Hey guys,


So I just got a new desktop and I've been transferring all my games over to it. WoW transferred fine and so did STO, now when I got to CoV I started to have issues with the install. I just had CoV and not CoH so I had the original 4 install disks. I kept having issues with the install so I finally uninstalled the intaller program and downloaded the PC client directly from PlayNC. I also pre-ordered the the expansion so I'd have access to CoH. The patches took all night to install but this morning when I finally ran the game it login screen and the game kept stuttering and strobing. It was painful to look at. I could barely see my character. I tried playing with with graphics settings but it only helped a tiny bit. I tried running it in safe mode and it didn't help. My comp is an HP Pavilion Elite AMD Phenomâ„¢ II Quad-Core. Windows 7 home premium. Graphics card is a ATI Radeon HD 5450 Series, 8G RAM, 512 dedicated video memory, 3.0 GHz. This comp is more than adequate so why am I having this problem? Any suggestions on how to fix it? :unsure:

I'm totally game for this! I would be happy as either Lt. Cmdr. cheif engineer or ensign/lt. helmsman. other roles are fine too, but those are my first choices.

Greetings and felicitations!

Who would be interested in some real time roleplaying?

Over ten years ago, I was part of an RP Star Trek group on Yahoo called Gamma Quadrant Headquarters...a Starfleet station and a few starships based in the Gamma Quadrant.

We did RT RP in a chat room where instead of writing fan fiction, we played off of eachother's creativity in the moment and responded, interacted, etc. in character. It was a whole lotta fun!

In STO, we have bridges but they aren't functional, at least not to most people. For RT RP, this is great!! We could RP in chat, while on the bridge (no vent).

I would like to form a crew, we would have ranks independent of the fleet and STO so that we can drive stories, etc. I would not necessarily be the Captain, in fact, I wouldn't mind just being a bridge officer.

Reply to this thread if you are interested in this, if you want to be a sci, tac, med or eng officer and a suggested rank...whatever you want to be. We can then choose a Captain and a type of bridge to host on and then have lots of fun!

See you out there!

Sinner68 wrote:

I will be reactivating my coh account the first week of june I will be creating a stonewall branch so any name & server suggestions would be appreciated as of now gonna see if Stonewall is available as an sg name when I reactivate

I actually pre-ordered GR, and re-upped my CoH a few weeks ago.. and I've been playing hooky from STO.. :P

I have characters all over the place... what server is this planned for? I'd be interested in toolin' around Paragon, or the Isles til GR comes out if anyone is playing currently.

Look for me @daemon-held.. just lemme know you're from Stonewall... :P

Saith

Six woke up, and immediately tried to remember why he would have gone to sleep tied to a hard wooden board. Looking to the side, he saw Sabin similarly restrained on a picnic table next to him. He strained against the bonds, testing their strength. They passed.

A familiar blue face appeared upside-down above him. “Thoros!” Six said. “Cut me free. We need to rescue Sabin and get out of here.” He didn't know what was going on, but figured not being tied down would be a good start.

His Andorian engineer did not reply. Instead Thoros reached to the side, and grabbed one of the familiar metal headbands. He leaned over the captain and put the device in place. Two bright lights flashed into Six's eyes, and he suddenly felt very relaxed.

At the other picnic table, the waitress from the bar was placing a similar device on Sabin's still-unconscious head. Six watched as a spinning disc appeared, floating in the air in front of him. A tube them appeared next to the disc. He felt a curious urge to move the disc closer to the tube. As soon as the thought entered his brain, the disc moved and was sucked up by the tube. A jolt of pleasure shot through his neocortex.

Part of Six's brain went on red alert. But his frontal lobe was entirely focused on the game hovering before his eyes. With an herculean effort, he exerted the only bodily control he could muster. He closed his eyes. Only for a second.

On the neighboring table, Sabin stirred. His eyes flickered open. While his face registered no surprise at his situation, his Vulcan mind worked to clear away the cobwebs. Then a strange disc and tube appeared in his vision.

The crowd gathered around the picnic tables watched as the Star Fleet officers were indoctrinated into the game. Sabin's eyebrow twitched upward in what, for him, was an embarrassing display of orgasmic ecstasy.

As suddenly as the game had started, it stopped.

The lights in Sabin's eyes went out, and he turned his head from side to side, trying to figure out what had happened. The crowd standing around the tables had collapsed into unconsciousness. The only other movement was his captain, struggling against the bonds on the next table.

“Captain?” Sabin said.

“I'm all right,” Six replied. “But there was a flaw in the game program. It contained an infinite loop, and pseudo-viral qualities. I reactivated my nanites, and they reprogrammed the headsets, employing a retroviral algorithm.”

“Logical.” Six smiled inwardly. That was almost embarrassingly high praise from his friend. After a pause, the Vulcan asked, “Have you applied your logic to how we will escape from these tables?”

After an hour of straining against the ropes unsuccessfully, they heard a familiar voice. “Dudes! I mean, Sirs!” It took another several minutes to convince Solep that they were not partaking in the local bondage club, and that he should, indeed, untie them.


Back on board Brittanic the next morning, the bridge crew came stumbling in for their shift. Embarrassed greetings were muttered. Furtive glances were exchanged. Everyone took their stations. Six strolled onto the bridge a few minutes later, feeling much more at home in his uniform, with a ceiling and walls around him, and good old-fashioned artificial light.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, perhaps a little louder than necessary. Thoros, Corny and Fet cringed at the noise. Even Sabin blinked hard. “I trust you are all rested and ready to return to duty?”

Sabin handed the captain a PADD. “Sick bay reports all personnel approved for duty. Some minor injuries were reported, mostly bumps and bruises.” Corny and Fet exchanged a quick glance. “One treatable STI.” Thoros frowned at his display panel. “And a case of sunburn over,” Sabin pretended to double check the readout, “ninety-seven percent of a crewman's body.” Solep flushed an attractive green hue, which in turn caused Captain Six's skin temperature to rise several degrees.

“And the game devices?”

“Deactivated,” Thoros reported. “Captain, I must apologize for my actions. If I had not tinkered with the device from Ensign Solep's box, none of this would have happened.”

“At ease, Ensign,” Captain Six said, smiling to himself. “We all did things we aren't proud of. That's what shore leave is for.”

“Aye, sir,” Thoros returned to his station. Corny and Fet exchanged another look. And Sabin strolled over to Solep's science station.

“You performed admirably, Ensign,” he said quietly.

Solep's surprise showed on his face. “Thank you, sir.” He hesitated, then spoke quickly. “I just can't figure out why the Captain doesn't like me.”

Sabin's expression was inscrutable, even for him. Then he spoke, measuring his words carefully. “The Captain does not dislike you. Remember that, being in command, he must maintain an appropriate distance from his subordinates.”

“Even you, sir?” Solep asked, innocently.

Sabin turned to look at Six in the Captain's chair. “Even me,” he said. And one eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.

THE END

(Congratulations if you made it this far!)

When they got back to the table, Solep was showing off his treasure. “I was free-diving with some dudes from the beach, and found this box half-buried in the sand under the bay,” he said excitedly. “There could be anything in it! Who knows how long it has been down there!”

Sabin whipped a tricorder from under the folds of his robe. It whirred and beeped for a few seconds. “The box itself was constructed approximately 50 to 55 years ago, of a wood indigenous to this planet. Judging from the rate of bacterial and plant growth, it has been underwater for approximately 42 years.”

Solep's smile faded to disappointment for a second, then it returned. “Let's open it!” he said with a gleam in his eye.

It took the combined efforts of the entire, mostly toasted, bridge team about 10 minutes to clear away the seaweed and open the box. The inside was surprisingly well-preserved. It contained some very old and very soggy papers, an old-style flip tricorder, and a few other items that nobody could immediately identify.

“We should report this find to the local authorities,” Sabin said. But Solep was too busy rooting through the contents of the box to pay attention. He briefly examined a primitive carved wooden statue, then set it aside when he saw a beaded necklace with a serpent's tooth. Meanwhile Thoros had found a semi-circular metal strip with electronic attachments at either end, and Fet was holding up a brightly colored swatch of fabric that, once he figured out was a very small swimsuit, made him blush.

“Can I get you more beer?” the waitress said, approaching the table and fingering the wooden figurine. “Oh! I see you are seeking jamaharon?” She looked at each of the officers in turn for any sign that they were the owner of the Horga'hn statue, the traditional Risan sign that one is … available.

“Is that anything like nachos?” Solep asked. “I've been hungry ever since they lit up that really smoky bonfire down on the beach.”

Thoros eyed the waitress, his antennae erect. “Yeah, that would be mine,” he said smoothly. She took his hand and he followed her out of the bar, leaving his crew mates standing around the box with their jaws open.

“Guess we gotta get our own beer now,” Corny remarked, draining his glass. The remaining officers gathered around the box again.

“So, no nachos then?” Solep asked, rubbing his stomach.


A few pitchers later, the remaining officers were even more relaxed. Six was trying to balance the Horga'hn statue on his head. Sabin was attempting to play a top-40 hit on his tricorder. And Corny and Fet were playing footsie under the table.

“Cap'n!” Corny said suddenly. Everyone turned to him. The wooden statue tumbled across the table and fell on the floor, splitting in half. The Captain and the tactical officers laughed, Sabin raised his eyebrow. “Cap'n,” Corny repeated. “How did you get your name?” Fet kicked him under the table. “Ow! What? It's a simple question.”

Sabin spoke, slightly slower than normal. “That question could be construed as improper. Or, as you humans would say, um, something.” He rubbed his temples.

“No, it's fine,” Six said.

“Like, I know Borgs are called, like, Seven of Triple-D, and shit like that. But your name doesn't make any sense.” Corny's speech was becoming more slurred.

“That's 'cause I wasn't named by the Borg.”

The junior officers looked at their captain. “You mean your parents named you Six?” Fet said. “What, do you have five older siblings or something?”

“No,” Six said, frowning slightly. “My parents named me Robert. After my father, I guess. I never knew them, my parents. They were killed by the Borg when I was a baby.” All eyes at the table were transfixed on the Captain. He in turn was staring out at the beach at a young couple wearing some sort of pleasure-enhancing head gear. He often wondered about his parents. What they were like. How different his life might have been.

“Little known fact,” Six continued, trying to lift the tone. “I was at the Battle of Wolf 359. Of course, I was on the other side. In the Borg cube. The CMO from the U.S.S. Grissom-C found me during a raid on the cube, and managed to beam me back to their ship. She put me in stasis. And when Grissom's core went critical, she put my stasis unit in an escape pod.” Six flashed through the holographic images still stored in his local memory. Scenes he would never be able to recall but for the optical implant the Borg had installed. “Doctor Larue didn't make it out,” he said, as he called up the image of her kindly, concerned face as she lifted him from the incubator that had been his home since assimilation.

“But Wolf 359 was, what, 43 years ago,” Fet said. “You're not that old. Is that because of your Borg implants or something?”

“I actually spent many years in stasis, floating in the starship graveyard at Wolf 359. At some point, years later, scavengers found my escape pod, quite by accident, as they constantly reminded me. They were searching for scrap metal, but they ended up with a bouncing baby Borg.”

“Fascinating,” Sabin said. “I would expect them to put you out the nearest airlock.” The others turned to him, startled at his blunt comment. Sabin noticed their looks, and added a respectful, “Sir.”

“Yeah, well, they told me later they flipped a coin,” Six said, his voice wavering only a little. “Their leader ordered that I be fed, and kept out of his way until I was old enough to be useful. I got passed around from person to person, generally the newest recruit got stuck with either K.P. or Six duty.”

“So, the, uh, scavengers named you?” Corny asked, confused.

“It's okay, you can call them pirates. That's what they were. Yeah, they had heard how Borg designations worked, so one of them thought it would be funny to call me Six of One, also known as Half Dozen of Another.” The junior officers tried to suppress their giggles. “Yeah, I know. They called me by many variations. Doz. Halfie. Seis. When I was about eight years old, the pirate captain decided I earn my keep by becoming his cabin boy. Mostly that entailed cleaning up after him and staying the hell out of his way.” The fear and pain of those abusive years came welling up inside his memory. Six forced them back down with a hard gulp.

“Eventually our tribe got caught dealing in questionably attained materials, and I was turned over to Star Fleet Medical. I was about twelve then. I don't know for sure. I mean, later they were able to trace my family through DNA, and I know when I was born, but I don't know how long I spent in stasis, so I'm not really sure how old I am.”

“So how did you end up here?” Fet asked. He seemed to be sitting very close to Corny now.

“Do you not know about the trial?” Sabin answered, with the closest he could come to surprise. Six silently thanked his friend for saving him from telling that uncomfortable chapter of his life. For someone who hated to be the center of attention, the trial of the century was a horrifying place to be. The tactical officers shook their heads. “The trial that expanded the definition of life form, and extended Federation citizenship and rights to separated Borg? Your captain,” Sabin said, with a nod toward Six, “was a hypermedia celebrity.”

The junior officers looked suitably impressed, but Six looked annoyed. “I don't--” he started. “I'm not--” he stopped again. “I just wanted to join Star Fleet,” he concluded quietly.

“What's going on?” Solep had returned, looking bored.

“Oh,” Six said, surprised to see the young Vulcan wearing only knee-length loose shorts. Sweat or salt water glistened on the young man's smooth chest. “Ah,” Six said, trying unsuccessfully to compose himself.

“The Cap is a media hero!” Fet said, and proceeded to repeat the highlights of the story.

Solep looked at his captain and gave one of those smiles. “Awesome!” he said. “Anybody want to play zero-g volleyball?” An eager expression began to form on Six's face, but he caught Sabin's eye. The Vulcan gave the briefest of head shakes. Six knew his first officer was right, they were in no condition to attempt athletics—especially athletics he had never heard of before this moment. But he found himself wanting to be near the young ensign.

“We should settle our bar bill,” Sabin said, giving them all an out. “Why don't you go ahead and and start without us, and we will join you later.”

“But nobody's around,” Solep whined, showing his age. “They're all off playing that stupid--”

“Come to think of it,” Corny said, looking at the rows of empty pitchers and glasses on their table, “where did the bartender go?” Looking around, the group saw that the bar was empty except for them.

“Perhaps we drank their entire stock?” Sabin suggested.

Solep stomped off toward the beach. Six watched him go, sighed, then struggled to his feet. Sabin stood up next to him, and almost teetered over. Corny and Fet fought a valiant battle against gravity, leaning on each other for support, but eventually sat down again. Fet reached down and picked up the pieces of the broken statue, then handed them to Corny.

“We should look for the bartender,” Six stated emphatically. Sabin followed him. “What was his name? Sumu? Bubu? Lulu? Something like that.” They came upon a group of people in native dress, sitting in a circle. Every once in a while, one of them would gasp or moan. “Pardon us,” Six said, attempting to act sober. “Could you tell us where Lulu went?”

There was no reply. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where is Sumu?”

“Captain, they appear to be preoccupied,” Sabin said. Then his eyebrow shot up in what Six recognized as a Vulcan laugh. Six looked at his friend quizzically. “Have you noticed the devices they are wearing on their heads?” the Vulcan said. Six took a closer look at the group of people. Every one of them was wearing a familiar looking metal strap over the top of their head. Attached to the ends of the straps were tiny electronic devices that protruded to the front, pointing into the wearer's eyes.

“Oh!” Six said, realization dawning upon him. “I get it!”

Sabin nodded, but found that only made it harder to stand up.

“Yes, very clever, my Vulcan friend. 'Pre' as in before, and 'occupied'--substituting the 'occular' derivation, you get 'before the eyes.' Good one!” The two officers stumbled on in search of someone else who might know the whereabouts of Bulu. They only made it as far as the first pair of empty beach chairs, where they promptly fell asleep.

A couple rounds later, Thoros' perpetual scowl had disappeared, replaced by a quiet grin. Corny's voice kept getting louder and louder with every beer. And Fet had loosened his Bajoran ceremonial robe, his bare feet propped up on the chair that had been occupied by Solep. After the mustache incident, the young Vulcan had asked to be excused to go swimming. Corny teased him for not drinking, and accused him of being one of those “my body is my temple” types, but Solep replied with a serene, “I choose to find my pleasure in physical, rather than chemical, activities.” For some reason this remark made the Captain blush, but only Sabin seemed to notice.

Six stood up. “I need to evacuate my bladder,” he said in his inimitable manner. Corny and Fet laughed. “What?” Six said, with a puzzled smile. He was already growing more comfortable with their good-natured teasing.

“Cap, you don't 'evacuate your bladder' after drinking beer!” Corny said, loudly enough for the entire bar and some people on the nearby beach to hear.

Looking down, Six considered this for a moment. “I don't believe holding it is an option,” he said plainly.

The junior officers howled again. Even Sabin barely suppressed a smile. “No, no!” Corny said. “I mean when you're drinking beer, you don't 'evacuate your bladder,' you don't 'pee,' you don't even 'take a wizz.'” He paused for effect. “You go take a piss!” he shouted, then added, as a quick afterthought, “Sir!”

Six gave Corny a casual salute, and said, “I stand corrected. I'm going to take a piss.” Then he turned with military efficiency and marched off to the restroom. Sabin rose and followed him silently.

Thoros gestured after the Vulcan and whispered, “What, he's gotta go everywhere with the Cap? He protectin' him from Klingon urinals?” The other two laughed, but Fet ducked down closer to the table, ssh-ing his companions. “Watch it!” he said, “or old mule-ears will hear you.”

Corny was too drunk for discretion. “Maybe that is in the first officer job description. 'Must shake the last drops from captain's dick.'” Fet tried to shush him, but the loud man just shushed him back. “Hey, I just got it!” he said, as if he had a revelation. “That's why they call him 'Number One!'”

“Mind you,” Corny said when the laughter died down again, “you ever wonder what cappy's tool looks like?” Thoros and Fet gaped at their buddy, hardly believing what he had said. He looked at their reaction, and blustered, “No, no, I just mean, like, do you think it's a Borg implant?”

There was a pause as his words sunk in, then another burst of laughter, followed by lewd comments about “having three speeds” and “rotating frequencies” and “you will be ass-imilated.”

Fet looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think the Captain goes, you know, 'that way?'”

Corny paused for a moment before answering. “I guess I always figured he was asexual.” The others nodded. “Then again, I'm sure you've noticed we don't have any female bridge officers. Not that it bothers me,” he said with a meaningful glance at the other two, “but it's kind of unusual in Star Fleet.”

“True,” Thoros chimed in. “There seems to be an unwritten enforced-diversity rule. I have often wondered if I was brought on because of the color of my skin.”

“It is a very nice shade of blue,” Corny said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Thank you,” the Andorian replied, completely missing his friend's tease. “I moisturize.”

“Oh, it shows,” Corny said, and stroked the back of his fingers along the engineer's light blue jawline. Thoros' antennae stretched and twitched happily.

“Get a cabin, you two!” Fet snapped, taking another swig of beer.

“What about you, my Bajoran friend?” Corny said, turning his attention to the blond.

“What about me?”

“Well, we know Andorians are sexually open-minded,” Corny said, glancing back at Thoros. The engineer shrugged and nodded. “So which way do you swing?” Fet blushed a bright crimson. Corny jeered. “Come onnnn! We've all laid out our preferences. Now it's your turn.” He turned and gestured to the open hut around them. “So if you could have any of the life forms within visual scanning range, who would it be?”

Fet blushed some more, then took a cursory look around, before returning his gaze to his fellow tactical officer. Their eyes met, and held for a beat. Understanding dawned on the boisterous Minnesotan's face. The moment was interrupted by the squishy splash of a large pile of seaweed impacting on the table top.


In the restroom, Six and Sabin were washing their hands.

“I believe your junior officers are, if I may employ a colloquialism, 'wasted,'” Sabin observed. Six nodded, and even smiled a litte. “Yet you, Captain, seem to be unaffected by the 5.4 glasses of beer you have consumed.”

Six held up his hand, displaying the palm and then the back. “Borg nanites,” he said. “They regulate my system, removing toxins and supplementing my central nervous system to compensate for the adverse effects of alcohol.”

“I see.” Sabin seemed thoughtful.

“What about you, Sabin? You've had at least 3 beers.”
“Four-point-seven-five, approximately,” the Vulcan corrected him. “I am, to employ an old earth nautical euphemism, 'three sheets to the wind.'”

“Sabin!” Six said with feigned shock. “You're drunk?”

“I am, as your ancestors would say, 'snookered.'” Anyone who had not spent much time with Sabin would have missed the tiny grin that flashed across his face.

Sabin continued, “I am finding the experience most interesting. It has confirmed my hypothesis concerning why the Doctor would order us to take shore leave, rather than perform the necessary system improvements we had planned to do.”

“And what is this hypothesis, Mr. Sabin?”

“I believe the act of becoming inebriated together is often seen as a bonding experience. It is my theory that the good Doctor wished us to undergo some team building, or 'bonding,' away from the traditional command structure of the bridge.” Six nodded, thinking about their current situation. “Sadly,” Sabin continued, “I will be required to report to the Doctor that the exercise was a failure.”

“Why is that?”

Sabin lifted one eyebrow, as if the answer were self-evident. “Because you, Captain, are not drunk.”

Six thought about this for a few seconds. “I do have some control over my nanites.”

“Oh?” Sabin replied, innocently.

“I suppose I could put them into a sleep cycle.”

“Could you?”

Six closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he stumbled a bit. “I think the floor just shifted,” he said, grabbing the wall for support.

Sabin took his arm and guided him back toward the bar. “Indeed,” he said simply.

As the tingling of the transporter retreated from his extremities, Six found his human eye squinting against the bright sunlight, made brighter by white sand and a rolling ocean. His other eye automatically adjusted its biomechanical aperture to account for the change in intensity. He had to concede there were some advantages to the artificial parts the human doctors had given him after removing his Borg implants. Although if he could have seen his twisted, half-squinting face at that moment, he might not have been so smug.

“Let's find cover,” he barked to his team. “Fan out. We need shelter from the elements.”

“There's a bar right over there,” Ensign Sandusky suggested helpfully, pointing. The other bridge officers shrugged and made generally agreeable noises. Six gave a curt nod, and the away team advanced on the simple structure.

As they approached the primitive hut, an indigenous life form stepped forward. “Welcome to Risa,” the scantily clad female said, with just a hint of an exotic accent. “Can I offer you a beverage?”

The junior officers shuffled their feet nervously and looked at each other, unsure if this was some sort of test. Tactical officer Cornell “Corny” Sandusky, a beefy, bearded, boisterous bear of a man from Minnesota, finally spoke up. “Beer?” he said. It was more of a question than a drink order. Everyone looked toward their captain for his reaction. He, in turn, looked to Sabin, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Six nodded to the scantily clad server and attempted a smile. “Beer all around,” he said, trying to project a social comfort he did not feel. The group sat down at a round table as the waitress shimmied off to the bar.

Surveying his crew, Six guessed they were as uncomfortable as he was. Engineer Thoros was splayed across his chair, taking up the maximum amount of space possible, and scowling. His blue antennae twitched and probed at the humid air, somehow expressing his boredom more eloquently than if he had let out a huge yawn. Next to him, Corny was pounding out a beat with his palms on the tabletop. He examined the structural support beams of the bar's thatch roof as if they were the most fascinating beams he had ever seen. Blond Bajoran tactical officer Fet sat next to him, his apparent serenity betrayed only by the rapid, anxious bouncing of his left leg leg.

And then there was the kid. The new guy. Solep. There was something about the young half-Vulcan, half-human science officer that bothered Six. Maybe it was the fact that, unlike every other Vulcan Six had met, Solep had blond hair, obviously inherited from his human father's side of the genome. Or it could have been the young man's choice to buck the traditional Star Fleet short haircut for males. Solep's ponytail swung from side to side as he scanned his surroundings, like a child at an amusement park, trying to decide what ride to go on next.

It was this enthusiasm that Six found most surprising in the young ensign. Having worked with Sabin and other Vulcans since joining Star Fleet, Six was having a hard time getting used to an emotionally expressive person with pointed ears. Not that Solep was overly emotional by most standards. His classmates at the Academy were more likely to describe him as “laid back,” or “cool as a Cardassian cucumber.” But when he smiled, as he often did after running a successful scan or disabling an enemy's shields with a quick tachyon pulse, his joy was contagious. That smile could light up the bridge.

The waitress arrived with the drinks. The men each grabbed onto a square glass, grateful for something to do with their hands. Corny downed his quickly. Thoros expressed distaste for the weak earth beverage, then finished his off in three gulps. Sabin took small sips of his. Solep rotated the glass on the table, but seemed uninterested in actually tasting it. And Six, trying to emulate the social standard, finished third. His junior officers looked away, trying to keep from laughing out loud.

“Captain,” Sabin said. Six looked over at him. The Vulcan pointed to his own upper lip. Six examined the Vulcan's upper lip, but finding nothing strange about it, said, “What?”

“You have something on your lip,” Sabin said, as tactfully as possible. Six swiped a finger across his lip. It came back coated in foam. The three junior officers, unable to hold back any longer, burst out in laughter. Six flushed with embarrassment.

“No, no!” Corny said, barely able to catch his breath. “Leave it. You look good with a mustache!”

Anger, shame and indignation flashed through Six's mind like a Klingon d'k tahg blade. Six rose quickly, his face red. The laughter ceased abruptly. But before Six could speak, Sabin piped up again. “Your beer mustache was indeed aesthetically pleasing,” he said, gently signaling his captain and friend that their subordinates' teasing was not meant to be disrespectful. “Perhaps another round is in order, to allow you to replenish it.”

Six wiped the remains of the foam from his lip and examined it. The junior officers held their breath, not knowing whether they were in for more beer, or a trip to the brig. “I think I would like a darker ale this time,” he said. “An amber would go better with my complexion.”

A relieved cheer went up from the table, and Corny ran off to the bar to order pitchers of “the orangest beer you've got.”

I desperately wanted to enter the contest, but didn't start writing anything until yesterday. Then it kind of got away from me. I hope this makes it in before the deadline, and I hope at least one person gets as much enjoyment out of this as I did writing it. And I apologize in advance for the implied sexism. Consider it written in the spirit of TOS. I promise my next story will include cool lesbians, too. :-)


Rear Admiral Lessa Tiberius Archer-Janeway sat at a tiny table outside a sidewalk café, which was itself outside Star Fleet Academy. As she sipped her double Raktajino delicately, she caught up on the latest fleet comms on her PADD. Cool spring breezes carried the fresh salt air from the bay across the city of San Francisco and into her lungs. Lessa breathed deeply, relishing the natural air after a long stint on her starship, the newly commissioned heavy cruiser U.S.S. Rainbow Unicorn.
To say that Lessa was beautiful was like saying space was big. From her flawless alabaster skin to her luxurious raven hair, from her emerald green eyes to her rose petal lips, she was the very pinnacle of beauty in at least 93% of cultures in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. In spite of her physical perfection, Lessa remained completely clueless about the effect her looks had on the men, women and aliens around her. Lessa's greatest asset was her empathetic heart. And her humility. And the fact that she was a whiz with warp theory, the likes of which the galaxy hadn't seen since Wesley Crusher. She was also fluent in 500 languages, an expert on alien cultures, and a crack shot with a phaser rifle.
On this particular Thursday, nearly two-and-a-half millennia after one man got himself stapled to a tree for being Dr. Phil before his time, Rear Admiral Archer-Janeway had a revelation. She looked up from her PADD with a startled, yet still beautiful, expression of surprise. It was so simple! Her years of studiousness and experience had given her a unique insight into what exactly had been going wrong with the cosmos. She knew what it would take to make the universe a truly good and happy place, and this time no one would have to be stapled to anything.
Sadly, before she could reach for her comm badge to share her insight, a 20-meter wide chunk of blue ice ejected from a passing Pakled freighter obliterated her, the sidewalk café, and the android laundromat next door, and her revelation was lost forever.
This is not her story. (With apologies and thanks to Douglas Adams.)

Six pulled at the collar of his tunic. He did not like these new “casual” clothes his bridge crew had insisted he acquire on their most recent visit to Starbase One. “I feel ridiculous,” he said, looking at the reflection in his cabin mirror. He swiped his hand over the cowlick where his orange hair met the single Borg attachment the Federation medical experts had been unable to remove.
“Your appearance is … adequate.” Six glanced at Lieutenant Sabin, his Vulcan first officer and the one person in the universe he considered a friend, for the simple reason that the two officers could tolerate each other's company more readily than any of their crew mates'. Somehow, even in his voluminous robes, Sabin managed to look like he was still in uniform. The formless cloth took on the aspect of tightly tailored livery when draped over the Vulcan's erect frame.
Six turned back to his reflection, attempted to adjust his collar again, then gave up with a sigh. “Let's just get this over with,” he said, turning on his heel. The two men walked side-by-side in the comfortable silence of comrades who abhor small talk. The door to Transporter Room 3 swished open, revealing the rest of the bridge officers of the science ship U.S.S. Brittanic.
“We were starting to think you weren't coming,” said Thoros brusquely. The Andorian chief engineer climbed the steps to the transporter platform.
Six shot a quick, hopeful look at his first officer. “Doctor Martinson's orders did not allow for that option,” Sabin replied steadily, and Six's expression faded.
“You heard the man,” Six said to the rest of his officers. “Let's go.” The remaining crewmen shuffled onto the platform with all the enthusiasm of condemned prisoners on their way to the firing squad. Six noted that they all looked more comfortable in their civvies than he felt. His eyes lingered for only a second on the unusual features of Ensign Solep, the latest addition to his bridge crew. When Six looked at his first officer again, the Vulcan raised a single pointed eyebrow, almost imperceptibly; nothing got past him.

I'm looking forward to trying out all the classes. But I'm going to delve into the dark side and start out with a Sith Inquisitor.

I think I'm going to go Consular. My favorite build was always Sentinel/Master in KOTOR 2, but alas, might as well go Consular just because I love force powers more than lightsaber. Force battle between Dooku and Yoda anyone? :)

It had been a few days, so I bumped it up. Very bored at work, so it was something to do.

Sounds like alot of people are more interested in being Empire than Republic.

I will either be Sith warrior or Inquisitor, havent decided yet.

Imperial Agent, someones got to show Jedi the reality of Force.

Force = A large wad of material/energy to the back of the head. :P

I too will be going alt crazy in this game, I want to see all the classes and I'm so happy that they are all so different. That will make our fleet actions a lot of fun.

For preference though my first toons will be a Sith Inquisitor (as I love force weilding lightning) and Bounty Hunter (as I want to try flying in combat).

Elisa wrote:

I love playing Healing Archtype classes, so I'll probably play a Sith Healer type. For now I don't know much of what Class will be a quasi-healer type.

So far the only classes i have read about having a healy-ish type build are the Jedi Consular and oddly enough the smuggler. Im sure that the empire will have atleast 2 as well.

I love playing Healing Archtype classes, so I'll probably play a Sith Healer type. For now I don't know much of what Class will be a quasi-healer type.

I'm not all that interested in playing a Sith or a Jedi. I'm not a keen fan of Star Wars so wielding a lightsabre doesn't really do it for me more than anything else. But I think it's mainly 'cause I see the Force-wielding classes as replicating much of what I've already experienced in other MMORPGs, whereas I've not had much experience of 'non-magic' ranged classes. STO has whetted my appetite for this kind of combat - it's made a good stab at it, but I'm hoping SWTOR dramatically improves on it. I'm particularly interested in the cover mechanic that'll be used by the Smuggler and presumably the Imperial Agent.

With that in mind, I'm probably going to roll a Trooper on the Republic side and an Imperial Agent (sans the John Waters moustache!) on the Empire side.

I haven't done as much research as you, but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna go Jedi Consular. I'm not exactly sure what about the class I find appealing. But I do like that its Jedi, ofc, and that its the diplomatic class.