Personal Log.

I feel a little guilty for not helping Storvik, now that I know the situation. If only he had told me he was going after his daughter's kidnapper(s?), I would have taken him where he needed to go. I can't say I'm surprised, though. That's Starfleet for you; as soon as they're in a bind, they expect any civilian passersby to drop ( Read more... )

(OOC note: This post takes place before this one, despite being posted afterwards)

I've finally located
( Read more... )

Foltan groggily stepped out of his quarters aboard the Mustang. "Orange juice, no vodka," he stated to the replicator ( Read more... )

Foltan docked his personal transport with the Mustang and stepped aboard Terminal's craft. "This is an.... interesting ship," he commented. "What sort of design is it ( Read more... )

Foltan regained consciousness on the floor of his battered runabout. For a few seconds he groped desperately at reality, not sure whether to believe what he saw. For the last.... well, he didn't know how long it had been, but for what seemed like days he had been trapped in some sort of anomoly, a pocket of unreality ( Read more... )