, 2019 15:33:02 GMT
that sounds like Tom alright. Nice logs!
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Post by Tom Marsland on Mar 4, 2019 5:59:12 GMT
February, 2398
“Congratulations, Commander.”
The Admiral shook Tom’s hand as he crossed the stage, handing him a certificate. Tom took the certificate and posed for the customary photograph with a thin smile. “You made it. I had my doubts initially, Commander, but you’ve come around. You’ll do well on a bridge again. My staff and I both think so. Behind the certificate are your orders. Be safe out there, Commander.”
“Thank you, Admiral, I’ll do my best. The sooner I can meet the True Federation head on, the better.”
The Admiral’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be too eager to gun down your former shipmates, Tom. It will be harder than you think. Take your time, get to know the crew. Above all, don’t think you have to do it all yourself. Trust them. I know that will be difficult for you.”
“I’ll try, Admiral.”
“I know you will, Tom. Good luck out there.”
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“Well, baby, I’m leaving tonight. I’ve been chasing you around this bar for what now, a week?”
The brunette tossed her hair back over her shoulder, her green eyes glowing, smiling at Tom. “Try two nights, hot shot. And I told you already, I don’t date pilots.”
Tom grinned. “First, I'm not a pilot. I just graduated the Command Course. Second, who’s asking for a date? I’m just trying to get you back to my place for one night before I leave.”
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The all too familiar chime of a Starfleet alarm clock went off. Tom stretched, disentangling his legs from the gorgeous brunette next to him, and slid out of bed. Donning the uniform of a Starfleet Commander, three gold pips, red shirt of command. It still looks weird, he thought. Well, no time like the present.
Tom picked up the few small belongings he owned. Two PADDs, a meticulously crafted model of a New Orleans class starship, a picture frame, and a coffee mug with the Starfleet logo emblazoned on it. He gently placed these items into his backpack, hand-carrying the model.
Goodbye, lovely. Tom smiled as he leaned over the bed, kissing the half-naked woman still sleeping in his bed. Look me up sometime, he thought, as he turned and strode out to meet his transport, bound for his next assignment.
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Post by Einar on Mar 4, 2019 6:24:04 GMT
Yup, definitely Tom. Great log!
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 4, 2019 15:18:22 GMT
ooooooh, this is gonna be innnnteresting!
::rubs hands together with glee::
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 4, 2019 15:20:36 GMT
"“Don’t be too eager to gun down your former shipmates, Tom."
I particularly love this line, by the way. Tells me a LOT about Marsland right now.
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Post by Tom Marsland on Mar 11, 2019 7:11:05 GMT
Captain’s Log, Stardate 11903.04
I have assumed command of the USS Zorya, a capable Akira-class vessel. I had a good experience with the crew on the bridge, although I was surprised they hadn’t seen my orders before I arrived. I look forward to the transit to Betazed, and getting to know the crew as they enjoy some well-deserved R&R.
It is obvious this crew is a family already. The baby of my CTO and CMO is in the NICU, slowly growing, the talk of the ship. Friendships, or at the least, strong working relationships have been formed, forged by the heat of battle.
Over the next few weeks while I settle in, my goal is to meet the senior staff and get to know all of them. I imagine before too much longer, chaos will make us close. I only pray I can live up to their expectations.
Personal Log, Stardate 11903.04
The XO was not as I expected. I was wary, reading her personnel file, of her previous Starfleet Intelligence involvement, but she did not come off as someone I should be concerned with. I hope my trust has been placed wisely, but based on the reports I’ve heard about the Zorya’s accomplishments, I don’t think I have anything to worry about.
The Chair was intimidating, and touching. The crew grew eerily silent as I looked at it and eventually took my seat as we left for Betazed. For so long, the Captain’s Chair had eluded me. It was something I thought would never belong to me - I thought I would only play a supporting role, assisting others that sat there. Now, I just can’t believe it. Nothing at the SCC could’ve prepared me for that moment. Sitting in the chair in a holodeck wasn’t nearly the same - to see others sit there moments before, and moments after you, it just didn’t have the feeling.
This has the feeling. End Log.
Tom went back to arranging things in his Ready Room. He’d removed the fish tank, and now the Ready Room looked even more barren. A picture of a young female Starfleet officer, standing next to him, with an older woman in a Starfleet Medical Corps uniform stood behind them both, sat on the desk. The model of the New Orleans class starship sat on an alcove near the replicator. A few small plants were in various places throughout the space.
A rum decanter sat on the coffee table, with three glasses surrounding it. Two books sat on the table, a book on Stellar Cartography, and a book titled A History of and the Articles of the United Federation of Planets. Both books seemed like they’d seen their share of wear and tear.
Finally, Tom sat down to compose his first briefing.
Senior Staff, ensure your departments understand the policies for R&R on Betazed. Let’s enjoy ourselves, but not get too crazy and keep everyone safe. You may beam down as soon as your department is secure and the ship is shut down safely.
“Well, I guess that’s about it. Not an earth-shattering mission briefing, to be sure.” Tom sent the brief to his senior staff, and poured himself a drink.
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Post by aoibheni on Mar 11, 2019 17:09:39 GMT
"This has the feeling." The feeling is dumb fear and abject panic, isn't it?
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Post by Tom Marsland on Apr 1, 2019 3:12:29 GMT
Captain's Log, Stardate 11903.31.
I still haven't met much of the crew. The senior staff act like a well-oiled machine - for being on R&R. I have enjoyed my time thus far on Betazed, even though I haven't done much. It is a nice breather, allowing me to somewhat settle into the idea of the vast amounts of responsibility I have now been given. Am I prepared to 'go down with the ship', as it were?
I can honestly answer that in the affirmative. And the more I get to know the crew under me, the more I feel that way. I have met with our Chief Medical Officer and one of our Engineers. Both are well=spoken individuals who bring a lot to this ship. After we leave Betazed, I look forward to seeing how the crew behaves under some pressure. I am sure they will surprise me.
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Post by Einar on Apr 1, 2019 12:23:47 GMT
I look forward to seeing how the crew behaves under some pressure. I am sure they will surprise me. If running away screaming is surprising, then yes. They probably will
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Post by Nola on Apr 1, 2019 16:51:00 GMT
I look forward to seeing how the crew behaves under some pressure. I am sure they will surprise me. If running away screaming is surprising, then yes. They probably will Oh, sure, it's real easy to say that when you have, like, experience. Psh.
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Babs
Lore Committee
Posts: 210
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Post by Babs on Apr 2, 2019 20:44:46 GMT
Running away screaming? Naah. Running towards something and screaming? More likely..
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Post by Tom Marsland on May 10, 2019 16:22:44 GMT
Stardate 11905.10 (During the lapse)
(Joint Log with Aoibhe)
ACTION: A text communication comes in on CO's private channel. It's short, and to the point. "Tom," it reads simply, "...we need to talk ASAP. Niamh".
Tom furrowed his brow. Hearing from Niamh was always good, but the circumstances did not sound like they were optimal. He turned to the CEO and gave him the CONN with direction to debrief the Away Teams, and headed to his Ready Room, obviously distracted.
The Ready Room doors whooshed shut behind him - he’d only been in here a few times since taking command, and it still felt a bit foreign. Stepping the few feet to the shelves by the window, looking at Betazed below them, he popped open the decanter and poured a glass of whiskey. He looked down at the planet below for a few moments, thinking about his past, then sat down at his desk to work.
He began by trying to trace the communique. Seeing a roadblock immediately, he smiled. If Niamh didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. He stopped trying. Sending a reply text to his old friend, it read simply, “Niamh, it’s been way too long. I’ve missed you. What’s going on?”
The reply came after several minutes delay. “Just got wind that your ship has picked up a dangerous individual. She's not to be interrogated. Limit contact, Tom. I recommend you put her in immediate isolation and confine her until she can be handed over directly to me.”
Moment’s later, a second message followed the first. “Congratulations on the new ship, by the way. Knew you could do it. Drinks on me next time we meet.”
Tom paced the Ready Room. Niamh wasn’t Starfleet anymore, she was Maquis. How did she know who they had gotten their hands on? Tom could draw some connections, given they’d picked up a Bajoran, but her connections back to Starfleet must still be strong. Still, he had regulations to follow. He banged out a reply.
“Niamh, you know I still have regs to follow. I’ll limit contact to those that have a direct need to talk to her, but I’m going to try and find out what I can. That said, you’re welcome to meet up with me and we can tackle this together, but I’m not keeping secrets from my crew, or the Admiralty. I’m going to need way more of the story than you’ve given me so far. What do you say?”
The delay this time was longer. A lot longer. Tom began to wonder if she had given up entirely. Then, finally, his console beeped and her message appeared. It was a set of coordinates inside Maquis-held space and three words. “It’s a date”.
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Post by Tom Marsland on May 27, 2019 19:04:33 GMT
Stardate 11905.14
(Joint Log with Aoibhe)
During the 30 minute time lapse…
Tom strode across to his Ready Room as the Zorya followed the escorts. Maquis escorts that had just crossed into Federation space. He needed answers. Sitting down at his desk, he banged out a reply back to Niamh.
“Niamh, you’ve got me on edge about as far as I can be with my trust for you. We go way back, but you need to give me more, here. I said we would work together, and now you send five ships to give me an escort? You know they crossed the border.. Sensor stations are missing. Give me something to work with here.”
He deliberately kept his interrogation results free from his comms. He was sure she’d know soon enough.
Minutes past as Tom paced and waited. Then, his console lit up with an incoming hail. “If there are sensor stations missing, how do you know they crossed the border?” she asked as soon as a solid connection was established. She looked older than when Tom last saw her. The lines at the corner of her mouth had deepened, her hair was now flecked with a few stray, grey curls among the deep red tendrils, but her eyes were the same and they stared at him now, shining with a savvy intelligence. He had never seen her in her Maquis get-up, and the shift from Starfleet officer to outlaw was startling.
He ran his fingers through his now-greying hair, facing the viewscreen in his Ready Room. “Holy… Niamh, look at you..” He frowned. Maybe this decision was a bad idea… No! This was his friend he was looking at. A history together must mean something! He wouldn’t turn back now.
“I know they’ve crossed into Federation space, Niamh, because I still have a starship with an Astrometrics at my disposal. Now, give me something to work with here! Allegiances aside, I know you, and you know me. Let’s solve this.”
Tom took a seat as he watched her face, trying to look past the get-up she now wore. He understood why she’d left, or at least he thought he did. Part of him thought her not as strong as he, for giving up on the Federation too soon. Part of him thought her braver than he, for standing up for her beliefs, regardless of her new legal status. He brushed that all aside, reminding himself yet again - This was his friend, here.
"Hell, Tom, I'm just glad you can tell which way is up on that rustbucket they gave you!" she responded with a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Her smile faded as she got down to business. "The escort is for your own good. Things are… complicated right now, and a lone Federation vessel is a tempting target. I'm sorry they trespassed like that. They weren't meant to, but, well, I guess they couldn't resist taking a cheeky punt at Starfleet. Don't take it personal."
Tom gritted his teeth. How could he not take it personal? Still, this was his friend. One of his closest, at that. He thought fondly back to their days at the Academy, having each other’s backs. They’d kissed even, once. Eons ago.
“Of course. These are tough times, indeed.”
His face took on a more serious note. “Did you hire her to steal that artifact she was after?”
He hoped for a good answer. "What?" she asked, her nose scrunching up in confusion. "What artifact? She stole something?!" She winced. "That good for nothing…" she grumbled to herself. "No, Tom. No i didn't hire her to enter Federation space," she held up a finger, "steal something", a second finger joined the first, "bring it to me," she uncurled a third digit, "and bring the wrath of the entire goddamn Federation down around my ears." Her freckled cheeks flushed with genuine anger. For Tom it was a tell he'd learnt to recognise at the Academy.
“I didn’t think so, but I had to ask. She seems to think you’re going to kill her. Which you just might.” He grinned.
“Be seeing you shortly, old friend. Tom out.”
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Post by Tom Marsland on Jun 25, 2019 6:11:03 GMT
War. War Never Changes. Hour 0.
The transporter glow faded away and Tom squinted his eyes. Fuck, he thought. This is bad. The carnage went as far as the eyes could see, the smoky air making his eyes water. Bodies lay strewn about. He had been beamed down into a courtyard of sorts, what was once a city center. The smell of sulfur burned at his nostrils, caused him to flinch involuntarily. The smoke in the air glowed with an unholy light, the orange hue caused by the numerous fires that ravaged the city.
His security detail fanned out, scouring the area. Remember, diplomacy first. They think we did this, he cautioned them. He pulled out his tricorder and moved towards the first of the injured, hoping to staunch the flow of blood from her neck and save what lives he could here. As he knelt down, he saw her human face, and began to sob as he worked.
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Post by aoibheni on Jun 25, 2019 9:27:07 GMT
Ooof. This is great, Tom.
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