From WNOHGB Wiki
Jump to: navigation, search
Dors Trev
Character Overview
Rank: 2410 SF O-3.png
Title: Chief of Engineering,
U.S.S. Gowron (NCC-90603)
Status: Alive
Race: Bajoran
Biographical Information
Date of Birth:
Place of Birth: Deep Space 9
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Starfleet Reserves (Fully Mobilized/Border Patrol)
Siblings: None
Spouse: Rosalyn Davies
Children: None
OOC Information
Played By: Josh Holloway

Template image This page has been a featured article relating to a character, give yourself a pat on the back.

Dors Trev is a Starfleet Reserve Officer assigned to U.S.S. Gowron (NCC-90603) as Chief of Engineering.



Trev was born on Deep Space Nine in the Earth Year 2409. He spent most of his formative years there, bouncing somewhat regularly back to Bajor as the situation warranted. He was the only son of Dors Nesyl, a scientist and schoolteacher aboard the station and Dors Ap, a station engineer affiliated with Starfleet.

Trev loved machines. He was taking things apart at the age of four, trying to figure out how they worked, though at that young age he hadn't really figured out how to put them back together again. In fact, one time he took apart the replicator so badly, his father finally had to admit defeat in ever getting it to work properly again. "Mother, we either get a new one or deal with the strangest and most random foods we never imagined," Ap told his wife after a very long night of tinkering.

Trev found a second calling one day shortly after school. He grew fast as a child, displaying a larger and more athletic build than a lot of his classmates. His mother was always making sure he didn't spend too much time with a nose in the book or shadowing his father on engineering stuff, getting exercise and playing "outdoors" regularly. She tried to encourage him to find a sport. After school one day, he noticed a group of Bajoran kids in a kind of huddle. He recognized most of them as the school bullies and their "in crowd" followers. At the center of it though was a human boy, about his age, somewhat lighter of build, by the name of James Agnew. They'd worked together in science class. Trev saw that these bullies were pushing the kid around, taunting him, calling him any number of names. Trev stood by for only a moment before he saw the largest bully sucker punch James in the gut and that was it for Trev. Some switch in his mind just flipped on, he went charging into the group with a full head of steam, his hand balled up into a tight fist and he landed it right upon that bully's jaw, knocking him out like a light. The rest of the kids scattered, the bully was carried by litter to the sickbay and since James didn't run both he and Trev were hauled off to the magistrate. After James relayed the story to the constable, no charges were filed, though the bullies stayed away from Trev and James after that. In fact, Trev found himself in the unenviable position of being an "in-between," defending the defenseless while at the same time defending a human against his own kind. It did make a decision for him, though. The next day, he told his mom that the sport he wanted to participate in was Martial Arts. James and Trev also became fast friends after that.

Trev followed James to Earth after they graduated secondary school in 2427, knowing that knowledge was the path and that some of the best schools and the best paths start on Earth. He spent the first four years of his education in the Sol system at California State University, Northridge. He earned a bachelors' degree with honors in Astronautical Engineering and a minor in Computer Science. He then interned for two years at Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards on Mars before returning to Earth's University of California at San Francisco for his masters in Engineering.

He decided to try the civilian life first, working as a starship engineer in the private sector for two years, for both independent operators and for some of the big consortiums. The problem was, he ran into far too many things he didn't like there. Captains who just shouldn't have been captains. Engineering decisions made on matters of cost or expediency or the whims of the corporate boardroom. Engineers who only knew their ships and didn't know how to generalize their knowledge. Then there was the running. Every so often, the ship he was working on would run into trouble. Pirates, conflicts, whatever it was, the first thing they did was run for the nearest friendly port. No other option was ever really considered. It was the safest thing to do. One day, Trev found himself aboard a passenger liner with a retired Starfleet Captain onboard, heading for the Norpin Colony. For the first time he opened up and leveled his frustrations with the man. The Captain gave him some wise words that day. "A lot of people are fortunate to find the right ship in the private sector. The right mix of machine and crew. Far more aren't that lucky though, bouncing from ship to ship, never finding their niche, dissatisfied with the very complaints you've voiced to me. I would recommend that you give Starfleet a try. While it's not perfect by a long shot and I've run into my own share of lousy folk in my career, I suspect you might find it more appreciative of your talent." After taking some time to think on that advice, Trev decided to give his two weeks' notice and put in to Starfleet Academy for the Spring Semester of 2037. Already having the education, they pushed him through their Officer's Training and graduated him a full-fledged Lieutenant Junior Grade. Though he didn't request it, he found it rather ironic that he ended up being assigned right back where he began his journey, Deep Space Nine

Trev's philosophy of life is constantly evolving, but it definitely has some strictures to live by. Everything happens for a reason. The Prophets are being the reason and they have a cosmic plan, something we may never be able to fully understand. The Prophets are real, and while they take the form of noncorporeal beings in the eyes of many, they are still to be revered, to be relied on with faith. While many of their miracles happen with a scientific method, meaning they are not magic and are not unexplained, that doesn't negate the fact that they are miracles and are still part of the cosmic plan. Science and Religion need not be at odds, only reconciled. Whenever Trev has questions of faith, he invariably turns to his distant uncle, a Vedek on Bajor. He also believes that all sentient beings, no matter their species or origin, start out this life as blank slates. They would turn towards the good except for whatever experiences and influences that etch themselves into their lives for the wrong direction.


Favorite Holosuite Programs:

  • The Roundhouse: His own personal workshop, where he has a 4-4-0 Steam Locomotive he's been working on for some time, among other items.
  • The Temple: His own little place to retreat to and pray to The Prophets, from the days when he had no such place to attend.


RP Hooks

  • Engineering - His Bread and Butter
  • Ancient Technology - Steam Locomotion
  • Martial Arts - Give him a challenge!
  • Religion - The Prophets

Civilian Resume

  • Stardate 104713.13 (September 18, 2427): Enrolled in California State University, Northridge, Earth as an Engineering Major.
  • Stardate 108458.33 (June 17, 2431): Graduated from California State University, Northridge with a Bachelors of Science in Astronautical Engineering.
  • Stardate 108461.07 (June 18, 2431): Began internship in the Engineering and Design Divisions at Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards, Mars.
  • Stardate 110737.79 (September 27, 2433): Enrolled in the University of California at San Francisco as a Masters Candidate in Astronautical Engineering.
  • Stardate 112474.77 (June 23, 2435): Graduates from the University of California at San Francisco with a Masters of Science in Astronautical Engineering.
  • Stardate 112477.51 (June 24, 2435) - Stardate 114302.17 (April 21, 2437): Work for various private astronautical concerns as Engineering Personnel.
  • Stardate 114304.91 (April 22, 2437): Enters Starfleet Academy Officer's Training.

Service Record

  • 2410 SF O-2.png Stardate 114537.63 (July 15, 2437): Graduated Starfleet Academy with the rank of Lieutenant (JG) due to previously earned Masters in Astronautical Engineering.
  • 2410 SF O-2.png Stardate 114537.63 (July 15, 2437): Assigned to Engineering Division, Deep Space Nine.
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116189.77 (March 10, 2439): Promoted to Lieutenant.
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116306.85 (April 22, 2439): Promoted to Assistant Chief of Engineering, Deep Space Nine.
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116698.60 (September 12, 2439): Awarded Unit Commendation Ribbon (U.S.S. Gowron)
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116698.60 (September 12, 2439): Awarded Combat Action Ribbon
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116698.60 (September 12, 2439): Awarded Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry (U.S.S. Gowron)
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116698.60 (September 12, 2439): Awarded Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 116738.68 (September 27, 2439): "Acting" status removed from Chief of Engineering title.
  • 2410 SF O-3.png Stardate 117196.69 (March 12, 2440): Awarded Golden Starburst (Yanius Prime)

Awards / Citations / Medals

Citation-for-conspicuous-gallantry-2x.png Combat-action-ribbon.png Starfleet Unit Commendation Ribbon


Engineering Repair Certification

Engineering System Certification

Personal Logs

  • Personal Log, Stardate 116738.68 (September 27, 2439)

A Terran songwriter once wrote, “This Train Don’t Stop There Anymore…”

I was born on Deep Space Nine, a starbase that was owned by the Democratic Republic of Bajor and under the control of the Galaxy Alliance Starfleet. It was truly a gateway to another realm and literally the crossroads of the galaxy itself. My best friend was a human, I grew up on stories of Starfleet from both before and after the Borg War… Sure, they were glossy, cleaned up versions of reality with a hefty bit of alliteration to them, but it shaped how I viewed Starfleet. They were there to defend us. All of us. I still believe they are. It’s one of the reasons why, after a bit of coaxing and a hefty bit of disappointment in the private sector, I decided to join up. I even managed to get an assignment right there, home again. I met and married my beautiful, wonderful wife there, even.

Right after that is when everything started to go topsy turvy. First, I’m transferred to a Klingon Vessel, the Gowron. I hated Klingon technology. Klunky, kludgey things with a design language that couldn’t scream “Utilitarian” any louder. At the same time, I’m transferred away from my home, from my wife, from my people… I thought that I was being placed into a nightmare. What I didn’t realize then but I do now is that the nightmare was only beginning and that in a very real way I was being saved from it.

A couple of months after I was transferred from Deep Space Nine, the Emissary decided to recall all Bajorans back to the DRB. Sure, she couched it in the language of a request, but who doesn’t follow the request of the Emissary? I did… Apparently I wasn’t the only one, as I witnessed a newly made friend aboard the Gowron, Reye, a Bajoran Militiaman, also make the request to stay and join Starfleet. Unfortunately, since he wasn’t Starfleet to begin with, he was indeed transferred back to Bajor. I could see Bajor begin to close in on itself.

The next thing I knew, Bajor was ejecting Starfleet from all of Bajoran Space, including Deep Space Nine. It took me a moment not to panic at the thought of my wife being ejected to who knows where, but she’s a Commander. I knew she knew what she was doing, even more than I know what I’m doing. But still, it began to dawn on me. Maybe the nightmare wasn’t where I was, but what was happening around me.

I’ve seen the face of war, the war that is coming. I saw it in the panic of colonists on Yanius Prime. I saw it in the carnage that Jem’Hadar soldiers left behind there. Seeing its face however is not feeling its cold steel. I know that is coming next. I see no way that it couldn’t be coming. The blade is drawn back. The potential energy waiting to be transferred into kinetic. The blade has nowhere to go but forward. All I can do is be one of those that would raise our own blade against it, to fight against that which we know to be coming, to be stronger than they and hope that our blade pierces armor first… No, that our blade pierces armor last.

As I continue to watch war draw closer, I know where I am is where I want to be. Where the Prophets meant for me to be, no matter what the Emissary says. The Gowron has proven to be a more than trustworthy ship, with a more than capable crew. Every day I grow more fond of her. She’s a Klingon Klunker, but I think I’d rather have her than any other ship in the fleet right now. My wife and I are together again, serving on the same ship, making the Gowron my home today just as much as Deep Space Nine was in yesteryears. This is where I belong.

I keep wondering if I should leave the Democratic Republic of Bajor behind. If I should renounce my citizenship. It’s a decision I have yet to make, but the more I think about it, why would I go back? Bajor has signed a nonaggression pact with the Dominion, joining a dozen others in isolating themselves in a foolhardy attempt at closing their eyes and praying the Dominion will simply pass them by. Even sheep have the good sense to run when they see a wolf. Men have the wherewithal to pick up a weapon and fight the wolf back into the woods. I would be a man than a sheep, a man than whatever it is that Bajor has become.

The home of my youth is something that exists only in the past now. Deep Space Nine was my home. Starbase Chandali is something I don’t recognize. I would never consider it my home, nor would I want to. My home now is with Rosalyn. My home is aboard the Gowron. My home is a crossroads of Terrans and Trill and Vulcans and Betazoids and Klingons and Targs and others, along with one lone Bajoran, picking up our weapons and standing up like men in order that we might fight the wolves back from whence they came.

My parents understand...

This Train Don’t Stop There Anymore.

Personal tools