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Paul Stamets stepped through the automatic doors and into the dimly lit Corridor Seven, a bar with a reputation of being raucous, free-wheeling, and loud enough to allow for a nice, private conversation in a public place. He dodged to one side as a young Starfleet ensign, complete with casually undone collar, stumbled toward the exit. Of all the Academy-adjacent bars in San Francisco, his new friend had chosen to meet in this one. Paul nervously adjusted the mobile emitter on his shoulder and searched the room for the man he’d come to see. He found the atmosphere, the clothing, the people in this place distracting. In his time, things were… different. His world was more low key and practical. Uniforms came in shades of bronze, silver, and gold. Klingons wouldn’t be caught dead celebrating with Tellarites in a shady bar on Earth. It was a lot to process, and he was still working through the

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LOAF was looking for a project the other night, and what better than an exploration of the history of the Dorkir transport?! There's probably more to it than you think! Read on for a full rundown:

It's your 1 AM meandering thread about the Kilrathi freighter with the absolute best name: the DORKIR! Dorkir appear throughout Wing Commander I configured as transports, tankers, command staff ships and troopships. Concept art:

A rare element cut (for space) from Wing Commander I is that there were originally separate 'sport and tanker versions of the Dorkir (which is why the briefings always clarify which is expected). The boxier 'freighter' version was reused for Secret Missions as the Lumbari.

The Drayman and the Diligent are the same story, reversed. Comparing the sprite sheets and you can see it's a common cab with a modular container that would change depending on role.

So things get a little weird when

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DefianceIndustries

is hard at work cranking out the most plentiful peashooter of the Gemini Sector, the F-38 Talon. Unfortunately, they're mostly up to no good on behalf of the Retros or pirates, but occasionally the Confed Militia will trot a few out as well. The Talon might be a bland workhorse in Privateer, but these updated renders are gorgeous!

I finally finished up my F-38 Talon. These things litter the Gemini sector and everybody has at least ten. From the Retros, to pirates, to in-system security - you can't throw a rock and not hit one; even the Kilrathi have a few. But I currently only did two paint schemes. By far the most famous - and obnoxious:

DIE BY THE VERY WEAPONS YOU ADORE!!!!!

And to counteract the crazies - here's a Confed ISS version: Best not be carrying any contraband around these guys - oh, who am I kidding, they're made entirely of tissue paper. Anyway - enjoy!

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J’Ula beheld the odd, vicious human blade in her hands for a moment before setting it upon the desk in her quarters. It was a prize, presented to her by the leader of her personal guard, taken from the hand of a dead Starfleet security officer. Kukri, the humans called the blade. It was truly a warrior’s weapon. The officer who once wielded it killed eight Klingons in close combat before finally succumbing to his wounds. But he was a fool, this human. He fought alone against overwhelming odds, trapped in the belly of his ship after all of his comrades had died or surrendered. He fought in a burning house, she mused. He suffered the fate of all fools. Her vessel streaked through space at high warp. Valuable information was gleaned from Starfleet prisoners, and from captured data files taken from the “burning house” so bravely defended by the human with the vicious blade. She’d learned of a

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This normally wasn’t Lieutenant Whetu’s job, but today she was happy to do it. She stood ramrod-straight, hands clasped behind her back, waiting. She realized after a momentthat she had adopted the stance a little too early, as it was still a few minutes before she heard the soft “thunk” of the inspection pod docking with NX-96400’s hull. Finally, the airlock in front of her hissed as it pressurized. A telltale light flashed from red to green, and the hatch slid open. Beyond it was a tall Andorian zhen in a crisp Starfleet service uniform sporting captain’s pips. The yoke of the uniform was gray instead of captain’s white, as this ship was not hers to command… not yet, anyway. She turned to the shorter Deltan officer beside her. “Thank you, Ensign. This is my first time as a plankowner and my first time to command a brand new ship. The hull was as clean as fresh snow drifts on

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We've got a new poll up now, and this time we're asking about the worst places to need to eject. The options in this survey are bit deeper lore than we usually include, so here's a fuller rundown of the choices available:

• Planet Pisces is the place where Krulan nar Ragitagha is stalked by the infamous Arthrosquids
• Angel is forced to eject after taking out the skipper missile bearing down on the Claw
• Minx is in an escape pod poisoned by radiation after the destruction of Ayer's Rock
• Vagabond loses a fight against a wing of Darket in the Kilrah System on the Temblor Run
• This is the pilot that Seether executes if you stay aboard the Lexington
• Hawk reveals to Casey that Iceman saved him in B'shriss, but he was found and captured by the Kilrathi - the remains in the pod retrieved by Blair weren't pretty
• I can only imagine what new challenges Arena's Nephilim fluid-space presented to ejected pilots
• The pilot of

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The sound of a shattering PADD echoed through the underground offices. Vrosik hardly paid any mind now; she’d become used to the outbursts, the manic intensity, the slumps of dejection, and the heat of anger that cycled quickly through her co-worker. She waited for the string of invectives to die down, then picked up a fresh PADD from a neatly-stacked pile at the corner of her desk, pulled her goggles down over her light-sensitive eyes, and strode into the workspace next door. She extended the PADD silently. Callius, standing in front of his desk, moped silently for a few moments, then snatched the PADD from her hand. He looked down at it and tapped at it a few times, loading in his latest designs from the network and setting it up for use. Finally he mumbled, “Thank you.” Vrosik started to turn and head back to her workspace, then stopped. She wasn’t sure why she did. Callius’ outbursts

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The night sky was still split by the occasional flash. Fighting in orbit was barely visible on the surface, but the explosion when a ship met its end was too big to miss, and the pieces raining down through the atmosphere left fiery orange trails reminiscent of meteors. His watery eyes showing only blurry images of the tiny explosions dotting the sky, Hakken struggled to stand. A dark form loomed over him and then a pair of hands gripped his arms, then another. A pair of people lifted him to his feet. He blinked his eyes several times and looked behind him. The restaurant had collapsed; he was lucky enough to have cleared the doorway right before the explosion. Rubble surrounded the street, and the blue fronds of the decorative grasses were scorched and torn. Hakken tried to right himself but shooting pain in his hip left him leaning heavily on the two people holding his arms. “I… I think I am

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The stars in the sky were simply boiling, exploding balls of gas, spread out over billions of miles. Ensign Keero had never understood his human companions’ desires to ascribe patterns to them. And yet, standing in the dark, looking out of the view port of Deep Space Two, Deck 47, East Wing, Keero noticed these patterns. Most of all, he noticed they were different from what he remembered. This was not unexpected. From the time Keero had awoken two days ago, he had traveled exactly 153 years, three months, two days, twelve minutes, and 36.5 seconds into the future. During all of that time, the stars would shift, ever so slightly, the patterns would change. This was a natural and expected course of events. This should satisfy him. But Keero looked out at these new stars and felt…uneasy. Like he was barely holding on to the floor, and could go spinning off into space at any time. The feeling was

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“There’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” mused Louann Wilkins as she looked at the Bajoran Wormhole on the viewscreen. “Kinda reminds me of a hurricane. Still pretty, though.” “You say that now, but wait until there’s a thousand ships coming out of it, all filled with people wanting to kill you,” Quark smirked at the sharp-featured human at the Science station as her eyes widened. “It loses its luster pretty fast when that happens, believe me.” The Ferengi took a seat at the empty Engineering station and watched something else on the viewscreen – a Bajoran freighter as it entered the wormhole at impulse speed. “There. There’s our decoy,” Quark called to the Na’kuhl at the helm of the Orion vessel Coldstar as he pointed at an image on the viewscreen. “Follow them in, nice and slow, and we’ll ditch the Federation cloak sensors around the wormhole. If anything, we’ll

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When the cheers erupted, not every cup in the hall was raised. Just as she did after every performance, Juvat basked in the dissent as much as the admiration as she tossed back her bloodwine and dipped her cup into the vat for a second round. Klingon warriors may seek glory with their bat’leths, but a Loresinger wielded a much more powerful weapon: The crowd. Juvat was among the youngest and brashest of Qo’noS’ Loresingers, and that afforded her a certain amount of notoriety. Rather than spend her time preaching to the converted in the streets of the First City, she sought out taverns and bars and drinking halls, places where the crowd was likely unfriendly, if not downright hostile. She saw her role as one of changing minds, spreading truth, and maybe, on a good night, getting into a couple of fights. She knew it was a great performance when blood flowed as freely as bloodwine. She knew that

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“MARTOK!” The call rang out across the great hall, ending all conversation. Members of the High Council, dispersing to their own factions, stopped their myriad conversations and turned to look at the source of the sudden, piercing exclamation. Chancellor Martok turned as well, from where he had nearly ascended the dais to take his seat. The source of the shout was a young, strong warrior. He stood in the doorway of the Council chambers, hand on his mek'leth, shaking with rage. From the moment this warrior rose to a position of power, Martok had known he would be...trouble. And now, it seemed, that day had come. The warrior known as J'mpok strode forward, towards the dais, murderous intent in his eyes. Like he had with every challenger before, Chancellor Martok rose to meet him. *** General Martok stood in an empty council chamber, remembering the surprise and pain as J’mpok’s mek'leth

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Odo and the young Jem'Hadar haven't gone very far past the wormhole in the Gamma Quadrant when a Dominion patrol ship neared. "Well, you've been waiting all your life, short as it may be, to meet your people,” Odo said to his traveling companion. “Now, you'll get your chance. I hope," Odo paused, looking for the right words, "I hope you'll be happy." "Are you sure you want to go back to the station,” the young warrior asked. “Don't you belong here? Your people are here – you are a Founder!" Before Odo could convince himself, again, that he made the right decision, the other ship hailed them. He sighed, "On screen." A female Vorta appeared, "Greetings, Founder. Did you change your mind? Are you coming home to us at long last?" "I see word of my existence has made it throughout the Dominion. Hmph." "It’s best said that such information is at a ‘need to know’ status, Founder.

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A new addition to the collection! These are “Vidpro” cards for Wing Commander III and IV Playstation, part of the point of purchase security system used by big box stores like Toys R Us. You’d bring the card to a lockup counter to buy the desired game. You can also see what the Super Nintendo version looked like here.

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Hanging upside-down by a bundle of alien mycelium in a subterranean cavern was not Doctor Bashir’s choice of holiday, but he remained philosophical about the predicament. It would not do to panic, even though his EV suit computer showed that integrity had been compromised and some of the spores had somehow made their way into its atmospheric system. It would not do to panic at the thought of those alien spores winnowing into the air cyclers and thence to his lungs. It would not do at all to think about the effect that Elachi spores had upon various humanoids. Even though these were not Elachi, they were probably distant relatives of some sort, and their effect would likely be deleterious. It would not do, so he decided to retain a certain level of bemused detachment instead. “Bashir to Aventine,” he called through his comm system. “Things are becoming a bit more urgent here.” He hoped

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“Computer - display galactic map, quadrant... Beta. Delineate current political boundaries.” As the machine complied, J’Ula regarded the field of stars framed in Federation blue, Romulan green, and Klingon red with an expression of contempt and seething rage. “Why do you dwell on this repugnant vision, Lady J’Ula,” Ketris, her first officer, growled as she entered her captain’s chambers. “Why do you gaze upon the shriveled, timid state of a once-mighty empire, all but enveloped by the bloated Federation? Why twist the blade within your heart?” “Because that sharp pain reminds me of what must be done,” J’Ula replied. “And what must be delivered unto our enemies.” She walked around the display until she came to Earth and pointed at the blue gem as it hung above the display table in her quarters. “This ugly ball of putrid water and filth was in our deathgrip, Ketris… the entire Federation

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“Earth, Vulcan, Andoria, and Tellar formed the Coalition of Planets. At this time, Earth still was not using stardates, though most other Coalition members were. By local reckoning, it was the middle of the 22nd century, and it would take humanity nearly another decade before they started to use the Stardate system.” Professor Stevens took a moment to let that sink in to the minds of her class. Not everyone in the hall was from Earth, and the concept of the Julian calendar, let alone the split between BC and AD, took a little getting used to for the extraterrestrial students. “Now, who can tell me what the stardate of midnight on September 14, 2572 will be?” The professor looked over her class. The same few hands rose right away as many others set upon their PADDs to assist with their math. She took her time, hoping to give a non-Vulcan a chance to answer. Stevens smiled as the hand of her

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Leeta poured a glass of Slug-o-Cola as her husband muttered to himself. She hated seeing him like this. He was a brilliant man and an excellent Grand Nagus, but when the stakes got too high, he had a tendency to get a little overwhelmed. She put the glass down on Rom’s desk and gently caressed his ear, eliciting a distracted shiver. “Perhaps it’s time to take a break, Husband. I’m sure that no problem is worth working yourself into an early grave.” She gave him a warm smile. “Thanks, Wife.” he picked up the drink and took a sip. “Mmm, slimy! But no, I need to solve this! The Ferengi are counting on me to lead them, and not to a state of bankruptcy – or worse!” Leeta frowned. “Should call your mother? I know that she has helped you with work issues in the past.” Rom shook his head. “Nooo. Moogie is trying to enjoy her retirement. Grand Nagus Zek picked me because he

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Despite his intense desire to rejoin the Great Link after five long years in deep space, Nuno waited until the last of his crew departed the ship. He watched the Jem’Hadar disappear into the base, followed by Adiss, his Vorta first officer, and then stepped out of the ship himself, running his lightly flaking hand along the hull as the hatch closed behind him. He left the Link all those years ago with a new mission, and a controversial one at that. He emerged with the goal of taking a small company of Vorta and Jem’Hadar on an exploration mission deep within the Gamma Quadrant. The Link roiled with conflict over the decision to designate an exploration vessel, and Nuno’s suggestion that he—a changeling—go along with them. He convinced them that his team could find great resources, new species to absorb into the Dominion, and even a planet suitable for building a new Link. A Vorta could

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Kira Nerys, Kai to the Bajoran people, rubbed her temples. The migraine was coming. Right now, the pain was a low rumbling in the back of her mind. It reminded her of the sound of Cardassian shuttles, sweeping low over the Dahkur Hills as they hunted for her and her friends. By tonight, it would have raged into a full explosion in her brain. It was always this way when she had to preside over a meeting with politicians. Tea, she decided suddenly. Tea would help. Her steps led her out of the meeting room and into the halls of Terok Nor. She would make a nice, big pot of tea, and sit in her private quarters in the temple, and meditate until the distant rumbling passed. Maybe this time she could escape it. The recent attack on Bajor had rattled them all. Even now, decades after their independence, Bajor’s government still felt new and fragile to her. The meeting had quickly descended into factions