Arcadia - Recent changes [en]

Post:Reunion (2)

2010-09-03T03:32:33Z

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{{re|Split|No More Split}}

[sickbay]
<div class=i>Mala listened with horror as the altered Jeremy – or the poltergeist – threatened that it could enter other people if it wanted.  She wasn't at all sure that her cybernetics would offer a defense, though it might if the entity was electronic-based.  For a moment she was tempted to move back, at least to the edge of the room.  But she negated the idea as soon as it slid into her thoughts, more instinct than intellect.  She knew she couldn't move too far, where Jeremy couldn't see her.  She hoped that her presence might help bring him back to the forefront of his consciousness.  She refused to think he might have slipped away entirely, beneath the onslaught of this entity.</div>
<div class=i>After Mala had given the counselor a quick update as to what happened to Jer on the bridge, Dr. Brisk entered and began her exam.  When the two women began searching through the information regarding Jeremy's vitals and brainwave patterns, Mala moved over to them, looking at the PADD display.</div>
<div class=i>When Mala heard Jer whisper, she hurried back to the bed.  But he obviously was not conscious, and perhaps neither was the invading entity.  He occasionally mumbled, as if he talked to someone, but in a scene removed from their reality.  "It's almost like he's dreaming," Mala said.  They noticed his eye movements, appearing like REM sleep.  Just as Dr. Brisk approached to begin more tests, Haskins opened his eyes, and said "Mal."</div>
<div class=i>Mala held her breath, afraid the 'other' would return and spoil things again.  But the way Jer looked at her appeared natural, just as if nothing had happened since the time they'd spent together on the holodeck.</div>
<div class=i>But then he looked toward the counselor and started talking about someone named Wolfie, and someone else named Lancaster.  Mala panicked.  His mind must still be affected!  She noted that Nacin looked puzzled, yet comprehending.</div>
<div class=i>Jer directed his attention back to Mala then.  His full attention.  She'd seen that expression before.  It definitely belonged to Jer.  She smiled, and even managed a slight laugh. Then he said:</div>
<div class=i>"I'm alright.  Totally weirded out, but I'm alright."</div>
<div class=b>She reached out and brushed her fingers against his face.  "That's all that matters then, really.  But – do you have any idea what happened to you?  And what were you talking about to the counselor just now?"</div>
{{tbc|}}

Reunion (1)

2010-09-03T03:18:45Z

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Reunion (2)

2010-09-03T03:17:57Z

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Post:Exit-Ramp(art)

2010-09-01T00:55:58Z

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	{{flg\|(Ram)Part-Time (Part 2)}}		{{flg\|(Ram)Part-Time (Part 2)}}
	<div class=t>Aboard the runabout, Rampart sat cross-legged in an open space... hands on his knees, head slumped, hearing without hearing the beat of his heart.  Ahead, chairs occupied the forward compartment, meant to be occupied by a pilot, co-pilot, mission operators; all currently empty.  In ''Voyager'''s era, design limitations required that kind of staffing.  Starfleet had the capacity for remote interfacing for centuries, but felt that it would detract from the role of organics, and kept the role of inorganics limited.  While once he agreed with that thinking, time, and his thinking, had changed.  He didn't have time, presently, to honor that tradition.</div>		<div class=t>Aboard the runabout, Rampart sat cross-legged in an open space... hands on his knees, head slumped, hearing without hearing the beat of his heart.  Ahead, chairs occupied the forward compartment, meant to be occupied by a pilot, co-pilot, mission operators; all currently empty.  In ''Voyager'''s era, design limitations required that kind of staffing.  Starfleet had the capacity for remote interfacing for centuries, but felt that it would detract from the role of organics, and kept the role of inorganics limited.  While once he agreed with that thinking, time, and his thinking, had changed.  He didn't have time, presently, to honor that tradition.</div>

Post:(Ram)Part-Time (Part 2)

2010-09-01T00:53:35Z

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	''[Somewhere, somewhen...]''		''[Somewhere, somewhen...]''
	<div class=i>"The fact of the matter is, Mr. President – Mr. Sisko; I'm not even sure what to call you anymore – you lied, you conspired, you were an accomplice to murder and you were aware that you were an accomplice."</div>		<div class=i>"The fact of the matter is, Mr. President – Mr. Sisko; I'm not even sure what to call you anymore – you lied, you conspired, you were an accomplice to murder and you were aware that you were an accomplice."</div>

Post:(Ram)Part-Time (Part 1)

2010-09-01T00:51:34Z

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-	''From the temporal adventures of {{jr}} — Explanation of what happened to Rampart on Cardassia after "[[Rampartition]]"''	+	''<span class="scap">From the [[Post arc:Rampart\|temporal adventures]] of {{jr}}</span> — Explanation of what happened to Rampart on Cardassia after "[[Rampartition]]"''
	<div class=t>Jordan Rampart had bought a house... on Cardassia, of all places.</div>		<div class=t>Jordan Rampart had bought a house... on Cardassia, of all places.</div>
	<div class=i>It was a big house.  Large... and lonely.</div>		<div class=i>It was a big house.  Large... and lonely.</div>

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2010-09-01T00:47:08Z

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	<noinclude>{{lt}}</noinclude>		<noinclude>{{lt}}</noinclude>

Post:What About Vor'ana

2010-09-01T00:45:51Z

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	<div class=t>''He emerged into an abandoned subway station.  Lifeless tunnels of steel and stone, kilometers beneath an airless surface, were the only evidence of Aos' once-inhabitants.  Subterranean trains circled the planet's core once upon a time, carrying miners, precious metals, minerals.  It had been abandoned for nearly a century.''</div>		<div class=t>''He emerged into an abandoned subway station.  Lifeless tunnels of steel and stone, kilometers beneath an airless surface, were the only evidence of Aos' once-inhabitants.  Subterranean trains circled the planet's core once upon a time, carrying miners, precious metals, minerals.  It had been abandoned for nearly a century.''</div>
	<div class=i>''The air was rank, putrid with the ages.  It shouldn't have been breathable.  It was.  He was on the right trail.''</div>		<div class=i>''The air was rank, putrid with the ages.  It shouldn't have been breathable.  It was.  He was on the right trail.''</div>

Post:Timeout

2010-09-01T00:43:56Z

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-		+	<div class=tpad><''Qo'noS''></div>
-	<div><''Qo'noS''></div>	+
	<div class=i>In the High Council chambers, there was witnessed... an event.</div>		<div class=i>In the High Council chambers, there was witnessed... an event.</div>
	<div class=i>Extremists in the Klingon military had been giving the Federation, and Starfleet, trouble for several years now... ever since the former chancellor, Martok, agreed to talks of formal unification with the Federation, back in the 2380s.  Talking was as far as it went.  He didn't remain chancellor much longer after that.  Repeatedly, throughout history, the Klingons had resisted Federation membership.  They adopted peace; they signed treaties and accords; ''Qo'noS'' was practically a member in everything but name.  More and more Klingons served in the Federation Starfleet, nowadays.  But still, they would not take that final step... as if doing so signaled surrender, a loss of autonomy.</div>		<div class=i>Extremists in the Klingon military had been giving the Federation, and Starfleet, trouble for several years now... ever since the former chancellor, Martok, agreed to talks of formal unification with the Federation, back in the 2380s.  Talking was as far as it went.  He didn't remain chancellor much longer after that.  Repeatedly, throughout history, the Klingons had resisted Federation membership.  They adopted peace; they signed treaties and accords; ''Qo'noS'' was practically a member in everything but name.  More and more Klingons served in the Federation Starfleet, nowadays.  But still, they would not take that final step... as if doing so signaled surrender, a loss of autonomy.</div>

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2010-09-01T00:42:43Z

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''From the [[Post arc:Rampart|further adventures]] of {{jr}}''
<noinclude>{{lt}}</noinclude>

Roads Not Traveled/Spell Broken

2010-08-30T15:48:02Z

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Post:What About Vor'ana

2010-08-30T00:27:50Z

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<div class=scap>''From the further adventures of Jordan Rampart''</div>
<div class=t>''He emerged into an abandoned subway station.  Lifeless tunnels of steel and stone, kilometers beneath an airless surface, were the only evidence of Aos' once-inhabitants.  Subterranean trains circled the planet's core once upon a time, carrying miners, precious metals, minerals.  It had been abandoned for nearly a century.''</div>
<div class=i>''The air was rank, putrid with the ages.  It shouldn't have been breathable.  It was.  He was on the right trail.''</div>
<div class=i>''It was the last place where he expected to find her.  She wasn't running.  Runners always took the path of least resistance.  He would have expected better of her.  He knew she was smarter than this.  She had hideouts everywhere.  Why, then, lead him here?''</div>
<div class=i>''A flash of light filled the station.  Rampart turned.  Electric pain jolted through him; his heart skipped a beat and his shoulder-blades ached.  A black shape filled his eyes; a fist.  Impact.  More pain.  He looked up from the floor, on his back.''</div>
<div class=i>''"Rahn..."''</div>
<div class=i>''The Romulan woman's Byzantine eyes sparkled down at him, hard and angry, from a face half-closed in shadow.  He had forgotten how... satanic, Romulans could appear.  Even her, knowing her as he knew her.  If he knew her at all anymore.  If he ever did.  It made her more beautiful, and frightening, at once.''</div>
<div class=i>''"You came for me, Jordan?"''</div>
<div class=i>''Her anger became his.  He felt it: seeping, a trickle at first, then a swell.  His feet kicked out.  He caught her in the knee; too close, she stumbled and went down with a grunt.''</div>
<div class=i>''"Something like that."  He scrambled to get on top of her.''</div>
<div class=i>''"You haven't changed."  She glared at him.  Suddenly he couldn't move.  She pushed him with minimal effort; he tumbled sideways and laid there, limbs unresponsive.  "Too trusting, Jordan.  Too optimistic."''</div>
<div class=i>''"It's a flaw," he managed.  Optic activation.  She'd had time to set this up.  At least he still had his voice, and could see her.''</div>
<div class=i>''"You think because we were married that I won't seriously hurt you."  She stood over him, apathy on her face.  "But I could kill you, this moment."''</div>
<div class=i>''"Is that any way to talk to your husband?"''</div>
<div class=i>''"I'm not your wife."''</div>
<div class=i>''"I thought we were still married."''</div>
<div class=i>''"Annulled."''</div>
<div class=i>''"We're still married by Federation law."''</div>
<div class=i>''She snorted, refusing to dignify that with a remark.''</div>
<div class=i>''"So if you can kill me this moment... What's stopping you?"''</div>
<div class=i>''She put her feet on either side of him and lowered herself, sitting on him.  She took his face, head in her hands.  "Pretend to be brave.  But you're not ready to die."''</div>
<div class=i>''"I guess that's up to you."''</div>
<div class=i>''"Yes.  It is."''</div>
<div class=i>''Rampart looked her over with his eyes, unable to move his head.  "I like what you did with your hair."  It had grown in length; she'd tied it securely around her head.  Her bangs had a straight, Egyptian cut.''</div>
<div class=i>''Vor'ana made a face, sad and sour.  "It's over, Jordan.  Don't try to find me again.  Next time, I'll kill you.  I promise you that, as a Romulan."  She studied him for a moment, leaned close and kissed him.  Rampart felt aroused by her closeness, her touch, her smell; her firmness, on top of him.  It was decidedly Romulan of her: Psychological torture... something to leave him wanting, and missing her.''</div>
<div class=i>''"Rahn...."''</div>
<div class=i>''"You had your chance."  She was getting up off of him.  "Goodbye, Jordie."''</div>
<div class=i>''Rampart laid still for a while.  He could not turn to look in the direction she went.  He did not have to hear the transporter beam to know she had departed.  His nanites kicked in, and his complant; his muscles unlocked, and he sat up.''</div>
<div class=i>''~''Liberty.  Do you got her?~</div>
<div class=i>~Uh, that's a negative, Agent Rampart~'', the ship answered.''</div>
<div class=i>''Escaped again.''</div>
<div class=i>''She didn't kill him.''</div>
<div class=b>''Rampart cursed, looked both ways down pitch-black tunnels, and beamed himself up.''</div>
<div class=i>Gleaming tritanium towers dominated the Cardassia City skyline, relatively new, like the city itself... rebuilt over the last thirty years since the war with the Dominion.  Throngs of pedestrians filled the spaces between, on streets, bridges, milling back and forth through transparent umbilicals connecting the metropolis, as shuttles and skycars whizzed past.  It was a busy place... easy to get lost in.</div>
<div class=i>Some people liked that.</div>
<div class=i>On a hoverboat overlooking the central plaza stood Jordan Rampart.  He felt a little nervous, remembering what happened the last time he got stuck on one of these things – a long time ago... but not that long.  Never that long.</div>
<div class=i>A pale-skinned brunette leaned casually on the rail beside him.  Her hair was black, like coal, short, cropped close.  She had strange, striking, blue-black eyes.  She appeared human–on the outside.  Rampart looked her up and down with a glance.</div>
<div class=i>The Department of Temporal Investigations lacked an official dress code.  Uniforms weren't technically required, but most agents wore them in the field, as he did: A simple black affair, full body cover, thermoregulated for comfort in places like this.  Otherwise, the heat would have been stifling.  He had spent years here, and still found it uncomfortable.</div>
<div class=i>Vyra wore very little.  Hers was also black... modest, in fairly decent taste, yet revealing.  A simple halter-top and shorts, with a small vest-like jacket, black gloves and thigh-length boots.  Fashion, not formality.  It went well with her hair and dark eyes, but didn't represent the officious nature of their occupation.</div>
<div class=i>"This planet's warm," he said, "but I didn't think it was that warm."</div>
<div class=i>Vyra ignored his comment about her attire, gazing over her shoulder at the ground far below.  The efforts of Cardassia's peace with the Federation formed a sleek, shining backdrop around them.  He mistook her for a Betazoid, when they first met.  Her eyes were that dark.  But unlike pure black Betazoid eyes, hers had a blue inkwell tint on close inspection.  Part human, part Deltan... part Romulan.</div>
<div class=i>"You didn't have to come," she said.  "I'm capable of finding one Cardassian scientist."</div>
<div class=i>"Maybe."  Rampart resumed scrutinizing the plaza, as she did, picking out Cardassian faces with the zoom function in his comtacts, running them through an ID trace.  "And maybe you neglected to run a cross-correlation on this one, before you—"</div>
<div class=i>"No," she cut him off, a bit emphatic.  "I didn't."</div>
<div class=i>Rampart tossed her a look.</div>
<div class=i>"You have a past together," she said.  "By most regulations, that could be a liability."  </div>
<div class=i>"That's why you took this assignment without me?"  Rampart continued scanning the crowds.  "You let me worry about that."</div>
<div class=i>"The last time, you lost the package."</div>
<div class=i>Rampart took the barb in stride.  "I guarantee you it'll never happen again."</div>
<div class=i>His comtact locked onto a target, activating a silent alarm.  Time to prove her wrong.  "I've got him."  In the blink of an eye and a lightless flash, he was gone.</div>
<div class=i>Vyra tensed, about to follow, hesitated, put her hands on her hips and watched, zooming in with her photocomtacts.  Rampart was a capable agent, but impulsive.  He tended to think two-dimensionally... a product of his time of origin, when many thought in such linear aspects.  Instead of appearing behind the target, he appeared in the target's path, to the right, behind a tall Cardassian unwittingly hiding his presence.  Were they trailing a typical Cardassian, with no more sense than Rampart, that might have been enough.  But the man they were after was devious... elusive... brilliant... and aided by a keen tactical sense, surpassing many of their best agents.  Vyra knew it would not be easy to catch him.</div>
<div class=i>Especially not with Jordan Rampart on the case.</div>
<div class=i>With a single, silent, complant-driven thought, she ordered the plaza's crime-control units to activate.  Transporters and forcefields came on standby.  Alerts went to other agents in the vicinity.  Sensors locked onto the target from every direction.  There would be no escaping again.  Not this time.</div>
<div class=i>She sent a mental command to the nearest transporter station, to lock onto the target and beam him into holding.  The confirmation signal circuited back to her complant in a heartbeat, signaling capture.  The man named Gamal Osipyan Torok was theirs.</div>
<div class=i>Then to her surprise, she saw the Cardassian... still moving through the plaza, westward.  Somehow he could trick sensors.  Somehow, Rampart knew that – and she didn't.</div>
<div class=i>Rampart appeared in front of him.</div>
<div class=b>In the blink of an eye, she left the platform to join him.</div>
<div class=i>Black space and starfields sprang into being, trembled, and shifted, changing places.  The galaxy was thick with stars... grains of sand in an obsidian ocean.</div>
<div class=i>The waters were murky today.</div>
<div class=i>It had been years, and years, but if he was still... quiet... and listened... sometimes he could still feel it.  Hear it.  Hear them... in tune to the rhythm of the drums, the beat of the jungle... crackling firelight, casting shadows in the night... the heat, and the sweat... and the whispers, subtle, below everything.  Directing him, telling him where to look.</div>
<div class=i>It had been too long.  The slightest interruption would break the trance... shatter the spell.  Like the interruption from the woman who had entered behind him.</div>
<div class=i>Jordan Rampart kept his eyes on the holorama.  He could never get away from her.  She was his partner.</div>
<div class=i>"Agent Rampart."</div>
<div class=i>"Agent Vyra."</div>
<div class=i>Vyra seemed plain, yet unusual in her own way, with her blue-black, Betazoidesque eyes – almost as dark, and unusual, as her past.  Rampart couldn't believe it: The DTA would take anyone with the right qualifications–even if they had to be rehabilitated first.</div>
<div class=i>Vyra drew her athletic frame up beside him, observing the scene which currently fascinated him.  She exuded a level of warmth, a gift from her Deltan forebears – by intent or not, calming him, as it often did.  That, and other subtle sensations, made it difficult for him to concentrate sometimes.  Thank science for nanomods, to counteract the effect.</div>
<div class=i>It was also a good thing he already knew where to look.  He just didn't know what, exactly, he was looking for.</div>
<div class=i>The bridge of the starship named ''Arcadia'' surrounded them – a real-time projection from its 'current' location, across the years.  A comtact-rendered check revealed an orbital position near Memiklon.  On the vessel's bridge, Starfleet officers moved back and forth, casually attending tasks and exchanging words.  Their voices were silent – audio, disabled.  It was easy to activate, but she doubted that it mattered what they were saying.  If it didn't concern Rampart, then it didn't concern her right now.  The crew was oblivious to the fact that they were being spied upon.</div>
<div class=i>"What are you looking for?"</div>
<div class=i>"Confirmation of a suspicion," Rampart said.</div>
<div class=i>Vyra studied the face of the ship's captain, sitting in the central chair, easily identified as one Stephen Boone April – shifting the view from side to front to other side, absorbing the details of his features.  "Tell me what you meant when you said you're connected to this man."</div>
<div class=i>"It's a long story.  Goes back to Cardassia, Starfleet Academy....  If you can figure it out from there – that's all I'm going to say."</div>
<div class=i>"Why did you join the agency?"</div>
<div class=i>She really meant: Why do you shut me out, and I am your partner?  Must have been the rehabilitation.  As a one-time pirate, mercenary, rogue, assassin... one and all of the above... she was probably less than that polite.</div>
<div class=i>Rampart feigned casual ignorance, shifting holographic zoom-views of the ship's interior.  "Why do you want to know?"</div>
<div class=i>"I've seen your file, Agent Rampart.  In Starfleet, you went on record often, stating how you despised time travel.  And yet... you are a temporal agent."</div>
<div class=i>"If you've seen my file, then you know."</div>
<div class=i>"Mmm.  Except, curiously, parts of it have been locked, for the director's eyes only – and yours.  Like, what you were doing on Cardassia for all of those years."  He felt her, staring into the side of his head.  "Why is that, Agent Rampart?"</div>
<div class=i>"Let's just say, not everyone hates it as much as I do.  Can't have anyone else spoiling it for the rest of us."</div>
<div class=i>She nodded, seeming to accept the explanation... though that didn't mean a thing.  She focused on the panorama.  "You've spoken of this ship in the past.  Reverently."  Her next statement surprised him, though it shouldn't have.  "Torok told you something."  It was not speculation.</div>
<div class=i>"You're wising up," Rampart quipped.</div>
<div class=i>"Why do you hide things from me, Agent Rampart?"  When he didn't answer, she said, "If you're using agency resources for your own personal interests–"</div>
<div class=i>Rampart tossed her a look.  "You haven't been with the DTA long, Agent Vyra.  Better watch what kind of accusations you lob around."</div>
<div class=i>"I only wish to understand.  I'm your partner."</div>
<div class=i>"Maybe that's the problem."</div>
<div class=i>"Vor'ana was your partner," she said.  That much was known.  But now she was speculating.  "She hurt you.  After you brought her forward through time from Cardassia... made her your partner... she betrayed you.  And the agency.  And now you're looking for her.  That's obvious.  Will you tell me why?"</div>
<div class=i>"It used to be personal.  But she took something from me.  I have to get it back."</div>
<div class=i>"Aos?  But I've seen the holos—"</div>
<div class=i>"She didn't use her hands."</div>
<div class=i>"What did she take?" </div>
<div class=i>Rampart said nothing.</div>
<div class=i>Disappointment flowed from his companion.  "As I said: A liability.  You should let go of this."</div>
<div class=i>"''She's'' a liability.  And I'm a liability if I ''don't'' find her.  I know what she can do."</div>
<div class=i>"If it's of concern to the agency, it's of concern to me.  Let me help."</div>
<div class=i>Rampart considered, refocusing on the bridge of the ship he once commanded, for a time.  He had sat in that chair once.  His only starship command, ever.</div>
<div class=b>Vor'ana hadn't been happy when he gave it up.</div>
<div class=i>''"He did WHAT?"''</div>
<div class=i>''When Vor'ana's black eyes flared, and took on that glittering luster, like black diamonds... Oh, boy.  Jordan Rampart knew that look.  He knew sparks were about to fly.  She stood inside the door to their quarters.  He had just told her of April's return to command.  Her pose stiffened.''</div>
<div class=i>''"Don't start, Rahn," he warned her.  "Don't go getting all authoritative on me.  I always knew this was April's ship.  It bears his aura.  He wrote the book here.  There's just too much of him in it—"''</div>
<div class=i>''"You are the captain," she stated firmly.  "He gave it up.  Now he decides he wants to come back and take it from you, on a whim?"''</div>
<div class=i>''"I don't think it was a whim."''</div>
<div class=i>''"Perhaps Terrans and Romulans aren't so unalike after all.  On Romulus such abuses of power were common.  I thought I had gotten away from that."''</div>
<div class=i>''"You're comparing Stephen April to a Romulan?"''</div>
<div class=i>''"Terrans have a saying, don't you...?  'If the shoe fits'—"''</div>
<div class=i>''"That's his prerogative.  He's an admiral.  He's earned it.  It's not like he didn't ask if I was okay with it.  He let me retain my captaincy; he even offered me another ship."''</div>
<div class=i>''"And you didn't take it?"''</div>
<div class=i>''Rampart hesitated.  "No.  I didn't.  I like it here.  It's a privilege, to work with these people.  And Stephen April? – the man's a legend."''</div>
<div class=i>''Vor'ana sighed, shaking her head.  "Hero worship is unbecoming of a man your age, Jordie."''</div>
<div class=i>''"He isn't my hero.  But you can't deny the impact he's had, the things he's done.  They'll be talking about him centuries from now.  Maybe if you served in Starfleet, you'd understand."''</div>
<div class=i>''Vor'ana lifted her chin, studying him in a new light.  "This isn't about him, is it?  This is about you and me."''</div>
<div class=i>''"What are you talking about?"''</div>
<div class=i>''"You could have been a great man in your own right.  That was the man I thought I had fallen in love with.  But you've... shrunk."  Her eyes traveled over him, disapprovingly.  "You're small.  A small man, small-minded.  You'll settle for second-best."''</div>
<div class=i>''"Where do you get off saying that?  Who stuck by you while you vegetated in a mental prison?  Your own father gave up on you.  Who stuck by you and loved you, even after what you tried to do to me?  Hell! – tried?  What you DID do to me.  Maybe that doesn't make me a saint, but it deserves some accolades.  Why don't you start showing me some of that Romulan loyalty."''</div>
<div class=b>''"I've followed you this far."''</div>
<div class=i>"It's not just her," he told Vyra.  "It's an answer to a question."</div>
<div class=i>"A question," Vyra said.  "What question?"</div>
<div class=i>He couldn't very well shut her out, no matter what her role was in their working relationship.</div>
<div class=b>"You said it."  He watched April.  At that very moment, in April's timeframe, Rampart was down on Memiklon... 2386... getting his brain turned inside out.  "We're connected."</div>
{{tbc|}}

Post:Bye Bye Love

2010-08-30T00:08:12Z

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-	<div class=bpad>[[JP]] (the last one for a while) by...<br />Dr. Jenna Starr, Lt. Commander, Chief Medical Officer<br />Stephen April, Captain, Commanding Officer<br />U.F.S. ''Arcadia'' NX-A1 ''(following "[[Spell Broken]]")''</div>	+	<div class=bpad>[[JP]] (the last one for a while) by...<br />Dr. Jenna Starr, Lt. Commander, Chief Medical Officer<br />Stephen April, Captain, Commanding Officer<br />U.F.S. ''Arcadia'' NX-A1 ''(following "[[Roads Not Traveled/Spell Broken]]")''</div>
	[Earth – from St. Thomas Island to Cairo, and beyond]		[Earth – from St. Thomas Island to Cairo, and beyond]
	<div class=i>A light seemed to go off behind Jenna's eyes, followed by a grin sweeping across her face.  A second later, she had jumped up from the sand and she pulled Stephen right behind.  "I know something we can do.  I've never done this before, but I think I can handle it now."  She ran up to a transporter and typed in the location.  "I hope you don't mind going to Egypt," she said.</div>		<div class=i>A light seemed to go off behind Jenna's eyes, followed by a grin sweeping across her face.  A second later, she had jumped up from the sand and she pulled Stephen right behind.  "I know something we can do.  I've never done this before, but I think I can handle it now."  She ran up to a transporter and typed in the location.  "I hope you don't mind going to Egypt," she said.</div>

Spell Broken

2010-08-30T00:06:23Z

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Roads Not Traveled/Spell Broken

2010-08-30T00:05:43Z

New page

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Roads Not Traveled

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Space Dock

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Spell Broken

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