“Corgan's Little Meeting.”
By Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan Chief of Security, USS Galaxy
Lieutenant Commander Raven Darkstar Assistant Chief of Security, USS Galaxy
And Lieutenant jg Charles Copperpot Brig Supervisor, USS Galaxy

And the rest of security, including the security six (you should know them by now).

Oh yeah, Bhrode, Leo and Lysander appear in here too. All authorized.

Location: Security, Deck 38

The lumbering, muscular form of Raven Darkstar thundered into the Security briefing room in his usual pace akin to a runaway train about to fly off the train tracks. A few collected ensigns who had previously been intwined in a heavy gossip session on the where abouts of the former Galaxy Security Chief, Savat, quickly parted to allow the Indian to wade through them without maiming anyone who was unfortunate enough to be caught in his path. (This time!)

His eyes widened as there in the corner...the very corner of the room he preferred to loom in...HIS CORNER!!!

There in his corner, stood Leo Streely, picking his nose.

"What do you think you are doing? And why are you wearing that cabin boy outfit again?" Darkstar asked the little man.

"Oh yeah, partner! I'm feelin the love over here. Maybe I oughtta go chat with your brother! He ain't never given me any guff over my threads, ok? and speaking of brother, you and me gotta talk about that guy. I never knew you had a brother! How's a come you kept that to yourself?" Streely asked, smoothing down the wide lapels on his 'custom' designed 'Special Security Deputy Investigator' outfit.

Darkstar just growled. "You are in my spot."

"Your spot? What the hell are you talking about, your spot? Im standing on the floor! I dont see your name here!" Leo peered around, completly accidently, in the region of Raven's rear end.

"In 3 seconds I will be standing in my spot, regardless of wether or not you are currently there. It makes no difference. One. . ." the Indian answered matter of factly.

"Hey! Hey! Partner! I was keeping your spot warm for you! Here..here..!" Leo said dusting off the spot on the floor and sliding over to stand near a seated security ensign.

He leaned over to the black man and asked: "You believe that galoot? Hey pal, whatta we waitin for, ok? And I'm Leo, no autographs please."

Ensign Clarence Clemmons simply tured to him. "Clarence, Clarence Clemmons.. and we're waitin for the boss."

Leo's eyes lit up. "Hey, that's great! I LOVE Springsteen! I was born in the USA too, ya know!" he said rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

The chief of security waited until everyone arrived. Staying behind the scenes, he surveyed the young men and women at his service, trying to feel the pulse of his department before he walked into the face of danger. How he hated moments like this, where he had to face the criticism and heat of his co-workers, over such small details. There were no words involved, but plenty of looks, and even more private thoughts. They were all judging him, the chief of security, as a leader and a fellow comrade. They were trying to find ways to drag him down, use him, take advantage of his kindness, or find ways to deem him too cruel of a task master.

Of course, Leo was merely looking for a way to make a fast buck or two off "Old Broken Head."

The trick to running his own department, he had learned, was how to be fair. Punish offenses, reward good actions. On paper, it was an easy task. But in real life, nothing could be further from the truth. The diversified opinions of his department and the senior staff were most often different, and when it was broken down to the individual person, he could find thousands of different variations of what people think are right and wrong, fair and unfair.

He forced himself to focus on the speech. Before he found himself bogged down in all the details, he took the pragmatic approach. Some people will hate him. Their fault, not his, until proven otherwise.

~”Let them hate me if they want. All I ask is that they respect me and listen to what I have to say.”~ He thoughts, unsure as to whom he was addressing it to. Senior staff, or his department of rag tag hot shots?

His entrance was brief and simple. A straight walk to the end of the room, placing himself behind a podium off the side, and in front of a huge monitor screen. In his view was his entire staff, standing at attention, as stoic as terra-cotta statues.

Leo kept looking out the door, as if he was expecting someone else to enter at any moment. "Man, this opening act SUCKS!" he muttered to himself.

“Thank you…” Corgan grumbled through the microphone, “And welcome to the first security department meeting of the USS Galaxy. For those of you who have not been briefed, I am Lieutenant Commander James Corgan, your chief of security. Off to the side here,” His pointed to a brooding, silent Indian, “Is Lieutenant Commander Raven Darkstar, your assistant chief. We are your final authority. Any concerns you have, or questions of importance are to be directed to us, or your shift supervisors.”

"Oh yeah, and I'm Deputy Leo Streely, Special Investigative Deputy. If I can be of service, just swing by my office..hey waitaminute..I dont even have an office! Or a phaser! And where the heck is Springsteen... and speaking of that, your middle name..Lionel..were you named after Lionel Richie? Dancin on the ceiling and all that jazz?" Leo asked innocently.

"Springsteen? What the hell are you... AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!? F**k..." James threw his hands up in the air, "Who told Leo about this meeting?"

Nobody was willing to come up with the answer.

"I am on a mission." Leo stated.

"Fine, stay here and listen. Shut up, and you'll be fine. And just so you know, my mother gave me that middle name after Lionel Johnson, a poet. Not Lionel Richie. Understood?"

"Hey! Hey! OK! Ok! Ok! Geez! mr. Sensitive here! Lionel WAS a poet! That other song of his? All Night Long? .. nothing but POETRY! Sheer genius!
Relax, Ok? BRUUUUUCCEEE!!! I AMMM THE PIANO MAN! No wait, that's the other guy..." he said then leaned towards Raven. "Guess I shouldn't ask
if he was named James after James Le Hamsmacker, that old burlesque dancer."

~"And why is that blithering moron talking about Bruce Springsteen?"~ The chief thought.

“Ahem…” James cleared his throat, “…before we get into the mission briefing, I have some concerns to issue. The first involves the brawl at the Red Dwarf prior to our launch. In the reports, I have been told that it was a security officer who started the fight with a group of Starfleet Marines.” He paused momentarily, catching his freshman staff in mid-breath, “I don’t need to remind you people that we are Starfleet officers. We are here to keep the peace and protect the crew on board this ship. We are not here to raise hell at every intergalactic watering hole we find! That little stunt cost us our reputations, and a f**kload of our free time!”

He let the words hang thick in the air like a fog, then started again, “The people responsible in our department will be spending two hours a day repairing and cleaning the interior decorating of this ship, until it is back to it’s original design, as well as being restricted to crew quarters when not on duty until further notice. As for everyone else, including myself and the Assistant Chief, Brhode already confined us to quarters during our free time for a week.”

The Loudspeaker crackled to life, making several ensigns whimper.

"Bhrode here. I'm watching you all. And it was THREE weeks Mister Corgan. Make it four, for ALL security people now. Except Meat Truck, because he looms so pretty. That is all. Bhrode out."

“Let that be a lesson to all of us. If you f**k up, we all f**k up with you. So… don’t f**k up, for all our sakes.” Corgan meandered on.

"You heard the man!" Leo said, waving his hands in the air for emphasis,"We're Security! We don't f*ck..whoa..waitaminute..what the hell are you talking about???? What's this we don't fuc* stuff? We don't? I heard that about you and the Hottie in Ops! Must be a.. personal problem if you don't! I don't know about you folks but I am out to get as much ass as I.."

Before he could finish, a large hand was clamped around his mouth.

"Pay no attention to the man behind the hand." Darkstar deadpanned. The gathered officers weren't sure if that was a joke or not. Half decided it was and laughed so Raven would not beat them senseless. The other half decided it was not a joke, and frowned at the leviety of the others, hoping Raven beat the others senseless and not them.

"Why thank you, Commander Darkstar." Corgan cheerfully smiled.

In the far corner, the Security Six (O’Rorke, E’xch, T’lan, Marsh, Taro and Brenton) watched their commanding officer, all secretly hoping Raven beat Corgan senseless.

“My leg hurts. I think it’s cramped.” Lieutenant E’xch muttered.

“Shut up, E’xch, or the Commander will go down hard on us again.” Lieutenant O’Rorke reminded her Denobulan neighbor.

Leo leaned over and snickered. "Go down. .. hard..." he giggled, to their confusion. before Raven readjusted his clamp-hand and dragged Leo back.

“Honestly, Lieutenant? What could the commander do? Talk our ears off again? Tell us what bad people we are? Make us tear out more carpeting?”

*WHAP*

Lieutenant E’xch recoiled, feeling a stinging slap on the backside of his head. Turning around, E’xch searched for the culprit, and noticed from the corner of his eye that Lieutenant jg Marsh’s hand was retreating behind his back.

“Shut up, Lieutenant. You’re lucky to have this guy. He doesn’t give half the verbal diarrhea as the Captain, and he’s just as dangerous… so I heard.” Marsh hissed covertly.

“Oh.” E’xch raised his voice, “Is that so? Why do you say that? Do you know something we don’t?”

“Well, as a matter of fact…”

“Lieutenants E’xch and Marsh!” Corgan snapped, “May I help you with anything?”

“NO SIR!” They both rattled off.

Corgan turned his attention away from the two troublemakers, “Good. Now, the next item I would like to address is our new policy on the armory. As of this stardate, all armories will be supervised by at least one Security and one Marine officer at all times.”

The entire staff burst out in objections and curses, “That’s enough!” Corgan silenced the crowd, “I didn’t want this either, but after that little stunt with the engineers, I see this as a necessity. I already gave hell to one of my officers for this, and I don’t want to do it again. Now, as a review of armory policies, no weapons can be taken out of the armory unless you are given proper clearance. That includes being a Starfleet Security, Tactical, or Marine officer on duty. Off duty access to weapons are restricted to emergency combat situations. Also, we have been ordered to undergo a Class One restriction of weapons, as well as search out and keep track of all ship crew weapons.”

"That raises a good question.." Leo said, prying himself from behind Raven's hand. "and that question is . . . WHERE THE HELL IS MY PHASER!!!"

"If I don't use a phaser, you don't use a phaser."Darkstar said.

"You don't use a phaser?" Leo asked.

"Never."

"Never?!?!?!" But..how about when you. . ."

"NEVER." Darkstar emphasised, silencing the little man.

"But. . . ."

"NEVER."

"Hows about when the Borg was..."

"I was just holding it."

"The vampires, I remember a phaser when the..."

"Sanguarinians. No phaser."

"Hirogen?"

"Barehanded."

"Yeah? Wow. . . "

"Leo is a security deputy, Commander Darkstar. And unfortunately..." James knew he would regret this statement, "...he is entitled to the ownership of a phaser."

"Screw you, I need a ...wait.. he agreed with me? HOLY CRAP! Jii never would have given in so fast! I'd have had to pester him for MONTHS just to get to ask about it! AHAH! See! Ya dumb big lug! Alrighty! Now that that's settled...I'm gonna need something very big and menacing..not that I'm looking to over compensate for a lack of anything if you catch my drift..."Leo started before being interrupted.

"However, Leo has to have a one hundred percent accuracy score in his phaser trials. And Leo, I scored ninety nine point nine. Needless to say, you're not getting a phaser."

"Hey!! You just worry about yourself and don't worry about me scoring. I score. Believe me I can score. Oh yeah baby can I score. Score is my middle name. . . " Leo said winking at the vulcan officer in the far row.

Lieutenant T’lan rolled her eyes, saying, “That is a very illogical… match.”

“Also…” He continued, “Our security sensor net has been deactivated, due to a previously introduced computer bug, which we have named ‘Quick’s Git’. From now until the security net is repaired, we will be assigning foot patrols throughout the ship. Vital components will . . . YES Deputy?"

Leo lowered his hand and fidgeted. "Yeah, thanks. These foot patrols.. we ain't gonna have to.. look at peoples feet and stuff, are we?"

"No. Vital components will be heavily patrolled, such as the bridge and engineering, while non essential sections will have double patrols due to the blackout. However, we will still need people to man regular posts. To find out what your new assignment will be, look at the main LCARS screen after this meeting. Now. . .”

Leo bounded to his feet, wearing some obviously fake toupee. He was six seats from where he had been. He didn't fool anyone.

"Ah, just to let you know, Jimmy, the woman's locker room has a history of being a trouble spot. I, Ensign Hiram T. Fudgeknocker, formally apply to be assigned there. I am ..specially trained to handle any thing that may..arise..while in there."

"No. Denied. Sit down."

"Forget him, I'll do it!" yelled Leo, sans toupee from his original spot. A few of the new crew did a double take. Never underestimate a Jedi Master's Mind Control tricks when T and A is on the line. "No pun intended, of coarse, but I am the Big Hoss ya know. I can handle any arisng things in the Ladies Locker room better and bigger than that little guy over there who seems to have left, could." Leo said.

Darkstar growled and reached out but Leo slipped to the back of the room and took a seat, trying to look innocent.

"Leo, I giving Ensign Maurice the women's locker room." Corgan ordered. In the approximate center of the lineup of security personnel, a lithe looking woman named Ensign Maurice gave a butch smile and a wink to a few of the ladies.

"Maurice?!? Some people call her the 'Ganster of Love!' Whoo-wheeeooo! Mo? Your giving Mo the women's locker room! but she's a...I mean she..ah..I mean not that there isn't anythign wrong with it. I happen to like that sort of thing myself, double the fun and all. My god is there no justice in this universe? First Kit Kat and the twins run off with that Jii guy, now MO gets to hand out towels to wet, lithe nubile women, freshly scrubbed from the showers, beads of water trickling down thier naked bodies...watching them soap their supple. . ."

Corgan groaned, "Leo, the women requested her. They didn't request you. Now please be quiet before I drag you out back and phaser your brains back to normal."

Everyone in security laughed. They appreciated the good joke. All except two people.

Leo Streely, the butt of his joke.

And Raven Darkstar, whom never laughed.

"Back? Ass, ass ass, that's all you ever talk about!' Leo replied, settling into his chair with a smirk. He'd just remembered the sensor nets in the women's shower room.

“Now… on to the mission. I apologize for taking so long.” Corgan bowed. The giant monitor displayed the USS Galaxy, and it’s current trajectory. A trajectory line ribboned through the screen, intersecting planets and spacial phenomenom. On one side of the map was Rigel VII, and in the center laid the Outlands, a gaseous cloud of plasma and warp eddies in the middle of uncontested space. Nobody wanted the Outlands, hence why it was uncontested, “The USS Galaxy is currently on a course to Rigel VII. The mission, to escort Princess Dev’oraH and her Honor Guard to said planet.”

Darkstar stiffened noticiblly. "Isn't the princess the same Princess from Ianjep?" he asked. Subconsciously he felt a tingle in his stomach where the scars from the near fatal wounds he sustained on Ianjep remained.

"That is correct, Commander Darkstar. Good eye." Corgan complimented.

"YAY! Big hand for the Big Guy!" Leo shouted, into a silent room, his entheuastic clapping sounding little and forlorn in the silent room.

The commander finished off, “Sit Down Deputy. Legate Curran will be accommodating to the Princess’s needs. Our concerns will be for her safety and the safety of this crew. As ordered by Captain Brhode, there will be one Starfleet security officer for every Klingon, and they will be with the Klingons until we drop them off. When the Princess is in her quarters, there will be two armed guards outside her door, as well as two armed guards outside her entourage’s quarters. Those on honor guard duty will also find their assignments on the main LCARS board. For those assigned to the Klingons, note that their weapons will have to be checked, inspected, and registered each shift or shift change. Their weapons also apply to our current security lockdown!”

Corgan caught his breath, “Any questions?”

Lieutenant E’xch rose his hand. James nodded for the Denobulan to speak, “Sir, what if the Klingons resist weapons checks?”

Corgan responded, “They know the rules on this ship. They are allowed to carry their daggers and disrupters, or else they would be impotent as an honor guard. However, if they resist showing you or handing over any other weapons, stand your ground. Don’t insult them, don’t get aggressive. Just tell them why and insist. If there is more resistance, request backup. Klingons will comply, it’s just that they don’t like to be parted from their weapons. Be understanding, but firm. Anyone else?”

"Well it's about time! Deputy Streely here again..." Leo said, "This security briefing is great, nice job there Broken Head! Jii was better, used bigger words, didn't talk so much, but... you know. Now where is Springsteen! Im waitin for those hits like Cover Me and Darlington County! And will there be an E Street tribute band or is it just the Springsteen imitator?"

"Leo, what are you rambling about now?" Darkstar inquired.

"The BOSS! Clarence Clemmons over there told me the BOSS was on the boat and on his way down! Lets rock! C'mon!"

Everyone looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"C'mon,OK! Glory Days! Dancin in the Dark?!?!"

"Leo, Lt. Corgan is the boss."

"GEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTOOOUUUTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!" Leo said waving his hands. "CORGAN?He wishes! Wheres the jean jacket? The red bandanna in the pocket? keep pluckin that six string Tiny Tim, maybe you'll be up there with the Great One himself. Now I personally find this whole sham a bit
unprofessional, and I'm gonna be filing a report with the Captain in regards to this cruel hoax. I got work to do!" he said storming out of the office.

All eyes turned to Raven who just shrugged.

"STAY THE F**K RIGHT HERE, LEO!" Corgan screamed, sending the little man jumping a full meter. He then spoke softly, "Thanks. Didn't you listen to
the introduction? I'm the chief of security. And you, being one of my staff appearantly, are acting insubordinate. One more word out of you, or if you try to leave out of turn, and you're working the men's locker room."

"SCREW YOU! I work for Starfleet, not you! I'm a SPECIAL Deputy! The Men's locker room?!?! You wouldn't! Im a deputy! A SPECIAL Deputy!"

"Not another word, or the only private part you'll ever see is dick, got it?"

Leo smirked a moment, then flailed his arms around, then grabbed a padd and typed furiously then handed the padd to Raven. With a sigh the Indian read: "Let the record reflect that the Big Hoss feels he has been unfairly silenced and will not only be reporting this to the Captain and Starfleet Scurity, but also will be remaining in this meeting under protest. And he has no desire to see Corgan's dick. He is NOT like THAT!"

"Just lovely." Darkstar added dryly.

"Ummm... and Leo?" Corgan added, "It's kind of hard to book a performer who's been dead for over a few hundred years, and I don't know any impersonators yet. Now, anything else?"

"And here I thought you had the female impersonation thing down cold." Leo muttered, before slapping his own hands over his mouth furiously.Still afraid to speak, lest he be stationed in with the men, Leo reminded James of the threat he had given just moments ago by pointing to his mouth, then his groin, then at James himself.

Ensign Clemmons misinterpreted the gesture and nearly choked.

"Alright then. That concludes our meeting. I hope you will all do well in your new positions. Be sure to check the main LCARS screen for your patrol assignments. DISMISSED!" Corgan boomed over the microphone, then whispered off hand to Lieutenant Commander Darkstar, "Except you. I need
to talk to you about Leo."

"Positions! That whakky Broken Head Guy. . . " Leo was tittering as he left.

Darkstar growled as he watched Leo leave.

"Commander, I know you hate that little buttf**ker, and so do I." He whispered, hush-hush, "But our hands are tied. I received the forms. Appearantly, he's allowed to be a deputy. Now, I prevented him from having a phaser as best as I can, but I can't keep him away from security. Therefore, it's your job to take care of him. Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

"That may be easier said than done."

"Darkstar, I've assigned Leo to the waste recycling vats. The deepest, smelliest sh*thole on the ship. If that doesn't convince him to quit, then I don't know what will. Meanwhile, keep an eye on him, and if he fouls up in the slightest way, let me know."

"A gallent attempt at lightening the situation by using a joke. Waste vats..fouls up. Very inspiring, sir."

~”That was a joke?”~ Corgan thought.

"Alright, Commander. And don't forget to give the new kids some inspiration.You're the only one who'll stand up to a Klingon without flinching. Give them some pointers when they ask. DISMISSED!"

Raven glowered a moment, looming over James a moment, before leaving.

"Errrr..... is this thing on?" came Lysander's voice from the comm panel.

"Corgan. My Ready Room. . . NOW!" Bhrode bellowed from the comm unit.

*************************

"Let's see...Streely...Streely.. Streely... Hey Mo! Got any holos of Reece showering? Want some?" Leo demanded the officer next to him at
the LCARS.

"Waste recycling vats?" Ensign 'Mo" replied, her pug nose crinkling at the thought.

"HAHAHAH! Old Broken Head screwed you but good! Never trust A Friend of Sanchez's! That's my new motto, right after 'Never buy your own drinks' and "Drink till she's humanoid." I knew my old buddy Corgan would look out for me. I knew he's a pal, that he's okay for a crazy guy. Sure, I could point to a few dead androids, but hey, what's a quirk or ten amongst friends? I can't BELIEVE Corgan put you in there after telling you he was putting you in the Ladies.." Leo guffawed.

"Not me, I'm still on the cherry duty of Ladies Lockers... it's YOU in the sludge room!" Mo replied, with a saucy smirk.

"What? WHAT?? SCREW HIM! Damn crazy guy! I never liked him, from the first day he showed up aboard, talking to himself! DIE CORGAN, DIE!
I'll kill him! I'll kill anyone who looks LIKE him!" Leo ranted.

Good hearted laughter was overheard from Leo’s shoulder. It was laughter all right, and it was directed at him. The subtle hint was in the smatterings of ‘leo’s’ in every guffaw, “HEY! Don’t you every talk the the…” someone said . Leo spun around to see who was there, then finding himself facing a laughing, grinning, mountain of a man in a Starfleet uniform and a cowboy’s Stetson.

“You’re getting the waste vats? Damn, boy. I feel sorry for you.” Ensign Brenton slapped Leo on the back, knocking the air out of his little lungs.

The other officer at his side, a grim faced Andorian, snickered once, then went back to being facially placid.

“Hoooo boy. There’s sh*t…” Brenton bellowed, “And then there’s sssssssshhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!”

"Yeah? Then you got both types of shit for brains! Steers and Queers there, Hop Along." Leo replied, hands on hips.

"Oh Yeah?" replied the giant cowboy, flexing his pecs.

"YEAH! Don't make me kiss.. I mean KICK your ass here." Leo replied

"WHy.. I ougghtta. . ." the cowboy replied, reaching for Leo.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY MOTHER?" shreiked Leo, right before he kicked Bentson 'right in the breadbasket.' Full leg, with windup and eyes
closed.

"Save it for the next Village People audition, you rent-boy!" Leo shrieked, dodging the falling moaning mountain, and plowing right into Commander Lysander VanderPuls-Hawksley.

"errr....." began Lysander.

"Corgan told me to suck his dick and then his meat-boy here tried to grope me and then the Boss was supposed to come but never did and THEN Corgan assigned a lesbian to the Ladies showers over me and assigned me to the Waste Vats Guard duty and then.." Leo began.

"Captain wants you Leo. Didn't I smeggin' transfer this guy out off the ship? I remember the hat in his holo there, don't I?" Lysander eyed the moaning Security Officer on the floor.

"Yeah? YEAH! Bhrode fired this guy! I remember it now! Assault on a Deputy! Man-Handling of a Deputy, and not in THAT way!! Improper presence aboard after transfer! Failure to transfer! Failure to obey orders! Failure to Loom! YOU WANT MORE, PUNK? DO YOU FEEL LUCKY? DO YOU?" Leo was shouting at the prostrate form on the floor.

"Captain's waiting." Lysander told Leo

"Do NOT mess with The Big Hoss!" Leo told the others, looking around the group.

"Little guy's dangerous." observed one, helping Jody to his whimpering feet and on his way off the ship.

"Yeah, flies to pieces so fast, bystanders get hit with the shrapnel." observed the other.

It took ten Marines to wrestle the behemoth Benton into a Brig cell prior to his transfer. In the process, he broke three of their arms, two legs, and blackened six eyes (three on an Endorian)

In return, he got a small cut on his lip, and the promise that if 'stepped out of line' Major Log would handle him personally, and would he 'please please' step out of line? He also got his orders telling him that he was to ship out for the "USS Calgary" in near-Breen watch orbit post haste.

"Body Body, on the deck..."

By Writer X, Posted by GMs at the Writer's request for secrecy.

Starring . .. THE DESTROYER, Scion of Divinity

And some Meat Monkeys of No Importance

* * * * * * * * * *

The Mirror showed the Divine One, the Destroyer again.

This time was different.

A spray of dried blood was on The Destroyers Divine Face. Not Divine Blood.

Finding a Monkey hadn't been hard.

Killing the monkey had been abnormally easy.

Getting back to the Divine Room of Rest had been VERY easy.

Most likely would be different if it were A Divine One had feelings.

But this had been just a Meat-Monkey. An inane, bloodfilled bag of crap and nothing.

The clothing went into the recylcer, the Divine knife was hidden away, and The Divine Body went into the Sonic Shower.

But The Destroyer would watch. Watch the Watchers.

Let the Monkeys be warned. Let them jibber amongst themselves.

Death stalked them.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lysander was bored. He'd been sent to bring Streely to the Captain. Rebecca was in one of her fugue-states, staring off seemingly not even in the discussion. The Marine CO was looming, scaring everyone without even saying anything, and Corgan was under orders to "Not say a word"from an irate Bhrode, who was lecturing him and Leo Streely was being as difficult and incomprehensible as ever.

". . .and futhermore, MISTER Corgan. Lest you think that I was NOT listening to that pile of garbage you just called a staff briefing... if you EVER decide to overrule MY ORDERS again, I will..."

"YEAH! What he said!" added Leo.

". . .smash you like a Gayginian Goose Egg!" Bhrode thundered on.

"Yeah! What he said NOW too! Sorry.. script problems." Added Leo again.

"Maybe Corgan, he thinks he is better than you? Maybe he think Chief should be left on the plain for Buffalo to kill?" added Major Laughing Horse Log, in his scariest voice, looming over everyone.

"YEAH! What Big Guy said! Hey, that was good! About the buffalo!" Added Leo.

"Thanks." Replied Log deadpan-faced.

"Do your.. I mean.. Your and Raven's people.... do you really..." Leo asked.

"No. No more Buffalo. Now, a War Chief who loses a challenge for control of the warband to a Younger warrior, is subject to Wa'hino'yeh. First he
cuts off his sexual organ with a rusty knife, then he goes out into the Black Hills, bleeding from where his manhood once was, for the Grizzly Bears to find him. Then.."

"Geeeze! What is WITH you people and the....errrr?...NEVERMIND!" cringed Leo.

"That it Corgan? I'm just so garsh-darmed STUPID that you just think I give orders for shits and giggles? That I, John Q. Bhrode are SO damn old
and senile, I need some retarded, jumped up, SECURITY TWERP to tell me how to run my starship? That you're SO damn smart, that you're gonna
tell ME how **I** should run the security Department on MY OWN SHIP?" Bhrode bellowed at Corgan.

"Ohhh..you're in trooouubleeee. . . .!!!!" moaned Leo.

"And YOU!" Bhrode rounded on Leo.

"Me? HEY! I'm a victim here too! This crazy guy had been riding me like a hobby horse since he came here! First he promised that the Boss would. . . ." Leo shrieked.

"You tell me that you work for Fleet Security, and THEN you turn out to work for these clowns? I suppose you had something to do with their little brawl?" Bhrode demanded.

"BRAWL!?? Hey! You guys had a BRAWL in a BAR and didn't invite ME? LOCK THIS GUY UP!" Leo shrieked.

"Who do you work for?" Bhrode demanded of Streely.

"Fleet Security! Fleet Security! Oh gooodd.. not the rusty knives and buffalo...!" Sobbed Leo.

Bhrode pointed at Major Laughing Horse Log.

"See that man, Corgan? He is a MAN. Not a whiny little necrophilliac creep. As of this moment, you do NOTHING in that Department without clearing it through the Major."

"I have to be a kiddy-cop now too?" asked Log, with a dangerous glint in his black eyes.

"No, the Lieutenant Commander will still be the nominal "Chief of Security." However, You and Gunny Goldstein will oversee EACH AND EVERY
SECURITY DETAIL ON MY DAMNED SHIP! SINCE THE MARINES CAN DO WHAT I ASK THEM TO WITHOUT CRYING LIKE LITTLE BEYOTCHES EVERY TEN SECONDS! EVERY MORNING YOU WILL WAKE UP CORGAN AND HIS BABIES AND YOU WILL RUN THEM UNTIL THEY DROP THEN YOU WILL DRILL THEM UNTIL THEY LEARN THIER JOBS AND YOU WILL MAKE MEN OUT OF THEM." Bhrode thundered.

The Marine just grunted and stared at Corgan. Hard.

"Might take more than drills and PE." Log finally observed.

"Whatever it takes. Make them or Break them." Bhrode waved the Marine off. Log fired a salute and wheeled, surprisingly agile for such a HUGE man. He stopped and looked Rebecca over.

"Nice job, they did on your face. You're welcome, for saving you." He growled.

She just shifted her gaze from Corgan to Log, without comment or emotion. Or response.

Log just shrugged, and left the room.

"Err... except Ensign Mo...and that cutie Raven had working the desk yesterday Beta Shift..and the Vulcan girl, don't make men out of them...." Added Leo, looking upset for a second.

Lysander just stared at Rebecca, staring dispassionatly at Corgan herself. He wondered what was going on in that tiny, redheaded skull.

Her dead, brown eyes flickered from James to Lysander. While her face was an motioneless and barren as ever, a tiny line appeared between her
eyebrows. She stared at Lys like he was faintly irrtating, knotty formula that just REFUSED to be solved like it should. Just because he knew it would irritate her, he winked at her and nodded his head to indicate they should be paying attention to Bhrode dressing Corgan down.

" . . .and MISTER Corgan.. I just HOPE you voice ony, tiny little complaint about your little feelings-weelings, so I can personally kick your ass out to . . . " Brhode was yelling again.

That's when the call came in.

Bhrode took it privately on his desk comm. His already pissed off face deepened.

Lysadner watched Rebecca. Not a flicker of interest or response, she just stared straight ahead.

Bhrode snapped off his desk com and stared at the four officers before him.

"Mister Corgan, you are confined to Quarters. Four weeks. Your sole Duty will be to assist the Legate with our guests. Commander Darkstar will run Security under the Marines in your absence. I had better not hear of you even LOOKING like you are THINKING of commenting publically on the subject, or you'll be freezing on a com relay in Breen Orbit. Numbers One and Two, accompany the Inspector to Deck ten."

"What about me? Everyone else gott..." demanded Leo.

"You ARE the Inspector. There's been a murder. MISTER Corgan will be contemplating his crimes against me for a few weeks. Go solve the murder." Bhrode said.

Even Rebecca showed a glimmer of amazement. But just for a moment.

"WELL? GET YOUR ASSES IN GEAR!" Bhrode shouted.

Four people piled out of the Ready Room and onto the Bridge, pell mell going for the turbolift. Rebecca didn't look panicked, like the other three, but she WAS moving quickly.

"oh boy... A murder! I wonder who got killed? I bet it was Professor Plum, no... QUICK! in Engineering with a.... NO! General Grey, in the Library with a... NO WAIT! " Leo was nattering on.

"Of course, you studied Forensic Evidence and Site Investigation?" Rebecca grated out.

"Errrr... yeah. sure. Whatever!" Leo replied, breezily.

Rebecca's dead and souless gaze swung to Leo. She arched one tiny, perfect eyebrow.

Lys would have sworn she was smirking, if he hadn't already figured out she couldn't anymore.

"I look forewards to observing your technique." she replied, facing the doors again.

"Is it just me, or is she kind of ... stiff? You know? I bet she could do with a good, old fashioned 'Dr Streely' Quarters call! Go on! Tell her 'Hey baby! What's yer sign?' Go get her! You KNOW you want her! She's begging for it! The old 'Man Root!' Give it to her. . ." Leo said in an aside to Lysander.

Rebecca's dead gaze had swung to cover them both again. Lys gulped and rolled his eyes at Leo, and started his annoying habit of whistling off
key and shrilly. Leo, of course, kept going.

". . . an roll in the hay. Schtupped but good. Show her who's her Daddy! You gotta keep them redheads GOING brother! Barefoot and Preggers! All the Redheads love a Sailor Boy! If you nailed her but GOOD, she'd maybe pull that board out of her ass! I'm telling you, she's a DAME! I'm LEO! What I don't know about women, NO GUY in the Universe knows!" Leo ranted on.

"Shut the smeg uuuuuup!" Lys hissed.

"Okay, don't say I didn't try to help you." Leo resumed scrabbling in his pockets.

"She has a cute ass though, don't she?" Leo observed loudly, ten seconds later.

“More potty humor”

Starring NPC’s
Crewman Ellen Dietrich
Crewman Mark Gary

And PC
Dr. Jebediah Quick
(Who says PC’s should get top billing?)

For what was literally the hundredth time that day, Crewmen Gary and Dietrich took up defensive positions outside one of the thousand USS Galaxy living quarters doors. Positioning themselves on either side of the closed hatch the two weary Security operatives nodded their readiness to one another. This may have been the umpteenth search, but they wanted to do it right.

Crewman Mark Gary was a pale, moon-faced human of about average height and build. Fairly nondescript in talent as well as features, Crewman Gary was still uncomfortable with his first assignment with the Security department aboard a living, working Starship Community. His Area of Specialty coming out of Boot had been Alien Relations, and by now he had fully expected a posting in some cushy Diplomatic attache office.

Of the two, the shorter blond haired Crewman Ellen Dietrich was by far the more experienced and knowledgeable. The 33 year old German born Female kept her hair trimmed short, and her body slim and trim, all the better to perform the often rough and tumble duties that came with the nature of her beloved Security posting. She’s seen a lot of weird things in her many years of service, but when the new baby-faced Security Chief had issued out orders to search the entire ship's’ interior for one Dr. Jebediah Quick, that about took the cake.

Now two hours later and working their way from Keel to Bridge, the pair was halfway through with the Deck 6 passenger cabins, scanning each in turn for a man described as tall, lanky, and fairly unkempt in appearance. All this was based on a briefly flashed and dazed looking appearance in a grainy old newsreel holo of the Galaxy-X design team, but at the moment, with the internal sensor net gone haywire, there was little other option than good old-fashioned footwork and years old Holo apprearncess of Quick looking for the nearest bathroom.

The conditions on Deck 6 had caused some raised eyebrows and wrinkled noses, as the acrid stench of burning carpet had assaulted the two guards senses the moment they stepped off the Turbolift. It seemed that the entire floor had been scoured bare by low intensity phaser-fire leaving oily black patches of ashen remains.

Even more unusual was the solitary small patch of green shag rug that lay innocently outside the very door at which Dietrich and Gary now crouched beside. . . . The seeming lone survivor of whatever disaster that befell the rest of the deck’s carpeting.

“Ready Mark?” Dietrich nodded to her younger comrade, hoping to rub some of her professionalism off on the insecure recruit.

“A. . . .Aye maam. Gary replied nervously, nervously fingering his Type II phaser with sweaty hands.

The blond veteran smiled some reassurance. “Finger off the trigger kid, and keep the safety on.” She reminded softly. “We don’t want to vaporize half the cabin before we find out who is actually inside.”

Gulping in agreement, the pale man double checked his weapon.

Satisfied that the kid wasn’t going to shoot his own foot off, Dietrich proceeded to chime the room buzzer multiple times hoping to at long last
locate the elusive Dr. Quick. Unfortunately the official ship’s record of room assignments was of no use, because since the incident began, Jeb Quick was assigned to ALL the rooms aboard the Galaxy.

(An unfortunate fact that led to over 1,000 crew and passengers being locked out of their rooms all at once.)

A few moments of silence passed, before Dietrich decided that nobody was going to answer the chime. Maybe it was as simple as nobody being home, but her orders were to physically check every room.

Sighing in frustration, the blond woman drew out a portable access keypad, and affixed it to the door with a small magnetic plate. Keying in a master override sequence, she was rewarded with an audible click of the lock, and the soft hiss of the doors cycling.

Peering cautiously around the corner and into the darkened room, Dietrich allowed her eyes to sweep quickly over the features of standard VIP quarters, noting several things at once.

First was the unopened duffle-bag that sat innocently atop the large King size bed. Someone had recently moved in.

Second of note was the framed concert poster leaning against one wall bearing the leather-spandex clad figure of what could only be her new Department Chief wailing into a concert microphone.

~~The Chief sings?~~ she mused for a moment before snapping back to reality. Apparently whoever lived here had unusual tastes as the notorious Dr. Quick was fabled to have.

Lastly and most importantly, Ellen noted the distinct sounds of movement and shuffling coming from the general direction of the rooms large bathroom facilities.

“Contact, audible only.” Dietrich whispered to her nervous partner, “Someone’s in the ‘fresher.”

Gary acknowledged, and with a silent prayer, quietly followed the more experienced spacer into the spacious quarters.

The pair made a quick scan of the VIP cabin, which as mentioned was quite bare except for the unopened baggage on the bed. Apparently the occupant, like many aboard Galaxy, had just moved in and hadn’t really had time to unpack. The shuffling from the bathroom indicated whoever that occupant happened to be had possibly felt the call of nature beforehand.

Taking up defensive positions on either side of the door, the pair thumbed the safety’s off their phasers, and clearing her throat, Crewman Dietrich
called out in an authoritative voice. “Attention person in the restroom! This is Galaxy Security speaking. We have reports of a possible security
incident. Please drop any weapons and come out with your hands up!”

>>>FLUSH<<<

…was the only reply.

For a brief panicked moment Crewman Gary mentally review what little he knew of Security procedures, wondering if Chief Corgan had mentioned something about ‘what to do in case of flushing’

Nothing came to mind. Lt Commander Corgan tended to be a little vague about such things. Most things really.

Nonplussed, Dietrich repeated her attempt to end the bathroom stand-off peaceably, not wanting to see anybody get hurt in the crapper. “Listen
dirtball,” she yelled diplomatically, “You have about two seconds to finish wiping your ass before I put my foot up it!” (Dietrich liked to keep he r
boots shiny) “Drop what you’re doing and come out with your hands and/or appendages up!”

Some more shuffling sounds came from within, followed by the audible click of someone working the internal lock to the bathroom door.

Mark Gary bit his lip and nervously gripped the phaser tighter in his sweaty palm as the door slowly slid back to reveal. . . . .

(Dramatic music)

“ITS HIM!” Gary blurted as the bathroom’s occupant appeared.

“It is? Halloween already?” Dr. Jebediah Quick asked with a confused look on his face. “Who am I supposed to be this time?”

The tall angular scientist, bent in frame and mentality stood nonchalantly at the entrance to his VIP Quarter ‘fresher facilities totally oblivious to
the large humming phasers the two Security agents had trained on him.

“Because I’ll tell you if I got blamed for some other out of body experience again, I cant be held liable for what I do on the Astral Plane. And besides the courts are hesitant to prosecute on such charges.”

Neither guard had the slightest clue what the man was babbling on about, but ever the professional that she was, Dietrich noted the large blunt metal object the good Doctor swung casually in his right hand.

“What is that supposed to be?” she challenged, “Some sort of weapon?” Corgan had said SOMETHING about Weapons!

“This?” Quick hefted the five pound lump of metal (and almost got his head blown off for his troubles by a twitchy Gary) “Dude, this is like a
plumbers wrench man. Had some problems with the crapper, and I had to get the repli-whatchmacallit to transmogrify one for me.”

“A Plumbers wrench?” Dietrich asked, not even quite clear on what the hell a ‘plumber’ was. “Why didn’t you just call Maintenance?”

“Excellent query my little blond phaser lady.” Quick motioned again with the heavy wrench startling Crewman Gary. “Well seems like you all have some sort of Communications FUBAR, and I cant seem to raise anybody.” Quick shrugged, “Anytime I try to call out, It just gets echoed back into here producing some really wicked feedback like back at Oz-Fest 2375.”

That settled it for Dietrich. She was tired and frustrated after running around more than 30 decks searching for this bogus scientist, and the fact
that his Comm calls were being echoed back on him PROVED that this was none other that the infamous Dr. Jebediah Quick. “Look you psychedelic retard.” She blurted, “Do you have any idea what kind of problems your screwed up computer programs are causing with the Sensor Grid? Do You have any clue as to how F%cked up this ship is thanks to your design ‘tweaks’ ?”

Moi? Quick asked astonished. “Au Contraire Mon space-babe. ‘Tis not I but the Door-Program that’s causing your problemo’s”

Quick motioned with the iron wrench towards the innocent looking door to his quarters. “I just gave the little fella a nudge out of the nest so to
speak. He’s just spreading his wings. . .seeking to expand his horizons. . . . pluck up the worms of. .”

“I get the aviary metaphors Doc!” The irritated blond snapped. “In plain English what did you do?”

“Oh.” Quick appeared to think for a moment. “I . . .uh redesigned the ship’s systems to be efficient and adaptable in any given circumstances.
Say some sort of Space-Slug devours the port Computer Housing. A number of smaller subsidiary systems can ‘evolve’ and take over the required taskings with a minimum of loss in efficiency. Ditto for Power-routing. Lose some EPS do-hickeys and the ODN doo-dads will step up to the plate.

He shrugged. “Poor little Door Program A7-E22 Bravo wanted more out of life than just opening and closing VIP cabins. . . .so I suggested he like try to expand his horizons into being a Security grid, or sensor program. You know, ‘go for the gusto’ and suck the morrow out of life. Sound a barbaric 'yawp' over. . . ”

“Good lord, you don’t mean.”

“Totally.” Quick grinned goofily and gave a double 'thumbs up'. “Carpe Diem little door-dude!”
=/\=

"The Hostess with the Mostest"

Erin Freel (APC)Ten Forward Manager

Lt. Jeremy Savoie Asst. Chief Helmsman

"Nice doors. How come I've never noticed them before?" With a smirk, Jeremy stood pondering the artistry carved into the doors through which he just passed into Ten Forward, particularly the nymphs.

"Those?" Erin asked incredulously from the other side of the bar. "Theylook like the product of a perverted, sick mind if you ask me." The usually
cheerful redhead's voice was tinged with distracted frustration as she finished straightening a few things up behind the bar.

She looked over to Jeremy. "Do you know I haven't been able to replicate one drop of synthehol since we left Stardock?"

"Sounds like a good thing," he countered, approaching the bar.

"It's not," she answered flatly. "Means I can't serve anything but the real thing, which is not only unwise for the crew, but my supplies won't last
very long on a ship this size."

"So why can't you replicate any synth?"

"All this shit with this 'Doctor Quick' character!" she replied, exasperated. "Every time I try to replicate any, the computer says, 'Doctor Quick does not consume syntheholic beverages, cannot comply.' Like I give a rat's ass what -Doctor Quick- likes or doesn't like! Thank God this place is empty right now because everyone's too busy dealing with the problem."

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know what that idiot was smoking when he designed this bucket of duranium, but he sure fucked it up good. Bhrode's a screaming mess."

Erin looked at him for a moment. "Speaking of Bhrode, shouldn't you be driving 'this bucket of duranium' right now?"

"He told me to take a one-hour break. Technically, my shift should have ended, but he doesn't want some second-string ensign at the helm while all hell is breaking loose on his precious ship. Told me to 'freshen up' and get right back to the bridge."

"Well you're not getting anything here, not if you're going to be behind the wheel again in two hours."

"Who said I was looking for anything to drink?" Jeremy replied, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

Erin suddenly waxed coy. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mister Savoie," a bright gleam in her own eyes to match his.

"Oh, I'm sure I can explain it to you," he replied, slowly rounding the side of the bar.

"I've never been much of a student," Erin teased, moving away around the other side of the bar.

"I can be a pretty effective teacher," Jeremy countered, slightly picking up speed.

Erin matched his pace in the opposite direction. "I don't know . . . tests make me nervous."

"No tests," Jeremy answered, moving even faster. "Just a lot of one-on-one study with the professor."

At that, Erin took off across the room, giggling like a teenager, Jeremy in hot pursuit. As the two ran to the other side of the room, the woodland scene-engraved doors swished open. Erin plowed directly into the leather-covered chest of a rather large and sour-looking Klingon as Jeremy in turn ran into Erin.

The two slowly backed up as the warrior proceeded to enter Ten Forward as if he had just bought the place, another just like him immediately behind. Trailing the two behemoths, a striking Klingon female swept into the room, her very presence immediately filling the air. Two security officers filed in behind her.

"I have come to see what libations you have to offer me," she said imperiously.

Erin and Jeremy glanced at each other, then back to the woman.

"You must be Princess DeV'oraH," [OOC: or whatever Liam says her name is today.] Jeremy said, perhaps a little too unenthusiastically.

"I am the Living Sword of the Living Emperor!" she trumpeted shrilly. "You will demonstrate the appropriate respect." Neither her icy stare nor her
two henchmen indicated there was any other option.

"Well, um . . . uh, Princess . . . er, your majesty," Erin stammered, "I might have something here that you would find refreshing . . . "

"Klingons do not need 'refreshments'", the Princess interrupted. "I expect something worthy of my heritage!" At her words, she and the two warriors strode to the bar.

"I don't have any -Klingon- drinks right now," Erin urgently whispered to Jeremy.

"You better come up with something else then," he encouraged under his breath.

Hastily rounding the bar, Erin pulled out a bottle and reached for some glasses. "Perhaps this . . ." Before she had the sentence out of her mouth
or the glasses out from the bar, one of the Klingon warriors snatched up the bottle, snapped the top off like it was nothing, and took a long draught.

He promptly spat it out behind him.

"This is an affront to the Princess!" he bellowed. "Bring something else!"

Erin didn't like his attitude, but she knew better than to say so to the Klingon's face.

"Alright," she said with a tad of frustration coloring her voice. "Let's see what else I have here." She rummaged through an assortment of old and
oddly-shaped bottles and containers, looking for something just this side of rubbing alcohol.

"Try this," she a said a little gruffly, solidly depositing a dark, musty-looking bottle on the bar with a thud. Jeremy gave her a look as if to ask 'what is it?'. Erin said nothing to him or the Klingons.

The second warrior took the bottle this time and removed its stopper with ease. He flung his head back and gulped a sizeable portion of the
contents, slamming the bottle back down on the bar as he swallowed. For a split second, it appeared he would chastise the red-haired hostess for this selection as well. Then his demeanor changed markedly.

His deep-set Klingon eyes rolled back in his head and his breathing became rapid. Then he let out a howl unlike anything Erin or Jeremy had ever heard come from another humanoid.

"ARRRAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!" he thundered. "This is truly a beverage worthy of Klingon royalty," he exclaimed a little hoarsely. His companion warrior quickly snatched up the bottle and took an equally large swig, which he soon followed with an equally large howl.

Finally, Princess DeV'oraH, accepting the 'testimony' of her two bodyguards, confirmed, "This will be acceptable. You will bring us more," as she took the bottle and moved to a nearby table, the other two Klingons eagerly following close behind.

As Erin dropped behind the bar to find more bottles of the same, Jeremy ducked down with her. "What is that stuff?" he asked with intense
curiosity.

"Ligonian chili sauce," she replied undistracted. "It's really a condiment, not a drink," she added, handing three more dust-covered bottles to Jeremy. "I got about a case of the stuff and I knew it was so old it had to be fermented by now. It's been known to eat through some fabrics."

Jeremy just stared at the bottles he was holding in amazement.

Finding three more bottles, Erin quickly walked over to the table where the Klingons were just finishing off the first bottle. She placed her bottles on the table and Jeremy did likewise. "Here are six more bottles," she said with chutzpah befitting a Klingon barmaid. "This is my finest spirits, so drink in good health!" The Klingons responded with a hearty "Q'ah-plah!" as each greedily grabbed a bottle.

Erin turned and simply rolled her eyes at Jeremy. "That stuff will have even a Klingon's head spinning after about three glasses worth," she muttered as they returned to the bar. "You better tell those security guys to get some backup."

In less than ten minutes, each of the 'guests' was on their second bottle as Ten Forward echoed with the loud raucous hoots, growls and songs of three looped Klingons.

And Erin had six more bottles waiting on the bar.

"Staff Meeting to Resolve the Damn Computer Personality Problem"
by Lt Cmdr K'Eytyanna Samara, Chief Engineer,
Ensign Ella Grey, Assistant Chief Engineer,
Lt. Curtis Geluf, Engineer/ Drive and Navigation Chief,
Lotsa NPC Engineers
--------------------------------------------------------

Walking down the corridor with an angry scowl on her face, K'Eytyanna stopped outside the brig office and snapped at the lanky Marine who was on duty there,

"AT ATTENTION!!! NOW, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU MORONS DOING ADBDUCTING MY ENGINEERS???"

The Marine had snapped to attention straight away on instinct when Kay started yelling at him. Upon noticing the fact she was a Fleetie, however, he resumed lounging with a smirk that could only be considered 'insolent' writ large on his blotchy red face.

Falling back to Marine basic training, he replied,"FOLLOWING ORDERS, MAAM." in the tone most recruits used to imply their superior was as dumb as the Drill Sergeants they'd so recently escaped.

"GO GET YOUR SENIOR OFFICER QUICK SMART, PRIVATE!"

The Marine eyes the Engineer up and down for a long, insolent moment. "It's actually 'Rifleman' . . . my rank there, Ensign." He commented over a shoulder, as he sauntered into the brig as K'Eytyanna walked in slowly, wondering why the Marines were on a power-trip at this moment.

"Hey Gunny! Some dorky Fleetie Ensign wants to scream at you. . ." He indicated the Engineer with a thumb and a smirk over his shoulder.

Inside, she saw that the Marines were having a field day, having filled the whole brig with naval officers, most of them in Support Services yellow. Obviously, they were using this as an excuse to show how tough they were and how pathetic Security was doing what should have been its job.

Same thing, actually. From the Marines' point of view.

Over in one corner, Kay noted that Lanky was talking to a woman dressed in full marine Battle regalia despite this being a non-threat situation.

'Oh great, they are playing happy campers now.'

Walking over to Ella, she spoke,

"You will be out of here in five minutes. Change into a uniform and then meet in Engineering for a department meeting."

"YOU! No talking to the prisoners!" a security drone yelled at the Engineer.

Ignoring the security drone and turning as she saw the woman heading over, Kay waited.

"Commander. Glad to see you left the phasers behind this time. I am Sergeant Major Goldstein, we met earlier when I forcibly disarmed twelve of your stooges. Shouldn't you be down in some Jeffries Tube fixing this computer problem?" The woman asked, eying the Engineer with a disapproving glance.

"I would be if your trigger-happy goons hadn't abducted my Assistant Chief."

The Marine stiffened, at the sheer idiocy of this statement.

"According to the computer, we have arrested Dr Quick as ordered by the Captain. Got a problem, Tootsie? You take it up with him. You should know better than to start blazing in with Phaser Rifles on board a. . . "

"Bullshit. If the Marines want to go on a power-trip, feel free but don't arrest engineers. Release Ensign Grey now."

At that point, 'Betty' realised that Kay was openly mocking her, and reacted "LT COMMANDER, WE REGRETFULLY CANNOT RELEASE DR QUICK AT THIS POINT."

Shaking her head, Kay snapped, "DR QUICK IS MALE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Ensign Grey is not. You have the wrong person."

"I'll say she's not!" Leered Leo, standing outside Ella's cell and leering at her towel clad form.

"The computer identification says she is Dr Quick. And that's Dr Quick and That's Dr. Quick." Betty indicated other cells. "The captain ordered Dr Quick in custody. And frankly, if it's one less retarded Engineer wandering around with a phaser rifle shooting the interior decor. . . "

Thinking for a moment, Kay decided that this was enough and to just abuse her rank.

"Marine Company, under orders from a SENIOR officer, please leave this brig cell and wait outside." SHe shouted to the room.

"Screwwwwww youuuuuuu...it's all about the Wooden Monkey Penises." Came from the Security Duty Desk, where Leo Streely stood hunched over his wooden artwork.

Turning to Goldstein, Kay spoke, "And that includes you as well. You can yell to the Captain later."

"Hold that thought. . . Ohhhhh.... Major. . . ?" the Marine NCO asked, in a sugar sweet, overly sacchrine voice.

A shadow fell across the pair. A BIG shadow.

A hand roughly the size of The Chief Engineers' head fell on her shoulder. Hard, almost driving her to her knees if she hadn't been part-Klingon.

"Major, this fleetie wants her engineer. Says Inspector Streely is too dumb to get the right person and. . . " Betty simpered.

"She's after my Wooden Monkey Penises. or Peninni! Whatever the plural of Penis is!" Screeched Leo.

"Gunny. Let the Lieutenant Commander get her engineer, since she obviously can't do her job without the help. Then make sure she gets back to the Engine Room okay,doesn't shoot up any more carpets on the way." Makor Laughing Horse Log grated out, in avoice that sounded like sixty tons of gravel going down a rusty shoot.

His black, grey and green uniform looking like someone spray painted it on the side of a ripped and defined mountain.

"Then, the Lieutenant Commander will make sure her ass stays where the hell back where it belongs, and leave the guns, pointy stuff, and scaring people to the professionals. Won't the Lieutenant Commander? Because when I look at our equal ranks, under the Uniform Code of Military Law, I see I outrank you by Time in Rank. And that means you never, ever try and order my people again, doesn't it?" Asked the major, with an irrestiable push of the Chief Engineer out the door,Ella Grey going out the door on her heels.

" Please, -DO- come back again. . ." Betty snickered, as the door closed on the pair.

**********************

Entering Engineering, K'Eytyanna headed directly to the centre where the engineers were standing around the Main Situation Table, working on ideas.

Over in one corner, Hwii' was chipping in ideas while pulling fish out of his bucket. At least, he had the sense not to try to convert anyone at the moment.

Moving over to him, she grinned as the dolphin held out a fish for her,"No thanks, Hwii'.. Anyone come up with any ideas yet?"

"I think Mr Geluf has one. And our Bynars believe that a reboot may fix the problem if we boot in maintenance mode. I guess you busted Ensign Grey out?"

"Eventually."

K'Eytyanna moved to the monitor before calling out, "Okay, everyone. For those who haven't twigged to it yet, Dr Quick has managed to convince the computer that he is everywhere and everyone. Consequently, the computer thinks we are all Dr Quick, and this needs resolving ASAP. Anyone got ideas? Mr Geluf, Hwii' says you have one.."

The Kerelian turned to address the Chief.

"I do. As of right now, I'm the only one on this ship whose computer I.D. reads the way it should. I jury-rigged the transporter to suspend me in a beam for 5 seconds, then rematerialize me. It tricked the computer into thinking that I was beaming aboard and it retrieved my personal file from Starfleet. Thereby restoring my command functions and allowing me to shut off the blasted noise."

Curtis shifted in his seat and continued.

"In theory, we could do this to everybody on the ship, but that's just not practical with the amount of people aboard. The other way to do it is to take all computers off-line and turn them back on. A giant "re-boot" of the ship's systems. I could initiate the re-boot, it would take about an hour."

K'Eytyanna nodded, "Sounds like a good idea.. On a side note, you are lucky that you survived the trip through the biofilter. Make sure that you use check the read-only records haven't been corrupted as it boots."

Curtis nodded. "That won't be the problem. Unfortunately, there IS a catch to the whole scheme."

"And what is that?"

"I've analyzed the solution and it will require an extreme shut down. The only system we'll be able to leave up is life-support. No engines, no transporters....hell, no LIGHTS even. We'll all be in the dark for about an hour. Not to mention that the life support would only be able to run on auxilary at half power. We'd have to make sure the crew didn't do anything strenuous, just stay put." Curtis concluded.

"Fine with me.. If Brhode doesn't like it, he can just continue arguing with the computer in an environmental suit. Anyone else who doesn't like it can take up with Mr Quick."

Exile: Part Something, Continuation Pending”
By Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan ,Chief of Security (on paper), USS Galaxy

Location: Quarters

NRPG: What I mean is that you'll be seeing more of Corgan in his quarters during off duty. Enjoy (though I warn you, this is not an easy read).

The Dominion War could have started again in full gear. There could have been thousands of Jem’Hadar ships spewing out of the Bajoran wormhole, hell bent on destroying everything in their path. On the other hand, maybe there could have been vampires. No, make it a dozen vampires, all ready to molest and murder the crew. Alternately, there could have been Hirogen parties, Klingon commandoes, religious fanatics, or even the baddest of the baddest, Borg drones, lots of them, all bent on assimilation.

None of these would have struck Corgan very hard nowadays. Years of strife led to him growing a thick and scaly hide. After so many traumatic experiences, so many years of violence and war, one grew a callous over their souls. At one point, one had to admit begrudgingly that not many incidents could affect them anymore. They encounter, survive, encounter and survive again, until eventually it becomes a sort of routine. Disruptor beams didn’t have the effect they used to on decreasing morale. Piles of dead bodies didn’t cause him to blink so much as he used to; a simple passing thought his only prayer for the fallen. Tragedy wasn’t so tragic. Why? Because it’s been done before, therefore the lack of surprise when facing an atrocity was now a common response to it.

But there were still ways to faze Corgan. He wasn’t Rebecca Von Ernst, who’s emotional control was the envy of every Vulcan and some human beings. He wasn’t stuck in beautiful, ignorant bliss, conveniently ignoring his shortcomings like Lysander Vander-Puls Hawksley. It took the fires of hell, but Corgan became a human. A human with emotions. Wants. Needs.

And pride.

That was where Brhode hit him, right in the emotional dangly bits, leaving angered and dumbstruck Corgan to gasp and hold his mental privates. Brhode knew where to hit him. It was at the most vulnerable part of him. Pride, Corgan’s weakness, now Brhode’s punching bag. It was so easy to be hit where it really hurt. Tell Corgan he wasn’t doing his job, tell him he wasn’t doing what the Captain asked. Tell him he’s a necrophiliac and a dumbass at the same time. Tell him all the poisonous lies, and no matter how far from the truth they were, they always struck a raw nerve.

But the worse was yet to come. Brhode demanded silence, keeping Corgan from venting his anger and frustration. Captain Brhode didn’t care about innocence, or the search for truth. What does truth matter to a dictator? Corgan wanted to defend himself, but found himself silenced by the iron fist of the Captain, in part because Corgan knew Brhode lost some advantage if, heaven forbid, the truth was told.

What did the truth matter at the moment anyways? Corgan felt it was a liability, because he was already tried, judged, and punished without any
defense. After the sentence, the truth was nothing but a pretty notion, a thought that could have once saved him, but never came out due to Brhode’s stifling influence. The truth wasn’t going to let Corgan out of his quarters. The truth was not allowing Corgan to go back to his regular duties instead of that of a glorified bodyguard for the Klingon diplomats. The truth wasn’t letting him shape up his department, organize the patrol routes and introduce himself to his new and unfamiliar staff. All in all, the truth meant peanuts now.

But what was the truth? Why was he here in his quarters, silently contemplating his fall from grace? What was his crime? The reason for his exile was still unclear. The corrupt courts of Captain Brhode didn’t need to explain why, but fabricate something else in order to create a plausible excuse.

Corgan was having a difficult time trying to fully understand why he was in his quarters, instead of doing his security job as it was meant to be. Anger clouded his thoughts, rationale swept aside by frothing, seething rage. He was hit where it hurt. No, it did not drag him deep into a morose pit of despair as Brhode would have liked, but something ugly and much worse. Negativity bottled up, shook around by Brhode’s gauntleted hand, and left for the inevitable moment where it would shake… and explode.

Red with resentment, the Chief of Security was surrounded by his own walls. He sat cross-legged on the floor, attempting to meditate out his excess irritation. However, it wasn’t working too well. Hatred flowed in his veins, drawing him closer like a clawed beast cradling him to its breast. Everywhere was heat, and so much red. He felt like he was plunged into an inferno of Brhode’s creation.

Finally, he had enough. Something broke his thoughts. A helpless peep from beyond his private space. Innocent, so innocent was the sound, like a small, defenseless creature crying out for attention. Corgan did not see it in all the flames surrounding him, but it was there, insisting on his attention.

~”That’s enough…”~

“Sqwweeekkk…”

~”Leave me alone…”~

“Trrrrrrrrr… prrrrrrrrrr…..”

~”F**k off!”~

“Puuuurrrrrr……”

“Gyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!” His fist balled up, charging all his fury into one small section of his body, creating a concentrated force of a thousand beating into one, pressure releasing blow. He heard the source, knew where it was. His fist was going to hit its mark. It was going to die. Everything was going to die!

“Peeeeepppp…” Came the tiny voice again, snapping Corgan out if his fugue. The fist stopped a mere centimeter away from the voice. Halting the hammer blow tilted Corgan off balance. Disaster was averted.

He was within a centimeter of ending the life of his pet Tribble, Mudball. An innocent ball of fur and flesh, vying for the attention of its master. Corgan was about to take out all his frustrations out on his cherished pet.

~”Oh my god…”~ He shook the cobwebs out of his head, ~”What just happened?”~

Both disgusted and afraid of his emotional outburst, Commander Corgan left the sanctuary of his living room and entered his bathroom. The lights automatically flicked on at his entrance. He waved his hand across the bathroom sink, activating the water stream. He splashed his face twice with the cool water, clearing his eyes and his head. The icy chill was a frigid reminder to cool down.

What disturbed him more than anything else was his anger, and how it manifested itself. Inside it’s fiery wraith, he felt righteous and justified, as if he did no wrong and that the people who crossed him deserved to be punished. He was his own truth, made in whatever form he felt was needed, until it was so perverted that it was a lie unto itself. He was always right when he was angry. Nothing changed his opinion under that influence. It was something he picked up from Brhode, that the more angry one was, the more correct he became. That was another one of his lies meant to keep him burning in his own hatred. In some way, some form, Corgan knew he was wrong. He took the wrong action, and reacted the wrong way.

But what was the wrong action? So far, contemplating the crime for the last five minutes, staring down at a gushing, gurgling sink didn’t yield any
answers. He had some serious thinking to do.

“But I did everything right.” Corgan told himself, “I was vigilant. I followed orders. I did what any officer would do. I had to do what I had to do. I’m supposed to keep this ship safe. That’s my job. So why am I being punished for doing my job?”

~”Because you stepped on Brhode’s toes, Broken Head.”~ Chortled a voice from the darkness.

Manifesting itself as a black, hooded and robed figure, James deep conscience came to life. It was a terrible black thing, with a gaunt, ghoulish face, a perversion of his reflection, overcast by misery and death. He had raven black angel wings folded over his matchstick body, and a scythe cradled in its undying arms.

“Not surprising.” Corgan quipped to his conscious avatar, “Brhode likes to walk all over everything. But what in God’s blazing blue hell are you doing here? I barely see you after two years, and now you come when things are coming to their worse? What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you piss off when you’re not wanted?!”

~”Haven’t you figured it out? I come by to f**k with your head, to mess things up more… or I come by to give you help when you need it. How you interpret what I say determines whether I’m helping you, or f**king with you. Sheesh, after… how many years… four freaking years, you haven’t figured it out yet?!?! But I digress. You picked a hell of a time to get on Captain Rump Ranger’s bad side. You heard the reports, right? Something about a murder.”~

Corgan, alarmed, jogged his memory back into full gear. “Of course!” He said, worried that his pre-occupation with the incident with Brhode and his exile to quarters was place rather unfair neglect on the murder, “But what is Brhode thinking? I should be out there, aiding my staff, trying to catch that murderer. What kind of stupid fool would kick their Chief of Security off his own department in the middle of a murder investigation!? That petty tyrant… that moron! If he wasn’t so pre-occupied with trying to put my career though a living hell, we would have found the murderer by now! Dammit, it’s just like before. I speak up once, and he rides my ass for the rest of my life! F**k the dangers outside, he says, because it’s time to teach someone a lesson, even if it gets everyone KILLED! Just like that incident with the K-7 at Mako-Remii…. So petty minded…”

~”You’re playing the blame game again.”~ Conscience reminded his real self, ~”Come on, that whole incident with Leo caught you saying some bad things about him. I know he’s a fragging f**khead and all, but face it, you got caught, and you weren’t aware that Leo is untouchable. Not to mention that the security briefing may have underminded Brhode’s orders…”~

“I don’t see how ordering my staff to do things he ordered me to order them to do has anything to do with undermining his leadership. Geez… when he asked me if I thought he was senile and stupid, I would have never thought the answer was yes… until now. I did what I was told. Nothing more.”

~”There you go with that blame game. Pointing fingers at the old man, when really you should point the opposite direction. It was your fault somehow. Like the old fart said, figure it out. You have four weeks, which gives you plenty of time. So quit trying to avoid your share of the guilt and find out what you did!”~

“Wait…” Corgan’s lightbulb activated, “So, if I say it’s someone else’s fault, it’s the blame game. But, if I take all the responsibility, that would be more of a victim mentality. I’m not willing to take all the responsibility. I’m not going to be treated like Brhode’s whipping boy. I won’t let him bully me around.”

Conscience shrugged his shoulders and sighed in self defeat, ~”Hey, whatever you want. But before you go trying to shove your sense of justice into Brhode’s loose ass, I suggest you find that balance between the victim mentality and the person who wants to blame everyone else. In the middle, you’re bound to find some truth in there.”~

“I hate bullies. They’re a f**king eyesore in this universe. They should have all died a long time ago…” Corgan bitterly snarled, still stuck on his last thought.

~”Yeah. I know already.”~ Conscience flippantly remarked, ~”Broken Head, I hope you’ll learn something from this, because I can’t stand you whining about not knowing the answer. Sheesh! I’m gone….”~

Conscience faded back into the shadows hence he came. There was nothing left of his passage; the ethereal leaves no tracks to follow. Corgan was alone again, save his tribble Mudball, who still trilled for his attention. Alone again, to contemplate his crimes.

He asked himself for an emotional slowdown, and gradually the raging sea of his emotions transformed into a surreal calm. He was not in a prison
anymore, but his quarters.

The anger was keeping him a prisoner. Like a caged animal, he was sent to maul and tear his cell apart. Corgan, however, did not think of himself as an animal. Animals were people like Brhode, who only knew how to use the base, primitive emotions of anger and fear to keep control. But Corgan wanted to be beyond anger or fear. He was willing to be just, fair and calm in Brhode’s starship junta. To be all that he wanted in himself, the voice of reason, the fast thinker, the fast actioned, always ready security chief, Corgan had to be ready, because Brhode, despite his words, did not want to salvage a security officer, but throw him away and find another. Brhode would anticipate Corgan quitting, or fouling up again, or arguing, any reason to throw the young officer off his ship. Brhode wanted any excuse to throw the animal out of his zoo and into the wilds.

Corgan wasn’t going to allow the old man that satisfaction. He was far from over. He was determined to go beyond what his base emotions told him to do, and do the best that he could in his occupation. Then, when Brhode saw that he was doing his job and doing it well, he would have no choice but to say he was wrong about Corgan all along.

The chief of security laughed, “How absurd, Brhode. You’re trying to break me. I know. You love to treat people like this. Hey… are you listening my good man? Nothing better to do? Keep listening… go ahead… know that I’m doing my job well, I did my job well, and I’m going to keep doing a damn good job and you’ll have to eventually slag off! And if that means admitting I was wrong, then so be it. If you keeping me in the dark about what I did wrong will break me? Think I’m too stupid to figure out what I did wrong? Well tough sh*t, old man, because I’m going to learn from my mistakes.”

Corgan paused, finishing, “You brought this curse on yourself. Now you’ll never get rid of me, because I’m not going to break, but learn and evolve.”

Somewhere deep in conscience’s mind, he shook his head in disdain, thinking, ~”He still has a lot to learn…”~

"Blackout"

By
Lt. Curtis Geluf, Engineering Drive and Navigational Systems Chief

With a mention of Ensign Ella Grey, Engineer

"Ok guys, this is it." Curtis said to the few crewmen surrounding him. "The Chief has gotten the go ahead from the Captain to do this, so lets get going."

The crewmen manned their assigned stations.

"Ella, give me a hand over here, I'm going to need you to shine that light this way." Curtis motioned to the ensign, who nodded and walked over to him.

"Ok, here goes." the Kerelian began. "Computer! Initiate complete computer core re-boot."

*PLEASE STATE NAME, RANK AND DEPARTMENT*

"Lieutenant Curtis Geluf, Chief of Drive and Navigational Systems, Engineering."

*VOICE RECOGNITION CONFIRMED. PLEASE STATE RE-BOOT PARAMETERS*

"Complete re-boot in all primary and secondary systems. Life support on auxilury at half power. Run level 3 diagnostic and self system's check."

*REQUESTED PROCEDURE WILL REQUIRE ONE HOUR, SIX MINUTES AND FOURTY-TWO SECONDS. PLEASE CONFIRM REQUEST*

"Request confirmed, Geluf four, seven, Alpha. Initiate!"

*CONFIRMED. INITIATING SYSTEM RE-BOOT. WARNING, LIFE SUPPORT ON HALF POWER. SYSTEM WILL BE BACK ONLINE IN ONE HOUR, SIX MINUTES AND FOURTY-TWO SECONDS. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER AUDIO WARNING.*

And with that, the ship blacked out.

*OOC: There it is! The ship is officially "in the dark". Let your nocturnal posting begin!*

~Scientific Report~
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

"Add signature and put it on screen," Cutter Kara'nin called out to the computer in his quarters. He was working on a report to Captain Bhrode, concerning the major astronomical features of the Outlands, an area of space encompassing the Neutral Zone and bits and pieces of several major galactic states.

Noticing the signature that was added by the computer said Dr. Quick, Cutter sighed and corrected the problem. "Delete signature, add text, 'Lt. Cutter Kara'nin, Chief of Astronomy and Physics.'"

According to the computer, everyone on board was still Dr. Quick, which made it very difficult for everyone to do their jobs. People were locked out of their offices and duty stations. Cutter was locked out of all of the Astronomy department, as were his entire staff, not to mention various secret level computer archive files. Of course, none of this was any concern to Captain Bhrode, who still demanded reports with information that the crew could access. Cutter was curious what the new Intelligence department was going to do.

This report was only a regurgitation and summary of the data found within the computer's general library, with a promise of more to come, once the computer bugs were fixed. He hoped it would be enough.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: Captain Dr Jebediah Quick
From: Dr. Jebidiah Quick
Subject: Lt. Kara'nin, Important Astronomical Phenomena in the Outlands
Date: -----

This report covers major astronomical phenomena within the area of the Outlands the Galaxy is scheduled to travel through, as retrieved from the general computer archives. More in depth analysis can be sent once computer access beyond that of Dr. Quick's clearance is again obtained. For easy access and assimilation of information, the structure of this report is as follows:

I - Outlands, General
II - Phenomena En Route
III - Tactical Alerts
IV - Scientific Opportunities

I - Outlands, General

The Outlands is an area of space, whose borders are designated by political means, however is generally accepted to contain 2.75 billion cubic light years, the largest dimension of which borders about 6,000 light years of Federation territory. Space and subspace over such a large area hold to expected properties, however there are a considerable amount of exceptions. The Koorlian Nebula, a large stellar nursery approximately 58 light years across, lies near the Cardassian end of the Outlands and contains numerous subspace and electromagnetic anomalies. The Krakoa Black Hole, a 14 solar mass black hole, lies near Gorn territory and warps space/subspace such that warp travel is impossible within 850 AU of the singularity. The Outlands holds an estimated 13 million stars, however only about 1.15 million have been catalogued and only several hundred have been visited. Only 0.018% of the Outlands has been explored by the Federation and its allies.

II - Phenomena En Route

The current route should take us within 27 light years of the Koorlian nebula. A cosmic string fragment is passing through the Outlands, 12 light years off plotted course. We will pass reasonable close, within 2.5 light years, of the following stars (star systems containing K, L, M, or N class planets are designated; planets inhabited with sentient life also designated):

28 Corvius (K - inhabited, N - inhabited)
13 Mensa unexplored
53 Mensa unexplored
302 Lynx (L)
Chi Indus (K)
Upsilon Indus
Korinok (K, M - inhabited)
05 Indus
14 Indus unexplored
Omega Tucana (L - inhabited)
20 Tucana
IanJep (M - inhabited)

III - Tactical Alerts

Current route takes the ship only within space claimed by either the Federation or Klingon Empire. Omega Tucana and Ianjep are Klingon occupied, 28 Corvius is home to two small Federation colonies. Korinok is occupied by an indigenous society capable of only early, primitive, chemical powered space travel and lies within neutral territory. Colonization of Korinok by either the Federation or the Klingons is mutually forbidden. In case of emergency, the habitable or semi-habitable planets provide preferred back up or evacuation points. Current course takes us near or through the outer ice asteroid cloud of Upsilon Indus - increased watch for collision dangers suggested.

IV - Scientific Interests

A detour to within 7 light years of the cosmic filament is requested so a class X probe may be launched to study the phenomena. The launch of a Class VIII probe to 13 Mensa and 14 Indus, two unexplored systems, is also requested and advised because there is no detour to the ship's course. Since the Galaxy will pass especially close to 53 Mensa (237,350 AU), a very cool M9 star with some evidence of several large gas giant planets, a drop to sublight speeds is requested so that a Class II probe may take a general survey of the system, and if deemed necessary, a number of Class III and IV probes may be launched for retrieval at a later time. A request of lower priority, but of interest to the Geology department, is a survey of the asteroid belt of the Chi Indus system. This would require a significant amount of time, and would be inadvisable if the VIP guests are expected back on Ianjep.

Priority Experiments:
Class X probe to cosmic filament
Class VIII probes to 13 Mensa and 14 Indus
Exploration of 53 Mensa
Asteroid Survey of Chi Indus

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Chief of Astronomy and Physics

"Curses and Obligations"
by
Legate Kylar Curran,Chief Federation Liaison Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, RN Chief Counselor/Second Officer USS Galaxy - A

"qaqItlhneS." (Translation - I am honoured to meet you for the first time) The Legate, upon entering the Princess' chambers prepared for her and her entourage, bowed, left hand outreached with palm up. The right hand lay on his back palm outwards in greeting. He made sure his eyes stayed trained on the Klingon delegate.

Karyn watched the greeting in silence, anxious to see what the Princess' reaction was going to be. From her position beside and slightly behind the Legate, she couldn't really see the Klingon female, but deep down she hoped it wasn't going to be a mutual admiration moment. She was already feeling uneasy about seeing her again after such a long time. Dallas offered a polite nod in the VIP's direction. "Princess." Karyn saw no need to ingratiate herself by attempting to speak Klingon. To her it appeared Curran was just trying to gain favor with her despite being responsible for her every whim.

Princess DeV'oraH scowled at the Kelvan as she marched towards him, her ceremonial robes fluttering in her tread until she came abreast of him. Her eyes carried to the Counsellor in her hoverchair, and recognition wavered for a tense moment, but she redirected her spiteful glare back to the Liaison officer, who had stood back up when their eyes met.

"Dor-sho-gha! ghuy'cha!" (frustration, anger at things going wrong) This infernal ship is full of fools! Who is this Dr. Quick that your terminals identify me as?!" She swept her sinewy arms over to the replicator, which had been sufficiently smashed into a now blackened state. Kylar raised an eyebrow in meek annoyance.

Karyn worked hard to keep a straight face. As a professional counselor, she supposed it was wrong of her to find mutual frustration between two people amusing, but she couldn't help but take a bit of pleasure in seeing Kylar on the receiving end of someone's anger. Let him squirm as a diplomat for a change. After all, what did she know about diplomacy?

"I am not sure I understand, Princess." Which was quite true. He knew Dr. Quick was being hunted down on the ship at this time, but have had no contact with him otherwise.

"Hu'tegh!" (Fill swear word of choice here :P) The Klingon princess through her hands up in consternation, her eyes looking for something to throw, but Kylar stepped up a notch.

"Princess, if there are any problems I can assist you with to make your journey more comf-"

"You want to make my journey more comfortable, petaQ, you can bring me my bloodwine, and fetch me some decent nourishment! This... thing..." She waved her hand over to the broken replicator, "...is insulting! I cannot believe the daughter of Kahless must endure such drivel! Now, go do your thing, and make me happy, Legate." She brought both hands forward in front of her, and raised them, palm down. She then wiggled her fingers in the direction of the door as she moved to seat herself on one of the splendourous couches decorating the vast quarters.

Feelings were a curious phenomenon, no one knew that better than Karyn, but perhaps more perplexing than feelings in general were her feelings in particular. In that moment she felt torn between anger and embarrassment. Sure the Kelvan was an arrogant little ferret, but even he didn't deserve to be dismissed so coldly. *At least he was acknowledged.* something inside her said. Her own anger began to build. The last time they'd met, she hadn't seemed like this.

"...and you might want to arrange for better furniture in here. This material is too soft and inferior, like your race. You need some Klingon decorators in here!" She caressed her slender fingers along the edge of the velour sofa, and snorted in disgust.

Kylar's blood had started to boil, but he bit his tongue. Anger and emotion would get him nowhere. Klingons were such an arrogant species, and surprisingly still alive. The only admirable trait about them is their sense of strength and honour. They were a prideful race, and would make a good army for the Kelvan Empire.

Karyn looked to Curran and then back at the Princess. It appeared nothing was ever as it seemed, especially when it came to lanjep or things associated with it. She felt as though she were invisible, on the outside looking in. Her anger toward Kylar had quickly directed itself toward the Princess in a matter of moments. As if that weren't bad enough, she found herself prepared to defend him. Would his male pride be wounded if she did? And why the hell did she care? In the end, she could barely make her lips move. How would he respond now that the tables were turned?

"I will make an effort to do so, then Princess DeV'oraH. We may have some Klingon foodstuffs in storage for your liking, but unfortunately the best we can do for furniture is replicated."

*Is this what diplomacy really entailed?* thought Karyn, *I've treated five year olds that were better behaved! And they dare tell me that I screwed up?*

"Very well." She sighed. "If that is all you can manage, then do it. Just be gone! Insufferables..." Her gaze fell to the silent Counsellor Dallas as Kylar turned to leave, but before the two women could begin their conversation, he stopped, getting the Princess' attention.

"What, did your tiny human brain forget something? Would you defy the orders of Princess DeV'oraH, daughter of Kahless the Conqueror, Emperor of the Klingon Empire?!"

Karyn sat there in shock. Was she going to have to pull these two apart? "Please, I'm sure we can work something out to both of your liking. There's no need to become hostile. It-" Neither one acknowledged her presence. This frustrated Karyn further. *Gods, why do I always have to play counselor? I should let the two of the kill each other and go outside to sell tickets. Christ, isn't this what got me in trouble the first time?*

Kylar was positively seething with rage.

"YIntagh! (windbag)" He pivoted on one polished boot to face the Princess before leaving. "While on this ship, you will respect the laws of the Federation which you are a member of. You do not have the right to damage Starfleet property! I am your Liaison Officer, but not your personal butler. If you want that, maybe you should send a message to your father and ask him to send you your own personal qoH (fool) to order around. If you want to start a mu'qaD veS (curse-warfare), I can accomodate that easily, Princess. So be seated, and I will return in sufficient time with your requests."

For the life of her, Karyn didn't know whom to feel sorry for, the Legate or the princess. She started to say something to Curran, but quickly realized she didn't know what. She was not a diplomat dammit!

Then he left, without another word, to the fury of the Princess.

"toDSaH!" Kylar did not hear the curse, to the disdain of the Princess, nor did he want to. Babysitting was not his job.

***

A quick thinking person may have seen this as her cue to get the hell out (diplomatically of course), but Karyn was just a little too wrapped up in what had just happened to care.

Turning her head slowly to meet the Klingon matron's gaze, she couldn't help but smile and offer dryly, "Makes me look like the Mother Teresa of diplomacy now, doesn't it?"

The Princess stared haughtily at the Counsellor for what seemed an eternity, until surprisingly, she smiled. Settling into the sofa she just insulted, the flush of anger faded from her crest as she laughed.

"No, Mother Teresa you are not, Commander, if I remember my Earth history properly. You are not a saint!" She chuckled as she snapped her fingers. One of her Honor Guards appeared to pour a glass of bloodwine for the Princess. She offered a glass to the Counsellor, placing it in front of her.

"You did what you felt you had to do, Counsellor, in the conditions you faced. It is an honorable action to defend your captain, even if it wasn't the best course of action. I understand your Starfleet values enough to know an officer on a vessel is trained to hold allegiance to their own more than to Starfleet in most cases. It is a fault of Academy training, nothing more." She sipped at her bloodwine.

"Yes, we had some genuine bloodwine on board." She leaned into the counsellor. "I enjoy making your Legate uncomfortable. His appearance tells me there is a need to extricate the Targ that is nibbling at his prostate! I did enjoy the bantering he finally dished back as he left though...." She let it trail at that, as the two talked about whatever came to their minds, while an engineer who'd recently arrived, began dismantling and repairing the replicator.

***

Kylar edged his way through the corridors on his way to the cargo bay. He'd already contacted engineering to send someone to repair the replicator. Soon, he'd have other engineers deliver replicated Klingon architecture delivered to the Princess.

He was not looking forward to the tour he was to bring her on in two hours.

******
toDSaH - "This is something one Klingon would call another if they weren't on the best of terms."

Brooke arrived with a small team and she walked over to the body, "Bloody, just the way I like it." She was kidding of course. She knelt down and visually looked over the body, "Can I take the corpse now?"

She got the okay and they all disappeared. Brooke carefully examined everything from top to bottom...inside and outside. She was more and more convinced of her findings.

"Computer, record." She blabbed off the usual information and then began her findings. "Patient has a deep laceration that extends from the right ear to the left ear. Edges are clean indicating a very sharp instrument with a smooth edge. Closer examination of the wound site shows that the cut was made from right to left, indicating that he was murdered by a left handed person. I found no signs of a struggle which indicates that he was grabbed from behind and then, a quick slice of the weapon across his throat. He never knew what hit him before it was too late. The Jugular and Carotid Sinus was cut clean through, therefore, resulting in loss of blood and causing his heart rate and blood pressure to drop rapidly...resulting in death."

Completing the examination, she was about to indicate when he was murdered, "Examining the rest of the body, I have find no other injuries. Time of death was approximately between......."

She was interrupted by a lab technician, "Ma'am, I've found something quite interesting on his clothing. I found the presence of tiny particles of wood dust. But it's only on the ensign's left uniform sleeve."

She thanked him and continued with the completion of the autopsy.

Dr. Brooke O'Connell CMO

“How Do You Do?”
By Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan ,Chief of Security (on paper), USS Galaxy

Location: Ten Forward

Still sore over the recent (and dishonorable) transfer of assignments, Lieutenant Commander Corgan made his way to Ten Forward in short order. He had a new assignment in order, sent from the only high up that mattered (Captain Brhode). Needless to say, Brhode didn’t believe in wasting officers. If he felt one person didn’t work for a specific area, then they were sent to be useful in another.

In Corgan’s case, he was removed from regular security duty, having to somehow fail in that task. His new assignment was the Klingon delegates. Their safety, their accommodations and their well being were all under the charge of Legate Curran, and Corgan, the Legate’s newest glorified assistant.

Thrilled was as much of an understatement as it was an inaccurate term. Corgan wasn’t happy with his new assignment, or the reason why he was transferred to guard duty. Mulling about the problem didn’t bring about an answer as to why, but more reasons that muddled up the real answer. Therefore, he came to the conclusion that he was stuck in his new assignment, for better or for worse, and if it were his fault then he would be more careful in the future. Careful for what? He had faith in figuring out the answer sometime in the future.

Sooner than a pon’farr attack on a Vulcan porn star, Corgan rushed in to his new duty. Problem was, he didn’t know where his new duty ran off. Sensors were still down, and he had difficulty finding the new location of the Ambassador’s suite. When he finally found Princess Dev’oraH’s room, the Klingon delegates were all missing. After leaving a message at security to notify him of the Princess’s whereabouts, he searched at the most likely places where a Klingon. But nothing, or nobody, could be found at the most likely places.

If the Klingons weren’t looking for fresh food, or jamming out to some high pitched oldies of the Klingon rock scene, or beating each other senseless with pointy, jabby weapons, then there was only one thing they were doing… Getting atom-smashed on bloodwine.

James secretly prayed the Klingons wouldn’t find their way to Ten Forward. From personal experience on Ianjep, during shoreleave, heck, anywhere a Klingon would be encountered, he knew that Klingons and alcoholic beverages were akin to mixing matter and anti matter without magnetic containment. There could be only one reaction. A loud explosion of drunken revelry, and occasionally, a good natured fight or two. Corgan hoped security was keeping an eye on them.

He entered Ten Forward to see the most peculiar sight. His security staff was positioned to protect an otherwise empty Ten Forward (it was yet to be peak hours), two at each entrance, and two guards stationed at the bar, keeping an eye on a half dozen drunk, chanting Klingons. He was apprehensive about approaching a group of drunken Klingons. Rather than lose face in front of a race where face meant everything, he approached the group of unruly rowdies.

=/\=”See the sweat and see the toil”=/\=
=/\=”Feel the blood that burns like oil”=/\=
=/\=”Unlike you, we fight for long”=/\=
=/\=”For we are Kahless strrrroooonnngggg…”=/\=

“Ahem.” James coughed, “Excuse me.”

Extra keen Klingon ears heard the intrusion of one soft spoken, almost meek, human being cut in on their fun. They all perked up, mixed thoughts of teaching the human a lesson, or force feeding him gagh and war nog until he puked, came to mind. But what was a human doing here, interfering in their fun?

Princess Dev’oraH, inebriated, smelling of hot peppers and spirits, spun her barstool, ignoring the bartender and lifeline to her liquor supply to see who approached.

“Hi.” James noticed a dozen piercing, objective, blurry eyes locked onto his. They were reading him, as well as drunken Klingons could, trying to get a clue about this new interloper, “I’m… uhhh…” He felt the vibe of a half dozen Klingons thinking, ‘get away from us you stupid, honorless pe’taq, or we’ll use your skull as a chalace’ mixed with a hint of indignance. “I’m…. Lieutenant Commander James Corgan. I am responsible for your safety on board this vessel.”

The Klingons resumed drinking, grumbling, complaining about the security measures and the questionable reliance of human security officers.

~”Thankless bastards…”~ Corgan gloomed.

Out of all the Klingons, only Princess Dev’oraH remained turned away from the bar. Drunkenly, she held a bottle of red fluid, waved it around once, and quaffed it dry. Smacking her lips in satisfaction, the Princess carelessly dropped the bottle, shakingly keeping her balance on her barstool.

“Who… are you again….” She murmered with a smile on her lips. James smelled her spicy breath and was almost knock over by the aromatic hit. She had too much to drink, and too much of the wrong thing. Was that chili sauce on her breath? What bleeding twit would drink hot sauce? Better yet, how would they get drunk off it?

Corgan answered again, “My name is Lieutenant Commander….”

“What does it matter?!?! Titles of an alien armed force matters little to a true KLINGON WARRIOR!!!???!!!” Dev’oraH growled to her companions. The group of Klingons hollered, hooted and cheered like rum filled pirates on a lonely cruise.

“Very little, I guess. I’ve been around Klingons before, so I know the drill.” Corgan stated frankly, inches away from killing the good mood of his Klingon guests. His first contact with the Klingons was further complicated. Now he had to gain their respect too while he was at it.

But the Princess, ready to table dance at any moment, wasn’t through with her verbal excess. “Oh… then you would know that a true Klingon warrior does not impose authority, but earns it though trust and honorable deeds.”

“Yeah… that’s the gist of it.” Corgan agreed.

She ranted, patting a fellow warrior on the back, “See K’ren? He slaughtered fifty Jem’Hadar at the Valley of Blood, using nothing but two disruptor pistols and his dagger. And Hor’ka, “ She slapped a sleeping Klingon. He grunted, and fell back to his stupor, “He destroyed a Cardassian cruiser by slaying their engineering crew and throwing a plasma charge into their dilithium chamber. And Karno… you wouldn’t believe what he did… so I say that my warriors are more than worthy of protecting my life.” Her face inched up closer to Corgan’s, “What heroic deeds have you done? What makes you think you and your staff are worthy of protecting the LIVING SWORD OF KAHLESS?!?!” She boisterously boomed, followed by the sound of her Klingons guards and staff joining in. Ten Forward was as noisy as dinner hour.

~”My god… Brhode’s going to pay…”~ Corgan vowed silently, while saying on the outside, “F**k yeah we’re worthy. What about it?”

The Klingons stopped, stunned, wondering ‘What the hell is this stupid human thinking?’, and turned their attention to said hapless Terran.

“Then tell me of your deeds, and maybe I won’t kill you outright.” Princess Dev’oraH called out under the cheers of her drunken comrades.

“Ok, you asked for it…” Corgan took a seat, “I fought the Borg during the Second Borg Invasion when I was nothing more than a Cadet!”

~”You also developed a phobia that crippled you for a good portion of your life.”~ Conscience laughed.

~”Shut up brain. I’m talking.”~ James continued his tale, “I slayed a half dozen Borg, stopping them from breaching our computer core center! Then…” He raised the tempo as high as a Klingon orator, gathering the attention of the Klingons, but not yet impressing Princess Dev’oraH, “I served a tour of duty during the Dominion War. I fought on flaming starships. I fought on Chin’toka! I fought on Saria Prime, home of the worse trench fighting in the galaxy! Vermin! Mud! Disease! Constant bombardments and attacks! I survived them all, and with my trusty rifle, I slayed… let’s just say I didn’t bother counting when my pillbox was flooded with Ketracel White!”

The Klingons were thouroughly enjoying Corgan’s story, but he wasn’t yet completed, “After the war, I healed from my wounds, but peacetime gave me no reprieve. I fought Cardassian invaders during the attack on the Federation Embassy on Bajor. Then I fought more of my most hated enemy, the Borg, slaying dozens, and taking the head of a Borg Queen clean off her shoulders!”

The Klingons were slowly being won over to his side, “But my final battle was against the Hirogen hunters. They harmed my mate, captured my comrades and threw me down into a jungle, where they hunted us like targs! I cornered and killed their close combat master in bloody combat that day! And to prove it…” His hand traced the scar over his right eye, “…here is my badge. That filthy hunter took my eye… but it was well worth seeing the sorry bastard breathe his last…”

“And that’s my story, Princess Dev’oraH. I am a humble warrior. No medals, few citations. But my honor is worth more than any piece of metal on my chest. Look into my eyes, and the scar I gained, and you will know how much of a warrior I am. And you will know that I am more than qualified to protect you.”

The Klingons were silent. Some of the younger warriors were in awe and admiration. The older men, administrators and warrior leaders, nodded their approval. The older Klingons started to clap, then the rest of the Klingons joined in. They thumped their feet, their glasses, anything heavy, and make quite a racket! Jovially, the Klingons heartily chuckled, commenting on the pathetic human’s entertaining story.

Corgan breathed a sigh of relief. The Klingons bought his story, however exaggerated, after all.

But Princess Dev’oraH wasn’t so easily impressed. She remained impassive, more like a spoiled brat who wasn’t statisfied than a true leader who wasn’t impressed. She said, “Corgan, I keep company with some of the best warriors in the Klingon Empire. Your deeds are truly heroic, but know that you are nothing compared to a legendary Klingon Warrior. I’ll tell you what…” She cockily swung her bottle of hot sauce, “…you are worthy of being something. You may be… my slave! Does that sound palatable?”

Corgan kept a straight face, saying, “That’s it? For a second, I thought you were going to punish me.”

Princess Dev’oraH recoiled, throwing her bottle of spirits at the nearest wall. The bottle of hot sauce shattered, splattering fermented red fluid over the walls. Dev’oraH’s eyes burned like sand rubies, her face flushing to a bright red in anger. She was well beyond angry at this point, for angry didn’t describe the Klingon temperament enough. But Corgan held his ground, keeping cool and calm though his life was threatened. Diplomacy class taught him the Klingon gambit. Stand up for yourself, fight back (verbally or physically), and you’ll gain their respect… or die trying.

He decided to add to his list of sins, “Princess Dev’oraH, let’s get to business. Your bodyguard and general are allowed to possess weapons. However, everyone else is not. You and your staff have yet to submit to weapons inspections. I suggest you do it now instead of delaying it later.”

~”Boy, you picked a hell of a time for that.”~ Conscience snipped.

James hated to admit it, but his brain was correct. The Klingons were once again silent, and all were staring dk’tahgs into his eyes. The Princess, always indignant, looked down on him as she was too good for him to comply.

“I will not.” She stated matter-of-factly.

Corgan argued, “It’s a matter of honor Brhode wishes these inspections. Therefore, Brhode will get these inspections.”

The Princess momentarily considered Corgan’s argument, but she wasn’t through with her dodging of the truth yet. Instead of addressing the Chief of Security, leaned over the bar. James heard the clink of bottles, and moments later, the Princess hefted out an entire case of the same potent red liquid they were drinking before.

“Drink one of these, and we will submit right here.” She dared.

“But Princess,” Her general whispered in her ear, “We cannot allow this. What if the Terran goes through with it?”

“He won’t.” She assured her aide, “His species is weak. They cannot handle a warrior’s spirit!”

“Says you, lady!” Corgan snatched up a bottle out of spite, “I’ll drink this whole damn thing if you want, but afterwards, you submit to my staff for a search… and as you say, right here, right now.”

~”Whoa! Hold on there a second.”~ His conscience thought, ~”You’re drinking on duty. If Brhode finds you wasted, then what? You’re career will be down the tubes! And what would Lexa think? She would kill you!”~

He shut out the voice inside his head that told him right from wrong. The Klingons were watching, all of them. A dozen politicians, some body guards, and elements of his staff were waiting to see what he would do. Corgan was on the brink, with a bottle and a death wish in his hands. He uncorked the bottle, smelling the strong, rotting hit of spices and alien vegetables. The substance looked sickly and pale for hot sauce, definitely unappealing (or healthy) to drink.

He was in too deep now. For honor or not, he had to drink. Winning the Klingon’s co-operation demanded it.

Corgan tipped the bottle, pouring the liquid down his unsuspecting throat. The liquid kept pouring down, his tastebuds assaulted by the deepest fires of the deepest pit in hell mixed with rotting waste. So deceptive was it’s texture, cool and liquid, yet molten like a Hawaiian volcano. And still he drank, shutting out the feeling of his mouth being thoroughly scalded. Every sense was heightened, especially his cleared sinuses. The world exploded into stars.

And finally, the last drop hit a particularly sensitive nerve in his mouth. The hot sauce was all gone.

That wasn’t the last of his ordeal.

His stomach fought a losing battle against the spicy invaders. His face turned beet red, his eyes bulged and watered. He tried to breathe for air, but each inhalation brought in spicier, searing fumes. Everywhere he saw stars, and he wasn’t seeing the ones outside of Ten Forward’s observation lounge. They were inside his head, as bright as nova stars and as painful as a Targgoth’s kick to the testicles.

His stomach decided that they fought long enough. In one final, valiant charge, the stomach expelled it’s enemy.

Corgan felt more searing pain travel up his esophagus and towards his mouth. He tasted some of the bile, felt the convulsions in his stomach. He was going to spew… no… explode.

As one loud orgy of noise and vomit, Corgan found the nearest waste basket and returned the beverage where it belonged; outside his stomach! He spent a minute vomiting, leaned over vulnerably at a waste basket, baring his intolerance for hard spirits in front of the people he was trying to impress. At that point, he felt like a total loser.

But the Klingons didn’t see it as such. They were cheering the officer on, lifting him up, patting his churning stomach, singing his praises and calling him ‘the bravest Terran they have faced’. He didn’t know how much more jostling by a gang of rowdy Klingons he could take before his stomach decided to excommunicate his lunch as well.

Dev’oraH cracked a smile. She grumbled, “I’m impressed. For a Terran, you survived that drink very well. You have vouched for your honor and that of your staff. Therefore, I accept your aide in protecting my staff, and submit them… and myself… for weapons search.”

“Wwwaa..tttee..rrr…” Corgan begged as the surface of hell burned his mouth.

“First.” Dev’oraH’s hands leaned on the edge of the bar. She spread out her long, leather booted legs and armored arms. She threw her cloak off, showing the traditional Klingon dress armor instead, which was low cut and rather revealing along her calves and thighs, “Bring your guards over and search my staff. As for you… search me.”

Normally, Corgan didn’t mind the occasional weapons search, but in the case of Princess Dev’oraH, there were so many uncomfortable circumstances. For one, his mind was still clouded in blinding pain as the hot sauce kept it’s grasp on his tongue. The second was that he was apprehensive about searching for weapons on a female. Third, he didn’t like the idea of searching a Klingon female, much less one with rank and status. He started wondering if the Princess’s request was a loaded question, and weather or not he should pursue it.

What would Lexa think? That was his greatest question, but he couldn’t let that bother him now.

“Starfleet…policy…” He choked, “…females search other females… unless permission given… and policy on… sexual harassment… *KAFF**KAFF*”

“I assure you…” She slyly, silkily purred, “…I give you my full co-operation, and you won’t be charged with harassment, no matter where you look…” She paused and looked back, “Because if you try anything inappropriate, I will kill you.”

“Then you give consent?” He checked.

“I give consent. Now hurry, before I kill you!”

~”Thanks,”~ Corgan thought, ~”Another loaded situation.”~

The Princess coughed impatiently, “I’m waiting. Are you going to search me, or are you a honorless coward?!?”

Corgan replied, waving to his guards, “Search the staff. Make it quick and thorough.”

As his security guards were busy searching a pack of grumbling, complaining, drunken Klingons, Corgan was faced with a dilemma of his own. He had to search Dev’oraH, a woman, and a Klingon woman, who would bite his face off and feed him to her targ if he touched her the wrong way. And from his way of thinking, there was no way in hell that could be avoided.

He started the search. He felt along her arms for suspicious bulges. Nothing was hidden. Then, he checked her hair for hidden pins and stilettos. Not a single item was found in her rat’s nest.

Then was the risky part. He patted down her torso, not missing a single inch of her body, for her growls reminded and looks reminded him to make it thorough.

“Not thorough enough.” She snarled, “Search harder. Use your hands, you scared ‘ghu’!”

Then he went down to her waist, checking the hips and glutes, and everywhere else. Doing exactly as Dev’oraH requested, he searched harder, testing his sensibilities. Corgan was at this point sweating nervously, like he was handling an unstable magnetic container of anti-matter. But as soon as his hands left the danger zones, he breathed a sigh of relief. He finished her legs and feet, with no weapons found.

The security guards patted the Klingons. “All clear, sir.” The ensigns announced.

“All clear… except one.” Dev’oraH chided, “Corgan, you puj puq, search me like you mean it! If you weren’t so scared of being so conservative, you may find what you’re looking...”

Corgan’s fingers plunged down her neckline. Between two folds of warm, rounded flesh, he found a metallic object. He pulled the small item out of her cleavage for all to see.

“…for.” She said, self defeated.

Corgan inspected the small weapon at his leisure, astonished that he did such a gutsy thing, and worried about how many rules he broke in the process, “A punching dagger… that’s going to have to stay in storage until you leave. You’ll get it back soon, I assure you.”

~”I’m in so much trouble….”~ He worried senselessly. The Klingons, easily forgetful about such small transactions, went back to their drinking. Inexplicably, they treated Corgan kindly, with respect and patience for the outworlder.

Sure beat Brhode’s praise, though he couldn’t smell, taste, or feel a thing in his head, and he may have had his hands all over a Klingon woman at her request, but it was nice to be accepted by such a hard sell.

~Distractions in the Dark~
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Cutter walked down the corridor of the Galaxy on the way back from a meal. As usual, his eyes were not focused on what was ahead of him, but rather on a PADD held in his hands. This time it was, "Pseudo-Newtonian Potentials to Describe the Temporal Effects on Relativistic Accretion Disks around Rotating Black Holes," by one Banibrata Mukhopadhyay. Cutter was unfamiliar with the name, who knew what species he was. The report was on how to model the matter that falls into a blackhole, an amazing event. When matter, usually hydrogen gas, began to fall into a black hole, it would gain tremendous amounts of kinetic energy which it would then radiate back out as a pulse of bright light, before falling into the eternal blackness of the hole.

"INITIATING SYSTEM RE-BOOT. WARNING, LIFE SUPPORT ON HALF POWER. SYSTEM WILL BE BACK ONLINE IN ONE HOUR, SIX MINUTES AND FOURTY-TWO SECONDS. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER AUDIO WARNING," the computer suddenly belted out before all the power shut down.

The hallway was instantly pitch black. There were no windows, and strangely, no emergency lights. Cutter had suddenly entered one of the blackholes he had been reading about. Not only was the ship visibly dead, but the normal background noise that existed everywhere on the ship was missing, too. The buzz of electrical power running through superconducting circuits behind the paneling of each wall died out and the hum of the fusion and/or warp engines fell silent. The sounds that were impossible to detect when present stuck out like supernova when absent. The artificial electromagnetic field that ran through the ship, creating a sense of north and south for those species, like Cutter, who could detect it vanished, causing him immediate vertigo.

There were a few startled screams from around the bend from skittish women, and a truly terrified whimper from some achluophobe. Cutter looked back down at his PADD. Fortunately, it ran on its own battery power, and so was still functional. He turned the PADD around and faced it forward, trying to use the easily visible, yet still mysteriously dim light to illuminate his path.

Memories came flooding back into his mind, due to the lack of external stimuli. It was a favorite on Fruna to hold various events in not only the dark of night, but in large, pitch black rooms - parties and dances and concerts. Dark concerts were a personal favorite of Cutter's. Some music can be amazingly different if its not coupled with any visual stimulation, and of course, the ability to dance and interact with others in the dark allowed shy Fruna'lin like Cutter to be more daring than they would otherwise.

Suddenly, someone ran into his left wing. It was a very short lived event, but the person had flailed about as if they had been caught in a spider's web, messing up his plumage. He would have to groom once the lights were back on. It was amazing that it took a power cut to remind Cutter of his other life. He hadn't thought of home since he left it, and he realized after the wing collision that he hadn't flown at all since he left home, either. It had been almost two weeks! How had he lived?

Suddenly another collision, head on this time, knocked Cutter out of his current train of thought. The crash was quick, and Cutter wasn't paying attention, he wasn't aware if he had hit a man or woman, child or adult.

"Sorry," he automatically apologized, a habit that develops over time when you read while you walk.

The person did not return the sentiment, only muttered under their breath, "Monkey," before moving away back into the black.

Black? Blackholes! Giving up on ineffective method of using his PADD as a flashlight, Cutter rotated the screen back towards his face and continued his reading.

After another page of text, another distraction appeared. Another scream. Not a startled scream, or a whimper, but a real, blood curdling shriek. Someone near Cutter asked out loud, whether he was aware of Cutter or not was unclear, "What was that? What happened?"

Startled, and curious, Cutter followed the steps of the man close by, in search of the screamer.

Definition of medical terms: small but richly innervated arterial enlargement that is located near the point in the neck where either carotid artery divides to form its main branches and that functions in the regulation of heart rate and blood pressure

Jugular Vein: any of several veins of each side of the neck that return blood from the head

Once finished with the autopsy, she went to go report her findings but she wanted to test a theory. Going back down to the crime scene, she studied the blood spray pattern and some other clues there, entered the info into a padd and went back to the ship...specifically, the holodeck. Entering all the info into the computer, she made a holodeck program. Walking in, she stood there for a moment to make sure that everything was set, "Computer, remove the blood spray." It disappeared, "Now the dead body." It disappeared too, "Replace with a standing version of murder victim and make sure that his weight and height corresponds with the data."

The man appeared, motionless. "Computer, I need a very sharp knife, 4 inches long, straight edge, no curves." A weapon appeared and she picked it up. Walking over to the standing man, she placed her one arm round his chest and the other against the right side of his neck. With another command, the program went into motion. With one quick motion with the knife, she cut into the Carotid Sinus and all away across to the other side.

Upon examining the results, she found that she was too short so the angle wasn't quite right. She decided to run the program again, this time, using a hologram to do the slicing. ..a bit taller and with longer arms.

She was about to do another run through when someone walked in, "So, this is where you are hiding. Your autopsy report is overdue......"

Dr. Brooke O'Connell
CMO

"Marco Polo"

Starring :

Dr. Jebediah Quick (PC)

(Soon after the blackout)

“Marco ! . . . . . .”

“Polo! . . . . . .”

(Random scurrying noises)

“Marco ! . . . . . .”

“Polo! . . . . . .”

(More scurrying associated with a mild ‘oof!’ and some muffled giggling)

“Ow! Damnit, Frazzing end-table!”

“Polo!. . . . oops I mean, nyah nyah nayh!”

“I’ll Marco your Polo if I catch you.. . . . . . . .Marco.”

(silence)

“Marco!!”

(Silence)

“FRAZZING MARCO you cheating turds!!”

More scattered giggling and a belated flurry of ‘Polo’ s met the frustrated calls of the unfortunate Dr. Jebediah Quick as he scrambled about in the
pitch-black nothingness that was the internal portions of the USS Galaxy. While the starlight of the nearby systems had dimly illuminated his windowed VIP cabin, the ever-adventurous scientist had taken to organizing an impromptu game of Marco-Polo in the shadow-filled corridors outside his door. Without the benefit of portholes, the vast labyrinthine passageways were pitch black.

While at first the game consisted of mainly groping around in the dark looking for other bored passengers and crew (which had earned him a few
slaps across the face) the event was by now more organized, and as far as Quick could tell there were upwards of thirty to forty other ‘voices’
participating out of the darkness,

“Marco!!”

“Pooorrrroooo!”

The odd lisping voice seemed to be just off to Jeb’s left so he quickly twisted and lunged into the void, receiving only an armful of carpet and
some hissing giggles as a reward.

“Hssssss. . . . too badssss Doctorrrrrrrr.:” came the odd voice from behind him now, “ I think you sssssshould trrrrry harrrrderrrrrr.”

“Dag-nabit Bosco, or whatever you said your name was,” Quick grumbled as he regained his footing, “I don’t care if the lights come on and you turn out to be the President of the Federation. I’m gonna like totally kick your butt dude.”

The wheezing laugh from the darkness indicated that whoever this new play-mate of Quick’s was, he/she/it found the comments amusing somehow.

The lanky Doctor had run across the mysterious ‘Bosco’ (amongst other players) early on in the Marco-Polo game, and while the hissing voice at
first was unfamiliar with the rules, he/she/it seemed to pick up on the concept rather quickly.

“Letssss ssssssee.” The voice had said at the time, “I callssss outsssss Marrrrrrco, and when the rrrreply comes. . .Porrrrrro, I getsssss to
grrrrabs it?”

“That’s the general concept yes, but be sure to enunciate your ‘L’s You make’Polo’ sound almost like Porno” Quick had advised., “Of course this
being like dark and all makes it totally more fun.”

“I agrrrrrrreee.” Bosco replied, always looking for an excuse to grope his female crewmates.

In the time since then, the mysterious Bosco had proven to be quite an apt player, evading most of Jebediah’s efforts with ease, but always seeming able to find a young nubile lady in the dark and pinch her in a sensitive area.

“Dammnit Bosco!! Get your bloody paw’s off of me!” one lady cried from down the passageway. Apparently whoever this character was, he was already quite well known by the others.

Quick shrugged. Oh well, whenever the lights came back on he’d get to see what the dude looked like.

“Yo’ Ovaltine dude.” He called, “Leave the girlies alone. You’ve forgotten again you cant go ‘tagging’ people unless you’re ‘It’. “

“Ach, dearrrrrr me.” Came the chastised reply from off to Quick’s right now. “I keep forrrrgeting the rrrrules.”

“S’okay Bro. Peace.”

“Oh, and Doctorrrrrr?”

“Yes?” Quick asked.

“Ovaltine?”

Jeb chuckled to himself. “Sorry bro. I got confused. You do know that like you’re named after Chocolate Milk though don’t you?”

There was a puzzled silence in the darkness for many long moments.

“Milk? Like frrrrrom the bovine crrreatures the shorrrrt Comanderrrrr’s Motherrrrr prrrroduces?”

“Well I’m sure I would know anything about that.” Quick shrugged, forgetting that Bosco could not see the gesture in the dark. “But yes something like that. Milk, with something extra thrown in to make it better.”

“Oh yessssss. Something extrrra. Like what Comanderrrr Hawksssssley does to the punch bowl at rrrreceptions.”

“Errrr. . .Whatever.” Quick had yet to make the acquaintance of the aforementioned co-XO.

Leaving off the discussion of sweetened lactose-beverages for another time, the pair turned their attention back to the matter at hand.

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Eeeeeeeek- you pervert!!!”

SLAP!!!

"A Study in Comparisons"

Lt. Jeremy Savoie
Asst. Chief Helmsman

As he left Ten Forward with the sound of drunken Klingons still ringing in his ears, Jeremy made his way back to the bridge, passing the extra security detail he had requested to help Erin keep things under control. He would have preferred to stay and help her himself but Bhrode would only see that as an excuse to spend time with his favorite redhead.

Erin and Bhrode. Two extremely different people yet the only ones Jeremy seemed to think of much lately. Oddly enough, a peculiar mix of attraction and fear was what he felt toward both, although the nature of that fear and attraction was significantly different for each.

Bhrode was his boss, a hard ass, someone who demanded fear and respect from those unfortunate enough to know him. Not usually one to fear anybody, even Jeremy couldn't deny the effect the old man's strident and scowling manner had on everyone, including him. Yet something about that very temperament reflected what Jeremy himself wanted to develop deep down. As a teenager growing up on various ships and starbases, he came to admire many of the commanding officers his parents served under, but the day he witnessed his father receive a strong dressing-down from the captain of the Westphalia, Jeremy knew that was the kind of man he wanted to be someday. Power, respectability, competence and an unflinching ability to make his will become that of his subordinates, all rolled into the frame of one man.

Jeremy's steps became stronger and his pace quicker as he continued down the corridor, the fire of his inner passion once again rekindling itself in his mind. Through the course of his life, that passion had had significant effects, positive and negative. It drove Jeremy to Starfleet, molded his strength of character and his ability to endure even the most difficult situations. It forged an achiever's spirit in him, fueled by an internal drive to become someone, to obtain the vision that had embedded itself in his mind and to let nothing stand in his way.

That included the less-than-glamorous life his parents led as non-comms in the Fleet. In that respect, Jeremy's passion engendered in him a certain disdain for his father, whom he never again saw in quite the same light after that day on the Westphalia. It told him that what his parents had come from, indeed what all the Savoies before them had come from, was nothing. To be like them was to be nothing and he swore he would never, ever be that.

And so the rebel was born. The one who in a strange twist of fate would often find himself at odds with anyone who wielded the authority or strength of character he himself strove for. He feared Bhrode for that. He even hated the bastard for that. Yet he couldn't help but be attracted to the reflection of his own inner passion that the old man exhibited.

His attraction to Erin was obvious enough, but there was fear there as well. She had no real or lasting power over him -- Jeremy rarely got close enough to anyone long enough to allow that kind of power to develop -- but as with any relationship, 'knowing' her physically would inevitably lead to her wanting to know him on all levels.

That was what he found terrifying. The possibility of someone coming to know him that well, learning what made him tick, seeing what he thought and knowing what he felt. His attraction and fear of women were always at odds with each other. Either was enough to make his heart palpitate alone. Together, they made him delirious one minute and feel like running the next.

Yet as he stepped into the turbolift, Jeremy realized one major difference between the way Erin and Bhrode made him feel: thinking of Erin could make him smile.

Lost in the realization, Jeremy was soon shaken out of his private thoughts by the ship's computer.

::INITIATING SYSTEM RE-BOOT. WARNING, LIFE SUPPORT ON HALF POWER. SYSTEM WILL BE BACK ONLINE IN ONE HOUR, SIX MINUTES AND FORTY-TWO SECONDS. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER AUDIO WARNING::

"What the? . . ." he started to ask out loud when the turbolift came to an abrupt halt as power went out throughout the ship.

"Son of a bitch!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Computer, initiate emergency turbolift recall," he requested in vain. There was no response.

"Stupid bucket of rust ship! That god damn Quick. . ." he muttered in frustration, pounding his hand against the wall. "Savoie to bridge," he
called out, smacking his combadge. Nothing. "Savoie to -anybody-," he tried again, exasperated. Still nothing.

"Fuck!" he yelled. 'One hour' Bhrode had told him. Jeremy wasn't going to make it back in time.

He was sure Bhrode would be pissed, ship-wide power outage or not.

"Dancing With The Devil In The Pale Starlight, Part 1 of 2"

Primary Cast: Lt. (JG) Victor Krieghoff

Additional Cast: Petty Officers Buck Gorham and Phil Dixon, Structural Engineers Alvin Holmes and Deretha Festill, Chief Welder's Mate Treg Galdo, and Dr. Selan

******

Stardate 50306.19
Delta Quadrant
Idran System Monitor Base
Mobile Shipyard Complex Beta
Security Monitoring Station One
0400 Hours

"S-sir, we've got another alarm coming in off the Gyrfalcon."

Victor looked up from the LCARS screen at his station and halted the scrolling list of expected arrivals and departures for the next two days with a tap of his finger. "Log it and run a scan, Buck. Let's see if we have another fault in the system, or if they've got a work crew aboard and neglected to tell us." ~ And please get over this reaction to being in the same room with me or I'm going to have to rewrite the rotation schedule again. ~

Gorham nodded and turned back to his console. "Sc-scanning now, sir."

Victor tapped his combadge. "Security to Dixon - Phil, have you run into any work parties on your rounds? We've got another alarm off the Gyrfalcon."

There was a pause, then Dixon answered, "Just one, sir - and they're standing right here with me: Engineers Holmes and Festill from Structural and Chief Welder's Mate Galdo. They're pulling some extra time to test a new system for applying the ablative armor on the Vreehawk in Bay Four, and they don't think anyone else was going to be working late tonight."

"Probably another false reading from the internal sensors then," Victor decided. "You'd think they could get that locked down after three trips up here."

"S-sir? I-it's not the sensors this t-time," the petty officer on the other side of the room spoke up. "I'm s-showing two - no, three sources of movement aboard her. Tapping into the Gyrfalcon's internal array to get a visual... Oh, god."

Victor's head snapped around at the tone in Gorham's voice. "What? What's wrong?" He was already out of his seat and moving before finishing the question, crossing the room in a bound.

"It's not... not a work c-crew," Gorham stammered, pointing at the screens arrayed across the horseshoe-shaped monitoring station. "They... they're"

~ Damn. ~ Victor stared at the clumsy-looking figures as they stiffly moved through one of the main corridors aboard the Gyrfalcon. ~ No mistaking them. But what are they doing here? We've got a treaty... ~ He tapped his combadge again. "Phil, we've got intruders on the Gyrfalcon. I'm going to a Class One alert. I'm beaming you and your people there straight to Security here."

He turned, hands moving over the transporter controls as he spoke. "Buck, get on the line to Security Main at the Starbase, tell them what we've got and request backup. For all I know they're a monitoring team sent to make sure we're living up to the treaty, but I'm not taking chances." He checked his controls and nodded. "Beaming you now, Phil."

"What's..." Dixon's voice paused, and then continued from the transporter pad at the back of the room, "happening? What kind of intruders?"

"The bad kind," Victor replied as he keyed open a locker and pulled out a sliding rack with a row of phaser rifles on it. He looked up, sizing the three people with Dixon. ~ Two yardie engineers and a welder. Not good, but I don't have a choice. At least the welder looks like he's seen the elephant. ~ Without looking at what his hands were doing he reached down, drew out a rifle, checked the power cell, and then tossed it to the first engineer. "Congratulations, sir - welcome to Security."

The engineer bobbled the catch, and had to juggle the rifle for a second before he had it under control. "What?"

The female engineer caught the next rifle with more grace but looked as puzzled as the first. "Security? But we're engineers..."

The welder, a large, grizzled man with the bulk that a heavy gravity colonist, snatched his out of the air and checked it with a more professional eye. "We're on combat status and benefits, right sir? That's how we handled it during the war."

~ I was right, he's done this before, that helps some. ~ "That's the way it works, Chief. Help those two get ready while I take of getting us some help." Victor turned to the still puzzled Dixon. "All right, Phil, here's how we're going to work this: the Chief, the two yardies and I are going in to see what's happening on Gyrfalcon. You pull everyone in off all the outlying ships and start checking the yard to make sure there aren't any more of them here. Buck will keep on dealing with Security Main and get us reinforcements. You clear on that?"

"Yes sir... but...."

"But what?" Victor asked, drawing out a rifle for himself and checking it.

"What kind of intruders are they? Why all of this?" Dixon indicated the Chief and the two engineers with their rifles. "What's wrong?"

Victor waved the engineers and the Chief onto the transporter pad as he set the coordinates for the Gyrfalcon's bridge and started a countdown to transport. Stepping back to the pad, he joined the three already there. "Everything's wrong," he told Dixon quietly as the wash of light took him and his impromptu team away. "They're Borg."

*****

Stardate 50306.19
Delta Quadrant
Idran System Monitor Base
Mobile Shipyard Complex Beta
USS Gyrfalcon
Deck 3, Forward
0419 Hours

"Look out!"

Victor's warning gave Chief Galdo enough time to throw himself forward, the bolt of plasma passing over him and searing the wall. Landing on his shoulder, the grizzled Axanari rolled to his feet and turned to face his attacker.

The remaining Borg in the cargo bay turned, it's face almost obscured by an overlay of mechanical parts, and raised its right arm, the complicated metal claw which had replaced the hand on that side spreading wide as the firing port in his palm irised open again. "Resistance is futile."

~ You people need new dialog ~ Victor thought as he frantically flipped debris off of the still body of the female engineer that had accompanied him to the Gyrfalcon. "Hang on, Chief - I'll be there in a moment!" he called out.

Galdo didn't respond, as he rushed in on the Borg and shoved his arm up so the plasma blast fired into the ceiling. Jamming a heavily muscled shoulder into the Borg's chest, he forced it back a few steps, then wrenched hard, rolling it over her his and sending it to the floor.

The Borg struck heavily, slid across the deck, and collided with the wall in a ringing impact. Servos whined as it started to roll over, and a greenish glow started to form at the mouth of the plasma-thrower in its arm. "Surrender to the future," it said in a monotone. "You will be assimilated."

The last of the debris from the fallen cargo fell away and Victor scooped Deretha up into his arms. Throwing a glance at the smoldering remains of the first Borg where it lay against the opposite wall, he turned and started for the doors. ~ At least we got one of them before they adapted to our frequency-skipping algorithms - but they shouldn't have done it that fast. It was like they already had them on file and just needed to access them. ~ No more than ten feet from the debris that had pinned her to the floor, Deretha suddenly raised her head, interrupting his thoughts.

"Computer... core," she whispered urgently. "Other one... going... Core. Fly ship... run... all from there." She coughed, a wet rasping sound. "Alvin locked... ship out... before... left Bridge. Have to access... at Core.

"I understand," Victor told her. "We'll stop it at the Core just as soon as we finish this one off." He took another four steps, almost turned as a heavy impact sounded, but forced himself to keep going. "Just hold it together a little longer, Chief - I'll be right back," he breathed, dragging the crewman out the doors into the hall.

He set her down gently next to Alvin's body, careful to turn her face so she didn't see the gaping hole in his chest where the Borg's plasma charge had caught the young engineer and burned through him. "Just rest here and I'll be back as soon as I..." He stopped speaking when he realized that the young woman couldn't hear him anymore. "I'll stop it," he continued, closing her sightless eyes. "I promise. No matter what."

A yell sounded behind him, and Victor turned as Chief Galdo sailed out through the open cargo bay doors and slammed into him, both of them crashing to the floor.

"You will be assimilated or you will be destroyed," the Borg monotoned as it walked forward. "Resistance is futile." It raised its arm, the plasma thrower lighting up again.

Galdo shook his head, looked up, and rolled to the side in a lunge for a piece of nearby debris from the hold that the first Borg's explosive destruction had scattered into the corridor. Rolling back over, he swung it and knocked the Borg's legs out from under it, the plasma bolt sizzling down the hallway well above either of the men.

The Borg made an electronic sound that would have been a growl of frustration in a more organic being. "Your efforts are pointless. Surrender to the inevitable."

Victor's hand reached under his tunic and snaked out the Phaser 1 holstered there, then reached out from his position on the floor next to the Borg and jammed his Phaser 1 into some exposed flesh, and triggered it. ~ Maybe it doesn't have the frequency for... ~ He made a face as it had no effect. ~ This is not going well! ~ He started to rise and deliver a kick to the Borg's head.

The Borg's grasping claw jerked up and caught Victor's foot, dragging him back to the floor. "You will be assimilated," it said, throwing out its other hand and catching Galdo with a blue bolt of energy that knocked him down the hall, "or you will be neutralized."

Victor struggled to free himself, reaching for some debris to use as a club, but his fingers fell short. "Don't feel like being neutralized, thank you," he grunted, reaching out and tearing free a handful of tubing from the Borg's leg.

Jerking as fluids sprayed out of the tubing, the Borg drew Victor closer and examined him with one startlingly blue eye. "You will make an excellent addition to the collective once you have been assimilated," it assured him. As it finished speaking, it slammed him into the wall hard enough to drive the wind out of him, examined him again, then repeated the gesture. Without another word, the Borg discarded him and stood up, moving towards the stunned Galdo.

Coughing, his eyes stinging, Victor blinked to try and clear them. ~ Can't take one by myself, got to save the Chief - already lost too many people... ~ Shaking his head to clear it, he dragged himself up and blinked the last of the haze from his eyes in time to see the Borg raise Glado into the air.

"Hey, Borg!" he coughed, stumbling to the cargo bay doorway. He held up his Class 1 Phaser. "I know this isn't any good on you as a weapon, but I bet I can take out enough of the plasma conduits with it as a bomb to keep you from leaving!" He thumbed the power switch to 'overload.' "Drop the Chief, or I send us all up in smoke."

The Borg turned, studied him for a moment, then opened its claw and dropped the gasping Chief. "This will only postpone the inevitable. Surrender the weapon."

"Sure thing, Borg." Victor smiled humorlessly, a predator's grin. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the whining phaser into the cargo bay. "Oops."

The Borg straightened, moving with creditable speed as it lumbered to the hatchway. "That was not what you said you'd do," it protested, sounding more human than it had before. It pointed an arm inside the bay, a small antenna extended itself, something hummed, and the phaser switched off.

"I lied." Victor reached up and touched a pair of switches on the wall. "Goodbye, Borg."

With a hiss of hydraulics, the bay door, freed from its safety protocols by Victor's command, slammed down on the Borg's head, the creature's body hardly slowing the door's progress to the deck.

Victor allowed himself one look at the remains of the Borg, shook his head and blinked again, then started down the corridor towards Galdo. "Chief? You all right? We've still got one of them to go."

The burly Chief groaned and rolled over, glaring at Victor from the floor. "No benefits are worth this - not even if you paid in latinum."

"Think of the free drinks this story will get you," Victor offered as he helped Galdo up.

"Screw the drinks," the older man panted, leaning against the wall. "I'm too old for this crap."

"We're all too old for this, Chief," Victor panted, nodding towards the bodies of the two engineers. "But we have a shot at getting older - they don't. There's still one more to go, and then they can rest easy."

Galdo glared at him, but straightened up. "So how do we do that? No phasers, no reinforcements because they raised the shields before the whiz kids could stop them - and I don't think we can count on the last one standing under a door for you."

Victor leaned his head back, wincing at the hollow sound that reverberated in the still of the corridor. He twisted his head to the side to see what access panel he'd banged into, and a cruel smile spread across his face as he read the words on the panel door. "Oh, I think we can come up with something, Chief," he replied, stepping back and opening the panel. "Matter of fact, I think what we need is right here..."

"Damage Control?" the Chief read over his shoulder. "What are you going to find in there to fight a Borg with?"

Stardate 50306.19
Delta Quadrant
Idran System Monitor Base
Mobile Shipyard Complex Beta
USS Gyrfalcon
Deck 3, Outside Gyrfalcon's Computer Core
0427 Hours

"How do you know it will be here?"

"Because it needs computer access if they're going to get the ship moving, Chief. And with the system locked down, direct access is the only way." Victor paused and checked the narrow corridor between the lower level of the core and the antimatter storage tanks again. "It has to have to plug into the computer and deal with the protocols directly."

Galdo hefted the long pointed metal pry bar he'd picked out of the damage control locker like a spear. "How do we get in without alerting it?"

"We don't."

"Excuse me?" He stared at Victor.

"There are only four ways into the Computer Core, and the way the room's arranged it'll know as soon as we open one. There isn't any point in trying to hide."

"So we just barge in and hope for the best?" Galdo looked ill.

Victor nodded. "The only real question is where it is, and whether we should come in on one level or two."

"Remind me never to go into a fight with you again," the Chief demanded. "I think I had better chances on the outside of the hull without a suit!"

"Two." Victor decided suddenly. "Make it divide its attention and firepower. It's going to be limited in what it can do to respond since it can't risk damaging the core, and we need to make that work for us. You want high or low?"

The Chief looked at the door resignedly and shrugged. "Low is fine."

"Done. Give me a minute - no two - to get in position, and then go in." Victor started for the ladder. "And good luck, Chief."

"I try to make my own luck, son - I'm just not doing that good a job today."

"Then put on another shift, Chief - I think we're going to need it." Victor started up the ladder, pausing as he shifted the axe he'd chosen from the locker to his left hand. "Remember, two minutes."

"Two minutes." Galdo sounded tired. "Don't get yourself killed son, I want to kick your ass for getting me into this."

"You can have your shot when this is over, Chief," Victor nodded and concentrated on the ladder, trying to avoid making more noise than necessary as he climbed. ~ No sense in advertising things more than necessary. This is going to be bad enough as it is. ~

He finished the climb to Deck 2, looked down the ladder to check on Galdo, and hand-signaled to him that he was going to check the corridors around his position. The Chief nodded, and Victor turned to check first one side and then the other. ~ All clear - good. ~

A minute passed, and then the sound of Galdo keying open his door carried up the ladderway. "Now - got to go now," he told himself, slapping the door release. It swooshed open and he took a step forward into Core room, feet echoing on the catwalk. Forcing his head up as a rush of oxygen-rich air revived him, he peered into the room - and into darkness

~ What the hell? ~ He squinted and tried to see something -anything - in the gloom as the door closed behind him, leaving only the small illumination cast by the standby lights flickering across the surface of the core. ~ It's killed the lighting. ~

From below him, the sudden sounds of a struggle echoed up the narrow compartment. Galdo's pry bar rang on metal, and there was a sharp sizzle, as some electronics shorted out. Immediately after that, the catwalk shook as someone or something crashed into one of the compartment walls.

~ Dark or not, I have to help him - he's depending on me. ~ Victor reached out with his hand to the railing on the catwalk and moved rapidly along it around the computer core to the ladder as the sounds of combat continued from below him. "Hang on, Chief," he called out as his fingers found the ladder. "I'm on the way!"

~ Take it one step at a time ~ he thought to himself, gripping the axe tightly as he started down. ~ If you fall, it's all over and the Borg wins. ~ The ladder shuddered as another crash sounded from below, and he clung to the rungs as his feet slipped, leaving him dangling in midair for a moment. "Look out!" he called as the axe slipped from his grasp and spun away as he tried to keep from falling.

There was a clang as it ricocheted off something - probably the core, he reflected sourly - and then another clatter as it rattled across the floor. ~ At least I didn't hit the Chief - and it was too much to hope for that I'd hit the Borg ~ he sighed to himself, regaining his footing and starting down again.

Without warning his feet contacted the deck, and he slipped, almost falling. "Chief?" he called out, getting his feet under him and putting his back to the ladder as he tried to sort Galdo out from the Borg amidst the flashing shadows. ~ Need more light - this is not working. ~

A clatter to his left drew his attention, and he turned that way. He took a hesitant step in that direction, his left hand trailing along the wall, feeling for the emergency panel he knew had to be there. "Chief?"

The clatter sounded again, and he took a bigger step, his hand finding the panel and tripping the switch - only to find himself flash-blinded as one of the light panels flared to life right in front of his face and exploded in a shower of spars as a bolt from the Borg's plasma thrower struck it.

He winced, stepped back reflexively - and something that whirred slightly struck him suddenly, breaking ribs and doubling him over. As he staggered back, the air driven from his lungs, his foot fell on something that rolled under it and he went over backwards, striking his head on the wall. Sparks flew in the darkness in front of his eyes, and a red haze of pain colored his thoughts. ~ Borg - that was a Borg. Get up... got to help the Chief.... ~

He started to struggle to his feet, was struck again, and crushed back into the ladder. This time he grabbed at his attacker in reflex, his hands slipping across tubes and metal plates until they found purchase. ~ That was good - now what? ~ He thought as he shook his head, trying to clear his eyes. As he got one arm around the Borg's throat. "Chief?" he called out again, trying to keep moving with the Borg in his grasp and avoid being shaken loose. "I've got a problem here."

"What?" Galdo replied from a meter or so away and somewhere to his left. Then, "Can you hold him?"

"Not a chance," Victor called out, as the Borg spun around, trying to dislodge him. He jerked out a set of tubes he'd been clinging to as he swung out and banged into the computer core, grunting with pain at the impact. "I'm lucky to be here at all - I was looking into that light panel when it blew. "

"You're blin... right." His voice shifted positions. "I think I disabled its internal transporter in my first attack - it hasn't used it so far. It keeps trying to insert some kind of manual probe into the core interface, seems more worried about that than fighting me."

"Needs access to fly the ship," Victor said, tightening his grip as the Borg spun him into the wall again with terrible force. "Trying... to knock out the blocks the kids... put up."

"Surrender and be assimilated," the Borg said mechanically, shifting position to try and dislodge Victor again.

"Okay, son," Galdo's voice was closer. "What do I - ooof!"

"Chief?" Victor gritted his teeth and scrabbled for another set of tubing to tear out. ~ Thank God these things can't reach behind them worth a damn. ~ He found some tubing, jerked, and felt a hot liquid spill out over his hand. "Chief?!"

"I'm here." The Chief's voice was strained this time. "He got me in the right arm."

"Can you still..."

"I'm alive." He interrupted Victor before he finished. "I can fight."

Victor reached up and tore at some circuitry on the Borg's head, more warm fluids gushing out on his hand as things tore loose. Stiff metal-clad fingers grasped at his, but slipped away. ~ We need a plan. Otherwise, this is going to end with both of us dead - or assimilated. ~

The Borg backed into the wall again, driving Victor's broken ribs back into him like jagged knives. This time, Victor didn't even try to hold back the cry of pain - but it was choked off by the blood that started to fill his lungs.

"Son?" Galdo's voice sounded further away this time, like he was in the bottom of a well. "You still with me, son?"

"All... right..." Victor whispered, the blood that came up with the words making them a lie. He started to fall away from the Avon-Borg, but a crushing metal hand clasped his arm and held him in place.

"He's using you as a shield, son!" The older man's voice was still further away as the Borg swung around, Victor's feet dragging on the floor like a doll's. "I can't attack him - you're in the way. He's going for the access port again!"

A sudden moment of clarity pushed back the pain and darkness in Victor's mind. "Chief... do what... you have to... do," he choked out, more blood coming up with the words. "Save... ship..."

"Son, I..."

For a single moment Victor's voice sounded like thunder as he reached past the pain and snapped, "That's an order, Chief!"

Galdo didn't reply.

From a great distance Victor felt the Borg move again, heard the click of the manual interface engaging, and heard, quite distinctly, the sound of something metal scraping on the core chamber's floor. He wondered for what felt like an eternity whether or not Galdo would follow his order as the sounds of the Borg attempting to override the lockout sounded from in front of him... and then got his answer.

A tearing pain ripped through him as Galdo's improvised spear punched through his back, carrying through him and into the Borg under the impetus of his charge. Victor's head fell back and he screamed a gout of blood as the chief put his heavy-gravity backed strength behind the rush and drove the spear through Victor and through the greater resistance of the Borg, the tip bursting out of its chest and penetrating the shell of the computer core. The Borg's cry joined Victor's, a mechanical squeal of agony that went on and on - until the tip of Galdo's spear lodged in a power conduit within the shell, sending an arc of power that seared through the Borg, Victor, and the Chief, the power arcing from the metal spear in all directions until the automatic cutoffs shut the circuit down, leaving the three in darkness.

********

Stardate 50307.05
Delta Quadrant
Idran System Monitor Base
Main Medical
1450 Hours

"...and right after that, they got the shields dropped and the medics beamed in with a batch of Fleet Marines to clean things up," Galdo shrugged. "Just like a bunch of jarheads, too late for the real fight."

"Probably shouldn't let them hear you say that, Chief," Victor cautioned weakly from the bed he'd been in since the operation to repair the injuries he'd received in the fight against the Borg. "Unless you want another fight on your hands, that is."

"After the Borg, son, I ain't worried about the Marines." The older man looked around, saw an approaching Vulcan physician with PADD in hand, and sighed. "Here comes the logic brigade to run me off." Galdo reached down and patted Victor on the shoulder gently. "Hang in there son, you did good work. Those kids would be proud of you." He looked up and continued, "I'm just leaving Doctor Selan."

The Vulcan nodded, watching the Chief depart before turning to Victor and checking the readouts on the biobed. "You will be released in 48 hours, barring additional complications," he noted, entering some data on the PADD. Transmitting the data, he turned the PADD around and handed it to Victor. "You have message traffic that has been accumulating since the incident, Lieutenant - I suggest you spend some of that time dealing with it."

"Thank you," Victor nodded, as he took the PADD. The Vulcan returned the nod and departed, leaving Victor to sort the mail that had piled up.

Scanning the list, Victor worked his way past several messages from people at the starbase, and a few from the handful of ex-crewmates that appeared to have heard of his injuries through the grapevine and not held a party hoping he'd die from them. ~ I'll get to those later. C'mon, it has to be here by now - it's always here by now... surely they're not going to break tradition and keep me on her... there. ~

He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and opened the message from BUPERS. ~ Where are they sending me this time? ~

To: Victor Henrich Krieghoff, Lieutenant (JG), Patrol Officer, USS Galaxy
From: Starfleet Command, Bureau of Personnel
Date: 50307.04
Re: Transfer orders.

You are hereby ordered, by Starfleet Command, to report to Stardock Two at Planetia Utopia Shipyards for assignment to the following ship, prior to her launch. You are authorized to use any available transit and/or shipping to report as soon as possible. USS GALAXY NCC-70637/A

In our hand, this stardate:
Fleet Admiral Nakamura, Commander in Chief, UFP-Starfleet
Commodore George Irwin, Commander, BUPERS

Victor blinked; read the message a second time, and then a third. ~The Galaxy? The new flagship? But the only way I heard that you were going to get on her was to be... invited. ~ He leaned back on the bed, frowning. ~Well, this is going to be interesting. I've never been *asked* to transfer *to* a ship before.... ~

"Points of Authority"
by

Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Federation Liaison Officer,
USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security (on paper), USS Galaxy

After scouring the Cargo Bay for a what turned up a single case of somewhat aged Bloodwine, Kylar hurriedly assigned the daring task of delivering it to her high and mighty princess to the first redshirt that crossed his path. The Benzite argued that it contradicted his current orders of stripping the Cargo Bay of the lewd sculptures of anatomically correct nude statues that stood adjacent to the outer hinges of the hangar doors.

As much as Kylar wanted those statuesque sculptures removed - something about protruding appendages on flyby was embarrassing - he needed to expediate diplomatic relations by delivering the needs of the Princess. The decorative problems were enough to deal with on this trip. He promised to put in a word in the Benzite's defense if the need arose.

So, one task was done, and the other - the delivery of the replicated furniture - was well on its way, or been done already. He'd received word from Requisitions that the Princess was not in her quarters when they'd arrived with the first shipment. The guards awaiting had stated she had started her tour without him and would be back in good time.

Frustration set in. Diplomacy was not supposed to be this exasperating, but the daughter of Kahless was not a diplomat of any typical means, and this trip was not being made for her in the name of diplomacy. In fact, he was never made aware of what this trip entailed, except that she was travelling back to lanjep.

"Computer, locate Princess DeV'oraH." His gravelled voice betrayed irritation at her unpredictability as he tapped the badge on his breast while on his way to a turbolift.

[Princess DeV'oraH is currently in Ten-Forward.] He wished the computer had been given the voice of a male, but apparently, the pleasing overtones of the feminine species had a more productive effect on the crew as evidenced by years of psychological research. That damned Captain Kirk and his playboy ways. Such a shrewd and intelligent individual flawed in his thinking of retaining the cushioned pitches of women as a reminder of how stallionesque he thought himself to be.

It may be productive to these inferior Terrans, but not to a Kelvan. He shared these values with the Vulcans, whom he admired, save for their lack of desire to use their intellect to conquer and control these emotional mongoloids that currently dominate the Federation. How they successfully worked alongside these child-like simpletons was perplexing to him.

He turned a corner in the corridor on his way to Ten-Forward; he had to pass the Princess' quarters due to the design of the turbolift deposit from his end of the ship he'd arrived from, to find a flurry of activity at the head of her quarters. The smell of something fermented assaulted his nostrils. It tickled the cilia, and he could feel the oncoming tingle of a sneeze rumbling its way up.

As the arguing ensued in front of the Princess' quarters amongst several Klingons and what appeared to be a Starfleet officer - Kylar couldn't tell through his watery vision - the Legate sneezed.

************

"The computer's voice..." DeV'oraH sniffed, bleary eyed and drunk after a day of heavy drinking, slurred out her words like a drunken whore, "She annoys me. She need the voice of a WARRIOR, not a floozy."

Her Klingon guards and staff laughed heartily. Anything to bring another insult to their Federation allies. Since war was an impossibility, their idea of getting even was to constantly remind the humans of their weaknesses.

Commander Corgan was about fed up with the Princess's behavior. Always belittling him. Using every opportunity possible to slag starfleet and it's officers. Using Corgan not as a bodyguard, but a stretcher for intoxicated Klingons who couldn't keep their bodies upright. In fact, the Commander was carrying two Klingons, one on each overloaded shoulder. A single Klingon's bulk was much heavier than his own, moreso in the case of two being heaped on his slight frame.

One of the warriors belched, right in front of Corgan's face. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He waited momentarily to inhale, and once he thought the air was clean, he tried to breathe again... and was hit with a nostril full of gaseous spice eminating from the other Klingon's mouth.

"Urrrggghhh...." He coughed twice. The spices from whatever the hell that was the Klingons forced him to drink still numbed his tongue and rasped his voice, "...female voice... relaxing..."

"Who is the harlot that created this voice." DeV'oraH snarled.

"Admiral... Christine Chapel... *COUGH*... Head of Starfleet Emergency Operations... Medical... ninety some years... ago..." Every word was torture, his throat like a desert.

"Well, the voice displeases me. Replace it with something else." She demanded.

"Ummm... let's see..." Corgan thought for a second, "Computer, change LCARS interface voice in Ambassador's suite from Admiral Chapel to... Silvester Stalone."

=/\="Processing..."=/\= It whirred and clicked, then transformed into a dopey, deep and marble filled voice, =/\="New settings complete."=/\=

"Now that's the voice of a warrior!" DeV'oraH raised her arm in praise.

"Right..." Corgan muttered miserably as the warrior on his back ached and the warrior on his shoulder belched again.

Wiping his nose with a kerchief of the atrocious stench that permeated the air, Curran breathed shallowly, trying without much luck to appease the scorching heat each breath forced down his throat.

When his vision cleared to the point of being able to focus on the Starfleet Officer carrying the bulky load of two VERY drunk Klingons on his shoulders, the Kelvan's eyes squinted down in an attempt to quell his anger at the ineptitude of the Security forces that were supposed to keep the envoy in sway.

"What, may I ask, has been going on?" A Klingon belched at the Legate, and his eyes darted to the offender, as a new wave of stench rippled its way towards the Liaison Officer. Kylar was a second too late in holding his breath, and the odor agitated him further as his nose wrinkled in disgust. Another sneeze assailed him. The Klingons roared in laughter.

Corgan blushed, finding no escape from his landed situation. The sight of an officer lugging around two drunken Klingons while being surrounded by a half dozen more drunken warriors and statement must have been a sad, sorry state from Curran's point of view. All he could do was stand there, the weight of two heavyset warriors slowly crushing him, and wait for Curran to find Brhode again. So much for redemption.

James greeted the Legate, "Hello, Legate Curran. How may I help you."

*BBBBuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrppppppppppppp....* The Klingon leaning on Corgan's left hurled the loudest belch he had ever heard from any sentient bipedal. The smell was overwhelming, threatening to cause James to throw up again.

"They had a bit too much to drink." The chief of security apologized to the Federation Ambassador. He addressed his drunken burden, "You had some gagh with that aweful sh*t, didn't you? Take it easy, big guy. You betterrrrr..." Corgan grunted. He heaved the weight of the Klingon off his shoulders. For a moment, the drunken Klingon wobbled, heaved, and then fell over, "...get off me... uh oh..."

The Kelvan watched the huge warrior teeter, totter, wobble on one foot, and crash to the floor in a medley of rattles, hums, and finally snores as he passed out on the floor.

"I can see that, 'Commander! Your assignment was to watch over the Klingons and make sure nothing of significant importance came to be with the envoy, and that includes them getting drunk!" He looked to the Klingon snoring on the floor rather contentedly, with a huge grin on his face. The others around him guffawed heartily at the exchange.

"Did you know that Klingons are more apt to fight and prove their honour when drinking, 'Commander?"

"Look, Legate." Corgan defended himself, "I was ordered to search the Klingons for weapons, ok? Captain's orders. I have to follow them. And besides, they get their weapons back... and the bodyguards get to keep their weapons for the Princess's protection. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that? They are under Diplomatic Immunity, that's what's wrong with that! Captain Brhode has no authority here. He has to go through me if he wants anything from the Princess, do you understand me? *I* am in charge here, and I will not be over-ruled by an overcharged cretin who has delusions of godhood!" Where is the structure here? Does no one follow orders anymore? Brhode uses his overbearing intimidation tactics and threats to get things done. He wsa going to have to have a chat with Brhode if this was how he was going to play.

"Legate, normally I would agree with you, but our sensor net is down and we have an investigation going on, while we're here giving them a tour of the local bars! We can't have a weapon loose on this ship, for safety sakes."

"So why do a search? Why not simply ask them for their weapons, for that is all *you* are allowed to do without my express consent!" He pointed a long, sinewy finger at Corgan, and felt like slapping him in the process. He held the urge back, though. He'll take out his frustration in the holodeck later.

"Starfleet and the Federation issued explicit orders that the Princess and her entourage were to have free reign of all non-restricted areas of the ship without molestation. After the incident on lanjep, she had death threats issued against her by a half dozen worlds for her heralded support of the Federation. That she would allow such an event of magnanimous proportions to take place under her jurisdiction, to be followed by an outbreak of hostilities that almost destroyed the foundations of the Federation, shook the very bed of peace that had been undeterred for
decades.

"Her honour was damaged almost to the extent of disassociation from the Klingon Empire. Truces and alliances had become disillusioned at the apparent effort of the Princess to cover up the eve-" The computer came on to cut his off.

"INITIATING SYSTEM RE-BOOT. WARNING, LIFE SUPPORT ON HALF POWER. SYSTEM WILL BE BACK ONLINE IN ONE HOUR, SIX MINUTES AND FORTY-TWO SECONDS. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER AUDIO WARNING," Warned Silvester Stallone the computer construct voice. Then, as it promised, the air went completely stale and the lights vanished. The Klingons, security officers and ambassadors were caught in a translucent darkness.

"What is the meaning of this?!?!?" DeV'oraH demanded testily, "Your ship is run shoddily! Power failures, computer failures, re-boots... a true warrior's ship is always trusty and reliable. This ship is a disgrace!"

"Princess!" Curran turned in the dimmed corridors from admonishing the Security officer to look around him. Auxiliary power kicked in, sending a wash of faintly hovering light throughout the corridor. It was just enough to guide an individual to safety.

"The ship is undergoing diagnostic repairs, as all ships do, even your own sacred Birds of Prey. Your D'Tinga vessels were no raving engineering marvels themselves. Wasn't there an incident involving an engineering room full of Tribbles? Reminds me of the elephant afraid of the mouse." The Princess huffed and flushed a dark shade, ready to erupt on the Kelvan.

Instead, he took her by the arm, gripping it hard as she growled at him in anger. Kylar simply growled a low rumble back. The other Klingons around him went silent as the import of what was happening sank on them. This little Terran was challenging the Living Sword of Kahless! And he dared touch her!

There the two stood, growling and staring each other down, as the Klingon on the floor snored loudly still grinning lasciviously.

Corgan was too busy organizing to talk to the Klingon ambassador. He walked to a nearby panel, cracking it open to reveal a line up of supplies. He found an emergency kit and emergency equipment, including a set of three wrist flashlights. He strapped the first wrist light on his arm and activated the bulbs, shining a cone of light down the hallway. He handed the other two flashlights to two other security officers.

"So'ka, Hanley, go to section A10 on this deck. There should be enough flashlights for the rest of the security detail. Distribute them and return to your stations afterwards." He ordered. The two officers strapped and activated their lights, then ran down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Corgan thanked God somebody prepared power outages (it happens in combat).

"Movement in the Dark"
by Ensign Ella Grey

Darkness descended upon Galaxy.

For one brief moment, many onboard had the same thought- that the ship was like a star in space, only now robbed of its light- and most wondered whether that light would return, wondered when the blinding glory that was the Galaxy would light up space once more.

And then the chaos began as all realized that they were free, free under the shield of all that darkness to do whatever the hell they wanted.

People walked about, despite the fact that they had been told not to, their hands outstretched before them so that they could 'see' their way around. This did not stop them from bumping into things or each other, however. In the dark, lovers met for secret rendez-vous while children played games of Hide and Seek, Red Rover, and Kill-The-Borg.

Older 'children' organized a game of Marco Polo.

Impromptu fights began on a few decks over who had stubbed who's toe and so forth. One man took the opportunity to run around naked, since he had wanted to do so all his life and now could without the pesky consequence of being seen, and another man could be heard loudly cursing Dr. Quick from within a stalled turbolift.

A young girl, with a dagger in one hand and a mug of Klingon bloodwine that she had been working on before the power went out, argued with a security officer. Her pouty voice, stating that "Iss okaye. Ah-rel says I cann" could be heard by another further down on the deck, but his twisted mind was more concerned with blood and monkeys.

Investigating Officer Leo Streely viewed the darkness as a sign from the heavens. He took the time to grope as many women as he could and then avoid their fists thrown blindly in his direction.

* * * * *

In Engineering, Ella Grey inhaled sharply as she turned into a table corner...again.

She had once thought herself almost a master of her own senses, her sense of hearing and of sight having increased when she gave up her speech. It was funny how much one could notice about the world when one shut up, when one stopped to smell the flowers or view the-

WHACK!

Ella held back the wince as best she could as she doubled over slightly to try to rub the pain away from her thigh. She was humbled now, that was for sure. While her hearing, she thought, was just as strong as ever, she could have heard a needle drop if she chose to, her sight was-

WHACK!

Ella bit back the protesting "OW!" she wanted to yell. She wasn't making much progress here. In the past five mintues she probably hadn't even managed to move more than ten steps. What? Was she, like, surronded by tables and things with sharp pointy ends? When the lights went out, had some joker decided to rearrange all the furniture so that she would keep runing into it. Was she-

WHACK!

*****

On the darkened bridge, a young ensign was sure he could hear the shadowy figure he knew to be Captain Brhode's, grinding his teeth in irritation.

"Bhrode in the Dark!"

The bridge was lit only by the eerie blue-white illumination of the hand held emergency lights. Bridge officers traded nervous looks, as Bhrode
drummed his fingers on the Command Chair.

Main power had been On and Off intermittantly, due to the Engineers trying to do SOMETHING to the computer cores.

Whatever it was, it made Bhrode irritable. And when Old Blood and Guts gets Irritated with Engineers. . .

"Mister Reece! Where is Savoie?" he barked at Electra Reece.

The tall woman stiffened. Wordlessly, she pointed back to the Security Officer.

"Personnel Locator net is still offline, Captain." the nervous Ensign stammered out.

Bhrode growled.

The ensign at Helm shifted, feeling Bhrode's gaze burning on the back of his skull.

Bhrode's fingers drummed on the armrest, as he looked around the nearly empty and dark bridge.

"A billion credits of Federation Starship... and we sit here in the dark under MINIMAL lifesupport, because the Engineers worry more about the paint schemes than their engines. My Helmsman is LATE for duty, someone killed a member of MY crew, I have a ship full of DIPLOMATS....and I am VERY PISSED OFF!" Bhrode announced to no one in particular.

The Emergency Lights kicked back in, along with Emergency power signals.

Reece got busy re-routing the priorities and needs of a ship at rest.

"Helm is back on line." the replacement reported, swearing at Savoie
mentally.

"Oh. How quaint. Too bad Mister Savoie has decided to NOT grace us with his presence. Who are you Ensign?" Bhrode demanded.

"I'm Ensign Brian He..." the kid began to stammer out.

"No. You're Lieutenant Junior Grade Brian whatever, now. Establish a speed of 1/4 impulse on our original heading, Mister whatever." Bhrode corrected in clipped tones.

"Aye Aye sir..." replied the kid, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Keep this up, and you may be my new Executive Officer by dinnertime. I'll be in my Ready Room, now that the doors open." Bhrode barked.

* * * * * * * * * *

(Three hours later)

Lysander, Leo and Rebecca stood before Bhrode in his ready room.

"Let me get this straight, INSPECTOR! You think this was a suicide?" Bhrode thundered.

Lys shifted from foot to foot and developed an inordinate interest in eyeing Rebecca's legs under pretense of staring at his shoes. Rebecca just stared at a spot over Bhrode's head.

"What? did I stutter? Yeah! Hey, can I sit down?" Leo asked.

"No." Bhrode answered in a clipped voice.

"Dr O'Connell is conducting an autopsy at this moment." Rebecca grated out.

"err... rather!" added Lys.

"Autopsey-schmautopsy! It was a suicide! Why is everyone gotta make it complicated?" Leo insisted.

Not surprisingly, Bhrode ignored everyone.

"Computer, engage Emergency Command Hologram." he snapped off.

++WORKING. Identity Confirmed. Dr. Jebediah Quick, Commanding Officer USS GALAXY. Engaging Override of Power Nodes for ECH activation.++ the computer replied.

"Errrr... Smeg! We have a Command Hologram?" Lys asked, perking up.

"Yes. Don't marry it." Rebecca murmered, with a significant glance at the ring Lys still wore on his left hand.

"Yes, Number Two, we have a Command Hologram. ALL Departments on Galaxy have an Emergency Hologram Routine. Star Fleet Engineering decided to build MORE of the pesky things. I hate them. But, until they fix our computers, it's the best and least aggravating link to the databases." Bhrode growled.

The voice that came from behind the Duo was husky and contralto. It was obvioulsy based on the ship's computers' voice. Decidely female, and familiar to everyone in the room except for Leo. (Bhrode had been talking to it most of the day.)

++ Emergency Command Hologram Mark III activated. Please state the nature of your request?++ it asked, from behind the Dynamic Duo.

Lysander spun, his eyes agog. "Ohhhhhhhh smeeeeeeeg!" he moaned.

Rebecca's head swivelled slowly. Her expressionless brown eyes took in the hologram, and then slooowwwwly turned back to Lysander.

"IT WASN'T ME!" he said, flinching from her slight form.

"Problem, Ladies?" asked Bhrode with a smirk.

Leo eyed the hologram and let out a low whistle of appreciation.

The Emergency Hologram, Mark III was the latest 'tweak' of the Holograms Starfleet had introduced on the PROMETHEUS. Originally only for Medical, the idea of a hologrammitic 'advisor' had spread to other Fleet arms.

Somehow, someone had decided that the mass produced 'Mark I' model hadn't been a very good idea (OOC: Da Grinch!) The Mark II 'personality' matrix had been tweaked, but all Mark II's still looked alike (OOC: Prometheus, Andy Dick!), until the II.a variant had been introduced (OOC: Galaxy Doc Richardson!).. But the Mark III was totally customizible.

And Bhrode had selected one Holli VonErnst, gentlewoman farmer of Minnasota as the 'physical form' of the hologram before them.

Lysander stifled his snickers. Rebecca shot him an uncharacteristic glare of fury, before her face went back to the usual mask.

"Not bad, for an older dame. I wouldn't kick her outta bed for eating crackers." Leo observed.

=/\=

TBC. . .

“It's Been awhile”

By Commander Rebecca Von Erst
Executive Officer, USS Galaxy
And
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

Location: Security office, deck 38, USS Galaxy

Soundtrack: “It’s Been Awhile” By Staind

************

“I noted, from self experience and from observing others, that the heart grows cold as a defensive measure. When someone has a hard time coping with the distress of their lives, they shut out the emotions that bother them. It is a high cost, however, because along with the duress everything else is shut out with it.”

“Dominion War: From the Veteran’s Perspective”
By Donovan McCooeye, Bantam/Arkale Press, 2395
Exert by Captain James Lionel Corgan, USS Calgary

************

An Ice-Queen’s work is never done. Aside from the routine (and ritualized) tormenting of trembling underlings, and aside from a general habit of stomping about glaring at people, there was that one never-ending duty that had followed Rebecca von Ernst from her first day at Starfleet Academy Hell Week up until this very day seven years later.

That duty was PAPERWORK. The Federation bureaucracy in all of its (debatable) wisdom) had deigned many years ago that each and every function of life aboard its precious starships had to be accounted for down to the last ‘tit and jottle. So from the early years of Captain Jonathon Archer filing his regular protests with the Vulcan Science Council, to the heady days of James Kirk signing obscure reports in the midst of being attacked by the floating head of Abraham Lincoln, and right up to the ubiquitous swivel-PADD mounted atop Jean Luc (just call me baldy) Picard’s desk. . . .there was a never-ending stream of Paperwork to be done.

Happily for the Senior Command Staff of The United Starship Galaxy, they had one of the universe’s foremost authority on paper-shuffling on their staff in the diminutive form of one Rebecca von Ernst. Her earliest months aboard the ship under Bob Price were spent almost entirely in her tiny little Ensign’s quarters busily filing and compiling the entire bureaucratic workloads for the whole Tactical Department. The other Tac-Weenies at the time (Peter Lockhart, Bosco, and others) had only been too happy to let the shy fidgety ‘new-girl’ take on all their reports in exchange for serving additional Bridge-Shifts, which Rebecca was likewise only too glad to avoid.

It was a happy arrangement.

Now two years and several (questionable) promotions later, the still reserved, (but more menacing) Commander von Ernst had the authority to do whatever damn reports she felt like without any outside interference. It was a calming mountain of mindless busywork that allowed her to secret herself away from the world and wade through the never-ending piles of crew evaluations, and equipment requisitions.

Nobody dared bothering her, and she had a convenient excuse for staying off the bridge.

If she was on the bridge she was likely to kill someone.

With a soft ‘bloop’ the Turbolift announced its arrival on Deck 38, Security Section. Blinking herself back to reality, she checked off the next appointment on her mental list of things to do. (You think Rebecca needs to keep a written list?-Ha)

<<<O>>>>

The doorbell chirruped, interrupting Commander Corgan and his work. It wasn’t easy working without the sensor net for help. He was busy setting up a network of runners to relay messages from deck to deck, to keep the Galaxy in the loop at all times.

~”Great. Now I’m going to have to issue PADDs to everyone as well.”~ Corgan groaned, filing in a message on his PADD, requesting OPS to issue security for more… you guessed it, PADDs. A never ending cycle as part of a communications problem. As if by reflex more than by notice, he hollered, “Come in.”

The Quick virus was inconveniencing his life more than he wanted. No sensor net. No identification. No direct communication, nothing. He couldn’t even find out who was behind his door until it decided to slide open and allow the guest to come in.

The soft, barely perceptible padding of footsteps making their way to his desk however indicated he had a visitor.

Corgan’s head rose out of his desk like a gopher coming out of its hole. “Forgive me for the mess,” He excused himself and the pile of PADDs on the desk, in the middle of an otherwise gutted office, “I'm just getting some things ready for the Legate before I leave for my exile. I'm sorry that somebody decided to redecorate. My staff has been working to tear all that plaid out and….”

Oh. . . .it was HER.

Corgan was stopped dead cold in the middle of a sentence. It the interloper in his office was Captain Brhode, he would have likely come out of his desk, saluted, and listened to his insane, garbage mouthed rantings with interest. James would have taken down Brhode’s orders, nodded, saluted, and allowed the Captain and himself to part ways. But of all the reactions, he would have not been stopped dead cold like space wombat staring into the glare of a deflector array.

That honor was reserved solely for Commander Rebecca Von Ernst.

While Brhode was the mouth and the fists of the USS Galaxy, Rebecca was the brains and the knife in the back at dusk. Her reputation as a stone cold b*tch traveled through every part of Starfleet, even as far as the Advanced Tactical and Security Training Program. It was Rebecca that inspired the Wolf 359 scenario to be standard teaching in all advanced tactical courses (James remembered, for he took that same scenario). It was Rebecca whom all tactical students had to study, a modern day Captain Kirk to watch, learn, and implement into their lives.

There was also the other reputation that preceded her latest incarnation. The jittery, shy, unsure little girl whom everyone felt pity for. It was that person who James got to know, and whom he tried to help in her hardest times. And in some way, it was James’ fault that led Rebecca to her fall and rise. Was it his meddling, or his lack of aide? He couldn’t tell.

James was one of the few people in the Galaxy who knew the truth. She was more than an undead assassin with eyes of winter, or the shy girl who wanted to hide away in her insecurities. James saw her as a person hiding in a different manner. She hid behind her lack of emotions so that she could take action. But when she hid, she hid from every emotion she felt. Anger, happiness, joy, sadness, all the traits that were her redeeming qualities… gone.

And it was all his fault. He was the one that pushed to help her. He was the one that drove her to the edge. He was the one that couldn't help her in the way she needed to be helped. James didn’t know what she could have been without him to interfere in her life, or if she actually listened to what he said. At least, it would have been something better than what she was now.

“Rebecca……” He gasped, then regained his composure, “I mean, ma’am. Welcome to security. How may I help you?”

The bland expressionless look on the young XO’s face belied the internal squabbling just beneath the surface of her freckled skin. For most of the Galaxy crew, she held a thinly veiled disregard, neither interested in their wants, needs, or opinions. It was different than the open contempt that the blustering Brohde meted out upon his subordinates. Whereas John Q actively ‘despised’ a great many of his crew, and sought to use fear and threats as ‘motivational tools’, the quiet menace of Rebecca’s soft whispery voice often brought more trembling to a rookie spacer’s knees. He hated the crew. She simply disregarded them as being of no consequence.

Except for a few. . . .

For the most part they comprised the members of the ORIGINAL Galaxy, but more specifically the odd assortment of characters that made up the then-skittish redhead’s circle of (friends?)

Well maybe not ‘friends’ but whatever you could call Lysander, Electra and James. . . .the truth was they still elicited turmoil within the confines of her rapidly beating breast.

James, perhaps was the most troubling of the lot. What was to be done with James Corgan?

Blinking herself back to the here and now, she stuttered slightly for the first time in months. “Huh? . .w . .what? Oh, why am I here?” she fought to regain composure. (If an ice-cube is composed) “Uh. . .here, Shakedown Cruise Departmental Report.” She handed over yet another PADD for the beleaguered Corgan to review.

“It’s the Galaxy’s first time out of the barn. . .(was there a slight sadness in her voice with the word ‘barn’? ) “. . .and we need to crunch some efficiency numbers for the ‘techies back at Fleet.”

"Alright then... let's see what we have here." Corgan accepted the PADD, thumbing through it's contents electronically. While he looked though the security department report, he couldn't help but notice the sudden stammer in her voice. Corgan would have never thought it was possible for the new Rebecca to be caught off guard emotionally, but he wasn't going to exploit the crack in the ice just yet, "Numbers look good here. I should note the extra work my department has been doing trying to get rid of Dr. Quick's interior decorating. Skews the efficiency charts a bit. But what do you think? Should that matter?"

The XO’s brown eyes flicked up to meet James gaze head on. Meeting eye to eye was n something the old Rebecca was never able to do. “Does loss of efficiency matter?” she repeated, “There are two realities on this Starship Commander, The way things are, and the way things John Q. Brhode wants them to be. If reality does not meet his perceptions, then it is my job to alter the laws of physics so that reality conforms to his wishes.”

She indicated the efficiency reports again. “ Do you think these ratings matter then?” she asked, her voice soft but cold at the same time.

"Hmmmm..." James pondered, "It does matter. If this efficiency chart doesn't match with his perception of what it should be, then I’m, forgive my French, f**ked. Can't change it now... though i'm going to attach a note explaining the drop in efficiency."

~~~You will never be able to match reality with his perceptions, James~~~ she thought, actually feeling a bit sorry for the beleaguered Chief. The tension between duty, and personal feelings of loyalty however were pulling her in two different directions. Her duty lay with Brhode. Her loyalties lay with her friends. None of this conflict was evident on her expression however which revealed only pale bored expression as always. Only the light freckles dotting her nose kept the girl from appearing too menacing.

Corgan's curiosity was a strange itch, starting at the middle of his mind and irritating him until a question scratched the nerve. He was curious of what Rebecca became, and why she was the way she was. In a way, he also missed how they were able to converse like civilized people, and even laugh from time to time.

~"Those days are over..."~ He gloomed, ~"Rebecca's dead now, and whoever that is standing beside me took over."~

His voice ventured where the mind wanted to avoid, but couldn't help asking, "Ma'am... haven't heard from you in awhile, not since that incident at the farm. How has life been for you?"

Rebecca’s head snapped a bit as the question caught her totally off guard. ~~The farm. . . . oh yes. . . the Farm.~~~ How could she forget that night. (or any night for that matter)

“Momma’s fine.” She stated briefly, avoiding the question a bit. “She still has to hire a few hands in the summer, but for the most part the place is self sufficient.” She didn’t have to add that as a full Commander, Rebecca had been able to pull more strings to make sure the small von Ernst Farm stayed out of the red. “There was a brief period of market fluctuations due to some random pirating activity, but prices settled down after . . .er . . .Starfleet intervention.”

About a year before, the USS Prospero with Rebecca at Tactical had mercilessly blown a Ferengi pirate ship out of the stars that was found to be dabbling in Earth Goods, including certain foodstuffs (like milk and beef) There was some debate at the time if outright destruction of the Ferengi ship had been necessary, but The XO who had been in charge (Rebecca herself) had been cleared by a post action review board.

“I’m sure Momma’s gonna do just fine.” She repeated with a small nod.

"I'm glad to hear that your mom is doing fine, ma'am." Corgan acknowledged, "But I was more interested in you. I thought I really did burn that bridge with you, hence why I never heard from you again. I'm curious to know how you are doing nowadays." James kept the conversation curt, staying calm, yet surprisingly warm despite his recent annoyances with the Commander and Captain Brhode. To counter her evasiveness, he had to be straight, yet gentle enough to coax a genuine answer out of his former friend. Both staying friendly and getting answers from Rebecca Von Ernst were not easy tasks.

Rebecca sighed and let her shoulders slump a bit. She should know by now that James was a persistent little noodle-head when probing for friends. Several months of pointed ignoring him back on the old Galaxy had only resulted in his showing up on her Momma’s front steps after her transfer to Prospero.

“What do you want to know James?” she asked wearily. “Do you want me to prattle on with a day by day synopsis of life on the Prospero, or are you looking for something in particular?”

James slapped his head in frustration. What was her malfunction now? What did James want from her? Nothing but a simple response. Was she doing fine, doing badly. Was she feeling good, terrible, nothing? That was all James wanted to find out. "Ma'am... I just wanted to know how you have been all these years, and what you've done during that time. I don't want a second by second replay, just a general idea. But..." He threw his arms up in the air, unable to hold his frustration any longer, "If you don't want to answer, then don't. It was a simple question, not a brainscan..."

Easing her tiny self into a chair, Rebecca settled in for a long chat. She had learned long ago that despite her best efforts, when someone was intent on intruding himself or herself into her solitude, there was little to be done to avoid it. James in particular could be especially persistent in his wheedling of information. Her Ice-Queen act wasn’t going to phase him least of all.

It was almost comical really. For many members of the original crew, the sudden change from Rebecca the flake to Rebecca the Barbarian was a shift of polar proportions. For them the shy and the sinister could not be reconciled with one another being diametric opposites.

They could not be more wrong. Whether she was the stuttering little girl withdrawing into herself to avoid unwanted attention, or the monosyllabic Ice-bitch with the piercing brown glare running peons from her presence, the objective was the same. Being Alone! In the end all Rebecca wanted was to be left ALONE. There was nothing the young redhead desired so much as to be left alone with her thoughts and emotions. Humanity, and all of the complex social situations that went with it was something that frightened her terribly, and though she didn’t show it inside she was screaming from the insanity of it all.

“James, “ she breathed wearily sinking deeper into the plush chair. “I. . I don’t know what you want. “Y. . . you know I’m not good at this sort of chatty-patty stuff. With most people I can fake it, but with you its especially hard.”

"Oh, that's it, isn't it? Ask a simple question, and mess it up from there, is that how it works?" He tried to make sense of her, and it all, but he found it more frustrating than ever. He wanted to jump up, strangle her, and hide her tiny corpse in the warp core, for all the good she did. For all the times she ignored him, spurned his friendliness, his friendship. For all he tried to do, and it was for nothing, nothing at all. He couldn't understand, for all the dilithium in the asteroid belt, what was so hard about saying 'I'm doing fine', or 'life sucks'. "Well I’m sorry if you can't fake being a human being in front of me! I'm sorry if I hate not getting a straight answer from you! For-freakin'-give me! Now will you tell me why you're acting this way?"

Rebecca gaped. How could he have forgotten? “Great Googly Moogly James!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you remember that time two years ago in my cabin on deck 5?” she shook her head in disbelief. “How can you ignore what an idiot I made out of myself?”

James just couldn't believe what he was hearing. Of all the instances, he had to hear about that? The incident on deck 5, the kiss, or what was really her failed attempt at trying to seduce him.

"Wait... you... all this time. Every time you ignored me, it was because you were hung up on that?" He said, exasperated, and remembered a bruised nose and a chipped tooth, but no love ever came to being during that time. James forgot about her photographic memory. James could easily let time kill the memory and allow himself to heal. But to Rebecca, a woman with photographic memory, the incident was still fresh in her mind. He calmed himself, sat down, and waited for a moment before speaking again,

"Rebecca, that was a long time ago. You... did something, I still don't know why, but what I don't understand is why you haven't moved on from that."

Rebecca just gave James a dumb look. ~~~Duh Jimmy!~~~ she thought. ~~~Think about it for a second.~~~

"Well, move on already. You're not an idiot, an ice b*tch, a timid little mouse, or anything. Just a woman being pressured. You understand?"

She didn’t. Why did he have to make everything so complicated? She wasn’t under pressure. She was just doing what needed to be done. Friends, family and lives were only extraneous variables in the equation.

Despite his better judgment, Corgan made an observation. "Hear me out on this. Whatever has come between us... it's more than a stupid kiss. It was a lot of things. When I betrayed your trust. When you told me to shut up. When Lysander tried to marry you. I pushed you too much when I tried to help, you ignored me, thereby fist f**king our friendship over. I couldn't stand it anymore... not being able to get anything through... not even a simple hello and how are you..."

”Lysander hasn’t a clue what he wants.” Rebecca interrupted. “That whole episode at the farm only proves that he does not know who I am either.”

James paused, then finished, "You're Rebecca, duh! Oy... I can't even get a hello from you, just like today. That's why I said good freakin' bye at the farm, because I couldn't get a simple answer out of you without you overanalyzing it and shoving me away."

~"Forget it. She ignored you. See?"~ His conscience awoke and commented, ~"Her eyes a probably glazed over right now."~

"See? I bet you're not listening to me now, aren't you?" Corgan snapped.

“That’s the point.” She fretted, “I’m listening when I’m not listening. I soak it up whether I want to or not.” She paused. . . .”I guess I just want you to be friendly without trying to FIX me all the time. I have enough counselors and therapists.”

"My god! I'm not trying to fix you now! I promised that at the farm!" He exploded his frustration outwards, "Jesus freakin' Christ, Rebecca, even when I try to be your friend, when I don't try to fix you... you still think I have some other freakin' motive! Come off it!"

His anger spilled over in time for himself to raise up the barricades. He saw himself as he was, during that time at his quarters. He was angry, and someone was in the way. He had to stop now, while he was still on the brink. Nobody should hurt. Nobody.

Not even a thickheaded friend.

He willed himself to stay cool. Trying to remember the parts of himself that Rebecca liked in the first place (as crude of a sketch of that idea as it was), he still trembled, and his face was still red, but the anger subsided.

"I wanted to help before because I care. But that doesn't work, so I left you at the farm for the wolves to tear you up. Then I realized that after that, we had nothing in common. You never wanted to socialize, or go to the holodeck, or watch the whales, play some chess, anything involving fun. And when I try to do something like that with you... you turn it around, refuse, or accuse me of trying to fix you. Catch my drift?"

She did. But that was her right to refuse as well. After all she was not very good at games or sports, or chess, (despite her Mathematical wizardry, it never seemed to translate into chess well.)

AS far as the holodeck went, the last two invitations she accepted there ended up being a scary mountain-climbing session, and a rather uncomfortable dinner with two different, but very overbearing women. She trembled to think what would happen if a MAN invited her to one. But then again that s what he was doing wasn’t it?

James asked, "Rebecca, why haven't we done these things? Why can't we do them now? We should try chess, or music, or just getting together for a casual chat. And you know what? There are no strings attached. I won't be your counselor, just your friend."

~"Like I offered before, but you didn't believe me."~ He thought bitterly.

She sat silently considering the implications of the offer. Was he asking her out on a date? What about Lexa?

Then he added, "But if you're still hung up on how things were before, then I suggest you sort them out. I can't stand you b*tching about your hang ups. I've got enough of my own to worry about."

”I accept.” She answered quickly before he changed his mind. When she thought about it later she could not put her finger on what triggered her response, but somehow it intrigued her. “Pick me up at 2100 hours.”

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