CEO Lieutenant Ilia sh'Tolar

[Brian Bailey]

Milk it as long as it needs milked, man. (heh, milk man) HURT HURTS IT'S OKAY TO TALK ABOUT IT. Hopefully nobody's going to explode when we go pick up that Romulan.

Not unless those microdetonators in your skulls go off prematurely.

Captain ex-nay-microdetonators-ey...

[Aoibhe Ni]

Milk it as long as it needs milked, man. (heh, milk man) HURT HURTS IT'S OKAY TO TALK ABOUT IT. Hopefully nobody's going to explode when we go pick up that Romulan.

Not unless those microdetonators in your skulls go off prematurely.

Oh my god, how did you know about them?!?

Also, fantastic log, gents. I felt every second of that conversation. Lovely work.

[C. J. Short]

SD 11403.19

Ilia was in a poor mood; even more so than usual. Someone had messed with her ship, and she wasn't having that. Whether it was incompetence at dry dock, or some Romulan saboteur, someone was getting their ass kicked. She fumed quietly in the turbolift, on her way to the torpedo magazine.

She felt like breaking something, like she should just storm out of the turbolift and punch the nearest person or thing. This was one of the warning signs: she was losing control. She closed her eyes, and tried to focus on her breathing, her hands tightly clenched at her sides.

---

"Fuck this bullshit, I'm out of here!" Ilia had screamed, kicking over the chair she'd been sitting in and making for the door. It didn't budge. She hit the control pad to the side. It still didn't respond. She turned to face the counselor, Lieutenant de Havilland.

"LET ME OUT!" she screamed, as hot, frustrated tears spilled down her face.

"No," de Havilland calmly replied. Ilia unleashed a primal shriek as her meltdown continued. She turned and started to pound on the door, wanting more than anything to be out of that room. He watched her, letting her vent; he was taking a risk by not letting her go. He would be disciplined severely if anyone ever found out, but he was going on a hunch. She was close to figuring something out. He wasn't going to let her run away from it, like she'd run away from everything else.

As the futility of her pounding on the door set it, she slowly slid to the ground, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. She'd been crying too much lately, and to be driven to tears again by this asshole only served to pile on to her self-loathing in that moment. She wanted more than anything to be out of that room, but instead, she was trapped, and the memories and thoughts she'd worked so hard to store away began to pour in.

All of the fights with her family on Andoria, all of the stress of running away, all of the visits she'd had from handsy freighter captains, all of their threats for if she told anyone; it all came flooding back, and she devolved into a quivering mess on the floor, desperate to block it out again with alcohol, or stims, or punching one of those snooty Tactical cadets, or breaking a holodeck so that it only ever played naughty spa routines when people were trying to experience a holo-novel.

It was all those things that had brought her to de Havilland, of course. It had been getting out of hand, and the Academy had forced her either to seek help, or be expelled. The Academy was her last chance at starting a real life, though. For all her rage, she'd been clear-headed enough to see that. So, she'd gone to a counselor, and now here she was, in one of the darkest moments of her young life.

De Havilland let her cry it out. It was good, what she was feeling, even if she didn't feel like it was. All of the things she was trying to bury were coming to light. It was only now they could truly start to make progress. Slowly, calmly, he got up, picked up the chair she'd kicked over, and sat facing her, still keeping his distance. Eventually, she calmed down, and she looked to him not with the rage and hatred he'd seen earlier, but with a broken despair. She was ready.

"It's okay," he said softly.

---

Ilia had calmed considerably when the turbolift doors opened. Vitali was there to meet her, and she actually managed a smile when she saw him.

"So, what are we doing?" he asked, returning her smile.

"Torpedo surgery," she said simply.

[Aoibhe Ni]

Excellent.

[C. J. Short]

The noise was almost deafening, and that was exactly how Vitaly liked it. They were watching history, and it was enthralling, especially with the presence of the relatively diminutive Andorian woman standing nearby, pounding on Plexiglas and screaming along with the rest of the crowd. She was wearing an over-sized, silver and black jersey, emblazoned with the number 10 and the name Kasparov. The front was adorned with a stylized hammer and sickle combination; the symbol of Russia in 2046.

It was the gold medal hockey game of the 2046 Winter Olympics, held in Berlin, Germany. The field had been the strongest in decades; nearly every game in every round was a nail-biter, with several overtime and shootout games. There had been plenty of upsets, as well; Japan over Norway had been the big shocker. In the end, though, it had come down to the two teams the world had expected to see: Russia vs. Canada.

The teams were tied 4-4, trading scoring chances in the final minutes of the third. Both fanbases were shouting, alternating between hopeful anticipation and panicked dread. It was considered the greatest gold medal game ever played, and there weren't very many contenders; Canada had jumped to a commanding 3-0 lead in the first, only for Russia to tie it up in the second, and take a 4-3 lead in the third. Canada had tied it again with less than five minutes remaining, which they spent trading haymakers both in hits and shots. Both goaltenders were amazing, Canada's being an older star, while Russia had a young, promising upstart. Grigori Kasparov was Russia's team Captain, and he would spend the final two minutes of the game on the ice in a surprising move that would go down as a historic gamble.

Vitaly knew how it ended, of course. He'd watched this same game, standing in this exact spot, at least a dozen times. His recent convert, Ilia sh'Tolar, hadn't, and he was enjoying watching her experience the magic almost more than the game itself; probably definitely, if he thought about it. He smiled as she jumped up and down in excitement, the hem of the jersey springing up to repeatedly give him a glimpse of those hips he'd come to adore.

Normally, he wouldn't stare, but he'd been somewhat despondent lately over their impending reassignments. With the inclusion of the crew from the Hooke, the Bremen's engineering department was now overstaffed, and both Vitally and Ilia were being shipped elsewhere. Vitally knew the odds of them being sent to the same ship were slim, so he'd vowed to make these last few days with her really count. So he looked. He looked long and hard, and he enjoyed it so much that he almost missed the winning goal.

With twenty seconds left, the crowd was almost hysterical. Every one of the thirty thousand attendees knew they were witnessing greatness. Canada had turned the puck over in the neutral zone, and Russia was gathering for one last push. Romanov to Petrovich, Petrovich to Minsk, and Minsk to Kasparov; it was always going to be Kasparov.

Ilia screamed as the Russians advanced, Kasparov shooting the puck in deep and speeding after it, slamming into a Canadian defensemen. He deftly untangled the puck, keeping it out of the reach of Tandy and Hyde, and circled around the back of the net, flipping it to Romanov, who immediately passed it back. The feint had worked; the Canadians had bit hard on what they thought to be a one-timer. Richards, the Canadian goalie, was already sliding across the crease by the time he realized what was happening. Kasparov fired immediately. The small, black disc flew by Richards' desperate catching glove, smacked hard into the crossbar, and ricocheted down into the ice, hammering home across the goal line.

The horn blew, the referee pointed, and the Olympic Stadium lost its collective mind. Canada fans were crying out in defeat, knowing the let a sure victory slip away from them. Russia fans were screaming their heads off, Ilia and Vitaly included, unable to believe the comeback they'd just seen. Kasparov fell to his knees on the ice from exhaustion, and was immediately mauled by his teammates; it was Russia's first gold medal in 20 years. The two engineers traded high fives and hugs with other, holographic Russia fans, and eventually embraced each other, sharing in a deep, passionate kiss fueled by their mutual excitement. The night would hardly end there.

The next morning, Ilia sat across from Vitaly in the lounge, holding a PADD. She was wearing a nervous smile, and they two shared a long, understanding look. They were about to find out their fates. Vitaly produced his PADD, and thought for a moment.

"I have an idea," he said, tapping the device lightly against the table. "I will count to three, and we will each say the name of the ship. Agreed?"

"With or without the USS part?" Ilia asked.

"Without."

Ilia sighed softly, looking at Vitaly, and eventually nodded her agreement. They each took a last look at their assignments.

"One. Two... Three!" Vitaly counted. "Cape Town."

"Sentin-... el" Ilia said, trailing off as she realized they hadn't said the same ship. They'd known it would come to this, of course, but that didn't make it hurt any less. The two simply looked at each other, silently digesting the news. They both thought to suggest trying to keep a long-distance relationship, only to realize that likely wouldn't work, and unwilling to put the other through the stress of trying to manage one. Eventually, Ilia reached across and took Vitaly's hand.

"We had fun," she said with a sad smile.

"Yes, we did," Vitaly replied, his own smile a serene one.

[Aoibhe Ni]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaw.

[C. J. Short]

The USS Cape Town had been a fine ship. Like Ilia's first posting, it had been an Intrepid-class explorer. For the past three years, its mission was to renew exploration of the Typhon Expanse - a deep space assignment, and one that spoke to the heart of Starfleet's true purpose. Ilia sh'Tolar had been in her engine room for two of those years, and they had been good ones. She had truly thrived, both professionally and personally. Ilia had excelled at adapting the Cape Town to the new challenges the Expanse posed, keeping the ship safe from previously undiscovered spatial phenomena and jury-rigging impressive repairs when Starbase assistance wasn't available. She advanced to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade for her achievements, and this did much to restore a belief in herself after early failures in her Starfleet career.

The Andorian was also reunited with her human flame, fellow engineer Vitaly Petrov. The two had originally met aboard the USS Bremen, but were parted when they were both reassigned to different ships: he to the Cape Town, and she to the Sentinel. When she washed out of that posting, unable to deal with the stress, an opportunity arose to be assigned to the Cape Town. Ilia took it without thinking much about it. Her relationship with Vitaly didn't reignite like she'd imagined. In their time apart, the two of them had changed significantly. Ilia's confidence and enthusiasm had diminished , and Vitaly had become more committed to his career.

There was some early coldness as a result, and it effected both engineers' performance. Another reassignment wasn't an option for Ilia, and both their working proximity and the inherent dangers of a deep space mission forced Ilia to confront her personal issues instead of her usual tactic of avoidance. She and Vitaly has a number of late-night talks, and she worked with the ship's counselor and addressed the incidents that had derailed her early career. Her confidence began to return as the months when on, and as she earned the respect of her crewmates and superiors alike. And, while her romance with Vitaly never reignited, they were able to build a strong friendship.

On Stardate 11606.17, the Cape Town encountered a subspace disruption deep in the Expanse. The damage to the ship was catastrophic, and the crew was forced to abandon ship, spending several days floating in escape pods until a ship from Deep Space 4 arrived. They Cape Town's crew mourned their ship, but all hands had survived. Both the ship's command staff and engineering department credited Ilia's efforts, and she was promoted to full Lieutenant as a result.

After debriefing and a mandated leave of absence, Ilia was ready to return to active duty. As she looked over her options, she saw listed the USS Sentinel. Her two years away had seen her grow immensely, and, despite some trepidation, she applied as Chief Engineering Officer. She wanted to test that growth, to prove to herself that she wouldn't be defined by those early mistakes.

It also didn't hurt that Vitaly had chosen the Sentinel as well.

[James Greenman]

Gah, so happy you're back, CJ!

A fantastic log, I love seeing what Ilia has been up to since her time on the Sentinel, and I'm sure she'll love to be back (and playing with the new QSD)

[C. J. Short]

Replacing a nacelle was not a simple process. While the warp core itself was fairly plug-n-play, the warp coils were directly connected to the EPS, and replacing them usually meant replacing EPS junctions. Fortunately, half the shuttle's junctions were blown, so they needed to be replaced anyway, and this proved to be more than enough work to keep an idle engineer busy, which was just what Ilia needed.

Dealing with her emotions had never been one of Ilia's talents. She tended to ride them like waves to completion, and some part of her believed this was the most correct way. Vulcans might try to bottle them up, and Humans might try to somehow make them mesh with reason, and maybe it was just some latent part of her Andorian upbringing, but Ilia could never bring herself to dissect her feelings like that. Emotions were to be felt, not analyzed. When she was saddened about the Cape Town, she let herself be sad. When she was nervous about returning to the Sentinel, she let herself be nervous. When she had been in love with Vitaly...

There was the rub. She and Vitaly had been warming back up to each other over the past few weeks, and had fallen into old patterns. Ilia had welcomed that, and she still did, but it occurred to her where that had led the last time. She and Vitaly had agreed that was over, to just be friends, but it was becoming quickly apparent to Ilia it wouldn't work.

She recalled hearing similar things from classmates at the Academy. A couple would think their relationship was a long term one, but it would turn out they had differing expectations, and it would ultimately fall apart. They might try to stay friends, but it seemed to Ilia that was always wishful thinking. Now she was trying to do the same thing with Vitaly.

She had never cared for relationships while at the Academy. Her rendezvous tended to be of the one-night variety. This had partly been because of her earlier experiences aboard civilian freighters. Lonely crewmen on long voyages tended to get handsy, and Ilia had some close calls. It had been hard to reconcile the reflexive fears of intimacy with her biological urges, and the result was a certain sense of promiscuity. She would engage in intimacy on her terms, and would end it just the same.

For whatever reason, Vitaly had been different. Their relationship hadn't been completely on her terms, but had been as her emotions had guided her. Now her emotions were pushing her back to him, and it terrified her. He would reject her, and she didn't know how she would handle that, aside from running away, which would almost certainly mean the end of her career advancement. This was her once chance to prove her capability as a Chief Engineer.

And so she found herself in an uncomfortably Human position, having to mesh emotion and reason or face romantic and professional ruin. She didn't care for it much.

[C. J. Short]

This was better. An actual problem with the warp field was the perfect thing to get her mind off of earlier. Sort of, anyway.

Something about Vitaly's casual announcement of seeing her without clothes was clinging to the back of her headspace. She wouldn't usually care much; it wasn't the first time her potential nudity was discussed in an engine room in a jocular manner. It was, however, the first time such a discussion involved someone she cared for. Part of her wanted to be pissed at him, like he'd broken decorum (which, of course, he had, at least by Starfleet protocol) or violated her trust.

The rest of her wanted to forget it, however, and so the arrival of a non-easily-solved issue with the Sentinel's warp field was a welcome distraction from the talk of her being naked. And the thoughts of him seeing her naked. And the thoughts of seeing him naked...

The slight pinch to the warp field's starboard side didn't dissipate as she'd hoped. In fact, it had gotten more pronounced, even as the ship slowed below warp 6. So far, there was no indication of any stellar phenomena that might be causing it, which made fixing it more difficult. So she stood and eyed the field visualization for a few minutes, sipping her cocoa (which Vitaly had introduced her to) and trying to solve a problem with no known cause and definitely not thinking about how naked she'd been when Vitaly introduced her to cocoa.

"Too much more, and we're going to be in danger of field collapse," said Vitaly.

"Yeah," she sighed.

"There has to be some way we can counteract the pulling," he continued. "Adjusting power levels in the Starboard nacelle should have some effect, at east. It doesn't make sense that it does nothing."

"A real head-scratcher," Ilia mumbled, failing to not think of the holographic skiing lodge where she'd been introduced to cocoa.

"Lousy unexplained phenomena; they should have to follow the rules like the rest of us!" huffed Vitaly in mock lament. This seemed to shake the images from Ilia's mind as she focused once more on the punched warp field.

"That's it," she said.

"What's it?" asked Vitaly.

"If whatever's pulling the warp field isn't following the rules, then we don't have to follow the rules either."

"... Wha?"

Ilia swiped the field visualization off to the side and brought up a blank field diagram. She roughly drew the ship's tear-drop field on the diagram and looked to Vitaly.

"The field's being pulled in one direction, which is throwing off our field symmetry," she explained. "It's the symmetry that makes the warp field work, right? If one side shifts too much, we lose symmetry, and the field collapses."

"Uh-huh," nodded Vitaly.

"We can't seem to control the pinching on our end, but maybe we don't have to," she elaborated. She then drew over the diagram, now showing the field being pinched at both sides.

"Ohhh," said Vitaly, now actually getting it instead of pretending to get it.

"We push out the port side of the field to maintain symmetry long enough to get us to Sigma Rho, and then we can figure out what the hell."

"But there are a dozen fail-safes to prevent that from happening."

Ilia grabbed her toolkit and slipped it over her neck and shoulder before slipping on her goggles.

"Obstacles only exist to be conquered, right?"