- Location
- Patriarchova
To Boldly Go... (a Starfleet quest)
- Thread starter OneirosTheWriter
- Start date
- Sci-Fi
-
- Tags
- star trek exploration fully automated luxury gay space communism top level canon (canon) #hashtagcontent all-encompassing space amoeba cardassian boy bands cardassian magical girls darkest bureaucracy debate makes the qm cackle like palpatine hoh is an empire quest it has to be foreign infiltrators more ships ship happens singers delenda est starfleet this is not an empire quest ur waifu is collective?
- Location
- Central Standard Time
Theory:
Sometime in the past, Starfleet Federalized the University of California system.
That's hundreds of thousands.
- Location
- Patriarchova
Do Omakes need to be run by @OneirosTheWriter in PM before posting?
- Location
- Australia
No, just go for it. No promises that things are made canon, mind, but most people have a reasonable enough grasp of Trek that it's not a problem.
- Location
- Oz
I do sometimes wonder what sort of people choose to join Starfleet. The Federation is a post scarcity Utopia. Citizens have access to food, technology, medical care, an interplanetary datanet and more higher education than they could possibly consume in a lifetime.
At what point does some one decide that they will sign up to wear a bizarro uniform, get up at ridiculous o'clock in the morning and spend the next decade being told what to do every single day?
Personally I would split my time between study, working a construction/engineering job and setting up a Mecha club to build 1:1 scale, fully functional Battlemechs.
I was actually looking for this just yesterday
You could probably fit a line about omake policy in at the bottom of post 3. Save having to answer the question repeatedly.
- Location
- Patriarchova
It helps that the Federation is an ideological state. I'm not sure how they keep themselves that way though, in a post scarcity environment with human(oid) nature being what it is.
Actually...something that's always bugged me about Trek is this sort of Schroedinger's Scarcity. The Federation seems to be post scarcity. Its rivals like the Klingons and Cardassians, who have a similar tech base and vast territories, are not. How does that work?
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AKuz
Been Better
- Location
- A Rising Tide of Horrors
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Wrong. That is what Seyeks look like! Believe me!
I think I worked out for my fic that in the 2370s Starfleet must have classes of about 10,000 to keep chugging over, which seems fine if a bit light for a Fleet of that size. (Of course this is Starfleet too, so a very top heavy officer corps)
- Location
- Patriarchova
Aren't the Seyeks supposed to be a multi-species federa...
Oh.
Oh god.
THE SEYEKS ARE THE ETHEREAL EMPIRE.
UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Personally, I would study naval engineering and later on help out with designing the ships.
SuperSonicSound
Shadowmancer of the Shadow Cabal
Uh no, we can build medium cruisers better than the excelsior.
AKuz
Been Better
- Location
- A Rising Tide of Horrors
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I would.
I mean you probably only have a small percentage of the population signing on. And it's probably partly a prestige thing which would be huge in post scarcity (Which is why they can afford to be so incredibly picky)
It helps that the Federation is an ideological state. I'm not sure how they keep themselves that way though, in a post scarcity environment with human(oid) nature being what it is.
Actually...something that's always bugged me about Trek is this sort of Schroedinger's Scarcity. The Federation seems to be post scarcity. Its rivals like the Klingons and Cardassians, who have a similar tech base and vast territories, are not. How does that work?
I think it's because they are on the cusp of post scarcity so they adjusted their society so that it is indistinguishable from post scarcity on an individual level; but, for example, the Klingon economic system is still a basket case, and the Cardassians are traumatized by almost starving to death a few generations back.
The Romulans seem to have ???? but be all about controlling access to resources just in case.... Though In the Rihannsu novels, as far as I can tell the Romulans seem to still be an agricultural society (Which is why I just take cultural stuff and ignore the rest. Because those books are /INSANE/ sometimes. I should probably do a let's read because there is good stuff and there is also absolute fucking crazy shit.)
- Location
- somewhere
The Amarkian is missing the vulcanoid ears and the blue hair probably should be a touch lighter (going by the Abh).
- Location
- Patriarchova
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- Location
- Central Standard Time
At our current tech level, a basic Ambassador (Well, in 3 mt instead of 3.1), takes 22 techs. And that's without reserves for refitting. It's literally at 3mt.
We need to step up our explorer tech research.
A basic 3.1mt Ambassador still requires 18 techs. (space makes things easier).
A basic 3.3 mt Ambassador requires 14.
However, those two designs will not fit into our existing berths. Furthermore to make them have space for refits, they'd have to have more techs.
Partial alternatives to researching explorers include starship durability, advanced warp cores, and warp core safety.
We need to step up our explorer tech research.
A basic 3.1mt Ambassador still requires 18 techs. (space makes things easier).
A basic 3.3 mt Ambassador requires 14.
However, those two designs will not fit into our existing berths. Furthermore to make them have space for refits, they'd have to have more techs.
Partial alternatives to researching explorers include starship durability, advanced warp cores, and warp core safety.
- Location
- Patriarchova
This. I also wish people would stop it with the new Explorer designs for now, they're literally the one ship class of ours that needs the least improvement at the moment.
2306.Q4 - Amarkia Pt 3
- Location
- Australia
Amarkia, Part 3
Morning comes to Nash with a warm sun's gentle rays that gyre in the gauzy curtains. White plaster walls, antique furniture, sounds of birds, they all slowly draw her from her heavy slumber. The bed is warm, silk sheets in disarray, with a depression where Nash guessed someone had lain. With a groan the Captain straightens herself out and sits up in bed.
Nope, nothing familiar here, beyond her clothes beside the bed.
She plucks up the white crew shirt that she wears under her uniform. Slipping it on she walks to the balcony and steps outside. The memory of Paris floods back to her. That old great iron steeple the locals hold in such esteem, the narrow streets and the little cafes she can see opening up. Memories of the night before come back, too.
Oops, she'll have to apologise to Leaniss for ditching her with Izzidiera.
"Oh, Nash, you're up," comes a voice.
A human woman walks into the room, smile bright and cheerful. She works at the Council and was at the signing. Rather highly placed at that. She'd helped Nash figure out who the Andorian Rear Admiral who had been staring so much last night was; Nash zh'Rhashaan, the head of Intelligence. Nash had to admit, it had given her a case of nerves last night.
"Good morning, Angela," Nash says in reply. She winces when she realises who bleary it sounded.
Angela laughs. "Ah, you did not sleep well? Do not worry, I have just come back from the bakery on the ground floor; coffee and croissants when you come out to the kitchen."
"Sounds g-," begins Nash before a beep cuts her off. Her personal data pad is in one of her uniform pockets still, it seems, and she fishes it out and reads the message.
'Dear Ms White, I must speak with you urgently. Please come to the Les Deux Palais in the Île de la Cité for lunch. Parisian fashion is renowned, by the by. Noon sharp. Sincerely, Ms Blue
PS. We met last night.
PPS. Nash-A-G-O-D-3-3-4-5'
Nash blinks repeatedly and quickly taps away at her phone, to complete one of the first tasks of a Starfleet senior officer's day: checking the daily authorisation code. It requires checking in with the main computer core of the Enterprise, sitting in orbit, and then generates upon check-in. There is a brief moment, and then her daily code appears for memorising. Sure enough, Nash-AGOD3345.
"Is something the matter, Nash?" asks Angela. "You're starting to go pastel blue."
Nash jerks upright and glances over. "Hm? Oh, nothing, sorry. Troublesome report from the ship."
"I see..."
"Tell me, Angela, after breakfast, I was wondering if there is a nice place around here for getting new clothes? I left all my civilian clothes back on the ship."
"Silly, this is Paris, of course I can," replies Angela with a broad grin.
=========
Sitting within the Seine River, Île de la Cité is an island bridged by stonework that was centuries old when the first members of the Federation signed, let alone when Amarkia signed. But even now the stone blocks of Pont Neuf feel like they could bear the weight of starships, an enduring monument. Nash prefers the solitude of space, but even she is enchanted by the city around her, the sense of history in the old buildings. The Île de la Cité feels more like an island in time than an island in a river. She makes her way to Les Deux Palais, and steps within the carefully maintained edifice. The people here are happy, carefree, pulsing through the streets. Not everything is so out of time, of course. Here and there are holographic displays, or people in clearly space-age clothing, plus every one in eight was visibly other than human. A tall ultra-thin display on the side of a building advertises some ball sport that Nash cannot recognise.
Were you looking for a table, madame?" asks a man on the door. For all that the Earth was post-scarcity, Nash knew people still worked. Partly it was something to do. Partly a way to better oneself and humanity as a whole. Some people just loved the challenge of taking on a job and being the absolute best at it that anyone could be. She suspects this is the case here, as the waiter holds himself with the dignity and stillness that would have befitted Imperial Guards in centuries gone past.
"I was hear to meet a ... Ms Blue," says Nash.
The waiter simply holds up a hand, palm out. Silently he turns on a heel and speaks to someone behind a serving bar, then returns. With a gesture, he wordlessly ushers Nash forward. There is a room in the back. He opens the door and stands aside. When Nash passes through, he shuts the door behind her and she sees no more of him.
Within is a round table with an Andorian woman, Nash zh'Rhashaan, plus three others. One human woman, with a soft brown colouring. It takes a moment but Nash eventually places her; Captain Samyr Kanil of the USS T'Mir. A Vulcan man, similar in hue, who Nash cannot place, and an Amarkian she also doesn't recognise.
"Ms White," says zh'Rhashaan before Nash can say anything. "I am Ms Blue. This," she says gesturing to Samyr, "is Ms Green, our Amarkian friend is Mr Brown, and our Vulcan friend is Mr Orange. There are no other names here."
"Understood," replies Nash, before taking a seat where the Rear Admiral directs.
"We are also expecting one Mr Red, but he is currently tying up loose ends, so we must start without him," says 'Ms Blue'. "You are the latest addition to this little circle."
"And I'm sure you'll tell me why, Ms Blue," says Nash, somehow feeling a little put out at not being Ms Blue herself.
"I understand that you were recently at a party that was gatecrashed," says Ms Blue. "With quite a lot of publicity."
"You mean the-"
A quickly raised hand cuts her off. "Deniability is our watchword, Ms White. But I believe we are on the same page." The woman settles back into her seat. "Now it so happens that our friends Ms Green and Mr Orange were in a similar sort of area, and happened to note that a friend who is a little, let's say scaly, was also there."
Nash forms a silent 'oh'.
"They were in an uninhabited neighouring system," says Mr Orange. "But we did detect subpsace comms traffic. Nothing that we can put forward definitively, but enough for our purposes."
"What are our purposes?" asks Nash.
Ms Blue smiles coldly. "We would like you to arrange a talk with this gatecrasher."
"There is a star that the ship has a forward base setup in orbit around," says Ms Green. "Very active, intense stellar winds, the base is pretty short-term. But it is very much a spider-and-web setup. This base is where it hangs out."
"If someone with a sufficiently skilled engineer were able to kill their emissions enough," says Mr Brown. "They could spend a month sneaking into the system on high impulse, and use an EM beam to trigger a massive solar flare that would destroy the base and the ship."
"I don't believe I could get away with a month out of contact...," says Nash slowly.
"Don't you worry about that, Mr Red can cover for you," replies Ms Blue nonchalantly.
Nash's voice goes gravelly and her eyes narrow. "I would very much like an assurance of how they would manage that."
A device on the table beeps and Ms Blue picks it up. "Perfect timing, here he comes now."
Nash turns to face the door when she hears a noise, not of a door opening, but of a transporter beam-in. Her head whips around just in time to see Hikaru Sulu materialise.
"Ms White, meet Mr Red. Does that satisfy your concerns?"
"Yes, yes it does."
Sulu, 'Mr Red', claps his hands together. "Splendid."
=======================
End of Amarkia Event Posts
Federation Threat Rating gains +4 after bombing of Ambassadorial Shuttle.
Amarkia is now officially a Full Member. Gain +25pp, gain +10rp.
Federation Council is suppressing news of possible Cardassian involvement. You may petition to have this information released, or leak it yourself during a Snakepit turn. However, the Council is also willing to overlook aggressive action around the Cardassian Frontier in deference to the lack of formal ties and ongoing Cardassian aggression.
However:
No incursion into any inhabited Cardassian systems once known.
Avoid ship destruction on either side to the extent feasible.
Avoid undertaking other actions that would scupper attempts at negotiating an understanding with the Cardassians.
Morning comes to Nash with a warm sun's gentle rays that gyre in the gauzy curtains. White plaster walls, antique furniture, sounds of birds, they all slowly draw her from her heavy slumber. The bed is warm, silk sheets in disarray, with a depression where Nash guessed someone had lain. With a groan the Captain straightens herself out and sits up in bed.
Nope, nothing familiar here, beyond her clothes beside the bed.
She plucks up the white crew shirt that she wears under her uniform. Slipping it on she walks to the balcony and steps outside. The memory of Paris floods back to her. That old great iron steeple the locals hold in such esteem, the narrow streets and the little cafes she can see opening up. Memories of the night before come back, too.
Oops, she'll have to apologise to Leaniss for ditching her with Izzidiera.
"Oh, Nash, you're up," comes a voice.
A human woman walks into the room, smile bright and cheerful. She works at the Council and was at the signing. Rather highly placed at that. She'd helped Nash figure out who the Andorian Rear Admiral who had been staring so much last night was; Nash zh'Rhashaan, the head of Intelligence. Nash had to admit, it had given her a case of nerves last night.
"Good morning, Angela," Nash says in reply. She winces when she realises who bleary it sounded.
Angela laughs. "Ah, you did not sleep well? Do not worry, I have just come back from the bakery on the ground floor; coffee and croissants when you come out to the kitchen."
"Sounds g-," begins Nash before a beep cuts her off. Her personal data pad is in one of her uniform pockets still, it seems, and she fishes it out and reads the message.
'Dear Ms White, I must speak with you urgently. Please come to the Les Deux Palais in the Île de la Cité for lunch. Parisian fashion is renowned, by the by. Noon sharp. Sincerely, Ms Blue
PS. We met last night.
PPS. Nash-A-G-O-D-3-3-4-5'
Nash blinks repeatedly and quickly taps away at her phone, to complete one of the first tasks of a Starfleet senior officer's day: checking the daily authorisation code. It requires checking in with the main computer core of the Enterprise, sitting in orbit, and then generates upon check-in. There is a brief moment, and then her daily code appears for memorising. Sure enough, Nash-AGOD3345.
"Is something the matter, Nash?" asks Angela. "You're starting to go pastel blue."
Nash jerks upright and glances over. "Hm? Oh, nothing, sorry. Troublesome report from the ship."
"I see..."
"Tell me, Angela, after breakfast, I was wondering if there is a nice place around here for getting new clothes? I left all my civilian clothes back on the ship."
"Silly, this is Paris, of course I can," replies Angela with a broad grin.
=========
Sitting within the Seine River, Île de la Cité is an island bridged by stonework that was centuries old when the first members of the Federation signed, let alone when Amarkia signed. But even now the stone blocks of Pont Neuf feel like they could bear the weight of starships, an enduring monument. Nash prefers the solitude of space, but even she is enchanted by the city around her, the sense of history in the old buildings. The Île de la Cité feels more like an island in time than an island in a river. She makes her way to Les Deux Palais, and steps within the carefully maintained edifice. The people here are happy, carefree, pulsing through the streets. Not everything is so out of time, of course. Here and there are holographic displays, or people in clearly space-age clothing, plus every one in eight was visibly other than human. A tall ultra-thin display on the side of a building advertises some ball sport that Nash cannot recognise.
Were you looking for a table, madame?" asks a man on the door. For all that the Earth was post-scarcity, Nash knew people still worked. Partly it was something to do. Partly a way to better oneself and humanity as a whole. Some people just loved the challenge of taking on a job and being the absolute best at it that anyone could be. She suspects this is the case here, as the waiter holds himself with the dignity and stillness that would have befitted Imperial Guards in centuries gone past.
"I was hear to meet a ... Ms Blue," says Nash.
The waiter simply holds up a hand, palm out. Silently he turns on a heel and speaks to someone behind a serving bar, then returns. With a gesture, he wordlessly ushers Nash forward. There is a room in the back. He opens the door and stands aside. When Nash passes through, he shuts the door behind her and she sees no more of him.
Within is a round table with an Andorian woman, Nash zh'Rhashaan, plus three others. One human woman, with a soft brown colouring. It takes a moment but Nash eventually places her; Captain Samyr Kanil of the USS T'Mir. A Vulcan man, similar in hue, who Nash cannot place, and an Amarkian she also doesn't recognise.
"Ms White," says zh'Rhashaan before Nash can say anything. "I am Ms Blue. This," she says gesturing to Samyr, "is Ms Green, our Amarkian friend is Mr Brown, and our Vulcan friend is Mr Orange. There are no other names here."
"Understood," replies Nash, before taking a seat where the Rear Admiral directs.
"We are also expecting one Mr Red, but he is currently tying up loose ends, so we must start without him," says 'Ms Blue'. "You are the latest addition to this little circle."
"And I'm sure you'll tell me why, Ms Blue," says Nash, somehow feeling a little put out at not being Ms Blue herself.
"I understand that you were recently at a party that was gatecrashed," says Ms Blue. "With quite a lot of publicity."
"You mean the-"
A quickly raised hand cuts her off. "Deniability is our watchword, Ms White. But I believe we are on the same page." The woman settles back into her seat. "Now it so happens that our friends Ms Green and Mr Orange were in a similar sort of area, and happened to note that a friend who is a little, let's say scaly, was also there."
Nash forms a silent 'oh'.
"They were in an uninhabited neighouring system," says Mr Orange. "But we did detect subpsace comms traffic. Nothing that we can put forward definitively, but enough for our purposes."
"What are our purposes?" asks Nash.
Ms Blue smiles coldly. "We would like you to arrange a talk with this gatecrasher."
"There is a star that the ship has a forward base setup in orbit around," says Ms Green. "Very active, intense stellar winds, the base is pretty short-term. But it is very much a spider-and-web setup. This base is where it hangs out."
"If someone with a sufficiently skilled engineer were able to kill their emissions enough," says Mr Brown. "They could spend a month sneaking into the system on high impulse, and use an EM beam to trigger a massive solar flare that would destroy the base and the ship."
"I don't believe I could get away with a month out of contact...," says Nash slowly.
"Don't you worry about that, Mr Red can cover for you," replies Ms Blue nonchalantly.
Nash's voice goes gravelly and her eyes narrow. "I would very much like an assurance of how they would manage that."
A device on the table beeps and Ms Blue picks it up. "Perfect timing, here he comes now."
Nash turns to face the door when she hears a noise, not of a door opening, but of a transporter beam-in. Her head whips around just in time to see Hikaru Sulu materialise.
"Ms White, meet Mr Red. Does that satisfy your concerns?"
"Yes, yes it does."
Sulu, 'Mr Red', claps his hands together. "Splendid."
=======================
End of Amarkia Event Posts
Federation Threat Rating gains +4 after bombing of Ambassadorial Shuttle.
Amarkia is now officially a Full Member. Gain +25pp, gain +10rp.
Federation Council is suppressing news of possible Cardassian involvement. You may petition to have this information released, or leak it yourself during a Snakepit turn. However, the Council is also willing to overlook aggressive action around the Cardassian Frontier in deference to the lack of formal ties and ongoing Cardassian aggression.
However:
No incursion into any inhabited Cardassian systems once known.
Avoid ship destruction on either side to the extent feasible.
Avoid undertaking other actions that would scupper attempts at negotiating an understanding with the Cardassians.
lbmaian
a thirsty squirrel
- Location
- USA
Huh black ops. If she can pull this off, then Blue Kirk has an open invitation to Section 31 
What's the galaxy coming to?
Also, yay! I find it funny how increased official threat ratings actually help us, when you'd think it should be the other way around. Well that's how Starfleet rolls.
What's the galaxy coming to?
Also, yay! I find it funny how increased official threat ratings actually help us, when you'd think it should be the other way around. Well that's how Starfleet rolls.
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UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
We'll just aim for their nacelles and their weapons then.
Does the Federation have weapons that can disable electronics (i.e. EMP, ion cannons)?
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- Location
- Australia
What Section 31? =|
- Location
- Patriarchova
Holy fuck she isn't Captain Kirk she's James Bond.
- Location
- somewhere
132 pp as of now. We can afford one refit and basically everything else we want, or both refits but some severe cuts.
Wish list:
40 pp Constellation refit
50 pp Constitution refit (still controversal)
8 pp Beta Corridan mining colony
40 pp 4x diplomatic push
20 pp recruitment rush
20 pp resource request
18 pp starbase in home sector or RBZ
196 pp
We probably won't earn another 64 pp until the snake pit. My inclination is to defer the Constitution refit until next year, we are definitely going to need the Constellation refit even if just to upgrade the existing 8 ships, but the Constitution refit can potentially be done without entirely. In case of war new Constellation and Constitution refits are equally useful.
Wish list:
40 pp Constellation refit
50 pp Constitution refit (still controversal)
8 pp Beta Corridan mining colony
40 pp 4x diplomatic push
20 pp recruitment rush
20 pp resource request
18 pp starbase in home sector or RBZ
196 pp
We probably won't earn another 64 pp until the snake pit. My inclination is to defer the Constitution refit until next year, we are definitely going to need the Constellation refit even if just to upgrade the existing 8 ships, but the Constitution refit can potentially be done without entirely. In case of war new Constellation and Constitution refits are equally useful.
UbeOne
Daydreaming CPU
- Location
- Philippines
- Pronouns
- She/Her
"Neither confirmed nor denied."