CREW SUBMISSIONS

INTEL Report

by Tanya Morris

Greetings Crew and other friendly life forms! I hope all is well, or at the very least, tolerable. Once again, it is my pleasure to bring you news—some strange, some odd, some weird, some reasonably normal—but hopefully all thought-provoking to some degree. We’ve got quite the hodge-podge this month: come on in, the water’s fine...

--Surfing in Switzerland! Yes, yes, it is a landlocked country, but a sports group recently announced plans to build a wave machine on the Limmat River in Zurich. group feels surfing would be an ideal summer substitute for snowboarders. They hope to complete the project in 2006. Oh yeah, there is the small matter of still needing sponsorship...
--Ever fancied yourself an author? A British children’s hospital is looking for someone to pen a sequel to J.M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan”. This year also marks the 100th anniversary of the original publication. It seems that Mr. Barrie donated the copyright for his book to London’s Great Ormond Street Hospital in 1929. Royalties on that copyright are reported to be a “significant but confidential” source of income for the hospital. The rights run out in Europe in 2007. Personally I would rather gouge out my left eye with a really sharp French fry than be subjected to bogus “sequels” to ANY book, written by anyone other than the original author. ’s just wrong. Do you hear me? WRONG!!!
--On the subject of books...speaking at the Edinburgh International Book Festival, “Harry Potter” author J.K. Rowling teased her young audience by announcing that the teen wizard would survive to the seventh and final book of the series, but doesn’t “want to say whether he grows any older than that”. She encouraged the fans to try to piece together future plots for themselves, and urged them to focus on why Harry’s nemesis, the evil wizard Voldemort, had not been killed. Rowling said “There are two questions I don’t think I’ve ever been asked and that I should have been asked, if you know what I mean.” She told the gathering they should be asking themselves “not ‘why did Harry live’ but ‘why didn’t Voldemort die?’” The second question they should think about is: “why didn’t Dumbledore [the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry] kill, or try to kill Voldemort?” it to a redheaded Scotswoman to tickle your brain. .
--My favorite bit of news this month: the FDA approves maggots!! Specifically, they have become the first live animals to win FDA approval—as a medical device to clean out wounds. The wriggly critters are especially effective for hard-to-heal wounds. Yes, it’s gross, but they chew the necrotic tissue and also produce substances that kill bacteria and stimulate growth of healthy tissue. I’m pretty sure that if my choices were maggot therapy or amputation, I’d take the maggots. Of course, I’d also probably be begging for tranquilizers as soon as I felt them moving.:)
--I have seen quite a bit of a particular bumper sticker lately—DEMOCRACY IS NOT A SPECTATOR SPORT—a good reminder, actually. The big election is drawing near and whatever your political leanings and views, I implore you to PLEASE educate yourself on the issues and vote your conscience. My and your right to participate in the process comes with a pretty hefty price tag, and while majority rules, it’s not usually the majority that pays that price. So no matter whom or what you vote for, you can do your part to help defeat APATHY. Not registered to vote and unsure how to go about changing that? to register again after moving? Thinking I’ll let you off the hook because you don’t know what to do or where to go? Don’t even try that one ...can acquire a voter registration form either at your local county elections office, library, DMV office, or U.S. Post Office. On-line voter registration information for California residents can also be found at www.ss.ca.gov/elections/votereg1.html, including a link for a downloadable National Voter Registration Card.voter registration assistance can be found online at www.justvote.org.To be eligible to register to vote in California, you must - be a United States Citizen; - be 18 years of age on or before the day of the election; - be a resident of the State of California; - not be in prison or on parole for the conviction of a felony; - not have been judged by a court to be mentally incompetent to register and vote.If you are living overseas or you are in the military, you may want to use the Federal Post Card Application to register to vote.Remember: In California, the deadline to register to vote for an election is 15 days before each local and statewide election day, so please register early!

Peak Powercat Performance Part2

by Glenn Martin


“Well that’s not good,” Glenn remarked.
Tracy laughed humorlessly. “It must have been some kind of transient poly-ionic cloud. It looks like it drained everything – warp drive, impulse generators, even the batteries. We need to do something quick or it’s going to get really cold in here. The evac suits won’t help, since they’re probably drained as well.”
“See what you can come up with, Tracy,” Glenn directed. “I’m going to check on Andy and the Teer.” He pushed off from Tracy’s chair toward the door to the aft cabin, and popped open the access panel to the manual operator. Several cranks later, he slipped through the half-open door.
The cabin was eerily lit by the electrical energy being emitted by the powercat, which was obviously unhappy about the loss of gravity. The Teer was against the bulkhead, holding on desperately as if he expected another jolt, but Andy was floating freely, apparently unconscious. The Teer’s energetic whimpering satisfied Glenn that any injuries he might have suffered were superficial, so he carefully launched himself toward Andy. A quick check for a pulse and breathing assured Glenn that his Security Chief was alive, and the smell of ozone and singed fabric betrayed the cause of his injuries. He pulled Andy to the bench and tied one of the safety harness straps to his ankle to prevent him from drifting back into the powercat and suffering another shock.
Tracy poked his head through the half-open hatch and shook it ruefully. “Nothing, Commander. We are now officially aboard the largest paperweight in Starfleet.” He and Glenn shared expressions of concern as they tried not to calculate how long they had left with no life support and no way to call for help.
Several objects were floating aimlessly inside the cabin, including a lifeless PADD that was headed directly at the powercat. As it contacted the animal’s electrified pelt, it briefly blazed to life and emitted a randomly retrieved audio fragment of late 20th century music before drifting away and once again going dark. Compared to the silence of the dead yacht, L.A. face with Oakland booty! had been comparatively deafening when the PADD played it, and the thumping bass was still ringing in Glenn’s ears when inspiration struck...

On the gleaming bridge of the Northern Lights, Captain Stacy Meyn was growing concerned. She ran her fingers anxiously through her short chestnut hair, and, unable to remain idly in her center seat, rose and strode to the Operations console. “Anything yet, Commander?”
The Lights’ Ops Officer, a stocky Trill male named Dacron Slax, shook his head slowly. “I’ve been doing a wide-band scan since their ETA elapsed, but nothing yet – no Polaris, no other vessels.” He touched a pressure-sensitive keypad and brought up a sensor reading. “I did pick this up about an hour ago, though,” he offered. “It looks like some kind of ion event, but it was too distant and too quick to get a definite analysis. It was probably inconsequential, and we’re not picking up any residual effects.”
Stacy bit her lower lip contemplatively, but had her train of thought interrupted by Lieutenant Commander Guy Hoover, Science Officer on board the Northern Lights. “Captain! I’m detecting an energy reading from the direction of the intended course of the Polaris. Very faint ...I’m trying to pinpoint the source...”
Beside Guy, the scarlet-haired Intelligence Officer T’Anya worked at her console as well. Suddenly, she spun around and declared, “It’s a Federation distress signal, Captain...extremely weak, and heavily distorted, but definitely one of ours.”
Captain Meyn turned quickly to her Science Officer. “Guy, transfer the coordinates of the signal’s origin to Ops; Dacron, lay in an intercept course and engage at Warp 9. Brad, notify Betazed Control we are leaving the system on a rescue mission.” She returned to her command chair as Commander Slax programmed the Lights’ navigation system and the ship smoothly accelerated away from the Betazed system.

Not much later, the Northern Lights dropped out of warp, its streamlined massiveness looming over the stricken and drifting Polaris. The powerful starship maneuvered closer and pitched up to better position the yacht’s docking recess in the bottom of the saucer section.
“Engage tractor beam and bring them in,” the captain directed as she studied the yacht on the viewscreen. “There doesn’t appear to be any external damage. Life signs?”
Guy scanned the Polaris. “Three human, one Capellan, and one that looks like an animal of some sort. One of the humans seems injured, and life support on the yacht is at a minimal level.”
Captain Meyn tapped her comm-badge, which chirped dutifully.
“Meyn to Sickbay.”
“Sickbay here,” responded 1LT Elizabeth Martin, the ship’s Chief
Medical Officer.
“We’ve intercepted the Polaris and there appears to be one possible
casualty aboard. We’re bringing it in now – meet me at the yacht docking port with a medical team.”
“On my way, Captain.”
“Commander Slax, you have the Conn – I’m going down to meet the yacht.” Stacy spun and headed for the turbolift as the Trill officer moved to the center seat.
When the captain arrived at the yacht docking port, the tall Bajoran CMO was already there, with medical tricorder in hand and accompanied by a corpsman carrying a full medikit. They felt a slight bump as the yacht docked on the other side of the airlock, and Stacy hit the button to open the airlock door as soon as the light beside it changed from red to green. The door slid aside, and the stale air stung their noses as they rushed into the yacht’s main cabin...

To be concluded . . .