Hello Troops,
The Voyager Club's Writing Department is starting up again. One of the department's goals is to encourage our Voyagers and Explorers to write illustrated stories that offer different continuations of our simulator missions, especially with A.I.'s ability to create artwork. The following is an example of taking a simulator story (The Children of Perikoi) and writing a continuation of the story. I enjoyed writing the mission 'The Children of Perikoi'. Since then, I wanted to continue the story and did once several years ago. The mission was told in the Galileo. It was OK, but not what it should have been. I blame myself for that. Not everything you write is good, right? This is another attempt at a continuation of Perikoi using our own staff and volunteers as characters. For you old timers, this is a brushed off and cleaned up retelling of a continuation story I wrote years ago. Have you got a few stories rummaging around in your creative imagination related to any of our current simulator missions? If so, please consider taking Writing Department workshops. Let's get those stories written, illustrated, and published for our staff, volunteers, and patrons to enjoy. Ad Astra! Mr. Williamson December 21, 2321 23:00 Hours McAuliffe Station, Earth Orbit The McAuliffe Station Lounge was situated at the far end of Hallway A on Deck 12, near the Officer’s Quarters. The hallway’s futuristic design featured softly rounded corners where the walls met the holotop ceiling, which displayed a dynamic 3D simulation of Earth’s sky. By day, a holosun tracked the real position of the sun as seen over San Francisco, and at night, a bright moon and twinkling stars cast the hallway in deep twilight. The effect was both stunning and soothing. Two brightly polished oak doors separated the lounge from the hallway. Each door had an over sized port hole with the station’s logo etched in glass. The station’s Voyager Academy (VA) was a brisk 45 second walk to the opposite end of Hallway. The VA section housed the staff and instructor's office's and academy class rooms. Between the lounge and academy, Hallway A passed several staff quarters, two turbolift elevators, and a small convenience shop managed by the academy's senior class. The shop benefited both the senior and junior cadets. The senior's received valuable work experience, and the cadets had access to a never ending supply of reasonably priced candy and sodas. The hallway was carpeted in a speckled blue carpet. Fiber illuminated lighting was stitched in the carpet, displaying the number of each room. It was 23:00 hours. The Station’s Christmas party was in its third hour. The sound of laughter and singing poured into Hallway A every time the doors slid open. The noise didn’t matter. Two thirds of the station’s staff were at the party. The others were on duty. A large Christmas Tree stood on the opposite end of the room from the entrance. It was decorated with holographic ornaments. The ornaments changed color and design to match the beat of the music. False Flame took the place of traditional Christmas tree lights, giving the tree a very 19th century look. A two hundred year old glass star crowned the tree, compliments of Admiral Porter, the station commander. The people in the room divided themselves by choice. Starfleet Officers occupied one end of the room. They were the ones who ran the daily military operations of the station. The educational staff gathered on the other end of the room. They staffed the Voyager Academy. The VA was a special military boarding school for gifted 13 to 16 year olds wanting careers in Starfleet. After graduation, most VA students found themselves at Starfleet Academy in San Francisco. Their time in the VA placed them well ahead of their peers. That advantage made getting into the VA very competitive. The majority of the academy’s cadets were on home leave for the holiday. Those who remained were looked after by instructors and the academy's house parents. The Lounge doors slid open. Commander Williamson, the VA director, entered the room fashionably late. He looked around and noticed the demarcation between the two camps. He moved toward the side of the room reserved for the Academy's staff. “Hello Sir and Merry Christmas,” Lt. Kyson said. He was the first to see the Commander. The others in his group stopped talking in mid sentence and extended their holiday greetings . “I see you’re all having a good time,” Williamson observed. He glanced around and noticed the absence of his senior officers. “Where are the old timers?" “There were sitting at that far table. They’re gone now,” replied Lt. Nan. "I think we were too loud." “I can see that Lieutenant. Anyone have an idea where they went?” he asked. “Not a clue,” Lt. Jason Trump, the Academy's head instructor sang as he danced rhythmically to an upbeat Christmas carol. He had a drink in his hand. Some of it spilled onto the carpet. Williamson reached out, took the cup, and smelled its contents. “I don’t drink Commander,” he promptly explained while taking back the cup. “Besides, alcohol is banned on this base so we make due with what ‘s available, this is heavily spiced eggnog," “You all have fun. I’ll my exit before I get hurt and go find the old folks.” Williamson moved from the table and did another glance around the room waving at many of the Station's staff. He caught the eye of Admiral Porter, the station's commander. The commander offered a friendly nod while pointing to his ear. Williamson returned the nod, pointed to his ear, then pointed upwards. The Admiral replied with an understanding thumbs up. Admiral Porter ran the station by the book and strictly followed the chain of command. It was his decision to place the training academy on his station. He believed in the value of on the job training. Besides, he hoped the cadets would choose his station to serve in after their graduations. It was his way of getting the best talent right out of the gate. Williamson picked up a cranberry juice from the bar and a handful of yogurt covered pretzels before leaving the lounge to find his senior teachers. The hallway went quiet as the doors closed behind him. He walked toward the turolift. It opened. He stepped in. The doors closed. “Destination?” The computer waited for his response. He thought for a moment. Where would his teachers be? He knew he was too early for them to retire to their rooms. He could ask the computer to locate their comm badges, but chose to try a guess before taking the easy route. “Observation Deck,” he replied. The lift moved upward and then sideways. Seconds later, upward again. The lift stopped and opened on deck 3. In the doorway stood two of the Academy’s students, Midshipman Oliver and Midshipman Eavie. They froze upon seeing their Commander occupying the same lift they were waiting to enter. They were suppose to be in their dorms' common rooms enjoying their own parties. What were they doing roaming Deck 3? “Well, well, well..... what do we have here?” Williamson asked. Both cadets jumped to attention. “Two cadets roaming the station without clearance. I do believe that is a violation of curfew. Please correct me if I’m wrong,” he asked. Neither of the them spoke. Their gaze was unbroken on a spot on the wall. A bag of snacks was in Oliver's hand. Apparently there had been an unauthorized visit to the station's commissary. “Sir, we were on our way back but needed extra...” Eavie began speaking only to be cut off by the Commander. “Not now. I have a place to be." Williamson replied. "Save the explanation for your squadron leaders. We don’t want to overwork the oxygen generators. ” Both cadets squirmed every so slightly. Oliver's eyes rolled upward and then toward Eavie. He knew it was pointless to explain a breech of curfew. He was surprised Eavie tried. “Cadets, you will take the next lift and go straight back to your dorms. You will report to your leaders, explain what you were doing, and then go straight to bed. You will bypass the party in your Common Room. Now step back, and you have my permission to breath.” The cadets took one step back. The lift’s doors closed. “Resume,” Williamson said. The lift continued. Seconds later the doors opened. Williamson stepped out onto a solid floor. The rest of the room appeared to be open space. He was right - there at one of three tables sat his senior officers. “I thought I’d find you in the Observation Deck,” he said moving toward the table. Scott Wiltbank noticed the commander approach. "Too noisy downstairs." he explained. Seven other Academy officers sat around Scott at his table. Jon, Brylee, Jordan, Lissa, Tabitha, Matt, and Mitch all raised their glasses toward the commander. When they were alone, they called each other by their first names. The table was stocked with a variety of snacks brought from the party below. “You’ve got the right idea,” Williamson said as he moved a chair out and sat down. “This view up here never gets old.” “That’s why we're here; quiet talk and a great view,” Jon explained. The blues and whites of Earth nearly filled the sphere over their heads. Beyond was the star studded blackness of space. A few minutes later, the turbolift opened reveling Lieutenants Audrey and Marissa, new pilgrams seeking sanctuary from the lounge. The group's conversation wound it way around many topics. Time was spent discussing the students and how they might perform in the new simulations being prepared by the educational staff. Lt. Tabitha, assisted by several of the younger instructors, was writing a complete military campaign involving several simulations to be told in three of the station's six training ships. Two hours passed passed. It was getting late. They agreed to call it a night. As they stood to clean the table, the station's alarm rang loudly, reverberating around the transparent ceiling of the Observation Deck . A moment later the alarm stopped and was replaced by the voice of Admiral Porter, the Station’s Commander. “Alert Condition One. This is no drill. Alert Condition One. This is no drill. More information will follow,” his voice sounded firm and emotionless as the communication closed with a familiar tone. “We are under attack?” Lissa asked with a puzzled expression. Everyone's attention turned to the transparent dome overhead. There were no ships. All seemed peaceful. “Admiral,” Williamson said as he tapped the communicator pinned to his uniform. There was a slight pause before the call was answered. “Yes Commander?” the Admiral responded. "I thought you'd be the first person to call." “Where is the attack?” “We’ve received word from Command that Farpoint Station has been destroyed,” he replied matter of factly. “Farpoint Station?” Williamson was surprised by the answer. Farpoint Station was the Federation’s furthest starbase, two months away at maximum warp from Earth. He wondered why the station was placed on battle alert if this attack occurred so far away. The Admiral continued his explanation. “Farpoint was attacked by an alien race only recently encountered. They use wormholes to transit space.” His statement made it clear why distance didn't matter. Anyone able to use wormholes could strike anywhere at anytime. “Who are they?” Williamson asked. He had a hunch, having read the report of a disturbance involving the science ship Copernicus and a race of beings who use wormholes. That encounter happened two years earlier. “I’m not sure what they call themselves, but the Voyager and Copernicus encountered them at PCX2214. Perikoi as the natives call it. We lost the Copernicus. They lost one of their ships. It appears they are back, and in force. It's best that you see to your cadets. I'll keep you informed of developments. Porter out. ” The connection ended, leaving the group in stunned silence. The implications of wormhole technology were terrifying. Williamson took a deep breath. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, life is about to get very interesting. Let’s head to the Common Rooms and explain this to the cadets. They’ll need reassurance." The officers filed into the turbolift, leaving the serene beauty of the Observation Deck behind as the station prepared for whatever lay ahead. Imaginairum Theater.
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AuthorMy name is Victor Williamson. I founded the Christa McAuliffe Space Center in 1990. I current teach 6th grade at Renaissance Academy and am the Space Center Outreach Coordinator (I take care of the volunteers). You can reach me by email: [email protected] Archives
October 2024
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