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id="docs-internal-guid-b614037d-7fff-bb74-7644-5fd8e32a882c"><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Mission: An End and a Beginning</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Day: 2</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Stardate: 2446.03.17</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">(USS Illuminar – Shuttlebay – ACONN Ensign Alexander Dyson – 1630)</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">After lieutenant Taylor had left, Alex had finished his dinner. He had then headed for the shuttlebay. During his original tour, he had taken a look at the shuttlebay, but he wanted to get a closer look at the craft now. The first thing that had gotten his attention were the three fighters. He was running his hand along the hull of one of the craft. </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Hello, beautiful.”</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">He found the control to open the craft and used it. ~Time to take a closer look at the cockpit.~ Alex climbed in and studied the controls and displays. ~Latest of the latest.~ Then he noticed something amazing.</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Neural interface,” Alex said. “I thought that was still on the drawing board.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arthur stepped around the ship and looked at the new pilot, “Nope. Actually we’ve been working with the neural interface since the war with the Xenolithe, but it lost momentum after the Civil War. We just started reapply the tech recently. It’s upgraded, will, most likely, not fry your brain out of your head.”</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Montero looked at the newcomer, “Damned security, letting anyone come walk in to the flight deck,” he grumbled. </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Afternoon, lieutenant, ensign.”</span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“And you are?” Montero asked, cocking his head to look at Dyson.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’m Alexander Dyson, ACONN,” He climbed out of the fighter. “So, what is this lovely lady’s name ?” He patted the hull of the craft. And please, don’t tell me we’ve gone the drab route and only given them numbers.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Corday looked over at Montero with a questioning look. “To be honest, we have not named them. It’s been my experience that fighters are given names by those who fly them.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Illuminar has a nice wing of support craft. But is it me, or is this bay a bit crowded ?”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Again Corday and Montero exchanged looks, “It’s you. This is more than enough space for these fighters. What’s your experience with fighter class ships, ACONN Alexander Dyson?”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Montero chuckled, “Does this fighter make me look fat?” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arthur gave him a wry smile and said, “Yes.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Alex scratched his beard. ~They’re going to find out anyway.~ “My previous jobs were all civilian. It’s nice to have a collection of uniform support ships. And an actual supply of spare parts. All the previous shuttles I flew were patchworks of whatever components the crew could get their hands on. Maintenance was a headache.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Corday laughed, “Civilian? Soooo… you’ve had no experience in a fighter? In a fighter you don’t need all of the excessive space in a shuttle. Shuttle pilots may find the cockpit of a fighter a bit… claustrophobic, just as a fighter pilot might find the flight controls of a shuttle to be quite spacious.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Great,” Montero said, “Are we so hard up that we’re drafting civilians.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Well the Grey wolf must think something of him,” Arthur said. “She’s training him to fly the Illuminar.” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“And something tells me that she doesn’t hand over the keys to just anybody.” ~No matter what Starfleet Command says.~ If you didn’t cut it, you probably wouldn’t last long on the Illuminar. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“She’s the boss,” Montero replied. “Means I can spend more time doing what I do best,” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“However these babie,” he patted the fighter, “these are mine, and I do not allow anyone to sit at the controls until they are trained. You’ll find flying a Void Sphynx to be a different experience.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“So then Ensign Dyson,” Montero said, “Did you go through pilot training on Mars?” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Yes, three years at the Civilian Freighter School on Mars,” Which might not have been Starfleet Academy, but the instructors there were no sloughes. “I graduated at twenty-one and now I’m thirty-six. I’ve flown freighters, shuttles of various shapes and sizes and even some alien vessels.” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Alex nodded. “My favourite was 247, she was a Mark-VII Tholian cargo drone. Except we’d bolted on all sorts of bits and pieces to make it a habitable, working starship. She wasn’t pretty to look at and her tech lagged behind centuries in some places, but boy could she move. She was…” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">He held his hands up to indicate a distance. . “...about the size of a Defiant-class starship. Have you ever heard of Battlestar Galactica ? Because that girl was like a Mark-II Colonial Viper. End over end in point three-five seconds. Of course, she would moan and she would groan. But she would always hold together.” He paused.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arthur looked at Montero again, trying to figure out what this Dyson guy was talking about. ~Battlestar what?~. “Ummm… no is that a ship from the Alpha Quadrant?”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Needless to say, that was nothing like flying one of these.” He gestured towards the fighter. “So, I have plenty of learning to do in that field.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Well, might have to invite you down to the holodeck and do some real seat of the pants flying,” Montero said with a wink to Corday.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sounds like fun to me.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">The holodeck was how Alex had learned of the Mark-II Viper and the Battlestar Galactica. ~Thank you, Mister Wallace.~ John Wallace had begun Wallace Programs Inc. in his backyard shed with just him and a single computer. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">He acquired the rights to all sorts of old, forgotten entertainment from Federation worlds - books, plays, TV-shows - and turned said entertainment into holodeck programs. He then sold the programs in places where they still used money.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">These days, Wallace Programs Inc. was a five-hundred employee company with a small company town in the Farius Prime system. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Fun does not begin to describe how I feel about it,” Corday said. It was odd. According to Dyson he was at least ten years older than Arthur, but Arthur was thinking of him as less mature than he was, flight wise anyway. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Alex walked towards one of the shuttles, a Type-9A. “Now, these beauties I’ve actually flown,” He tapped the hull of the craft. “They are very popular with civilian operators and I’ve even run into several old ones that had been rescued from surplus yards by non-Federation folks. Very easy to modify into whatever you need.” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“That is it. You’ll be wanting to get checked out on the Captain’s Yacht at some point,” Montero said. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Has Captain Sekal actually used his ? I’ve heard that most Captains just leave theirs to collect dust.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Before the fighters came onboard, I had flown her on a couple of missions, and some extra test runs. Got into a bit of trouble doing a slingshot maneuver. She handles well enough. Stable as all in the wormhole as well. That was a flight, let me tell you,” Montero replied. </span><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">
</span></p><p dir="ltr"
style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Arthur smiled and nodded. He wasn’t quite ready to share his tales of daring do on the Rhyne. Not to mention making use of the fighters in the ships hanger deck and how he managed to fly five of them at the same time, remotely. Raid would get it, but he wasn’t sure about the Dyson guy. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Before Alex could continue the conversation, his combadge beeped. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">=^= Chief Ywan to Dyson.=/\=</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Christina Ywan worked in Operations. Alex had never heard of her, nor met her. So the look on his face was one of surprise. ~Who is Chief Ywan ?~ He made a mental note to look that up later and tapped his combadge to answer her.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Dyson here.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">=^= You have a communication incoming from Ferenginar, somebody called….Maggie ?=/\=</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’ll take it in my quarters, Chief.” ~If Maggie calls, it must be serious.~</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">=^= Yes, sir. Kwan out.=/\=</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sorry, guys, have to go.”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“See you in the O club later. Be good to learn your story more, if you’re going to try to fly with the big boys,” he said with a smile. </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sure,” Corday replied. “The O club. I’m sure we’ll see you there.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Alex bolted from the shuttlebay. Margriet Mackenzie was an old friend from his days in Ferengi space. And she did not contact people for random chats. So he just hoped that she and her family were okay. ~Only one way to find out.~ So he ran as fast as he could.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">As Dyson left Arthur’s eyes followed him out, “What a strange little man. A civilian trained pilot? I wonder what Tempest sees in him?”</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">Montero turned to Corday, “I don’t know Snoopy, not getting a warm and fuzzy feeling from him. Maybe I’m wrong. Thinking that we run the Battle of Britain sim with him. See how he adopts to flying by the seat of your pants.” </span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sink or swim?” Snoopy asked.</span></p><br><p
dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.38;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">“Sink, most definitely. Sink,” Montero said.</span></p><br><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">(reply None)</span><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">
</span><span style="font-size:12pt;font-family:'Times New Roman';color:#000000;background-color:transparent;font-weight:400;font-style:normal;font-variant:normal;text-decoration:none;vertical-align:baseline;white-space:pre;white-space:pre-wrap;">(Posted by Al, Ruben, Tim)</span></b>
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