Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

Dave (Voleron)


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

April 06 2018

SGN members: Spring is upon us and Stonewall Fleet's annual #SpringSwing weekend event is only weeks away!  Leading up to the big event, (more details of which will soon follow), we're excited to announce our FIRST #WritingContest of 2018! 

Running now through May 6th, 2018, we're inviting all members of SGN to submit a story of their in-game character from their favorite game!  The theme of this writing contest is "Tales out of Time", which could be anything from a story about time travel, to an anthology of your character as they age or something entirely unique and creative that incorporates the theme!

We'll share every submission with the entire community for them to enjoy, but we'll also be looking for the top three entries that excel in three criteria that we'll detail below.  This contest is open to all members of the Stonewall community, regardless of which games you play!  We're so very eager for you, Stonewall's amazing writing talents, to once again share your talent and creativity with us and your community!

To participate in Stonewall's "Tales out of Time" writing contest, you must post your entry here, in this thread, before day's end on May 6th, 2018.  Please use the #WritingContest hashtag in your entries.  Your posted entry must comply with these additional rules to be eligible:

1.  Your story must in some way relate to one of your in-game characters, their friends, group or crew
2.  Your story must be written in English (so the judges can understand it)
3.  Your story must be your own original work (plagiarism will result in disqualification)
4.  Don't make your story novel length; we need to be able to read it in a single sitting!
5.  The content of your story must not be edited after the submission deadline

Only one entry per community member, please.  While we encourage you to include graphics to supplement your Tale out of Time, only the written narrative portion of your entry will be judged.

This contest, we'll be looking for the THREE stand-out tales among all of the entries.  As we've done in the past, a panel of three judges will individually rate each of the entries in the categories of creativity, detail and impact.  The average of all three judge's rankings of an entry will produce the final score against which, the other entries will be ranked!  The categories are explained in more detail below:

  • Creativity: To what degree is the content original or unique?
  • Detail: To what degree are elements of the story explained in more intricate detail, rather than simply being stated as fact?
  • Impact: To what degree does the story resonate with the reader for a more lasting impact?

The winning contest entries will be recognized on our Facebook and Twitter social media feeds. We'll also be giving away a participation prize of two Stonewall Credits to all those who enter!  The prize packs are as follows:

First place:

  1. 5 Stonewall Credits, AND, your choice of either:
  2. 2,500 Zen in Star Trek Online, OR
  3. $20.00 Steam Digital Gift card, OR
  4. $20.00 ThinkGeek Digital Gift card

Second place:

  1. 4 Stonewall Credits, AND your choice of either:
  2. 1,000 Zen in Star Trek Online OR
  3. $10.00 Steam Digital Gift card

Third place:

  1. 3 Stonewall Credits!

*Stonewall credits can be saved and/or redeemed for in-game merchandise through the Stonewall Credits Store.

Good luck to all participants!  We can't wait to read your entries!

8 people liked this
Edited April 06 2018 by Voleron
Patrick Aka Trick


Countdown to Hell or Something

April 12 2018
Beavis: Hey, Butt-Head. What is a black hole? 
Butt-Head: So like, a black hole is like, this giant bunghole in outer space. It's like, it sucks up the whole universe, and then it's like, it grinds it up and sends it all to Hell or something.

— Beavis and Butt-Head, 20th Century Philosophers

“Warning: The Calixtus will cross the event horizon in 3 minutes.”

The voice of the ship’s computer was eerily calm considering that the Calixtus was being drawn toward the maw of a black hole. That was one of the problems with computers. They were great at calculating how long you had left to live, but they really sucked at getting sufficiently upset about it. The crew was beginning to panic, people were screaming, sobbing, or praying, and the computer just kept droning on emotionlessly at regular intervals about how long it would be until everyone was torn to microscopic shreds and swallowed up by one of the most unforgiving forces in the known universe.

Captain Gwydion Sebastian was not immune to the draw of mindless hysteria, given the current situation, but he knew he had to keep himself together. If he were to surrender to the urge to roll into a fetal position and start rocking back and forth, as he was sorely tempted to do, nobody was getting out of this alive. Of course, their chances of survival were already damned near zero, but Sebastian intended to at least die with a little dignity, not that there would be anyone left to know it had happened.

Sebastian pressed a button on his captain’s chair. Realizing his hands were shaking so badly that he’d just accidentally ordered a replicated mocha latte rather than open communications with engineering as he’d intended, he tapped another. Normally he’d consider it a happy accident, but this was no time for caffeine.

“Status report?” Nice, Sebastian thought. That didn’t sound at all like I’m seconds away from crapping my pants. Score one for Starfleet officer training.

The voice of Lieutenant Adeline Rowman replied over a speaker. “It’s not good, sir. Warp coils are offline. Impulse drives are offline. Shields are offline. Pretty much everything is offline, sir.”

“I’m aware of the situation, Lieutenant,” Sebastian shot back. “I was hoping you might have some good news.”

“Oh, I do,” Rowman replied, and Sebastian felt a small glimmer of hope. “Remember that strange canister we picked up on Regulus V?”

Sebastian remembered. It was a small, metallic object of unknown origin, at least several centuries old, which they had found half-buried in a hillside. The Science team had been poking at it for weeks trying to figure out what it was. Could the alien artifact somehow by the key to their survival? “Yes, I recall. Can you use it to get the drives running again?”

“Sir?” Rowman sounded puzzled.

“The ancient otherworldly technology,” Sebastian explained, trying not to sound exasperated. “Isn’t that just the sort of thing you engineering types combine with incomprehensible technobabble to save ships like ours from certain doom?”

“It’s a beer can, Captain." Sebastian heard a sound that that could be described as gulpy. "Still fizzy, though.”

Sebastian closed to comm channel.

“Warning: The Calixtus will cross the event horizon in 2 minutes.”

Again, the computer was calm and emotionless, without a shred of concern or empathy. Sebastian knew the computer would be watching the last moments of the Calixtus’ crew through the myriad of security cameras positioned throughout the ship, and he was starting to think she might be enjoying it. Something had struck him as not quite right about the computer ever since that time “It’s Raining Men” had started inexplicably playing on the ship’s intercom after that shuttle exploded during atmospheric entry over Icarus IX.

Sebastian turned to his Science Officer, Commander Hovik. With any luck, the Vulcan would be thinking clearly when Sebastian’s human mind could not, and Hovik’s flawless logic would find a way to save the ship and its crew.

“Hovik, is there any way we can escape this black hole?”, Sebastian asked. “Maybe you can reverse gravity somehow with the deflectors? Skirt the edge of the event horizon and slingshot us past the black hole? Surely, that logical Vulcan mind of yours must see some way out of this.”

Hovik scowled. “You’re a complete idiot, aren’t you, Captain? First off, the event horizon is the least of our worries right now. Before we hit that, we’ll run straight into the black hole’s accretion disk. Do you know what that is, Captain? No, wait, of course you don’t. Let me explain it in tiny little words your underdeveloped brain can understand.

“You know how a black hole sucks in all of the matter that comes near it, causing it to spiral toward the center like…” Hovik paused for a moment, trying to come up with an analogy Sebastian would undertstand, “…like a rubber ducky circling around the drain in a bubble bath your mommy filled up for you? Well, that rubber ducky is the accretion disk, except that it’s billions of rubber duckies and they’re spinning around at speeds you’d never comprehend, so they’re crashing into each other and heating up to the temperatures of tiny little suns. Essentially, we’re drifting into a cosmic food processor, and before we get anywhere near the event horizon we’re going to be burnt to a crisp and ground into interstellar pesto.

“Oh, and one other thing, Captain.” Hovik was shouting now, and pointing at his forehead. “See these? These are ridges, you over-promoted imbecile. I’m not a Vulcan. I’m a Romulan. Live short and suffer, you incompetent waste of bridge space!”

So much for calm Vulcan wisdom and rationality. Sebastian made a mental note to raid Hovik’s liquor cabinet if he survived this. Oh, and maybe look for a new Science Officer after getting his hands on the ale stash.

“Warning: The Calixtus will cross the event horizon in 1 minute.”

Silently, Sebastian began to pray. He prayed to God. He prayed to the Prophets. He prayed to Apollo, Q, and a couple of pah-wraiths. Hey, it never hurts to cover all your bases. He prayed to Zeus, Osiris, Andraste and Quetzalcoatl before working his way down the list to Thor, Loki, Iron Man and Captain America.

“Warning: The Calixtus will cross the event horizon in 30 seconds.”

Sebastian thought of all the things he’d never accomplished in his life. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly been in love. He hadn’t ever managed to work off that winter weight and have a proper six-pack to show off when wearing his silver Speedo on Risa. He’d never slept with an Orion go-go boy. He’d never tasted a Kelpien’s threat ganglia.

“Warning: The Calixtus will cross the event horizon in 10 seconds. 9… 8… 7…“

Sebastian took one last look around the bridge. He would miss his valiant crew. Well, most of them. That Vulcan had turned out to be kind of a dick.

“6… 5… 4…”

Sebastian’s life was flashing before his eyes. He was back on the farm with his uncle and aunt as a young man. The twin suns overhead burned down on him mercilessly as he haggled with some small hooded creatures for a pair of droids to help out on the moisture farm. No, wait, that was someone else’s life flashing before his eyes. Don’t cross the streams, he reminded himself.

“3… 2… 1…”

Suddenly, the image on the viewscreen changed. Gone was the large, menacing black hole which had been growing ever-larger as they approached, and replacing it was a nearly blank screen showing the vast emptiness of space. On closer inspection, Sebastian could still see the black hole -- or, rather, see other things near where it was, since black holes are very hard to see in space, being black and all. It was now far off in the distance ahead of the Calixtus, judging from the swirl of detritus orbiting what appeared (or, rather, didn't appear... they're really quite black) to be a big ball of nothing. It was far enough away, in fact, that the ship seemed to be outside its gravitational pull.

Sebastian wasn't sure what had happened until he'd taken a moment to look around the bridge. Many of the crew seemed to be running in place, and occasionally teleporting forward for small distances as if they'd been transported. Hovik was repeatedly running face-first into a wall. Sebastian hoped it hurt. A lot.

That's when Sebastian finally understood. Just before crossing the event horizon, The Calixtus had clearly travelled into a lag anomaly. He'd experienced the phenomenon thousands of times before in his travels across the galaxy, and the associated effect physicists referred to as "rubber-banding," which could suddenly cause your ship to jump large distances instantaneously, typically in the direction you least wanted to go.

Lag anomalies were invisible and ships could travel into one at any time without warning. Typically, it happened at the most annoying time possible, such as when Sebastian was being attacked by a Klingon fleet or when he really had to pee and it was several light-years to the nearest space station. This time, however, the lag had saved his life.

#talesoutoftime #writingcontest
10 people liked this
Edited April 17 2018 by trick
Kieran Kiki


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

April 14 2018
The following tags have been nested in the wrong order: hr, hr, hr, hr


Lieutenant Kieran was on the radar of the Na'kuhl temporal rebellion for a little while now, they had intended to remove him from their timeline before his rise to admiralty and leading to the disruption and halt their attack on the temporal treaty signing.
This time they did not want Starfleet Intelligence or temporal investigations to get wind of their plan, so they decided to use a proxy to take out the threat.
Here steps in Lorax, a Rogue Jem'Hadar bounty hunter who’s Ketracell white got replaced with a thirst for blood, well, and Credits.

Star date 177284.70.


The captain and rest of the bridge crew had gone to bed for the night upon the U.S.S. Tempus Maelstrom and the night crew, led by lieutenant Kieran, were sweeping the area for some new type of radiation call "Trick 162" apparently something very old and very dangerous
"This is such a waste of our talents." murmured Ensign Sek, a fellow Breen crewmember who was manning the tactical station on the night shift.

"Agreed, however this is what command wants, so this is what command gets." Kieran sighed as he booped a few pads in a sarcastic fashion.

"Well then, Sector 68 complete. I'm getting caffeine, any other takers?" Kieran Pipped up to the rest of the bridge crew.

"Ooh. Tea for me please." stated Leigha from the engineering station

"neat be back in a bit." he quipped and started to walk away.
"Raktajino. Extra sweet." shouted Sek which made the Lieutenant stop in his tracks and face him.
"uuuh-Sure. wait...How?" 
"Emergency induction port." Sek responded with a deathly serious stare.
"I don't even-" Kieran muttered under his breath as he walked toward the nearest replicator.

Then suddenly the lights started to flicker overhead, startling Kieran out of his daydream at the replicator.
"Uh oh...Not good."
Then suddenly there was a shrilling scream that emanated from the bridge.
It sent his blood cold.
He left the drinks alone and ran back towards the bridge
The doors parted to reveal his fellow crewmates slumped over their consoles and a new figure stood in the middle of the scathed bridge.
A tall bulky Jem’Hadar stood tall and menacing on the bridge, cracking a smile when he saw who had just entered.
"Must be my lucky day...I didn’t even have to come hunt you down. Which is a shame, I do love it when the cute humans beg."
"Are you going to beg for your life little human?" asked the Jem’Hadar
Blood cold.
Body full of adrenalin.
Kieran panicked and was trying to look around for the phasers located on the bridge, spotting one behind the tactical station, he launched himself towards it.
Only to be met halfway and a strong large hand wrapped around his neck and pulled upwards off the ground.
"Mmm, not so fast Starfleet." The Merc tutted
"I respect your spunk, but you are no match for me little one."
Lorax gripped tighter around the lieutenants neck.
Kieran's vision started to turn black and all he could see was the face of the Jem’Hadar.

All of a sudden, the sound of another transporter signal blared behind the two of them.

Kieran could not see behind the bulk of the Jem’Hadar but he could hear the screech of a plasma pistol being fired and then abruptly hitting the floor as his would be assassin dropped him, and then landed on top after being stunned heavily.

The lieutenant was disorientated at the sudden change but could hear a raspy voice.

"I'm sorry Lorax...there can be No trace...Admiral Voleron to the R.V. Destiny...be ready to transport me back when i have set the ships core to overload."

The human suddenly jumped when a heavy pistol was thrust into his hand
He first looked down to his hand, which was now holding a modified Polaron pistol that resembled the old Jem'Hadar pistols form the dominion war back in 2375.
Then continuing down, he saw the Mercenary on top of him, but staring back at him with a seriously pissed off expression on his face, but also a second pistol in his hands, though the pistol looked significantly more ergonomic compared to the humans tiny hands.

"On my signal, shoot the backstabbing Na'kuhl scum." he whispered gruff and low.

Kieran barely nodded back, or, he tried to, the lieutenant is still a little purple after the lack of oxygen to his brain.

They waited till his back was turned at a console then shouted.


*PEW pew scchhhhhh*

and they both watched as the Na’kuhl’s shields dropped, a temporal copy emerged, and they shot again

*PEW pew scchhhhhh**PEW pew scchhhhhh**PEW pew scchhhhhh*
One final pained scream was let out as the admiral disintegrated into tiny little nano particles of space dust.
One equipped with a vengeful smile
the other, one of fear and disgust.
Silence stood in the air for a few minutes
"Sooooo, What are you doing tonight?" asked the human, who is starting to regain his normal colour.
"What?" gruffly asked the Jem'hadar.
"Uh. nothing." Sheepishly replied the lieutennant, red flush on his face, but this time, he cant claim it was the red alert lighting which did it.
7 people liked this


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

April 15 2018
“Stardate 8731-,” the voice paused unsure of himself. It cracked slightly before continuing, “0.6, Second Officers Log. Today is more difficult as the last. I think I’m getting used to saying that. With the reports of more losses and minor victories, getting out of my bed has become a full time job in itself.” 
The Catian starred at the ceiling before slowly sitting up. He continued his log entry, “The crew of the Endurance, is beginning to feel the losses as well, each morning there is one less post filled on this ship, one less crewman, one less friend. The Endurance has become a harbor amongst the 5th fleet as the long range science vessel among escorts and cruisers we have been relegated to being battle command and intelligence gathering. We are the linch pin to our operation of ensuring victory against the onslaught of Iconian attacks.”
The officer paused, before moving to the sonic shower where his tail twitched in anticipation of a minute to scrub everything off him. He looked in the mirror and sighed, “And as the Chief Science Officer it is my duty to brief the departing crewman, along with our redoubt Chief Engineer, who somehow looks like he truly is on his element.” He paused and peered up up at himself noting the subtle grey hairs forming around his mouth and nose. He thought to himself, I’m too young to get grey. I’m only 35. He continued, “unlike our Human Engineer, I can feel my facade cracking, each briefing becoming more somber, more matter of fact, and less positive.”
He stepped into the shower and began the pulsing jets. “I wish I was more human in that regard. Yes, I know as a Catain, I am supposed to have the survival instincts that rival our Aenar first officer, but the last time after a training exercise, he remarked something about begging declawed. I remember, just nodding and making note that I would do better.” He stood waiting for the timer to finish, “truth is, yes I can be a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, but I joined Starfleet in the hopes that I would be a scientist studying, and researching, learning more about the space around us. Instead I’m researching intel reports, battle plans, and after-action reports. This is now my theater, war. I am just a marionette having my strings pulled.” 
The timer pinged on the shower. “You are clean, you will be glad to have reported, your injury is healing, and three shift rotations you should no longer feel pain in the joint. Have a wonderful day Commander.” 
He chimed for the recording, “Say what you will about the Corp of Engineers but, having a body scanner put in the sonic showers was actually a great idea. My medical staff have been happy with the results and how they are better able to get consistent reports from the staff.”
He made his way to his closet and slipped on his uniform. He started again, “But today is different than those before, we have a new assignment, to rendezvous with the 2nd Armada in route to the Japori system. We are to provide relief efforts to the Delta Expedition. At 09:30 hours we are to intake casualties and send in wave 45. At that time, the Lexington, Howard, Keelhopper, and the Buk’yr are to head through the gateway. We are expecting 240 civilian refugees, and 531 officers to arrive. 65 of the arrivals are in critical condition and require immediate transport to Starbase 234. This is purely a relief and refuel effort to support our comrades in arms in the Delta Quadrant. Seeing that many wounded and dirty faces is not going to be good for morale. Though, I can say that it feels better to actually be helping the cause than playing in the back lines in the dark.”
He adjusted the pips in his collar, before the boatswain whistle sounded, “Attention, attention, all officers report to duty stations, we are arriving in the Japori system.” The message repeated, and M’Zaant made his way to the door. “Computer, end recording, and save.” The computer chirped and he made his way to the bridge. Crew members raced through the halls to the duty stations. He passed cargo bay 3 on the way to the turbolift and saw the junior medical team convening to ensure that the beds and the supplies were in order before the casualties arrive. The faces he passed were stoic and calm, it was if he was witnessing his well oiled machine work under the hood. He felt the tension while they moved, he did not need to be telepathic to sense the concern.
When he arrived to the bridge, it was bustling with teams racing and making final prechecks before they in took the casualties. A young ensign turned to him and flagged him to his console. M’Zaant made his way to the ensigns station. “Sir,” the crewman stated,” I wanted to let you know that I am picking up an anomaly from 2235 Mark 42. I am unsure if this is different from the gravity well that is produced from the stargate. M’Zaant starred at the image and his eyes widened.
“Helm, come about 343 mark 4, move off!” He shouted, “hail the Lexington.”
The bridge paused in confusion, before making their way to the stations and engaging his commands. “Sir, the anomaly is growing.” The ensign called.
“Red Alert!” As the alarm sounded the stargate to the delta quadrant ripped and then emitted a bright blinding light. The teams shielded their eyes before the light dimmed. Proximity alarms sounded as he saw the Lexington ripped apart through the view screen. Shreds of hulls and cargo sailed through space as the convoy from the Delta quadrant arrived in pieces. The bridge crew sat in silent horror as the realization the refugees and the officer transports were destroyed along with the Lexington.
That horror was magnified when what they saw materialize from the gateway. Alarms blared as the bridge crew scrambled. The computer called overhead “Attention, attention, all hands report to battle stations. Iconian warship off the port bow.” The alarm called again as the captain arrived on the bridge. “I need a report now!” He called. As M’zaant turned, “The convoy was destroyed and what we received instead is an Iconian battlecruiser.”
“Sir, We are receiving a hail from Mol’Rihan. Iconian ground forces has landed and begun to storm the ruins.” The comms officer called out, the captain nodded to indicate putting the call on the comms. The computer squeaked and then chirped. “This is Sub Lieutenant Vora Moray of Republic Command. We are under attack from Iconian troops! We need emergency aid from all available alliance members. The ground forced have reached the valley region and are marching toward the staging facility. We are unsure how much longer are shields will hold.” The comms cut out.
The captain ordered the fleet to fall back as the Iconian warship neared. He motioned to the Comms officer and asked for an open hail to the fleet, “All ships report to Mol’Rihan. Our Romulan friends need our assistance. Engage at warp 9.” The bridge was silent as the comms closed and helm set a course for the new Romulan homeworld and engaged. The captain made his way to his chair and pressed a button on the arm. The boatswain whistled an all hands alert, “My fellow officers,” the message began to broadcast through all the decks, “we are about to face insurmountable odds. The Romulan Homeworld is under full assault from the Iconians. This is a message to the Alliance, a message that says we can arrive to your door without warning and come full force. But we as Starfleet officers know what our reply will be, it will be strong, it will be forceful, and it will be unyielding. We will stand together and we, with our Romulan brothers will stand against this attack. We must make sure our message is clear.” The captain paused, and continued, “That we are strong, and we will not fail.”
From below the decks, a collective “yee-haw,” wailed. And with each deck the sound of the crew became louder as they called out in unison. The captain nodded, “I will take that response as an aye-aye”.  The inter-ship communication buzzed as the channel closed. The ship dropped out of warp, and as the planet came into focus so did the swath of Iconian forces surrounding the planet. They glistened in the sunlight of the planet in a haze of blue and orange. A glittering blast of their blue antiproton beams burst like fireworks amongst the distant hulls of the ships.
“Sir, I am not sure we can get through the armada without engaging the fleet.” The nervous helmsman confided.
The captain stood resting his hands on his chin, “I need ideas”
“Sir,” M’Zaant spoke up, I think I have an idea and you will not like it”
The ship lurched in the atmosphere as the bridge crew held on to their stations. The view screen showed the mountain ridges of the new Romulus colony, as they warped above the terrain, “Now commander before, our ship is covered in vomit.” The transporters were activated as teams landed in the staging area. The ship warped out, leaving a bubble of space and rushing air as the crews tried to stand their ground in front of the embassy. M’Zaant called to the lieutenant tactical officer and asked her to take point as the troops moved to toward the structure.
“I have never seen a ship warp into the atmosphere of a planet before.” A Uhlan stated. “that was something.”
“We were not quite sure that was going to be possible,” An ensign smiled, as he rushed to the monument for Spock. “It was the handy work of our CSO.”
M’Zaant’s comms chirped, “Commander, we have landed in the ruins. Heading toward the underground tunnels.”
“Aye captain,” M’Zaant called out, “we will hold the line here.”
The teams huddled behind the retaining walls, the quartermaster began setting up secondary medical and shield generators as the infantry set up phaser rifles and turrets on the wall. Science officers began working their tricorders to install gravimetric traps afore of the stronghold. The glittering shield reflected off the stone façade of the new republic embassy. M’Zaant thought to himself how beautiful the blue looked as it speckled under the purple sky. A sniper called out, “incoming! 8 columns.”
The teams steadied their weapons and eyed the ridge before the chasm. The troops became silent as the threat came closer. On the horizon the sound of footfalls became heavier. Treading one step after another. The beat of the garrison resonated louder with each movement. An ensign from the stronghold blew into his hands and wiped them on his shirt, as they started to sweat, in the humidity and stress. He held his post and readjusted his sights. M’Zaant called to his sentries. “Hold, the line. They have come this far, no further.”
The gunners recharged their clips. And held their sights. An explosion ripped through the calm terrain as the first Heralds tripped the gravity traps, causing flashes of swirling light among the dark landscape. The troops neared as the first sights of the Herald came into view an Ulhan called out, “I see a Harbinger.”
“Launch plasmonic charges.” M’Zaant called out as the engineers fired the first battery into the charging heralds. The micro missiles whirred off the platform in a sea of green light, as they erupted into the crowd of charging troops a noxious green gas was released among the Heralds lighting plasma fires where they stand. As the gas spread out the Heralds volleyed with wave after wave of Antiproton bursts, causing the shield to glimmer from the eruptions. The officers shot back firing through the shield cutting into the oncoming ranks of the Iconian troops. As the flanks of the Iconian’s split a Harbinger centered its feet. It put its hands together and began shaking. “Down!” yelled a combat medic. As the Herald put its hands forward shooting a hole through the shield erupting a hole into the Embassy.
The crews fell back into the great hall as one after one, the federation troops, began to fall at the hands of the Heralds. The Thralls began storming the building as a supply runner from the Alliance ran from the bar to throw Thoron grenades into the fray. M’Zaant dodged as one of the Heralds beams cut through the columns bringing down the main operations ceiling into the main hall. Glass shattered across the floor glinting amongst the green illuminated screens. Trianium beams fell under the missing support into a flank of Romulan troops cutting them off from the fire of the Heralds. M'Zaant quickly programmed his tricorder and aimed it in the direction of the harbinger. He pressed a flashing red button as an explosion erupted in the target area, setting a blaze the Herald army. The smell of rotting flesh singed the air as the Thralls moved off. The harbinger waived her hand as the fire subsided. She nodded to her troops calling them off.
The remaining heralds moved from the main entrance back out to the staging area. The last thing the M’zaant heard from the Harbinger before she disappeared into a gateway, “Burn it all.” The Thralls and Constructs began setting fire to all the buildings in the staging area before they disappeared.
M’Zaant stood up and looked around in the silent hall. The only sounds were that of soldiers moaning from under the rubble. He looked out amongst the wounded and maimed and cried.
Back on the ship the crew of the endeavor moved off from Mol’Rihan the toll of the losses weighed heavy on their hearts. The death toll was rising, the fleet was dwindling, and humanity was beginning to lose hope. The Endeavour alone lost 43 souls. It was beginning to feel like their darkest hour. The computer chirped and resounded from over the bed of M’Zaant. He stared at the ceiling and started his daily log. Wondering when they would have a needed victory.

#talesoutoftime  #writingcontest
7 people liked this
Edited April 15 2018 by Mstfrancis
Cai Weaver


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

April 21 2018
"K'Gan, Red Alert! Give me visuals, Now! I need to see what we are up against" Kai barked as he exited the turbolift.

As the sensor readings started to make sense, K’Gan realised what was happening: “Captain, I’m reading over three hundred ships, on an intercept course for Deep Space Nine. This can’t be right, the ships signatures, they are Hur’q! This can only be an invasion, we must engage!”

“NO!” Kai screamed, “We must warn the High Council, Helm set a course for Qo’nos. Today is not a good day to…”

Before the Dahar Master could even finish, he felt the d'k tahg pierce his heart. Dropping to the floor, crying out in pain, he pressed his hand against the wound and tried to slow the bleeding, but nothing seemed to stop the torrent of blood. He felt his eyes grow heavy and his pulse weaken, as he prepared to enter Sto'Vo'Kor, he was blinded by a sudden flash of light that engulfed everything.

Confused and stunned, Kai was back on Bajor, as he slowly closed the doors to the Orb of Prophecy he realised what needed to be done.

K’Gan must die.

#talesoutoftime  #writingcontest
6 people liked this
Gareth GXV3


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

April 22 2018
The Joining Of Life : Act II - The Time To Strike

One of the disadvantages of being in starfleet, especially being in command is the privilege of debating "what if's" in your mind, when a decision arrives it must be carried out, it would have been the right course of action at the time, there is to be no second guessing when your in command of a vessel full of crew trusting your every word.

Through all the years.. and all his Trill life hosts, Gareth was always content on the choices and orders he gave, no matter what career.
but one choice he had made had been troubling him for many years since a certain order was issued.
sleepless nights, "what if's" and "should I have's" pounded his mind as he tried to drift off to sleep in his dark quarters.
A file on a certain officer he had lost during one mission was always brought up on screen.
"Caleb Llandrax
Status: Deceased

Lost during a Voth war conflict"

a few years had past since the day of the dreaded order, two lives had been lost, sacrificed for the continuation of a fleet wide mission, Gareth went about each day since.. issuing orders of the Captain of a ship, darting about the galaxy on daring missions, but with each day, holding private meetings with himself, drawing out action plans, strategies and mission outlines.
While life continued on for the federation, contacts with new races with unique technologies that gave a new era to starfleet, the most notable of these new eras were missions involving a temporal agent named "Daniels", With these encounters Starfleet gained access to a new breed of Starship and technology.. this was the moment Gareth needed, the piece of the puzzle that was missing from his personal meetings.

The beauty of being at Fleet Admiral rank within starfleet is that you can choose your own ship to command when available, with a new line production of Temporal Science vessels, Gareth submitted a Request to high command... it was not the ship he wanted.. but some of its parts, most notably a casual anchor and Tipler cylinder consoles.. plus a few parts here and there.
It was in fact the newly Recommissioned "Crossfield class" of starship  that Gareth Submitted to be a commanding Admiral of. 
A highly classified starship used in the earlier part of the Federations history when experimenting with various space folding technology, known as "Spore Drives".

A few strings were pulled, favours called upon and Gareth and his crew departed there trustworthy and reliable Nebula class U.S.S. Pendragon, that had protected and seen them through many a scrape, and Boarded what was to be there new home... the Crossfield Class "U.S.S. Cerberus".
The years of regret were finally going to subside, he had the tools for his plan.. he just needed to carry it out. Gareth called a meeting of his senior staff, at the back of his mind he knew how vain this mission was, a personal mission that was unbecoming of a starfleet officer to put his own grief first, not to mention his Trill heritage and the impact it should have if the Trill homeworld find out.  

With the meeting in place aboard the Cerberus, The Fleet Admiral outlined that they are to revisit an old mission, to save the lives of two starfleet officers who had sacrificed themselves during a bloody war, however this will not be a straight forward mission.. the use of the temporal technologies installed on the vessel.. and the spor drive needed precise calculations, as well as a high level of stealth.  
With the crew now involved, with some eyebrows raised, Gareth and his Bridge officers set the task of calculations, vectors and mission simulations, while other officers procured the last remaining element of there mission, a Voth shuttle.

The time to Strike was now, with everything in place, all calculations set, the mission was ready, years of planning fell to this moment.
The Cerberus jumped to black alert, vibrations ran through the hull of the ship, the spore drive bounced into action, the view of dark deep spaced was suddenly changed to the bright huw of the low level atmosphere from within a Dyson sphere.
Tactical detected a federation starship some distance away, it was the U.S.S. Pendragon, it appeared for a brief moment before it warped out of range.
Science scanned for a Bajoran and Trill lifesign from within the Voth held structure below them.. they were down there.. orders were issued to lock onto the there lifesigns.
the Cerberus Shuttle bay doors opened and the Voth shuttle was tractored out and stayed in position floating next to the Cerberus unmanned.

"Science, beam the two life signs aboard the shuttle on my mark" Gareth ordered, timing was everything.. looking over at his console on his captains chair, a radiation build up was detected in the Voth structure "Engage transporter" Gareth commanded.
The science officer confirmed that the Trill male and the Bajoran female were safely aboard the voth shuttle.
With that Gareth got up from his chair, issued black alert and ordered helm to spore drive with the planned calculations immediately, with that the ship vibrated once more, the crew feeling nausious and dizzy as the advanced temporal spore drive slung them back to the present time as if nothing had happened.

With the crew thanked, gareth headed for his ready room, He pulled up the starfleet records of "Lt.Caleb",
It Read:
Caleb Llandrax 
Active officer
Won an medal of distinction for efforts during the Voth war,
promoted to Commander soon after returning back to federation space having gained access to an enemy's shuttle"

Gareth exhaled deeply and sat back in his chair, all years of regret had finally been lifted, he had brought back two officers that he had lost without anyone's knowledge, though he would probably never have done it if it weren't for Caleb being his former hosts son.

This was ACT II of a story from here

#writingcontest #talesoutoftime
5 people liked this
Edited April 22 2018 by GXV3
Joye McCaster


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 01 2018
Captain M'Rinn shares a little of her past.

Space was filled with old star bases, defunct in current times they draw in the lost and searching or the forgotten and unwanted denizens of the galaxy. The boarder between the superpowers of the Galaxy host most of these old structures, some reclaimed after their abandonment or bought from the governments that once hosted them. Nestled into broken remains of a moon that once sported a thriving dilithium mine, Hellcat station rest. Once a federation starbase that served as both listening post, trade headquarters and, mining operations hub for the the star system. In her prime she glistened with her Federation colours and support craft floating in orbit of a Demon Class planetoid below. In the current time her hull was the colour of old limes, marked with Orion writing.

Light traffic moved about the stations perimeter, a mix of freighters and small personal craft. With a light sprinkling of starships that could be classified as cruisers or frigates, among the larger ships one stood out her dark hull lingering above the station. Sitting within the stations large drinking and entertainment establishment a nervous Ferangi sat rubbing his hands, his head twitching back and forth in quick jerks giving off the sense he was afraid. It was a little time before a furred hand came down roughly on the fidgeting Ferangi's shoulder, followed by a tall lean body swinging into the seating booth to face him. His eyes started and rounder for it looked questionably over the felinenoid now facing him. Her eyes held a weight to them and her breath sung of the volume of Romulan ale she had consumed. His nose wrinkling, and causing a shudder to roll threw his smaller body but an odd light started to sparkle in his eyes seeing her state of being.

“Hmmmmrrrrrrrr You must be Grunk, provayour of fine ships, fine drink... FINER Wrrreapo... wrrrreapons. Just the soft earrrrred fiend I was looking for.” The feline female across from Grunk purring and slurring her speech as the hand that had been resting on his should glided down the rim of one large ear.

The Ferangi taken off guard suddenly shifted but did not pull away from the caressing hand, his body spoke a new volume of confidence as his shrill voice started in on business. Pulling from next to him a small stack of data pads laying them out quickly and neatly each showing displays of the same ship.

“Captain, well prospecting Captain M'rinn I believe. I have the merchandise and the ship you inquired about purchasing from me. Now all contracts of course are final and the ship of course is in wonderful condition you should have no...”

His voice faultered with a single claw tip running along the edge of his ear before looking up to meet lethal eyes holding him in steady focus. His mind racing to figure out if he was suddenly prey for her.

“I...I assure you the ship is in perfect working and even battle worthy condition... at at...” his throat feeling dry suddenly with the next words leaving past quivering lips. “At no extra cost of course...” The feline across from him quirked one eyebrow before a lazy smile spread over her lips. Her voice almost purring with reply. “Well that is most kind of you. Now the payment we agreed upon.”

From her side the feline woman hoisted one large case dropping before Grunk a finger tapping over a small display before the hissing of its air seals released popping the lips open an inch. Grunk carefully leaned in opening enough to peer in, his eyes aflame with sudden greed. Looking up his mouth move faster than his mind would want it too.

“You are fine with the amount... no haggling or hmm anything.” The words were out and his lips shut quickly as he started to berate himself internally. The feline female across from him simply shook her head before motioning for a few drinks.

Moments passed before a pale green skinned woman approached setting down a few drinks before turning on heel her skirt mostly ripped showing more than was ever modest, flared. The motion captured Grunks eyes and held them with his free hand idly moving towards one drink to take it for himself.

The Caitian woman smiled placing a few gold slips upon the waitresses tray “Keep the drinks coming for a bit okay beautiful.” She eyed the gold before nodded and left the two at the table. “Be weary of that one, she is tricky and a little sticky with her fingers.” The feline female downed her first drink, then the second once it arrived. In short order the table was littered with empty glasses and Grunks head laid in the felines lap her face looking distant. His mouth worked sluggishly before getting out a thought. “So miss captain what is your story... why such a risky ship?” The ferangi's voice slurred many of the words and his hands idly moved with his speech. Looking down at him with a sad smile before letting a slow sigh leave her furred lips.

“My story, okay why not. Its been a long time since I really spoke about it. I was in Star Fleet not so many years ago now. Captain of a heavy cruiser, veteran of war... conflict survived death more times than I guess I should have.” Her voice trailed for a moment into the fog of memory with Grunk stiffening against his host. The caitians clawed hand came down and rested on his chest. “Take the time and listen to the story fully before running away.” He shifted uncomfortably against her.

“I was at first an officer in my peoples defence force, I spent most my days doing maintenance on fighters and small reckon ships assigned to a carrier group. Then we joined the Federation, and many of our officers where reassigned to Star Fleet.” Her voice dipped almost hissing the name Star Fleet. “I was one of the lucky ones, new ships new technology to learn and take apart; to rebuild and improve. I was optimistic, though by human standards I was young and for my age they wanted me and many others to proceed threw the academy first. Oh I wont bore you with those years, I left the academy though as a Lieutenant senior grade with my first posting aboard a Pioneer class starship. My tour there was only for a year, learning the ropes and working with the Star Fleet core of engineers. That little ship got around repairing star bases and picking up stranded ships. The chief engineer and I were transferred to a Ranger class starship together.”

The caitians face showed a little bit of light for a moment before her slurred purring voice continued the tale. “I built Rufus while aboard that ship, he was a good assistant. A little defence droid that carried many of my tools, least those that I didn't carry in the many pouches I had on me. I served there for a full tour, till War with the Klingons broke out. I spent a lot of time doing repairs and working threw hell in the lower decks and the shuttle bay. Our captain took advantage of my knowledge of small craft combat, having me convert half our shuttles to point defence craft. I was promoted to Lieutenant Commander and given charge over the flight deck. Lost my red uniform with that promotion. The gold didn't agree with me at all. I never wanted to be in a place of command but that was my lot it seemed to be thrown into it. For most of the war I commanded the flight deck of a makeshift light carrier till we finally managed to limp back to a star base to effect repairs. Our captains report gave command ideas and I was soon transferred off the ship to Star Fleet ship development. The Admiralty had a few ships in the works to combat the Klingons, one was a deeply classified. On paper she was a deep space exploration ship, her proper class was Dreadnought. With a small team we worked on the first four ships of her class, adjusting them into light carriers to compliment their heavy firepower.”

Grunk looked up at her confused, the class of ships she talked about where old. Least to his knowledge of federation vessels. He lifted one hand about to speak when her voice cut him off. “Four ships of the Atlas class, I had hoped that helping build and refine these ships in secret I could go back to being a normal officer, tinkering my way threw a ship. I even started to understand the humans wanderlust and drive to explore everything around them. Its sad I fell into that Federation and star fleet ideology. I wanted those days back and for this war to be over, I didn't get that luck. For my work in helping build these ships of War I was punished with being promoted to Captain and given command of one of the four. The USS Yggdrasil NX-1411, off the record though. On the Record I was given command of the Ranger class starship Locksley; touted also as the first Caitian to earn her command of a Federation Starship. The newnets ate it up, inspired pride among my people with a surge of recruitment. I hated it, hated everything about it, the lie of it all. I wasn't given command because I was a good leader, or really earned my way up the ranks; but because I was there, I knew fighter tactics and how these ships where meant to work.” Grunk swallowed hearing the venom in her voice, the slits of the Caitians eyes narrowing to daggers recalling her past. He hazard to move but still her hand held him firmly in place.

“We launched those warships into cold space, for a year I commanded battlefields in secret. Wrote up false death reports of the pilots who died under my command. Buried in the stars a crew I came to care about and love. I hated battle and I hated what I had become, I was a Captain, a warrior who showed little compassion to my foes. My weapons crushed Klingon ships under their assault, and the names of our dead where carved into the keel of the ship. I lost them all though, remember as dying heroicly defending an unstable wormhole from a Klingon assault group. Star fleet intel showed this unstable wormhole to be opening up randomly throughout Federation space. With timing and patience the Klingons could drop an entire fleet on a target without warning. We made it there first releasing the science vessel that had discovered it. Our orders hold the wormhole till a support force could arrive.” The caitian captain took a long slow drink pausing her story, a sadness enveloping her. Grunk felt the heated tears falling from her furred cheeks hitting his face. Though at this moment he was not sure if she was rambling a drunken tale or telling him the truth. Ether way he feared moving and upsetting her more.

Her voice hit an icy tone reaching into the next part of her tale, “I had ordered all fighter shuttles arrayed behind me in a picket line. Our ship turned to offer up the most points of weapon fire towards any approaching ship. The Klingons came at us hard, smaller craft where swatted aside. Light cruisers stuttered under broadside attacks till we had to turn and move to fire. Several of their ships lay crippled at my hands, I gave the order for the assault shuttles to fire upon them till they where dust. Their heavy ships gave us a bigger fight, it wasn't a long engagement. My fighters dropped slowly ether shot down or ramming themselves into the Klingon ships when their weapons gave out. Our aft weapons where shot to pieces, the engines might as well have been blown off their struts. I ordered the ship to reverse back into the opening of the wormhole; from the outset of the battle I understood we wouldn't be coming back from this. The last of our torpedoes ripped one of the heavy cruisers apart. Her companion ships just sailed threw the wreckage firing still. Shields buckled, fire was raging threw the decks. The ships com system stayed open and I could hear my friends dying... burning and crying.” Grunk found her strength gone and moved sitting up looking at the Captains face, her eyes where distant and wild. With her body shaking with the memories. He understood at that moment she was not with him but there on that ships bridge as it burned. Her voice was soft without soul for a moment.

“Burning, I turned in my chair seeing the bridge aflame and my crew littered around me. My first officer was hunched over the conn, his face just a mask of blood and burnt flesh. It was slow as I moved to the engineering station. The core was breaching, the ship my ship only had a minute before she would be gone. The explosion of her core would destroy the wormhole, leaving the Klingons with a hallow victory at least. Franklin turned sharply at me, I didn't see his hand but I saw the blue streak of light stretching out from it hitting me. I fell against the deck dazed, I was able to come too fully almost a minute later when the shaking of my ships demise jarred me. I was in an escape pod, the one just off the bridge. The bastard had saved me, stopped me from dying with my crew my ship. I saw out the port hole, that the wormhole was gone. The Klingons where gone, it wasn't right though cause there should have been debris, yet none. It was a few days on rations and a phaser in my hand before I was rescued. I didn't notice the motion of the pod or the hiss of its seal breaking. I remembered the face of a woman and her hand resting over mine pushing it and the phaser down gently. Her voice telling me it was okay, that everything was okay. It was another lie. That wormhole died alright but it launched me forward in time to just about ten years ago now, its last breath saved me, my xo saved me... I didn't deserve it.”

She had come back, and her hand moved wiping tears away, Grunk shifted uncomfortably looking the caitian over, his drunken face having sobered with the story. “The future... what Klingon war was that?” The Caitian stood taking up the datapads and her bags along with one more glass. “The first Federation Klingon War of course. Well Grunk thanks for the drinks.” She smirked at the Ferangi turning to walk away leaving him stunned in silence for a moment thinking over what she said as the waitress approached the table once more. Looking over her shoulder calling back to him, “If we meet again I might finish the story for you of how I got my second command.” These words were accompanied with a somber smile before the Caitian Captain melted into the crowd leaving Grunk there with a table of empty glasses and the tab.
4 people liked this
Volkrov (Eurrsk) Ruk


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 03 2018

Dude, Where’s My Sehlat?

written by Eurrsk Ruk

           “Science Officer’s Log: Stardate 95343.895… I’ll just easily put it as May 6, 2418. Just got home to Vulcan after our month-long journey through the Arucanis Arm, a deep space exploration mission assigned by Admiral Grall, onboard the V.S.S T’Gren, a Vulcan D’kyr class science vessel named after my great grandfather. The ship is still undergoing repairs after its last encounter with a hostile alien living within the nebula. Progress is looking good so far. The crew is performing admirably, patching up all the damage done to the hull and engine. Plus, they deserved a little time for rest and relaxation, including myself.

           For the time being, my young nephew has given me a non-Starfleet-related assignment, to take care of his pet Sehlat named Mup, while he goes to a school field-trip for the day to study hydrocarbon-based organisms on a moon of Saturn in the Sol System. While my ship is in repair, I promised to take good care of—WHAT THE!“
Music Queue: 

           “MMMMMMRRMRAGGHMMLLMRRGHHRMRRGMRRRR!!!” A loud wailing noise along with ruffling is heard from underneath Eurrsk’s desk. Suddenly, a sehlat’s nose boops out sniffing from underneath the table where he was sitting at, and a large fuzzy animal jumps onto Eurrsk’s lap.

           "Wha—Hey! OOF—Watch it, Mup! In in the middle something!” Eurrsk’s exclaims to the furry visitor from below. The sehlat quiets down making weird noises and purrs, curling up onto his lap. Mup’s heavy weight forces Eurrsk to re-adjust his sitting and realizes any attempt in removing the animal is futile. Eurrsk finally sighs, “Okay! Fine you can sit here—”

            “Mrrroww?” Mup interrupts excitedly with eyes wide open looking up towards him.

            “Yes… You can sit here, but quietly,” Eurrsk’s clarifies in a whisper, unsure if the sehlat would comprehend, “Do you understand? Quietly, Mup,” The sehlat continues staring at Eurrsk with its big eyes, and responds with a tail wiggle. “Good,” Eurrsk says, patting the big purring fuzz-ball on his lap.


                 The doorbell rings, surprising the two of them. Mup suddenly leaps out of Eurrsk’s lap, knocking his PADD and cup of tea off the table. The force also pushes Eurrsk backwards and the table flips over. The sehlat sprawls towards the door. “MUP!!!” Eurrsk yells loudly, trying to recover. He gets up to chase Mup to the door.


                  “Hello! Anyone there?” asks a voice from the other side of the door.

                  “Yes, who is it?” Eurrsk calls out, finally catching up to Mup, holding on to the excited sehlat’s collar. He presses a button to open the door.

                 PSHHHHDH! The door swings open, revealing a hot-burly package delivery service man.

                 “Hi, I am just here to deliver a hard-cover copy original of the Tales Out of TIME Magazine: Gay Space Biker Bears of Orion (Gold Edition) recently ordered to by-the-name of uhh—,” the man tries to pronounce Eurrsk’s name reading through his PADD, “umm—a… Eee-yoo-arrssky Rock?”

                 “Close enough, but thank you!” Eurrsk smiles at him blushing in embarrassment while holding a squirming, wiggling sehlat in his arms. The man chuckles at them.

                “Cool bro! Just need your signature on here,” the man offers the PADD, “Cute sehlat by the way,” he winks at Eurrsk, making Eurrsk melt on the inside, ogling at the delicious man in front of him.

               “Oh—umm yeah,” Eurrsk tries to reach for PADD, but Mup keeps squirming.

               “Here, I can hold onto him while you write,” the two of them exchange. The man picks up Mup.

               “Mrrroww?” Mup meows, staring at the burly man with big eyes. Mup licks his handsome, bearded face.

               “Who’s a cute little sehlat?” the man nuzzles Mup’s wet nose, “Yes you are! You little cutie.”

               “Hehe, I think he likes you,” Eurrsk laughs, finishing his signature, and offers the PADD back.

               “MMMRR!” Mup bites on the PADD, grabbing it, and scrambles out the man’s grasp.

               “—OOF!” The man falls back. Mup lands on the ground and starts skittering down the road.

               “Mup!” Eurrsk yells, “I’m so sorry!” He helps the man up, “I’ll get your PADD back!” He pursues Mup down the street. Mup runs quickly past a group of Vulcans meditating, knocking down a monk.

               GONG! The monk bumps his head on the ceremonial gong, echoes ringing throughout the entire municipal. Eurrsk runs past them apologizing as he continues chasing the fugitive sehlat on foot for several blocks.

               “MROW!?” Mup suddenly stops and drops the PADD on the ground, smelling the delicious food of a nearby market. “MRR!” he mews excitedly, taking a new route between buildings, following the scent.

               “Wait! Where are you going?” Eurrsk yells from behind, catching up. He quickly picks up the PADD off the ground and continues following Mup. Mup enters the market and is overwhelmed by the smell of food. He hops on one of the vendors and starts to nibble on some Jumja Sticks.

               “Hey! No animals allowed!” A Ferengi chef, who owns the vendor, yells at Mup, “Unless you’re paying of course!” Eurrsk finally reaches the market and spots the sehlat devouring the helpess Jumja Sticks. The Ferengi starts waving a spatula at Mup, “Shoo! Scram you big over-bloated rat!” Eurrsk runs towards the sehlat to stop him.

               “Mrow!” The unknown flailing armament startles Mup, and he skitters down the line of vendor tables and counters, knocking containers, jewelry, and various assortments of food off them. The commotion creates a panic, and people start yelling and screaming within the market community.

     “Oh no! Not my Aldebaran whiskey!”
     “Stop! You’re messing up my whale nuggets!”
     “What the—not in front of my salad!”
     “My plomeek soup is ruined!”
     “Kurland here!”
     “I didn’t ask for this!”
     “Someone get that sehlat!”

               An angry mob of market goers forms up and chases the sehlat. Mup takes another turn and darts through a busy street leading into the entrance of the spaceport where the V.S.S. T’gren is undergoing repairs. Eurrsk runs pass the angry mob before they could reach Mup. He spots Mup bypassing the spaceport security customs, and he cuts through a line of passengers entering the terminal.

               The sehlat enters a huge hangar room and bumps into a big, hairy Orion biker, knocking him backwards onto his own parked hover-bike, creating a domino effect of toppling hover-bikes parked in an adjacent line. Hangar guards, bikers, and passengers start panicking. The chaos is loud and startles the sehlat, so he scrams onto a platform where the T’Gren’s repair crew is. Eurrsk pursues Mup, outrunning the angry mob getting bigger with added bikers and security running behind in anger. Mup darts toward an annoying high-pitch humming noise coming from one of the micro-spanners of the work crew.

               “Hey, Eurrsk! How’s it going? What’s all that commotion over there?” one of the repair crew members calls out to him. He notices Mup running towards him, “What the—How’d you get in here?” Mup leaps, stealing the humming micro-spanner from his hand and starts gnawing on it. “Hey! That’s not a chew toy! Let go!” The repair-man tries to yank it out of the sehlat’s teeth, but he loses his grip suddenly and falls back onto Eurrsk running up the platform.

               “Woahh Watch it!” Eurrsk yelps, trying to catch the repair guy’s fall, but collapses with him by the sudden impact. Mup sprawls off the platform, knocking off shipping containers, and skitters through the hangar’s back exit into another busy street through the city’s downtown district. Vehicles and pedestrians can be heard outside swerving, crashing, and scrambling all over to avoid the crazy sehlat.  

                “Eurrsk, what did you get yourself into?” the crew member asks, helping Eurrsk onto his feet.

                “Uhh—I can’t talk right now! There’s an angry mob following me and I have to get that sehlat!” Eurrsk leaps off the platform to follow Mup’s trail of destruction, “See if you can distract them, and I’ll get your micro-spanner back!”

                “God damn it, Eurrsk! You better!” he yells back at Eurrsk, who is now already exiting the building.

                Back at the sehlat, Mup stops at a busy sidewalk. He hears a cheering crowd accompanied with music coming from a nearby amphitheater, “Mrow?“ He drops the humming micro-spanner on the ground, curiously follows the music, and sneaks into the open venue.

                Eurrsk frantically searches through the busy street of stopped vehicles and panicked pedestrians for any signs of Mup. He stops to think, but then hears the familiar humming of the dropped micro-spanner coming from the entrance of the amphitheater nearby. He follows the sound, picks up the tool, and enters the premise. Inside, he sees a crowded venue of Vulcans with a leveled stage up front filled with speakers and hosts. They seem to be spouting out Anti-Reunificationist rhetoric.

                 A small, old Vulcan wearing a fake blond-haired bowlcut wig stands at the central podium on stage to address the large Anti-Reunificationist rally. Waving his small hands around with charismatic gestures, the speaker yells, “We will make Vulcan great again! First, by removing oppressive pro-Romulan and anti-Vulcan ideals! We will build a giant outer defense perimeter around the shattered borders of Romulas! We will stop the Orion drug dealers from getting into our precious Federati—OOF!!”

               Suddenly, the charismatic speaker is knocked off his feet, as a blurry fuzzball attacks him from below. It was Mup! “Mrraaww!” The sehlat yanks on the Vulcan’s wig, tears it off, and chews on it like a toy. The on-looking Anti-Reunificationist crowd screams in horror and starts to run in panic and anger. Amongst the mob, Eurrsk pushes through the overcrowded chaos, as Pro-Reunificationists starts to march into the amphitheatre, cheering at the incapacitated leader, along with yelling in protest against the Anti-Reunificationists. The angry mob that followed Eurrsk earlier from the spaceport and market, finds their way in the venue and starts yelling at the sehlat in anger. Special Ops Security Forces from all over the city breaks into the overcrowded amphitheatre. The whole scene turns chaotic and wild. Security jumps on stage and aims their phaser rifles at the sehlat still ravaging what was left of the Vulcan’s wig.

               “Hostile target is dangerous,” said one of the officers, “Set phasers to—“

               “WAIT! STOP!” Eurrsk yells, jumping in between the fire-arms of law enforcement and Mup.

               “Halt!” the officers lowered their guns, “What is the meaning of this?”

               “Don’t shoot him!” Eurrsk catches his breath as he tries to calm the sehlat, “He’s just scared.”

               “Scared? He’s been wreaking havoc all over Vulcan!” yells a member from the crowd. Others join in with the yelling, spouting out negative angry remarks towards the troublesome sehlat.

               “He deserves to be put down!” another yells.
               “Are you the owner? You should be locked up too!”
               “Lock him up! Put that sehlat in a cage!”
               “My whale nugget business is destroyed because of you!”

               The crowd continues with their individual complaints. Little did they know however, that something else much more sinister and terrifying is stirring inside the amphitheater. Mup’s attention switches to the fallen, bald Vulcan on stage whom was speaking to the crowd earlier. The wig-less speaker starts moaning in an unfamiliar language. His limbs and arms begin to elongate, his face starts to de-morph, and his entire body stretches outward. The crowd is too focused on Eurrsk and Mup to even notice…

               “That rat of yours messed up my bikes, dude!” yells the hot Orion biker bear from the crowd.
               “You destroyed my pottery collection!”
               “Hey, can I have my micro-spanner back?”

               Mup notices the morphing figure on stage, and starts to tug at Eurrsk, “MRRR”.

               “Hey, it’s okay buddy, I won’t let them hurt you,” Eurrsk assures to Mup.

               Mup disregards his assurance as he tries to get his attention towards the strange creature morphing on the stage, “MMMRRRRGHH!!!”

                “What the-“ Eurrsk’s mouth opens in awestruck as he sees the creature’s true form unfold. A scream is heard from the crowd. Eurrsk pulls Mup back from the strange creature that now stands upon them. The rest of the crowd now starts to panic as they realize the charismatic speaker from before was only a disguise, revealing a tri-pedal creature known as Species 8472.

          “What is that thing?!”
          “It’s—It’s—It’s an Undine!!!!”
          “Somebody shoot it!”

           In response, the Special Ops Security Forces still standing on stage divert their aim towards the towering Undine creature now roaring at the crowd. “Species 8472 identified. Fire!” Phasers start lighting up the stage as they hit the Undine. Its thick epidermis is able to withstand their attack. The Undine charges at them, knocking Eurrsk and Mup off the stage, and rams into the security, pummeliing them down. The rest of the panicked crowd starts to evacuate the amphitheater in fear as the fight goes on. Firing, screaming, and pandemonium is heard throughout the overcrowded chaos.

          “We are losing men! We need backup!”

          “Keep firing! Watch out for its claws!”

          “MRRRGHH!!” without warning, Mup leaps into the air and powerfully bites on the Undine’s leg, knocking the Undine off balance. The towering creature falls to the ground, wincing in pain. Mup continues gnawing angrily with his powerful jaws.

          “Mup!” Eurrsk yells in terror, as he grabs a phaser from a fallen security officer and fires on the Undine. The rest of the regathering forces join in and fires at the fallen invader. Finally, the Undine screeches in pain as the weapons finally pierce through its skin. Just in time, Eurrsk jumps in and grabs Mup, pulling him away from possible friendly fire, as another security guard throws a grenade at the dying Undine. Eurrsk and Mup take cover off-stage.


           The grenade detonates, exploding the Undine into smithereens. The whole place is covered in a gooey mess. The security forces sigh and cheer in relief. The remaining crowd still evacuating turns to see the team’s victory. They all start easing back in, realizing that the room is finally clear of danger. Everyone looks to the sehlat in surprise.

           “That sehlat saved us!” The crowd suddenly starts cheering in victorious roar for Mup.

           “Thank you, little sehlat! We owe you our lives!”

           “Mrow?” Mup looks at Eurrsk in confusion.

           “They’re cheering for you, buddy. You helped saved them!” Eurrsk smiles at Mup, holding him in his arms. He lifts Mup up on the stage, holding him in the air amongst the crowd, like Simba from The Lion King.

            The crowd cheers in greater volume at the heroic sehlat. A security guard walks up to Eurrsk and Mup, and pets mup on his fuzzy head, “Thank you, little pup. You saved many Vulcans today. May you live long and prosper!”

           Amongst the cheering crowd, a young adult humanoid runs into the amphitheater, panting out-of-breath from running. It is Eurrsk's nephew. He recovers himself and begins his search through the crowd. “Been hearing what’s been going on in the news. Figured I’d find him here!” he says to a random crowd member. He continues to yell, “Dude! Where’s my sehlat!?”

 #WritingContest #talesoutoftime
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Edited May 05 2018 by Eurrsk


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 05 2018
REAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!” screamed the Orion male in an interrogation chair in the middle of a darkened room.

“Do you know what this is?” a figure spoke from behind him.

Callex mustered the strength to raise his head, and in so doing, a bead of sweat dropped from his head upon his bare chest sliding down to the floor. He recognised the Klingon pain stick, from his time on Qo’nos in servitude.

“We’ve modified it so that it tears the skin and rips into your flesh, but then you’ve felt that already.”

Callex then felt the cold metal of a hypospray touching the side of his neck before the recognisable *WOOOOOOSH* of the injection. The hand holding it traced the vein and down to his bare chest, where sweat had left a trail moments earlier.

“I have just hypersensitised all of your pain receptors in your body. The humans have a saying, “a pound of flesh”, intended as a quantity of mass for payment. Is your green flesh worth the inconveniences that your captain cost me?!?

The pain stick delivered another parcel of pure pain to Callex and it was excruciating for him. He was exhausted after hours of enduring this, never once seeing the face of his torturer. His mind began slipping, his will on the verge of breaking…his life starting to flash before his eyes.

“What…have you done….to my master…?” Callex muttered as best he could. His voice was coarse and dry, deprived of water and food.

"Why are you willing to give everything up for him? Why did you come here? Did you think you could save him?"

Callex knew what his master had done. For he was right there beside him. The Orion slave. The loyal servant. The secret lover. A bold mission deep into Romulan space that had gone terribly wrong.

Callex found this trait about his captain intoxicating. Full of adventure, boldness and braveness, always ready to take on the galaxy…it was hard not to have fallen in love. It was this boldness that led to the rescue of Callex from Klingon servitude years before and Callex happily became his new slave. But it blossomed into something deeper between the two men, something formidable that would be worthy of Klingon song.

“Do you know what your captain…your Master did to you? Before his trial, he sold you. You belong to me…now.

“No, he could never do that…he would never do that….”

“You forget your place, slave. You are property. You are mine.

“No…no….." Callex's mind began running away with confusion and emotions that would annoy Vulcans no end.

The Romulan turned away, smiling with achievement, and moved to the rear forcefield wall of the room. He signalled to the guard who deactivated the field to leave.

“Are you sure this slave is worth all this trouble?”

“Yes,” replied a figure who had been watching patiently in the corner. “Yes, he is.”

Callex’s former master and his new one left side by side together, as salty tears ran down his face to sting the open wounds left upon his body.

…to be continued…? #WritingContest
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Viridian Green


Writing Contest: Past histories

May 06 2018
The little girl looked up at her mother’s sombre chequered uniform and began rubbing her eyes. Mother was wearing her going-away-clothes. But her mother was unmoved.
“Don’t cry, Vinara. It is unbecoming! I will be back sooner than you think.”
Four-year-old Vinara knew what was expected of her. Obediently, she wiped her cheeks and attempted a clumsy Romulan salute, fist to shoulder. Her other hand clutched a toy warbird so hard it hurt. Mother’s expression softened into a smile. The metal rings on her shoulder strap jingled faintly as she lifted Vinara in her arms and planted a proud kiss between her forehead ridges.
“Much better, daughter! You, too, will one day serve our empire with distinction!”

Three decades later, the Romulan Star Empire of old was dust. So much for the high hopes her parents had once held for one Vinara Lleissan Tovath, in a time before the riots, Klingon attacks, mass arrests, food shortages and fleeing from the Tal Shiar. By a strange twist of fate, however, Vinara now was indeed in command of a warbird. She felt no pride. Only a growing sense of apprehension as she stood on the corridor and realised the turbolift was not working. Again.
“This had better not happen when we arrive at Sol.” she whispered, and sighed. As commander of that warp capable embarassment known as the RRW Llaiss, it was her duty to make sure that both ship and crew made a proper first impression on their Federation allies. Certainly not the impression that everything was going the way of the homeworld.

Vinara would have preferred to stay on the new homeworld, where there was plenty of scientific and medical work, but Command had decided that her interests made her suitable to work with the Federation’s Starfleet. The decision seemed sound until you realised the Llaiss was a D’Deridex class battleship, and no place for a scientist. It was probably because of the cocktails. Someone higher up probably knew about the cocktails and Drozana Station, and disapproved. That Tal’Mera for sure was no fun. Perhaps, if she didn’t botch this, Vinara thought, they would all be transferred to something that wasn’t falling apart. She was brutally jerked from her thoughts by a melodic chime that meant a Romulan crew’s worst nightmare: The artificial quantum singularity that powered the ship was unstable. Vinara tapped the comm unit on her arm and began ordering emergency procedures as she raced towards main engineering.
Forty years ago, the Reman in charge there would have been chained to the bottom of a dilithium mine. Now, she was giving orders to the mostly Romulan crew, while at the same time welding something inside a control panel. Sparks flew. Warning lights flashed on every console and the noise of alarms was deafening.
“Status?” Vinara yelled, trying to make herself heard.
“Bad! Unless I – got it!”
Containment fields were raised, non-vital systems shut down and everyone breathed again. Vinara bowed to the still shocked engineering crew.
“Excellent work, everyone. And to Chief Engineer Veril, congratulations!”

It’s the old circuitry,” Veril remarked “it can’t handle the energy fluctuations. This ship wasn’t meant to support the singularity that’s in there! Vinara, someone stuffed a brand new singularity core into the old bird, with no thought for the consequences!”
“What we need to do, is to manually readjust the containment field, then recalibrate the power flow from the singularity so it doesn’t overload every relay on the ship. Right now, I’ve rerouted power through the nullifier coils to boost containment field resonance, but if we don’t get this done, the event horizon might begin incongruent expansion. An expanding singularity - ”
“Might cause temporal fluctuations, paradoxical physics, and gravitational anomalies, I know.” Vinara sighed and as Veril ushered the crew back to work, she allowed herself to shut her eyes. Her mother would have known how to handle this. But her mother was dead. Unexpectedly, Vinara felt an arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to get out of this one, too!” Veril whispered. “Trust me!”
Vinara looked at her friend and managed to smile. Her mother would have disapproved, but her mother hadn’t fought through the hook spider infested lower levels of Drozana Station. And the hook spiders hadn’t been the worst. Vinara clasped Veril close, then hurried to the bridge to coordinate whatever was needed in engineering.

Several hours later, the crew of the Llaiss had their miracle. One by one, systems came online and they resumed their course. As they passed another star system, sensors picked up a Klingon vessel, and Vinara ordered the ship to cloak. No need to fight from a weak position. The Llaiss lurched suddenly. Something was making the big D’Deridex jump like a frightened epohh… Vinara was pitched forward onto the deck.
When she got to her feet, she and the senior staff of the Llaiss were standing on an unfamiliar bridge. In the central chair was a greying Romulan man in an old fashioned silver uniform, who looked bored as a group of small attack vessels led by a Klingon bird of prey screamed towards them at break neck speed. Proximity alerts chimed.
“Now.” The viewscreen burned bright white as the Llaiss dropped her cloak and fired. Multiple close explosions rocked the warbird. Burning wreckage spun past. Vinara and the others stared at their counterparts who didn’t seem to know they were there.
“Status?” demanded the commander. On the main viewscreen, ships of many different types careened past, over and under the Llaiss, spitting brilliant, deadly trails of weapons fire.
“The Jem’Hadar are destroyed.” came the tactical report.
The Romulan commander inspected his fingernails. “The Klingons?”
“Sir, I believe they are… singing. The Calypso is hailing us!”
A young human voice came over the comm. “Llaiss, that was close! Are you alright? What about the Nugh’Tag?”
“Llaiss reporting ready for battle, Calypso. The Klingons are reporting another opera.”
The human laughed. “Calypso ready! Let’s follow their example and make this a day worthy of song! Transmitting attack coordinates.”

The deck pitched again and threw Vinara towards the main viewscreen. As she pushed herself up, she noticed the silence. The bridge was empty, except for the usual, familiar crew. Overhead, control lights indicated the cloaking device was active.
“What exactly just happened?” Vinara asked nobody in particular. “Engineering?”
“The internal comm system is down again, sir.” said the science officer. “Sir, I believe we must have somehow travelled backwards in time to the Llaiss’s past.”
Vinara supported herself on the back of her chair. “Get me engineering. Don’t tell me this ship’s cloaking device now causes us to travel through time! Pilot, where are we?”
“Still on course. According to the ship’s chronometer, no time has passed since engaging the cloaking device. All systems operational and within normal parameters. The cloaking device is active and functioning as expected.”

As far as the bridge crew could piece things together, the incident had probably been caused by a resonance effect between the nullifier coils and the unstable quantum singularity, creating a stored energy build-up, which had been released as a phase-shifted temporal pulse once the cloaking device activated and polarised the nullifier coils. The details could be worked out later, when they had analysed all the data. For now, something else mattered more.
“This thing served in the Dominion War.” Vinara said with new found respect. “That’s how old the Llaiss is! And it survived to this day.”
“Makes you wonder about all the things it saw, and about the people who worked here before us.” replied Tovan, First Officer. “It’s a piece of history! From when we were allied with the Federation and the Klingons both.”
Veril refilled everyone’s glasses. “And now that history is ours to continue. To friends present and past!”
“To friends.” Vinara repeated. “To the best friends one could possibly wish for! And to the Llaiss. We have a legacy to take care of. Do you think the captain of the USS Calypso is still alive? Let’s find out.”

Two days later, the RRW Llaiss decloaked before Earth Space Dock, causing momentary confusion among the operations staff. A flustered traffic control warden assigned them to a standard orbit until a place to dock a D’Deridex had been found. Vinara cut the connection and called up a message she’d downloaded earlier to her padd. The miniature image of an elderly human male was crying and smiling at once.
“What can I say!” the man said. “Of course I remember the Llaiss! I didn’t think I would ever see that ship again. The big bad bird, we used to call her. Commander, I am more than pleased to meet you and I will be there in person at the space dock. Perhaps we can share a cup of tea somewhere, and you can tell me what has happened during all that time. I know I have a thing or two to tell you!” He smiled warmly. “You are very welcome!”

#WritingContest #talesoutoftime
5 people liked this
Dave (Voleron)


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 07 2018

A huge THANK YOU to everyone who participated in Stonewall's "Tales out of Time" #WritingContest this last month!  The contest is now closed and the judges will take the week to read over all of these amazing entries!  We'll announce the contest winners the week of May 14th, 2018!

3 people liked this
Dave (Voleron)


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 18 2018

A HUGE thank-you and heartfelt congratulations to all of our Tales out of Time #WritingContest authors!  

This past week, a judging panel consisting of myself, @Dax_aussie_boy and @Jacien read and thoroughly enjoyed every author's entry.  We then individually scored each entry on a scale of 1 to 10 in three different categories: detail, creativity and impact.  Our individual scores were then combined and averaged to establish a final score for each entry, thereby deciding our top three winners!  Click the link below to find out who won and to read all of these amazing entries!  We hope you'll all enjoy Stonewall's amazing writing talents as much as we did!

The writers of our top three ranked entries will be contacted within the next day to arrange for delivery of prizes!  All of our other contestants will be awarded TWO Stonewall credits, which can be redeemed for in-game loot through our Stonewall Credit Store!

5 people liked this
Edited May 18 2018 by Voleron
Gareth GXV3


Writing Contest: Tales out of Time

May 18 2018
Quote by Voleron

A HUGE thank-you and heartfelt congratulations to all of our Tales out of Time #WritingContest authors!  

This past week, a judging panel consisting of myself, @Dax_aussie_boy and @Jacien read and thoroughly enjoyed every author's entry.  We then individually scored each entry on a scale of 1 to 10 in three different categories: detail, creativity and impact.  Our individual scores were then combined and averaged to establish a final score for each entry, thereby deciding our top three winners!  Click the link below to find out who won and to read all of these amazing entries!  We hope you'll all enjoy Stonewall's amazing writing talents as much as we did!

The writers of our top three ranked entries will be contacted within the next day to arrange for delivery of prizes!  All of our other contestants will be awarded TWO Stonewall credits, which can be redeemed for in-game loot through our Stonewall Credit Store!

Congratulations to the Winners!!

Thanks Voleron for putting yet another fun forum event on!!

All SWC won have now been updated to your cards!
4 people liked this