"Vayos con Dios"

Starring
Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval

Zacatecoluca
El Salvador
Earth

"Ah que guapo Antoniolito!", the aged Hispanic woman exclaimed in admiration as she pinched the newly graduated Starfleet Officer's cheeks for the umpteenth time. Her wizened hands ran roughly over his clean-shaven face trying to remember the features that once belonged to a very young boy. "Vayos con Dios, mi Joven , y no olivido tu poblacion'!"

"<No of course not Senora Mata>", Miguel Antonio Sandoval replied in Spanish, "how could I ever forget my people. . . . .and of course the most beautiful fruit merchants in all El Salvador." He added with a wink, to the woman and the cackling entourage of similarly aged onlookers behind her.

"Que Adular!" the woman behind the rickety old fruit cart blushed with a toothless smile. "<You are filling our silly old heads with nonsense when you should be getting ready to go young Antonio.>"

"No cuidado Senora." Miguel assured her. "< I have a few hours left and Mother insisted I come down to market and show off my new uniform.>" he said indicating his freshly pressed outfit complete with a single pip that glimmered in the sunlight., "< She said it would give you ladiessomething to gossip about for months to come.>"

The quaint open-aired market where this exchange was taking place was situated on one of the many ancient dusty backroads that twisted their way through the old section of Zacatecoluca City. A scene unchanged, it seemed, from the city's origins nearly a thousand years before.

The same blazing noon-day sun that lit the world of the Maya, and the Aztec, beat down on the same wooden stalls and their faded threadbare sunshades, much as it had for hundreds of years. The wizened, dark-skinned faces of the merchants, lined with years of exposure and labor were also the same as those of their ancestors centuries before.

Only the crisp, black and gray uniform of a newly graduated Starfleet Officer leaning over a cart full of ripened fruits and vegetables was seemingly incongruous with the rest of the scene.

Day to day life in El Salvador had changed little in the last 400 years. To be sure there was no longer the age old problem of poverty or illiteracy, thanks to the miracles of 24th century technology, but the inhabitants of this the tiniest of Central American nations still preferred the ancient slow pace of life.

Even though Zacatecoluca was the regional capital of the Departamento de la Paz', it still remained a bastion of traditional Spanish values and traditions.

"< Well, for certain the visit is appreciated young Antonio,>" Senora Mata was saying, giving his cheeks another little twist. "<We are all so proud of you going off to the service.....to see the stars! Ah Maria' misericordise>" The other merchants whispered their own fervent blessings

Miguel Antonio Sandoval grinned and gently extricated his cheeks from the woman's fingers. Senora Mata had been a family friend for years, and it had always been held that her fiery letter of recommendation to the Academy Recruiters that had landed him in Starfleet to begin with.

"<....if you do not accept out little Antoniolito then you will have ME to deal with Senors!!....>" the aged fruit-seller had written.....putting the wrath of God in the selection board literally.

"<I thank you again for the peppers and vegetables, >" he said again, "<I missed them greatly while at school, and I am sure they will of much use on my first assignment.......but now I must run and get ready. Mother and Father are planning a farewell, and you know Father will want to make a speech of course. Even my sister Ludivina will be up from Buenos Aires as well to say goodbye.>"

"Ah... apresuarese!" The old woman urged him with a 'shooing of her wrinkled hands. Teh others dabbed at the corners of thier eyes and remarked on how little Antoniolito had grown. "Apresuarese y vayos con Dios joven."

"Gracias, Senora Mata." Miguel replied solemnly, nodding his head and making the sign of the cross. If there was one thing the elderly of this community had impressed upon him during this brief visit following graduation it had been the fact that he would be treading in God's country in his coming travels, and he would do well to mind his step.

Gathering up his purchases, and bidding the assembled merchant ladies farewell, Miguel turned neatly on his booted heel and jogged merrily up the street.

As he went the sights and sounds of his childhood seemed to rise up out of the dusty street around him. Barefoot children smiling with great pearly grins played soccer in the streets much as he had it seemed only a few years before. Some of the children, seeing his uniform ran alongside chanting, "<Hey Starfleet! Hey Starfleet!>"

Cresting a hill, Miguel paused to take in his homeland, suddenly aware of its grandeur and beauty. There.....Far across the Coastal plain...beyond the Rio Lempa ,the ancient volcano that was his namesake, San Miguel, could barely be seen against the afternoon haze. The old mountain had been burping up clouds on and off for the last several thousand years, and its current rumblings (while close monitored by planetary Weather Control) was seen as a good omen for the young Ensign Miguel.

~~~Farewell old man~~ he whispered to the mountain that shared his name. ~~~Watch over my people while I am gone.~~~

Skipping nimbly over a soccer ball that crossed his path, Miguel waved goodbye to his youthful entourage, and turned up a potholed driveway into a quaint Adobe-Fenced household.

Home.

Lush tropical plants lined the narrow front walkway fed by an ingenious little watering system that Miguel had devised during his Sophomore year Summer break. Elephant eared terrestrial plant breeds grew alongside a few strangely colored Alien plants that he had likewise 'borrowed' from the Academy gardens.

At first his father had be doubtful of the strangely colored plants, but eventually it turned out that he could no get enough of good Bolian Pomegranates.

"Mama!!! Papi !!!" he called out depositing his bundle by the door. "Soy aqui'"

The cramped Sandoval Living room was brightly decorated with traditional El Salvadoran tastes. Paintings of ancient Indian Ancestors covered one wall, while a holo image of the Virgin Mary dominated the other.

A homemade banner inscribed "Congratulacines Miguel Antonio" in crude crayons hung draped from the ceiling. No doubt the work of his younger siblings.

His mother, Maribella Sandoval entered the room smiling, followed by her husband Francesco. Both beamed with pride at their forth born (of seven) child, standing resplendent in his crisp uniform.

Miguel noted quickly that his mother's eyes were red, and apparently she had been crying, but now she was all hugs and kisses.

"Mi Nino." She beamed. "Mi nino."

His father pumped his hand firmly and gave Miguel a stout slap on the back. Francesco was proud of all his seven children, but none had risen to the heights....or would travel the distances of his little Miguel Antonio.

"<Son...we are....we are so proud of you.>" he said, his own deep set eyes watering up.

"Gracias Papi." Miguel was overcome.

One sister Elena had moved to Mars several years ago with her company, and another was living in Argentina but never before had anyone in the family entered Starfleet before. Miguel was beginning to feel in over his head.

His younger three siblings piled into the room, swamping the new officer with hugs and embraces.

His 14 year old brother Paolo' wanted to know if he could bring him real Klingon Dagger, while his youngest sister Mayra was still too young to grasp the concept of where he was going.

"<A big Spaceship.>" he explained again balancing the four year old on his hip., "<It is called 'Galaxy' and I go to bring back some starlight to match your pretty eyes.>"

Mayra still looked worried, and sucked on her fingers in doubt.

"Muchos Congratulaciones Hermano!" Another hand clasped his shoulder. His older sister Ludivina stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "<You do the family proud little brother.>"

"<No more so than you sister.>" Miguel blushed. Ludivina was a well established lawyer in the firm of Belgrano, Belgrano, and Woo, and had been the families first success story. "<Perhaps you can visit me sometime in space and meet a handsome Starfleet man like you keep talking about."

Ludivina, 24 and unmarried grinned at the thought. "<You are the only handsome Starfleet man I need brother.>"

Last to greet Miguel was his aged Abuelita. (Grandmother) who was still mobile at age 116. Overcome with emotion she could do no more than hug his neck and whisper a quick blessing over him.

"Gracias Abuela." He whispered stooping to embrace her.

The onlooking family crossed themselves eyes all moist.

At length the appointed time came and the strange 'chirrup of a communicator broke through the warm gathering.

=/\= Ensign Sandoval?=/\= A disembodied voice spoke in English, causing the younger children to gasp in awe. =/\=McKinnley Station here....your transport to rendezvous with USS GALAXY at Starbase 212 is leaving in fifteen minutes.=/\=

"Acknowledge that." Miguel replied in his own, still poor English. "I be up in few minute."

Turning back to his family, Miguel felt a sudden feeling of loss. The stars seemed awfully cold compared to the warmth in this room.

Wordlessly, his mother handed him his bundle of vegetables he had purchased. "Vayos con Dios hijo."

"Si mama."

His Father nodded and began the Hail Mary...which the entire family joined in, Ludivina moving in to grasp her brother's hand as they prayed a final farewell.

Ave Maria, Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo; bendita tu eres entre todas las mujeres y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros los pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.

There was not another word...... Miguel's grandmother was ushered from the room (so she would not be shocked by the sight of her grandson vaporizing in a transporter beam)........ and then with a final wave.....Miguel Antonio Sandoval was on his way.

"Hanging Noose"

By
Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer,
USS Galaxy

****

Starbase 212
Inner Docking Ring
Upper Promenade
Nearby Docking Clamp 4

****

Starbase 212 was the USS Galaxy's port of call. The gleaming station, located near the Klingon border at the junctures of Tholian space and UFP territories, reflected the weak light of the planet it orbited below. The planet's name was unimportant now; it's formerly barren surface now converted to a defensive outpost manned by Federation and Klingon forces. It also housed a colony of human and Vulcans who'd refused to leave when the military forces came along.

Kylar Curran now walked the promenades of the ship's port in this section of space. The very nature of instability in the powers that be in this area - the Breen, Cardassians, Lyrans, Romulans, Hydrans, and god knows what else - demanded the patrols of the Federations more heavily armed vessels of the fleet.

The Galaxy was here almost a year ago, to pick up its new Captain and now chief Tactical Officer; Curran stopped to peer out a viewport as the Galaxy, its constructions lights playing over her as the repair crews bustled to patch up the damages she sustained in the brush with the Rihannsu rebel forces last month. It felt like years.

Near the Galaxy floated an old Excelsior class model. Almost a century old, the smaller ship was converted to a Border Patrol vessel, and seemed to have faced more combat than in its heyday since it began patrolling this sector. Curran had spoken to its Captain, a Jaco Frenelli.

Frenelli was a retired Starfleet officer; an Engineer who'd seen his share of battles, gritty but tired of regulations.

"Legate Curran, I don't know what to make of it. Damn thing came out of nowhere, blasted some damnable laser, and sheared off the starboard nacelle like it was paper." Curran, of the knowledge that Border Patrollers may operate Starfleet vessels, were for the most part, hired militia. Given free reign to do what they will with their ships under a loose command structure by the Federation.

"How did you escape then, Captain?" Curran sipped at his tea as Frenelli puffed on a cigar. The starbase's local bar, the "Hanging Noose" - Curran only wondered if it was alluding to the day this base would be the forefront of yet another invasion being so near the Breen - was bustling. He recognized the faces of several crew of the Galaxy, having not obtained their names. He coughed as a mauvish wisp of the Andorian reefer clung to his nostrils.

"We didn't. T'was a hit and run. One hell of a hit. Just severed the nacelle at the strut and burned off into who-knows-where. Took us 3 months to get back here on low impulse!" He threw back a shot of greenish liquid, smacking his lips in delight. "I sure missed this daisy, I tell ya'."

The Kelvan had no use for slang, and wasted no time with it. "Did you get a description? Sensors get anything?"

"Nothing solid, Legate. It happened too fast. The ghosted image we got, we sent off to 'Fleet Command and Captain Westmoreland here. Let them deal with it until I get my ship back in a couple weeks."

Curran thought of that conversation as he eyed the Excelsior next to Galaxy. The cauterized stump of the starboard strut had been removed, the nacelle hanging in place a dozen meters or so above while the work crews busily rebuilt the connectors. A ship that old, it's a wonder they're even bothering. Yet, the Federation and Starfleet took heavy losses during the war. There were a lot of spare parts in existence to mash together working ships, aged or not.

What was this ghosted sensor image? He thought back to his conversation with Jacen Drago during the Quentin episode. The timeship captain alluded to the Hydrans being a threat on the horizon, but they'd changed history. They'd altered the outcome, hadn't they? If the Hydrans were truly a renewed enemy of the Federation, they would likely try again in another venue, wouldn't they?

There were too many unknowns. Too many ifs. There wasn't any proof to work with. His supervisor, Ambassador-General Natasha Mol, was not forthcoming in information. She'd shut him out completely when he'd asked.

"All attempts at contact have stalled."

"All attempts when? How long have we been talking with them?"

"That is classified, Legate. You have your orders." Her eyes drew cold, and Kylar leveled his own gaze at her, just shy of what may be construed of as insubordination.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Careful, Legate. You're an excellent officer with a colourful career ahead of you. Don't push yourself into a corner where you are neither needed or wanted. You could get locked in, and you may not like where you'd end up."

Since that communication, no mention of the Hydrans have come up.

The subtle twitter of his commbadge chirped. He tapped the metallic logo with a finely manicured finger. "Curran here."

[Legate Curran, report to the USS Galaxy Main Conference Lounge] The wispy voice of an Operations yeoman reported. Distinctly Andorian by the tone and nature of the exasperated voice. Andorians never hid their emotions.

"Reason?"

[Captain M'Kantu requests your presence for briefing on orders]

"On my way." He closed the link.

Captain M'Kantu had been re-assigned temporarily during the last mission. Captain Eliza Stuart, temporarily commanding the Galaxy, had departed for her next assignment upon the Galaxy's docking at Starbase 212. M'Kantu had arrived soon thereafter to re-assume command once again.

Seeing as Stuart had been re-assigned, Curran surmised that M'Kantu successfully passed the debriefing over the incident at Quentin and was in the clear. It mattered not now.

The grey paneling contoured around the inner ring until the Legate arrived at the port gate for the Galaxy. Upon presenting his credentials to the guards, he was admitted into the bubble tunnel that led to the Galaxy. Looking to the sides and above, sweeping contours swept by as shuttles, repair devices, and parts loaded on tugs careened above him while he flew along on a conveyor belt. The Galaxy slowly grew over him, its size leaving him in awe. Soon that was lost as the belt took him into the docking clamp to admit him to his supplanted home.

~Dandelion, Part III~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Previously on Star Trek Galaxy, the Next Generation,

Something suddenly startled him, Cutter jerked his head to his left on reflex, not sure why. A noise, a footstep, a cracking twig, he thought, but it didn't matter when he noticed what the cause of the noise was -- who the cause of the noise was. A woman was peeking around a tree, some five yards away, blonde hair, bronzed skin, lot of it, she was naked. Cutter opened his mouth to speak, to say hello, to ask who she was, how she got here, but he didn't get a chance. She ran away at his discovery, darting back into the forest.

"Tak! Ynelbe!" he yelled in his native tongue, "Wait!" But, she did not. Cutter scrambled to his feet as quick as he could and began to chase after her, on foot. He thought momentarily about flying, but flying through a forest was difficult, taking off in one was even more difficult; he had to run. Whoever she was, she was very quick, much faster than he was and Cutter was pretty fast, certainly compared to humans who were much heavier than he, but even compared to other Fruna'lin, he was fast, but she was out pacing him, darting behind trees zig-zaging around, randomly changing directions. "Wait! Ynelbe! Hana! Tia!" he shouted in a number of languages, "Wait!"

She would not. The forest was thicker here, Cutter could no longer see the field, but they were running south, mainly, or whatever direction felt like south on this planet. He could barely keep sight of her, she was so far ahead now. Why wouldn't she stop? Why was he chasing her? She jumped through a large wall of ferns, out of sight. Cutter followed, of course, dashing through the cloud of plants, leaves fingering his body, and then he was through - another field, another meadow full of tall grass and cottony dandelion puffs. He stopped, confused by the quick change of scenery and looked around. There was no one here, he turned back, looked at the fern hedge he passed through, no one. No one anywhere.

"Saradwen jaynriRe?" Cutter asked himself, confused. Where did she go? But his only answer was a gust of wind carrying an army of dandelion parachute seeds.

===============================================

That was last night. Cutter had looked all over for this naked woman, this strange guest interrupting his vacation - not that a naked woman dropping by was a bad thing., but it was uncommon at least. By the time he had gotten back to his camp, the large sun had fully set and he put off any other attempts at investigation until the morning.

He dreamt of her that night, or his memory of her, his perception, he never really had a chance to study her. Several times he awoke with a start thinking that he had heard voices, more than one, but there was no one outside. Perhaps it was wind, the undying wind on this planet that constantly filled his ears with a soft hush. How erotic it had been just a few hours ago, now he only wished it would be still and quiet and stop teasing him. As the night progressed and he woke again and again, clouded by the irreality of his dreams, teased by the imaginary voices and the cold wind, isolated on an insignificant planet, Cutter began to wonder whether the girl was real at all. Maybe she was a dream, she certainly was just as vivid as the fantasies that were startling him awake, why not? This was only his second night here, was he already desperate for personal contact?

===============================================

"I can't decide if I'm crazy or not," Cutter spoke out loud. No one was around, he was directing his ramblings to his personal log through his comm badge attached to fresh shirt, a sign of bitter rejection to his aerial lover. "The shuttle's sensors had no records of any other lifesigns besides me, well, it actually didn't have a record of me, its been programmed to filter me out so as to not interfere with the science scans. Maybe she was filtered out as well? That seems highly unlikely, certainly a bigger problem for science than for me. Maybe she wasn't real, maybe I imagined her? Why she would run away in that case, I don't know. It seems that if I imagined a nude woman the last thing she would do is run away. But I don't know. I had all those dreams last night, I guess they were dreams. I could have sworn I heard voices and things. Footsteps. I think I'm crazy.

"Well, whatever I am, if another visitor stops by, I'll know. The shuttle's sensors are all tied up, I don't want to kill an experiment and have to explain why. I wanted to look for imaginary nude women, I'd probably say, wanted to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. That would get a fast ticket to the counselling office, I've managed to stay out of there for this long, I'm not going to let this break that record. No, I'm a scientist, I'm smart, I came up with a better way. Inefficient, perhaps, but undocumented. Triangulation. Tricorder triangulation. Hah. That needs a third tri-word, then it would be funny.

"What the thekh is tricorder triangulation you may ask? And by you, I of course mean me, since I'm talking to myself here. Well, not really myself, I suppose, but no one else is going to ever hear these, so, uh, yeah, myself. So, me, what is tricorder triangulation? Well, me, since you came up with it yourself...myself, thats a stupid question, but I'll explain it to myself in case me ever forgets, I ever forget, and I need to remember .... me remember, me, I, me...

"All right, this is getting rediculous, I'm putting an end to this," Cutter said, then promptly stopped talking. He sat silently, wrapping string around a tricorder and tree branch, around and around, fastening it securely. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, me, tricorder triangulation is a simple technique, hardly original on my part, actually. I've set up three tricorders, working on the third now, at three points around my camp. Each tricorder has a scanning range of 800 meters, each tricorder is then placed 1500 meters away, to allow for some overlap, giving me a sensor trap of slightly over five square kilometers. Actually, now that I explain it, its really not triangulation at all, is it? Its just a multi unit sensor trap. A tri-tricorder trap. That even sounds better than tricorder triangulation. Triple the alliteration. Hmmm....

"Well, its almost done. I just have to set up this last tricorder," Cutter continued to explain to himself. He paused for a moment, thinking more about the parameters he needed to set on the tricorder than his external internal dialogue. Immediately, as the last button was pressed, the button to initiate the scans, the tricorder alarm went off. The loud siren Cutter set echoed from the tricorder and from his own comm badge, which was set to pick up the alarm signal where ever he may have been. Panicking and cringing at the doubly loud wailing hit, Cutter wildly struck out at a number of buttons attempting to shut the noise off.

Had he set the tricorder wrong? Cutter examined the tricorder screen more closely. It displayed a chart on the small square-inch screen, layed out in polar coordinates - the scanning area. There was a blue dot in the center, Cutter himself, and a red dot, an anomoly, about 300 meters from him, towards his camp. "Is that her already?" Cutter asked himself aloud. The tricorder was going to tell him little more, so he decided to fly over and check for himself.

He lept from the tree, giving two large flaps to set him airborne above the short trees and glided on his eighteen feet of wings the short distance back to the clearing where he was staying. There she was, he saw as he dropped silently to the ground, the nude woman he had chased yesterday was looking at his telescope. Was it her? This woman had raven hair, long, down below her shoulders. Yesterday she was blonde. And this one's skin was darker, like those of the Falkon penninsula on Fruna. Two nude women on this planet? Well, things could be worse, Cutter thought to himself.

"Tola," Cutter spoke quietly. The noise startled the woman, she jumped knocking the telescope over again. She stared wide eyed at Cutter and looked like she was going to run. "Wait, don't ... don't run away," Cutter said holding out his arms and wings in the most unoffensive position he could think, "I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't speak, she seemed unable to understand him and she was still visibly frieghtened, slowly backing away as Cutter slowly approached. Why was she so frieghtened, surely she could tell before he got there that there was someone else on this planet with her, tents and shuttles don't spring forth from the ground. Maybe it was his appearance, the wings tend to scare some species for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that he chased her friend yesterday.

"Can you speak?" he asked. He lifted his hand to his mouth and withdrew it as he opened his jaw, trying to symbolize vocalization, "Speak?"

She stared for a moment, her fear and apprehension becoming replaced by confusion and curiousity. Slowly she lifted her hand to her mouth, mimicing his actions, but she made no noise.

"Yes," he said, performing the action again, "Speak. Can you speak? Make noise?" This time he gestured to his throat, his vocal cords. "Aaaahh," he sang, "Noise?"

Again she mimiced him but produced no sound.

"So, uh, no, I take it. You can't speak," Cutter said but mostly to himself. He began to move towards the shuttle craft; the movement again striking fear into the guest, but Cutter gestured it was okay and continued to slide slowly over to the open craft. There was a crate resting on the open back hatch, the cooler containing his food. Cutter opened it and rummaged around until he found a wrapped bar of chocolate, Starfleet's all purpose calorie boost. She was watching him with intense curiousity, curious enough to approach him slightly.

"Do you eat?" he asked her, opening the chocolate and holding it out to her. She didn't understand, she simply stared at it, confusion covering her face. "Eat. Good. Yum," he said again. He broke off a piece of chocolate and stuck it into his mouth, exaggerating his movements so she could see what he was doing. "Mmm....Lene. Good. Bani, Bani wey."

This got her. She stepped towards him, towards the chocolate, and he backed his mass away as much as he could while extending his hand forward. She reached out and took the chocolate from his hand, looking at him before she did, silently asking if it was all right, and she ate it. She liked it. She must have, Cutter laughed to himself, she stuck the whole half bar in her mouth then immediately licked her fingers. Still no noise, though. Perhaps she was incapable of speech.

When she chewed up and swallowed all the chocolate she reached out and pried open Cutter's hand, searching for more candy, he assumed. Clearly, she was no longer afraid of him. So, he has a new friend. Now what?

Chad Vicenik
Caberation@aol.com
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
USS Galaxy

[Massive BACKPOST: Just after the ship departed Wolf 359]

"Freedom to Know"

Primary Characters:

Captain Eliza Stuart
Lieutenant JG Dhanishta Eshe

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Main Bridge & Ready Room

"Can I help you miss?" someone asked her.

She didn't even look up, "Captain." she said in a muffled voice, she hadn't realised but her hand was covering her mouth. Removing it and wiping her hand on her trousers she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again the bridge was as it should be, "I want to see the captain." She said.

"The Captain is in the ready room." came the reply.

Danishta turned, in the wrong direction, she was used to the ship being upside-down.

"Erm this way Miss."

Dhani turned sharply, "Of course it is." she muttered to herself. Keeping her head down she followed the person, she glanced up once. Rotten flesh hung from its face, she couldn't tell from the voice whether this was a male or a female. Nauseated she looked back down at the floor and the light strips that she kept cracking under her feet.

Pressing the chime on the wall panel she stood and waited. Still wondering if this was a good idea or not, but t was a bit to late to change her mind now.

"Come in," Eliza said. She wasn't busy. They'd been on the border for a few days, following the trail of the Pallas Athena and still nothing. It was frustrating. She had hoped for a quick, over and done with job, but apparently that wasn't what she was going to get.

Dhanishta waited for the door to open fully before she entered, and even then she hesitated. Her head was bowed as she walked in. Her long dark hair fell either side of her face hiding it, just as she liked. She continued to stare at the light strips on the floor (the ceiling!), and wondered if she would ever see this ship as it should be, and if she would ever take the right turns again. She let her eyes scan a little further in front of her, up the wall and out the window. The stars twinkled, moving slowly past. Focusing on one of those stars she honed in on it letting the room slip away from her, for just a moment. Returning to look at the floor, she saw the carpet and sighed with relief.

"Is there something I can do for you, Lieutenant?" Eliza asked, watching the young woman enter the room. She seemed out of place somehow... or maybe that was something in her body language. Eliza couldn't tell. She wasn't as skilled at reading that sort of thing as her new XO.

Dhanishta turned to face the captain, it took a while for her eyes to navigate their way up to the captains eyes. Frowning somewhat she took a step closer, she had expected to see the mangled corpse of M'Kantu but the person before her had for a start a totally different bone structure. Surprised and a little bewildered she spoke before she thought, "You're not the Captain." she stated. Probably one of the stupidest things to say to someone with four pips on their collar. But then of late Dhani had said and done a lot of stupid things, why should now be any different?

Captain Stuart laughed, "I suppose I'm not. Not the Captain you'd be used to anyway." She motioned for the engineer to sit, blissfully ignorant of the other's condition. "Captain M'Kantu was temporarily recalled to Earth shortly before we left Wolf 359. I would have thought that news of it would have filtered to the whole crew by now."

'Why?' was the first question that popped into her head, but then she already knew why. Her forehead wrinkled more as she computed things, time had moved so differently for her, she hadn't even realised that they had left Wolf 359, she wasn't even sure when they were there. She began to mumble as she worked things out in her mind, after a few minutes she stopped and looked up at the woman in front of her.

"I need to see him, now." she demanded.

"He's on Earth, Lieutenant," Stuart replied, "Temporal Investigations is looking into the mission that the Galaxy just came back from. When they're finished, he'll return. Is there something that I can do for you, or will it have to wait until he comes back? Are you okay?"

"Temporal Investigations." Dhani muttered, she turned away from the captain and looked back down at the floor, "No," she finally admitted, "I'm not okay." Looking back up at the woman before her she studied her face, it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear, an officer with problems! "I need to see him." she stated again, "It is about our last mission." She explained. "Is he being charged with something?" she asked eyebrows raised.

"Not that I'm aware of. Routine inquiry," Stuart said, "If it's about the last mission, you should contact him, or FDTI through Starfleet Command. The only problem with that is that we're just out of communications range at the moment. Are you sure you don't want a doctor to look at you?" Something was very wrong here.

"You have no idea what happened here, do you" Dhani asked

"Not in the least," Eliza replied truthfully. She knew nothing of the investigation.

"Come." She said grabbing the Captains arm and leading her like a child to the bridge.

"You see this person here?" she questioned pointing to the nearest body, "Man or woman? Hard to tell isn't it. But I can reach out and grab its spinal cord and play puppet show!" She turned sharply to the next unsuspecting person that wondered by, "You!" she called out, "You died on impact." Turning on her heals she strode across the bridge to the next person, "You weren't even on the bridge." She began to point at people, it looked random to the naked eye but she was right on every account, "You died when a falling support beam hit you, took your head right off! You were crushed to death." She was by the main view screen now, all eyes on her, as she addressed the entire occupants of the bridge,

"All those dreams you've been having; the nightmares of death, your death, however horrible, however gruesome. Well they are real. It happened. But do you know why?" She turned and looked down at the helms officer she stood next to, "You, do you know why you died?" She didn't wait for an answer just turned to the next. Pointing up to the tactical station, "You, she called out." Whilst making her way forward towards the arc, "Do you know what valiant cause you gave your life for so freely?" She turned back to the Captain, almost on top of her now, nose to nose, "Don't you think they should?" she questioned with such force that spit sprayed from her mouth.

"I know these people better than they know them selves. Their stories kept me alive, kept me company. From the Captains personal log right down to the lowest ranking officer's, I read and listened to them all."

As the gasps of disbelief fell from the mouths of the bridge personal like a Mexican wave she turned and snapped at them, "What the hell was I supposed to do? Talk to the cave walls for thirty years? You were all dead!"

Her eyes snapped back to the captain, "Daren M'Kantu doesn't know what was down there. He died trying to find out, taking us all with him. But I do Captain." She said pounding her chest with her index finger. "Starfleet think they can just whisk M'kantu away and shut him up? They think they can just cover this up? Let everyone think that it was just a bad dream? Well they got the wrong goat!"

She paused for a second and scanned the bridge, turning back to the captain she continued in a softer tone, "These people may not need to know the reasons why, for them it was a short nightmare, but for me, it was," she emphasised; "a life time." "I think its only right that someone tell me why I killed myself to cover up yet another bloody federation fuck up!" her voice had raised by the time she uttered the last word of the sentence, her hands waving around anger coming in waves that she could not control.

Captain Stuart had been patient until now. And confused as the woman before her was, this had to stop, no matter what was going on. "In my ready room, now," she said with all the authority of command, "That's non-negotiable, Lieutenant."

Seething, Dhani followed the replacement Captain who didn't have a clue into *her* ready room. It had only taken her, what a couple of days to assume that it was *hers*!!!

When they reached the ready room, Stuart indicated a chair for Dhani to sit it, "Now then. Remember that I know nothing of what you speak. I have no idea what was down *there*. All I know is that you're suddenly on my bridge telling my other officers that they died and how, and they look as if they believe you. Why is that, Lieutenant?" She was going to get to the bottom of this.

Dhani couldn't suppress the evil laugh that erupted from her mouth. The shear stupidity of the question, the shear stupidity of Starfleet! They really thought that the best thing for this crew was to take the captain away after a catastrophic event which left the crew shaken, and asking questions? They really thought that this, *this* woman really had what it takes to lead them on a mission after what just happened? Oh if she could only meet the 'top snots' of the federation, she would squeeze their brass balls till their eyes popped out!

Sitting down she gazed into the captains eyes. In a steady voice she began to answer the question, "They believe me Captain," she sneered, "because it is in their nightmares, their dreams of late speak of death. And everything that happened in those dreams, Quentin blowing up into a ball of fire, the away team disappearing, the Hood, Pershing and the Nimitz showing up and blasting us to pieces, the Galaxy tumbling through space, crash landing on the planet. It all happened, Captain." She was getting agitated again, leaning forward she placed both hands, palm down on the Captains desk with such force that it shuddered, half standing up she continued, "They believe me because I know, I saw their bodies, Captain, I identified all of them, saw their rotting corpses, laying where they fell. I lived on Quentin for thirty years. And I killed myself to restore their petty lives! And I still see those corpses walking around every damned day, Captain!" pushing herself away from the desk she walked round the chair to the window and stared out into the blackness of space.

"Lieutenant," Eliza said, "You may be the martyr that you say you are. And I have no way of knowing, because as you've pointed out, this is a matter of *Federation* scale, and those at Starfleet Command has not seen fit to tell me what I need to know. Now then, I will attempt to get hold of Captain M'Kantu on Earth for you, since I'm certain now, having seen what I've seen, that your testimony will help him in his presentation to FDTI. Until then, please don't go around distracting the other crew with displays like that. We *are* in the middle of a mission. Other lives are on the line now."

Dhani continued to stare out the window, focusing on a single star, "You're trying to silence me now, aren't you?" shaking her head she waved her hand signalling that she wasn't requesting an answer. "Very well. As you wish." She said sighing. She lingered at the window a few moments longer before producing a data padd from her waist band. It had been concealed under her shirt during their entire exchange, and her previous exchange with Suder back in the Holodeck. Turning back to the captain she literally threw it on to the her desk, "There is my official report. I have another with more details if such a document is required I will relinquish it." Her demeanour had changed dramatically. Her attitude spoke of defiance yet her language was full of duty and protocol. She stood tall staring at the captain with dark green eyes.

"Yes, the more detailed one will probably be worth having," Stuart replied, "And I'm not trying to silence you, Lieutenant. I have as much interest in seeing this to it's conclusion as you do. It's affecting the crew that I've been charged to lead for this mission. I just want them to be able to concentrate on their duties. My report on this mission will reflect the fact that we shouldn't have been sent out here without some serious psychological counseling and an investigation into what happened, though I assume that's why Captain M'Kantu was recalled." She leaned forward on the desk, straightening a few of M'Kantu's things which had been knocked around by the impact of the PADD.

Dhani visibly twitched. The more detailed padd contained graphic information of her time on Quinten, namely her relationship with Turran. "May I suggest Captain that you peruse the information on that data padd first. I assure you that the information on there is accurate and fully descriptive. If you feel that further, a more in depth, more graphic, transcript is required then I will hand it over." She tried to get her point across without actually spelling it out. In hind sight she should have not mentioned the other padd at all, but that was the everlasting virtue of hind sight.

Stuart sighed. FDTI would want it, no doubt, but for now, she'd allow the Lieutenant her privacy. "I understand, Lieutenant. As soon as I can, I'll forward this to FDTI, once I've read it. You're dismissed."

Dhani looked even more resigned as she left the room.

"Where no Rose has Gone Before"

Starring
Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval

Starbase 212.

It was not the best of times....but at least it wasn't the worst of times. For the men and women of the lonely little outpost straddling the three-way border between the Federation Klingons, and Tholians, life simply...WAS.

Established in the Golden Era between the signing of the Khitomer Peace Treaty with the Klingons, and the rise of the Dominion, Starbase 212 was an outpost like so many others of its time.

Big.

Real Big.

Ultimately though, no matter how big a Frontier town gets, it still remains an isolated community. Away from the hustle and bustle of the regular trading lanes, 212 was relegated to mere supply depot status, ever ready to merely top-off the Deuterium tanks of whatever Starship happened by.

True however, what with the recent Tholian protests over the lanjep treaty, that those starships were happening by more often, but for the crew of Starbase 212 life on the border was just that....."BORED-er"

=/\= Starbase Approach, this is Runabout Volga with you at three point two Mark six on the Tholia-One approach.=/\=

"Volga, Approach here, stand by for contact." A bored looking Ensign leaned forward over his console in 212's main Space Traffic Control Center and scanned the appropriate area of space.

Sure enough a hazy sensor blip appeared proceeding inbound along the expected vector for the Tholia-One Approach Profile.

"Volga, Approach.....Sensor contact at three point two mark six, reduce speed to 250k and continue inbound."

=/\=Copy Sensor Contact, and down to Two Five zero Kps. Volga continuing Inbound. =/\=

Outside in the darkness a modified Federation Runabout arced its way along the narrowly defined Tholia-One approach profile. The nearness of the Tholian border demanded precise vectoring of incoming ships, to refuse the (already grumbling) Tholians any possible excuse for a border dispute.

Details were fuzzy, but the general understanding that the race of sentient Rocks were not so much concerned about actual delineated borders, but rather the amount of 'Noise' their Federation neighbors were making in the form of Electromagnetic missions.

The 'Neighbors' had complained about the 'music', and now the Federation was hoping to avoid them 'Calling the Police'.

"Volga, Approach.....Cleared to approach on Portside Docking Ring, Expect clearance for Bay L-615. Welcome to Starbase 212."

=/\=Cleared to approach Portside and expecting Lima- six one five roger....Volga out.=/\=

The young Lieutenant in the traffic control tower promptly forgot about the Runabout and turned to his next contact. . . . . . . work-bee activity around the damaged USS Galaxy was becoming a hopeless tangle.

~~~Damned civilian contractor pilots.~~~~ he grumbled to himself.

Alone and forgotten, Runabout Volga continued its approach, sliding along invisible electronic guidelines which neatly dictated its course. As mentioned, the Volga was a slightly modified version of the standard Federation Runabout. Designed specifically for long range shuttling of Starfleet crewmembers back and forth between their deep space assignments and the core worlds, the Volga featured a stretched passenger cabin, and increased recreational facilities to smooth over the multi-week journeys. Upwards of 50 Starfleet officer could travel in relative civility (if not outright comfort) without having to worry about the cramped confinement and boredom of standard length Runabouts.

It was thus, the Volga passed into the vast cavern of the Starbase interior and snuggled itself nicely into its tiny assigned niche. There was a hiss of equalized pressure as the Station mated itself into a solid harddock becoming 'one' with the slender transport.

Just inside, Twin Duranium airlocks parted to reveal the shortish, slightly awkward figure of Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval, Newly assigned Science division aboard the USS GALAXY. His lopsided smile broke into a full toothy grin as the sights and sounds of the Starbase assaulted his senses. Even though the station design was standard throughout the Federation, the curved duranium walls and slate grey bulkheads of 212 were like unto a modern era Casablanca to young Sandoval. An exotic hive of adventure and interstellar intrigue.

Three weeks, Ten days, and untold countless crossword puzzles after he had left Earth, the 22 year old El Salvadoran native stepped off the modified runabout and breathed his first breath of truly interstellar air.

At five foot six and 150 pounds, Miguel Antonio was a singularly unimpressive figure as for as Earth males went. His dark eyes and hair matched his deeply tanned skin, and gave evidence of his Hispanic ancestry. His uniform was crisp and black, and the single Ensign's pip at his collar was so new that it was apparent for all to see that he had barely graduated this past semester from the Academy.

Most incongruous of all however was the large potted plant that the young officer had both arms protectively wrapped around. The pot was a large multiple-gallon design made from what actually appeared to be real ceramic. The plant itself ( if you could call it that) was nothing more than a single stunted thorny-covered stem sprouting its sickly way above the overflowing black soil within.

"What in the pot Starfleet?"

Startled, Miguel turned from his open eyeballing of the immense station interior and focussed on the large Human in a Customs uniform that seemed to suddenly appear before him.

"Excuse please?" Miguel asked in his broken English.

"Starbase Customs." The man replied holding up a clipboard, and looking bored. "Gotta check your bags sir....whats in the pot?"

"This? You like? Is Rose bush yes?" Miguel nodded enthusiastically. "Am Starfleet Science, for Galaxy yes?"

The Customs man looked at the thorny stump of wood in the pot. "Dont look like a Rose bush to me sir."

"No no." Miguel bobbed his head again. "Trimmed back it is yes? Will be planting in room on ship. Soon much flowers. Big. Big Blooms. "

His arms full, Miguel opened his eyes wide as if to indicate the 'bigness' of the blooms with facial expressions alone.

"Right, " The officer replied, running a quick tricorder over the pot and the other bags. "Well cant be too careful nowadays.....with the Tholians just across the border. Like the saying goes....beware ....the Rocks have Ears!"

Miguel kept his toothy grin plastered on his face, but inside he was sure he messed up the Customs man's English. ~~Ear Rocks?~~

"Anyhow," the man was continuing and rummaging through some paperwork , "....Galaxy is upstairs three hundred and twenty floors, docking bay 94.... you can check in there or request a room aboard the Starbase if you like for up to a week. Also I can get you a chit good for a Universal Translator if you like since you seem to have trouble speaking . . . . . ."

"No. No translator." Miguel quickly interrupted. "Practicing English. Need to speak....do much speaking. Am Ok?"

The agent looked at him briefly, then figured it want any of his business. "Fine whatever.....Turbolifts are down that way....320 levels up..."

"Docking noventa quatro...ah ninety four Si." Miguel finished for him. "Gracias Senor......Welcome.....er Thanks you."

Receiving a mere chuckle from the agent, the young Scientist shifted his potted 'rose' in his arms and went off in search of the turbolifts.

"Hey Starfleet...." the agent called after him causing him to turn. "What's the roses for?"

Miguel grinned. "For the senoritas."

OOC: This takes place shortly after the events of the upcoming post "Quid Pro Quo".

*****

"Transition"

Starring Characters:

Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy

Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer,
USS Galaxy

***

Deck 1
Main Conference Lounge
USS Galaxy

***

Captain Daren M'Kantu was silent as he stood gazing out the portal window. The USS William Wallace hung off the starboard bow in docking port 3. Its port nacelle, recently arrived from a Starfleet graveyard most likely, was slung several dozen meters above its strut latch it would later be attached to. The hull skin tones didn't quite match. The repair crews hovered over the junction pylon, cutting away the last of the blackened stump protruding from the old Mark I Excelsior. One could only imagine the patchwork of upgrades lining its interior.

Such is the nature of the Federation in this time and age. The Border Patrols in this area of space needed more potent tonnage for defense of the Federation perimeters. Starfleet was upping production on its starships as quickly as funding could be obtained. With several dozen member worlds having departed the Federation since the incident on lanjep two years ago, resources had also departed. Starships, exploration vessels, scouts, and worse yet, personnel, had exited the Federation, leaving it in short supply of defenses. Not that the Dominion War hadn't affected fleet strength already.

So, the 'fleet graveyards had been scavenged. Decommissioned starships had been anxiously put back in service. Mostly to the Border patrols whose regular visits by larger Starfleet ships in their patrolling sectors had been drastically reduced.

Thank Allah for the truce with Romulus.

Daren sipped at the steaming mug of tea he now held in his hand. After the debriefing at Starfleet Headquarters over the Quentin incident, he almost came to think he'd never taste the fine grains of this recipe from his homeland of Tanzania. Temporal Investigations had questioned himself, Admiral Hoth, and Commander Hawksley for several weeks over every aspect of the incident. They were particularly concerned over the apparent conflict the Galaxy had with the Hood, Sovereign, and Pershing. Admiral Hoth had argued in alignment with M'Kantu that the trading of weaponsfire had been an accident of an already tense situation, but it still did little to ease the Starfleet Command circle of leaving trust in M'Kantu with a vessel of Galaxy's power.

In the end, Admiral Hoth had convinced the Board of Inquiry to retain Daren's services. M'Kantu felt that there was more to that decision than just Hoth on his side. Politics were such a dirty business. How could one leave the sanctity of commanding a starship for a desk job? When will Starfleet come to their senses with that? Or did they think all Admirals like Kirk last century would save the planet if they were serving planetside?

When one entered Starfleet Academy, it was with the dream of exploring the depths of space. To escape the confines of planetary living and soar amongst the stars. To make a difference.

Flying a desk in a bureaucracy entailed none of that. It signified the end of usefulness. Daren hoped he never came to that crossroads.

Runabouts streamed by the portal window while he turned to rest a dark, calloused hand on a lighter spot on the surface at the head of the table.

"Computer, begin log." The gravelly voice cleared throat as he began.

"Stardate 50403.24:

"Orders from Starfleet Command have finally arrived. After a month of patrolling the area while the William Wallace undergoes repairs from an unknown force, we have been diverted to the Gryphon Asteroid Belt to assist in mediation of the two parties now apparently divided on the future of their colony. All personnel have been recalled from Starbase 212. We are due for departure in 1 hour."

M'Kantu stood up straight for a pause as he sipped at the now lukewarm liquid. It had ceased its heavily curtailed wisps of steam. Only the occasional puff arose as he swirled the half-empty mug.

"Captain Eliza Stuart performed excellently as the Galaxy's temporary Commanding Officer. I can't say I wasn't envious of her mission into Romulan territory, regardless of the Galaxy coming back in less than perfect shape. It was to be expected. Still, a valiant performance by the crew in the situation of not fully understanding their Captain's command style so soon into the mission.

"Captain Stuart, from the recommendations of the crew, will make a fine Commanding Officer; of that, there can be no doubt.

"Until then, she's left a list of recommended promotions, of which I concur with. Record the following recommendations and CC the department heads.

"Lt. Commander Cassius Henderson is promoted to the rank of Commander and is to permanently assume Executive Officer duties immediately upon his return from leave.

"Ensign Rima Pennington is promoted to Lieutenant, Junior Grade.

"Lieutenant, Junior Grade Corran Rex is promoted to Lieutenant with full command privileges and responsibilities of the Vanguard Starfighter Corps on board the USS Galaxy."

Glancing at the manifest on the main display, he saw that Henderson's and A'Akledoria's status remained on absent. Deep under him, he could subtly feel the engines coming to life. His Executive Officer had best arrive soon. Galaxy had gone through enough First Officer's already.

"Record the following transfers." He lifted a padd to read off the names.

"Hawksley, Lysander, Commander. Transferred to Starfleet Tactical on Earth.

"Anquin'sos, Adrian, Commander. Resigned commission."

The bulkhead door hissed open as he continued reading the list of personnel who'd in the way of things, moved on to bigger and better things. His name had been on this list many a time.

Legate Curran took up a position opposite Captain M'Kantu. Personnel coming and going was never ideal. The costs in retraining were wasteful. In Kelvan culture, once you were assigned to a position, you remained there until you were deemed fit to be better used in another position. None of this picking and choosing. Wasteful of resources.

M'Kantu completed his droning of names.

"Transfer to Galaxy. Sandoval, Miguel Antonio, Chief Botanist and Ecologist. Dobryin, Cora, Intelligence Analyst." He took a deep breath.

"End Log." His tea, now dreadfully cold, was returned to the replicator behind him. The transparent container disappeared in a rain of particle energy.

"Our orders have arrived, Legate."

Curran raised a trifled brow. His eyes, gaunt, and shallow, hurt. He felt an ache in his temples, and stomach was in knots.

"You don't look well, Mr. Curran. You should report to Sickbay to see about that."

"I'm fine, Captain." His answer, short and a bit heavy in angry undertones cut out without hesitation. "What are our orders, and why do you need me here?"

M'Kantu furrowed a brow. There was something most definitely wrong with the Legate. He was usually terse, but he was unusually more so now. Not beneficial for this mission at all.

"We are appointed mediators in an unstable political climate with terrorist activity. Starfleet has already appointed an Ambassador to assist in the negotiations, but there are external forces who don't believe in the resolution through diplomacy." Curran was visibly shaken. A very large concern indeed. "Legate, we're going to need your skills in top form. I must say I feel a mite apprehensive in that by your appearance at this moment."

"I already told you I'll be fine, Captain! I don't tell you how to do your job, don't tell me how to do mine." Truthfully Curran was haggard. He felt hot and cold both at the same time. He needed something. The desire for stimulants were exponentially stronger in this inopportune moment.

"Very well, Legate." M'Kantu stored it away in the back of his mind that he'd be following up his options on the Legate with Starfleet Command in the near future. They couldn't afford to make mistakes with this contract. The Gryphon Colonies were not under Federation jurisdiction, but currently they were the favored business partner. Since the original settlement split off into two factions recently, the Federation needed to tread lightly on this situation.

"Intelligence is now gathering information on the history and structure of the political climate at Gryphon. Sciences is currently compiling the sensor data on the sector."

"Very good, Captain. Have Intelligence notify me of the results." He itched his toes within his boots. His palms felt sweaty. M'Kantu regarded him quietly.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me? Is my hair too shifty? Nails too dirty?" He was snide, dripping in sarcasm.

"No, Legate. That will be all for now. We depart in 45 minutes."

Without a word, the Kelvan nodded sharply and hurriedly left the conference lounge. As soon as the turbolift doors closed behind him, leaving the prying eyes of the Main Bridge behind him, Curran slumped against the wall.

The chills ravaged him, and he felt feverish. What was wrong with him? He fumbled for a vial in his slacks pocket. His hands shook as he tried to pop the lid. Anger rising at his apparent loss of control, he popped the lid off, uncaring as it rolled across the turbolift floor. He tilted the canister into his palm, but nothing came out.

No! Sharply, he looked into the grey cylinder. Empty!

[Destination] The turbolift AI kindly requested of him.

Curran was anxious. No time! He'd set up a meeting on Starbase 212 with an associate that happened to coincide with the Galaxy's departure time unbeknownst to him at the time.

[Destination] Was that damnable woman's voice getting irritated?

Hurriedly, the Kelvan thought, blurting out the first place that came to mind.

"Sickbay!" The lift moved with ease. He'd use his position to force the medics on duty to give him what he wanted. That was it....

BACKPOST: A month ago, as 'Deal With The Devil' finishes up.

"The Low Down"

Primary Characters:

Admiral William Valerian
Captain Eliza Stuart

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Main Bridge

"Ops, what's the status of the Ven'tnor," Captain Stuart asked. Much as they had been enemies a moment ago, locked in a death struggle that the Galaxy had barely won, the Rihannsu were still officially their allies, and that made it her job to retrieve what she could of the Ven'tnor's crew.

"We're expecting self destruct in four minutes and thirty-one seconds, ma'am," Curtis Geluf reported, "Sensors detect six warp capable shuttles leaving the ship, headed for their side of the border. Escape pods are deploying, ma'am."

"Helm, take us into transporter range. Ops, you have four minutes to retrieve the escape pods and beam out what you can of their crew," Stuart said then, keying the shipwide comm, she gave her orders [Stand down to yellow alert. 'Commander Henderson to the bridge.]

"Aye ma'am," Savoie said, moving the Galaxy into position for Geluf to begin the slow process.

"Where should I put them all?" Geluf asked before following through.

Stuart thought for a moment, "Contact 'Commander Corgan or whoever is charge of security at the moment. I would suggest using a cargo bay, but I'll leave it in your hands. Lieutenant Savoie, when the Ven'tnor goes up, make sure we're out of range. I don't want to loose any more of our people than we already have."

At this point, 'Commander Henderson arrived on the bridge. He'd spent the engagement on the battle bridge, coordinating the Galaxy, the fighters, the Pallas Athena, and Ensign Teryn's shuttle. "Captain," he said to get Stuart's attention.

"I need you to take over here for a while. I'm going to visit Admiral Valerian," she said, heading up the ramp to the turbolift. Henderson nodded to her and made his way down to the command chair.

Stuart stepped into the turbolift, intent on going straight to sickbay and asking some very pointed questions to Admiral Valerian. She had quite a list built up.

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 12
Ward 2

William Valerian was fairly sure that everything had worked out. They'd brought him back to consciousness as the battle was ending. A nurse had managed to find time to check on the injured from the Pallas Athena and had awakened Valerian so he could be prepared for release.

However, it seemed release was coming to him, as Captain Stuart, the replacement captain arrived in the ward, probably to talk to him. ~And now for the real show.~ Valerian thought.

"Admiral, I've checked with Doctor Reynolds, and you seem to be in working order, so I'd be much obliged if you'd walk with me for a while," Stuart said, walking over to the cot where Valerian was sitting. She placed his medical writeup on the cot.

"Yes, why don't we take a walk," Valerian agreed, "I'm sure you have many questions that you want me to answer." Valerian rose and headed out of sickbay. He glanced over at Morales and Dobryin, two of the other survivors.

"Yes, sir, I do," Stuart said as they exited sickbay. After they'd gotten a couple of corridors away, she decided to ask her first question, but Admiral Valerian beat her to it.

"So what do you want to know, Captain?"

"I want to know what happened between when Starfleet lost contact with the Pallas Athena and when we found you adrift in the Lhoranth," Eliza said. ~This had better be an interesting story,~ she had decided.

"Captain at’Vhandol was responding to the distress beacon of a Federation freighter, Antares-Class, claiming to be the S.S. Void Wanderer,” Valerian explained, then paused, “But what we found wasn't what we were expecting."

"And that was?"

"I was just getting to that, Captain," Valerian said, "The freighter exploded as we lowered our shields to beam life signs off. This damaged the Pallas Athena’s forward weapons array. It also had the side effect of bringing Romulan Marines into our transporter rooms. It seems the Rihannsu set a little trap for us."

Stuart motioned for him to continue his tale as the continued to wander away from sickbay. Valerian’s words could potentially send political ripples that would affect the whole quadrant.

"Within moments we were set upon by three warbirds," Valerian continued, "They crippled the ship, as we were largely unable to respond due to the fighting onboard. At that point, more marines beamed over and subdued the crew. That's when Ensign Dobryin and myself carried Lieutenant Morales and the young medic and sealed ourselves in the cargo bay. Beyond that, I know nothing."

Stuart seemed to think for a moment, "What do you think provoked the Romulans into a raid, just a firm peace had been decided on?"

Valerian was quick with his response, "Because Romulans don't handle peace well. They're am agressive race of people who are raised to conquest in the name of their empress. Whether it was an ordered attack, an opportunity to create another 'missing ship,' an action by the Tal Shiar, or a random rogue group, I doubt we'll even know, now that you’ve chased off their ships."

Stuart pursed her lips. The Admiral's statement struck her as reactionary, and not too helpful. "We disabled their primary vessel, the IRV D'Salva, which we've identified from our intelligence database, as their patrol sector command ship. I'm having Commander tr'Bhutra brought aboard if he survived. We're also taking on survivors from the Ven'tnor, the second ship, which self destructed a few minutes ago."

"I see," Valerian replied, "Perhaps we will get to the bottom of this after all." He paused for a moment, looking very hagard, "I'm sorry Captain, but I'd appreciate if we kept this short. I need to sleep some more before I'll be able to do too much."

"I understand completely," Stuart replied, "I'll attend to the recovery operation, sir. Check in with our personnel officer to get temporary quarters."

"Very good," Valerian said, and took his leave of her.

Stuart ran her hands through her hair nervously and headed back to the bridge.

"Crash at our Place, We Would Love to Have You Here!"

By Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security,
USS Galaxy

Location: Security office

"Report someone! God dammit!" Cursed the ever-so-eloquent Security Commander, wiping soot off his glasses. The security office was on low lights, suffering a hit to the power grid during the engagement with the warbirds. Besides a few down bulkheads and a few rattled crew, the staff inside the security command centre were relatively unharmed. James however, couldn't say the same about his favourite pair of eyeglasses. There was a noticeable crack in the left lense, a split down the middle forming a jagged scar on the once clear, plexiduraplas surface. When he put the glasses on, his left eye vision looked as if it was spiderwebbed in two.

This annoyed him even further, though he kept an amazing amount of restraint. Considering the Galaxy was fired on by allies during a rescue operation, any amount of calmness was a superhuman feat.

James felt like he was becoming older already.

"Report! What's going on in here!" James bellowed out again.

Lieutenant jg. T'lan, the resident Vulcan and eccentric of the group, snaked her way through twisted damage, coming to James Corgan's side. Her Vulcan exterior was unmussed, though a green blooded cut dried over her right eyebrow. "Sir, I have the updates." "Then tell me. What's going on?" James growled.

T'lan read off the list, ignoring the shower of sparks from a nearby burned out console, "Sir, the attack of the D'Salva and the Ven'tnor has been repulsed. Medium damage suffered on the Galaxy." Her pause was perpendicular to another, more noisy crackle of sparks, and the whoosh of a CO2 extinguisher blasting into the affected panel. "The power distribution grid to this deck is down, and will not be tended to for another twenty minutes by the engineering crews. We will stay on reserve power backup for the time being. Also, only emergency turbolifts are operational. However, the other turbolifts should be functional once non essential power is restored." "What about the security teams? Any encounters with enemy infiltrators?" James led T'lan out of the choking atmosphere of the security office, to a darkly lit hallway with less damage.

"Sir, our security teams have responded to eight search and rescue operations on decks 12, 18, 23, and 29. Search and rescue teams are currently in action, Sir. They have already implemented 12 rescue efforts." James was glad to hear that the search and rescue teams were doing well, and responding faster than he anticipated. The search and rescue security teams was his idea, remembering starship battles in the Dominion War and seeing the lack of specialized rescue teams trained specifically for starship disaster duties. Not like a damage control engineering team, his crews specialized in rescuing trapped crewmembers (though each person selected in search and rescue had to have respectable knowledge in engineering) during combat and accident conditions. His only regret was that he couldn't include medics from medical, or engineering specialists from engineering to join these crews. Such inter-departmental integration was much trickier, and took longer to go through red tape. However, he was pleased with the results.

"Good. But what about Romulan teams?" "So far, there has been no evidence of Romulan infiltration. All teams have reported back with no encounters with Romulan Marines. The shield grid remained steady throughout the ship, making the possibility of boarding parties entering this ship quite minimal." T'lan ended with Vulcan confidence.

"Casulties?" "Twenty six injured, none dead so far. Eighty crewmembers are unaccounted for."

The Galaxy seemed to come off lightly during a scrap with two warbirds. Not bad for a fight. James was suitably impressed with the Galaxy's performance for a change. The casualties were light, though one death could wipe that satisfaction clean off. Therefore, James ordered, "Have security teams comb the ship. Find the missing crewmembers. Don't stop until they are all found."

"Aye, Sir!" T'lan saluted sharply, marching off to her task. The thought of Vulcan sarcasm did cross James mind, he also thought it wouldn't fit during an emergency situation. Despite T'lan eccentricities (for a Vulcan), it was difficult to tell which is which, but she could be serious in a situation such as this.

Vulcans had the ability to keep the ramrod shoved up their butts when most emotional sentients frayed, but T'lan emulated that extreme perfectly, even comical, knowing full well she was more relaxed than most of her kin (though she loathed to admit it, not really loathed, but 'neither confirmed nor denied').

~"Strange woman…"~ James sighed, fixated again on the crack in his lenses. Dr. Malgin would have a fit again, something James didn't look forward to, but the lenses needed to be fixed. Another annoyance easily solved after the real troubles ended.

"SIR!" T'lan hollered, her head peering out of security central, startling the chief with a panicked 'Jesus Christ!'. "We have Romulans on board. It's the Ven'tnor. She has self destructed. We have beamed over as much of her crew as we could, and we have incoming escape pods." "Dammit!" He underestimated the situation, and it caught him off guard. "Alright… so, how may are we expecting?"

"Five hundred fifty six in escape pods. Two hundred twenty seven from transporter rooms. A total of seven hundred and eighty one survivors, Sir." "Have security teams scrambled to the shuttle bay and transporter rooms?" "Affirmative, sir." The Galaxy class vessels were built with humanitarian missions in mind, and could take on a full crew compliment's worth of refugees in an emergency situation, more so if corners were cut and some luxuries were scaled down. But a combat variant Galaxy Refit had less capacity, and the sheer amount of Romulans coming in would tax the Galaxy's resources. Food, beds, blankets and space was going to be a problem. Being experienced at supplies and operations, James could work out the logistical problems on his own. But still, there may not be enough. "T'lan, respond to Operations, request that the shuttlebay be cleared to land any escape pods. Post security teams at all shuttlebays while these operations are in effect as well." His pause served to catch his breath, "Also, I want cargo bays rearranged and cleared if necessary to house the Romulans. If that isn't enough, use the holodecks, empty crew quarters, and any adjacent hallways that are still usable. Tell Ops we'll need to requisition cots, bunks, bedding, food and drink for every single one of them. We'll set up camp, they have to bring the supplies. Got it?!"

"Orders received, Sir. We should be able to set up temporary facilities for the Romulans in three hours, forty two minutes… barring accidents."

"Good! T'lan, lets make it happen!" James barked, setting his course to the turbolift to immediately begin the operation, "And Lieutenant… good work. You handled yourself well." T'lan replied, "I would expect nothing less of me, Sir. I am Vulcan."

Not sure what to make of that remark, James headed for the turbolifts.

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

Three hours, forty two minutes later.

Cargo Bay one was already converted into a miniaturized Romulan community by the time James arrived from his inspection. Security officers cleared away from the undamaged storage bay after assembling enough temporary bunks to sleep all the Romulan refugees. Ops officers carted in beddings as well as portable replicator machines, lights, and portable latrines. It was an efficient setup, practiced by his crews for humanitarian missions. He doubted any other crew in the fleet could do this task quicker.

Already the Cargo Bay was filled with Romulans. Dejected, sorrow faced sailors and soldiers, mulling on their cots, gathering in small clusters, and lining up in front of the replicator. All were grumbling about their circumstances, though not all were favourable towards Starfleet. Some didn't like to be captured from what they perceived as 'the enemy', and casts glowering stares at the security teams on the upper decks and at the Cargo Bay doors. More others grumbled about a needless action, wondering why they were attacking allies, while anti-Federation supporters argued about the Galaxy's border incursion. Some were in bed and wounded, being tended by both Romulan and Federation orderlies (the critically injured were in Sickbay or triage on deck 10). Others still just moped, staring down at the floor, worried more about surviving the hellish scrap with the tenacious starship packing the surprise weapon than the politics behind it. War horrors superceded even political viewpoints, and those were the crewmen and women that James sympathized the most.

"The preparations have been completed, Sir." T'lan announced to her superior, unaware of the hostilities the Romulans shot at their ancient kin.

"I'm glad to hear it, T'lan." James nodded in agreement, "Security outdid themselves today. But tell me, is there a representative of the crew here? A higher ranking officer?"

"There is, Sir. Sub-Centurion M'Kutiio. He was the chief of security on the Ven'tnor." T'lan directed James towards a burly, thick bodied Rihannsu officer dressed in the traditional Romulan wide shouldered gray uniform, with gray plastic, ridged body suspenders with the Romulan Star Empire seal, denoting his rank. His sidearm holster was empty of its disrupter pistol.

"T'lan, hold this." James handed over his Type One phaser pistol to his junior officer. He preferred to be on equal terms with the Romulan, and he was sure the bigger man would appreciate the gesture as well.

One of the Romulan officers pointed out James and his collar pips to the Romulan security chief. Turning around, James' Romulan counterpart looked exceptionally brutish, especially with his race's trademark ridges. His cheeks were thickset and solid, and his eyes glared with a cold fury contained by Romulan calm. This monster of a man was a mass of thick muscle and a good six inches taller. An opposite to the lean muscled, wirey, confident Starfleet chief.

"You invade our borders with three ships, fire instead of going back to your side of the border, and now you destroyed the vessel I called home for twelve years. Worse, you have the audacity to disarm us and take us in as prisoners, and give us accommodations unfitting the captured at best! And you come to me, unarmed, expecting me to say thanks?" The Romulan officer's grumble was from the heart of a restless mountain, gravelly but full of booming power, and adding the silky arrogance of Romulan speech made this particular subject a bold fellow. "You Federations have some audacity. So, is my description of what you expected from us… fitting?"

James didn't appreciate his Ven'tnor counterpart's attitude, which was only the Romulan's bait to lure him into an argument. Acting happy to the point of sickening, James replied, "Yes! That's the gist of it! Enjoy!"

With a snap of his heels, he turned his back on Sub-Centurion M'Kutiio and walked away.

"I am not done with you, Lieutenant Commander!" M'Kutiio bellowed.

Knitting his face more seriously, James turned back around, and rebutted, "Oh, but you are! You made your points quite clear. Here's mine. We went to rescue one of our ships. And two of our allies fired on us. And because of that, we kicked your asses to oblivion, and you're pride is smarting. And worse, we dare to fly in the face of your Romulan pride to help you all out, and best yet, we will most likely not take you as prisoners of war because we want to stay friends with your Empire. Now, does that accurately portray OUR intentions?!?"

"Not the slightest." The Romulan retorted, "It is a contradiction." "Finally, somebody clues in." James sighed, "Look, we were on the same side during the war. You should know, you're a veteran I assume." "That I am. What about it?" M'Kutio sneered.

"Remember Kelja 2?" "That was the engagement between the Romulan 8th fleet and the Dominion Alpha fleet, to save the Starfleet Andorian Guard from a total route."

"And I remember Saria 5, where we helped the Romulan 338th Conscript army fight off the Cardassians. Funny, we helped each other out before. And both sides thanked each other. I don't see why it's impossible to do it now." After pondering for a moment, the Sub-Commander said, "I need not give gratitude. You invaded our space. You deserve death." Shrugging, James sighed, "I'm not going to argue with you further. We had a job to do. If you're unapologetic about your actions while I'm quite willing to apologize for ours, then so be it. Just know that you're our guests until we make arrangements for you all to be returned to the Empire. Meanwhile, if there's any grievances or if you need anything, just ask me, and I'll pull strings." "Yes, I have a grievance. I wish..." His mountainous rumble added to another growth of intimidation. "...I could use those strings to pull you apart."

"Go figure." James decided to leave the conversation. "Two hundred years of prejudice can be too ingrained in some people. Just remember what I said, if you're willing to accept our apologies." He left the cargo bay rather unscathed, and surprised with himself for facing a larger man, and living.

OOC: Takes place after "Transitions" and before "Say It's Not So"

****

"Some Time Alone"

Primary Character:

Lieutenant (j.g.) Rima Pennington

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 2
Pennington's Quarters

What was it? Just a piece of shiny metal. Magnetic and two sided, so that it would attach easily to a collar. It really wasn't an important object in the greater scheme of things. Just a piece of metal. But there was something about it that seemed so...

Wrong.

Rima Pennington turned and hurled the new pip against the wall of her spartan quarters. "Bah!" she cried out, frustrated. The whole thing was stupid. What did it matter if she was a Lieutenant (j.g). It wasn't like she had spoken to her father in ages anyway. He could live out his stupid dream without ever bothering her...

But still. The bastard had forced her into this, and then left her alone with the world. After the pranks had started at the Academy, he'd decided that she wasn't good enough, because she'd never live up to Gabriel.

It was so ironic how he idolized Gabe. Didn't he get it? Gabe hated him! But no, Gabriel was the martyred son. The model officer! He was AWOL for christ' sake! He'd dissapeared with his shuttle on his way to the Gettysburg. Probably run away. That would be so like him. He didn't like something, he'd just dissapear.

~And that leaves me here,~ Rima thought, ~Alone.~ She walked over and picked up the pip, her rage gone for the moment. She'd recieved the notification that morning. She'd been...

Promoted.

She hated the very sound of that word. It meant that she had let her father win, yet again. It absolved him of the abject destruction of her career in baking, for the loss of her self determination. And it was her fault. She'd gone and gotten promoted.

Except for Cass.

He was just like her father. He wanted to control her. Tell her where to go, who to be, what do do! And now he was abandoning her. Was abandoning her? Hah! He *HAD* abandoned her. Off with that Andorian tramp fighting some intergalactic evil.

~Yeah, the intergalactic evil in his pants!~

Oh, he was just like all other men. Only concerned about one thing. Just like with the damn *Androids*. He had all these high and mighty ideals, and all that he could do was run off with that stuck up blue smurf.

Rima looked over at her desk, angry again. She'd recently, unbeknownst to anyone, placed a picture of Cassius on the desk she never used. That was innocent enough, right? It didn't mean anything, right?

She sighed, and regretted what she'd just thought. Cassius had been her saving grace too many times. And as much as she hated to admit it, she agreed with a lot of what he said. She just didn't want to tell him, or anyone else. That would be too proper. Too Starfleet. And she didn't want to be here.

She certainly didn't want to be working for Savar. Cassius might trust him, but she couldn't take the pressure. He confided in Biessman, looked at her as if she was a leper, and was likely to betray them all at any moment. Cassius might be fooled, but those dark eyes didn't fool her. She'd known too many people with agendas.

And really, that decided it. After a thorough review of her circumstances, she made up her mind. It was time for the bird to leave the nest, to fly free, and to stick it to her father. If he thought having one child go AWOL was bad, two would be impossible to fathom for the thick skulled fool. And this time, it wouldn't leave any doubt. She was gone.

But she would leave a note for Cassius. Taking out a Padd, she wrote.

****

March 3, 2381

Dear Cassius,

I know this was the last thing you ever wanted me to do, but.... Here it is. I can't help who I am, and I need to be free. Starfleet isn't going to give me that, and I can't stand letting my father win. So I'm going to be leaving now. I have to find my way on my own for a while. I don't know what the future holds, but life i the fleet is just tearing me up right now.

Cass, I know you're going to want to come find me. You'll want to make me into your next crusade against injustice. Please don't. I'd hate for you to throw away your happiness on me. It'd make me feel guilty, and I don't handle guilt well. You know that. So live your own life, and have that career you've been dreaming of. I heard they made you the executive officer permanently. Congratulations, you deserve it, no matter what some self serving Director of SFI says.

I guess we won't have to tackle the whole who loves who question, now. We never did get to it, and that was my fault. I'm just too insecure, Cass. I don't trust myself. The first thing that comes to mind when we start talking about our feelings is to scream and hide in my closet. God! I react to my own feelings like a frightened and awkward pre-teen. Anyway, you wanted the truth. Here it is.

I felt it. Just like you did.

So there, it's out and you can let me go. Find some nice girl. Or even better, Ella Grey once told me about a woman you saw for a while, Taryn Dalheimer. She seemed a lot more ideal for you than I do. Why don't you find her while she's still there. Don't wait forever to say what you really mean. You could wind up like me, stuck where you don't want to be because you didn't have the spine to speak up.

Anyway, some last minute details. I won't be able to take my things when I go, since I'm kind of trying to be quiet about this. There are a few that I'd like you to hang onto. The rest you can give to the tactical department. Much as I was something of a stuck up, irritating, self centered brat, they accepted me, and were my family. So, if you could keep my old books, I'd rather they not wind up on anyone else' shelf, and I know you'll appreciate them. Also, my cat. I know, you didn't know I had one. I'm kind of alergic to him, so I don't mention it much. It's a little embarrassing. His name is Lysander, and I got him from an Algolian trader who was willing to throw in a first edition of "Pebble in the Sky" if I took him. Seems their skin has a violent reaction with cat fur that he didn't know about. I hope you have more luck with him than I did.

Well, that's all, I think. This is so draining. Don't get me wrong, Cass, I'll always value our time, but I just can't stay. I wish it could have been better but... It just wasn't meant to be.

With regrets, Rima A. Pennington

****

Putting the Padd down on her bed, she gathered what she would need for the road. Looking around at the place that had been her 'home' for a year, she had a thought. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the desk, she cut a short lock of her hair and placed it on the Padd.

"Closing time, Cassius. Sorry," she turned away.

Rima Pennington turned off the lights on her way out, made her way to the starbase, and dissapeared into the crowd.

"Take what You Can Get"

Commander Tara Reynolds,
XO - USS Arizona (Pat)

Lt. Commander Micaelah Rabb,
CMO - USS Arizona (Laurel)

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard Squadron
CO - USS Galaxy (Pat)

Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi,
Vanguard Squadron
XO - USS Galaxy (Laurel)

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

USS Arizona - Deck 18 Sickbay, CMO's Office

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

The sound of knocking drew the good Dr. Mike's attention up from her desk in Sickbay. With the Arizona docked at Starbase 212 for a another few days while they took on new crew, Arizona's Chief Medical Officer was using the time to catch up on paperwork.

When she looked up, she saw something she did not expect. Namely, Commander Tara Reynolds, the brass-balled tomboyish former fighter pilot of an Executive Officer...... looking like a girl.

In Tara's opinion, she was a particularly attractive one. She was wearing a red shirt with no sleeves, a black leather vest, with a matching skirt that was just a hair to short to be considered decent by old married people.

Which, of course, was the idea.

Mike looked towards the door with an arched eyebrow that would do Selok proud. "Well paint me red and call me a target," she drawled as she examined the good XO's appearance, "What can ah do for you, Tara?"

'Well....." the redhead drawled out, smiling. "I don't know if you noticed, but the Galaxy happens to be here in port, too."

Mike smiled knowingly, "Ah sure did. Let me think here, you're gittin' ready to go see your boy since for once we're at the same port o' call..." She remembered Tara mentioning that Cor...something or other was on the Galaxy.

"That would be the general plan. So I need you to take Alpha shift tomorrow morning. Harris is already pulling Beta and Gamma Shift tomorrow. Was also wondering if you wanted to walk around the promenade with me for a little while until it's time for me to meet him... I could use the company, and you could use the break." Tara replied, still smiling infectiously. She was simply in one damned good mood.

Mike's smile turned brilliant, "Mah hero, you're saving me from the horrors of paperwork. Ah can take over your shift, no problem. I doubt the ship'll go to hell in a handbasket with me in charge..." Then again, maybe it would...Rabb chuckled at her thoughts, "Just give me a second to put this away here..."

"Good time's a-wastin here, Dr. Mike."

"Keep yer britches on," Mike grumbled good naturedly as she set down the PADD in her hands and stood, "Lead the way, Co-mahnder." "That would be counter-productive." Reynolds replied with a small laugh.

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

USS Galaxy - Deck 38 CO's Office, Vanguard Squadron Complex

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

Corran was, in a very rare event, dressed in civilian clothing. Jazz found this more than a bit odd, but hadn't commented on it so far. Currently, Vanguard Squadron's XO was finding great amounts of amusement in watching her boss try very hard to find an errant boot. half of Corran's clothes, it seemed, were in the closet here in his office rather than his quarters just down the hall.

Taking pity on the poor man, Jasmine knelt and reached under the couch to pull out the missing boot. Dangling the object from her hand, the former actress smirked at Corran's expression, "I believe this is what you're looking for?"

The Trill sighed, and deflated somewhat. "Yes, thanks." he replied, and slipped the errant boot on.

Jasmine, like Rex, was dressed down for the moment. She had every intention of going on base and enjoying herself - though she did have an escape plan should a plethora of adoring fans try to ambush her. She had every intention of gluing herself to one of her fellow pilots if that happened - preferably Tyten. He'd probably laugh at her when it was over, but the public could become a little over rambunctious. "No problem," she replied in her musical voice, though if Corran listened even just a little he would be able to hear the laughter tainting her tone.

"Don't know that I've ever talked about it, Jazz, but my... significant other is the XO over on the Arizona." Corran said, trying not to be nervous. He pointed at the (obviously older) picture of a red-haired human woman with Lieutenant's pips and one of the most lived-in flight jacket's she'd ever see. The picture looked maybe five or six years old, the grimy look of the two pilots in it suggesting that it had been back during the War. One thing was clear - the two very clearly enjoyed each other's presence. "That would be the very same Arizona sitting over there." the Trill noted, looking out the viewport to where the immense Concorde-Class Starcarrier was docked.

Jasmine's smile widened at the news, "Oh hoh - the news come out. I was going to ask if you had a hot date, but well...looks like you do. I take it you'll probably be taking off tomorrow to spend with her?"

"You didn't notice the training schedule was blank for once?" Corran asked with a small chuckle.

"I figured I was in the midst of too good of a dream to even attempt to bring it up to you," the Betazoid grinned, "I didn't want to point it out!"

Corran started to reply, but then, very suddenly, found that he couldn't. In that moment, it was though there was in explosion in the body of Corran Rex - both between his ears, and in his abdomen where the symbiote linked into his central nervous system. He fell abruptly to the deck, hands at his temples, no longer aware of jazz, the office, or indeed, anything around him. A telepath would have heard a cacophony of voices all inside his mind, as each of his former hosts tried to assume control of his body. She voiced a wordless cry of astonishment both at Corran's collapse and the battering of voices on her shields. The Betazoid knelt beside the Trill and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Corran?" she asked, even though she doubted he could hear her. She could, possibly, reach him mentally. She was strangely reluctant to do so, simply because of the strength of his symbiont's personalities. It could damage her...she steeled herself and resolved that if he didn't come out of it soon she would have to try.

For one brief moment, Corran was able to gain enough control to spit out a few words. "Desk.......hypo spray." he grunted out in a barely intelligible fashion. The Betazoid scrambled to retrieve the hypo, even though she was reluctant to leave Corran on the floor. Wrapping her hand around the object, she brought it back to her CO's side and pressed it to his shoulder. Hitting the trigger, the gratifying hiss indicated that the dose of whatever it was had hit home. Corran remained sitting on the floor, hands on his temples while he steadied himself. "Sorry you had to see that." Rex replied nervously. "Guess I'm more nervous about seeing Tara than I thought. My control sort of slipped, there."

Jasmine eyed him carefully - this was the first time she had seen him so overcome. "Corran, what the hell was that?" If she hadn't been there...damn, she was starting to think she might need to keep a mental tab on her CO.

"That was..." Rex started, standing up, but balancing himself with his palms on his thighs. "That was a... lapse in concentration."

"Right," Jasmine replied skeptically, "You're talking to a Betazoid here, Corran. It was like being in a crowded room with dozens of people screaming at once - and I even had my shields up. So, why are you calling *that* a lapse in concentration?"

"More or less."

Her arched eyebrow would've done a Vulcan proud, "Right." She decided then and there that she should probably keep a mental eye on her CO, simply because this 'lapse in concentration' managed to a) scare the crap out of her, b) give her a headache, and c) frustrate her when said CO didn't explain just what was happening.

"I've been... backing off my medication." Corran started, trying to explain. I've been doing very well for awhile now, longer than I reasonably had a right to expect. Ever since I met Kreighoff, and he was able to provide me with a connection to Vorrin's life. Things have been... stabilizing, so I've been incrementing my medications downward." the tall man paused a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face a moment. "I took the levels down too far, I think."

"You think?" Jasmine replied sarcastically, shaking her head, "Next time you're planning on doing something like that, especially when it affects your health, mind telling me about it? If I hadn't been here...there's no way I could've known you were in trouble." Well, she conceded to herself, there was a way but she was too well trained - not to mention polite - to place a surface 'alarm' on his mind. Something that'd at least let her know something was wrong.

"Sounds fair." he replied. "Care to walk me to the base? Make sure I don't end up a puddle of goo on the deck again?"

Heloi rolled her eyes, for a moment appearing to be a petulant actress, "Try and stop me." She might be hovering, but damnit all, she was worried.

"Well then. Let's go. If I'm late, Tara will likely skin me alive." rex replied. He was only mostly joking.

A redhead's wrath was a terrible thing.

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

Starbase 212 - Promenade

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

The two women from the Arizona had been walking along the promenade for maybe twenty minutes, laughing at some of the various things being sold in the ships and, generally, just wasting time.

"You don't know how tempting it is to not go into that pool hall and clean all those arrogant pricks out." Reynolds muttered under her breath.

She was a little irritated - not at the appreciative whistles they'd drawn, but some of the more cruder comments from some of the freighter crew members.

"Ah'd help you," Mike grumbled, catching Tara's words. She was tempted, all 5'2" of her, to turn into a human bowling ball and knock those pricks down a few notches. However, she *was* still wearing her uniform. Wouldn't be seemly to do that...ah hell, what did she care about seemly? "Ah'm beginning to think that ah just shouldn't come ashore at these bases. Ah seem to attract those tahypes of losers."

"Yeah, well, I've got a date. I'm not spending my leave in the Starbase brig." she said, easing her stalk after another string of mostly mild profanities. "I'm in a good mood. Really. I should be in a good mood."

"Aw hell, Tara, ah'm sorry about that," Mike said somewhat sheepishly. Being as tiny as she was, even if she knew what Corran looked like there wouldn't be a chance in hell of her seeing him over the heads of the giants on the promenade. Sometimes, she rued the fact that she was short - but only sometimes. "So...ya see him anywhere?"

Reynolds sighed. "Not yet." she said, eyeing a bench. "Let's sit down there. Easier to watch the crowd if we're not part of it."

"All raght," the Doctor nodded though her attention was distracted a moment by a confectionary stand. "Oh mah, they've got cotton candy! Ah've got to get some. Sit yerself down and ah'll be right back." The petite red head made a bee line for the stand and less than a minute latter she returned carrying a stick of cotton candy that rivaled the size of her head. Mike was grinning enough to be considered a new light source when she sat down next to the XO, "Now *this* makes it all better."

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

Down on the other end of the Promenade, Corran was nervously looking at his chrono. "Yup." he noted. '"I'm in trouble."

Jasmine chuckled softly at his expression, "I think she can understand why you were late, Corran. Don't worry so much." Actually, if she admitted it to herself, he was kind of cute when he looked that nervous. Which, of course, she didn't admit to herself.

"What about you, Jazz?" Corran asked his XO as he began scanning the crowds. They were right around where "Any special pilot got the password to your heart?"

She laughed lightly, and heads turned at the tone. Sometimes, she damned that her laugh was almost as well known as her appearance, "No, actually. I'm still trying to get out of Starfire's shadow. I just haven't really found anyone that can look beyond that as of yet. I'm still keeping my options open, though."

"Might want to think about it, Jazz. People in our jobs don't have the longest life expectancies. Better to take the enjoyment you can when you can get it. " Right about that time, Corran and Tara caught each other's gaze. "There she is," he said quietly. "She still takes my breath away, every time." he said, giving a look that seemed to be appreciative of the outfit, but the Betazoid pilot could tell was a matter of regard for the woman herself.

Tara, for her part, was up from her seat next to Dr. Mike with an astoundingly girlish squeak and hauled but over to Corran , wrapping her arms tightly around him and greeting him with a passionate enough kiss that one nearby elderly civilian looked scandalized.

One of the first things she had learned about people was that if they were happy in a relationship, they wanted all their friends to be the same. This was no different, though from the way they looked at each other, she smiled. Love was a beautiful thing, even if you weren't a Betazoid.

Dr. Mike was left holding her cotton candy and watching, bemused, as Tara made a spectacle of herself. It was sweet. She wasn't just talking about the cotton candy, either.

The pair showed no sign of letting go of each other anytime soon. "Getting escorted by a pretty woman?" Tara asked, eyebrow raised.

"You know I've only got eyes for you." came the smooth reply from Corran.

Reynolds just rolled her eyes, and extended a hand towards Jasmine even as Dr. Mike was walking up. Heloi noted the other arm was still firmly wrapped around "Commander Tara Reynolds, off the Arizona. This is Dr. Micaelah Rabb. Dr. Mike, this is Corran Rex, and...?"

"Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi," the fighter pilot introduced herself with a warm smile. She took the offered hand and grasped it firmly, "A pleasure to meet you, Commander."

"Tara, please. Corran's mentioned you. You're a brave woman, if you're willing to be his XO." she said with a smile.

"Hey!" Corran replied with mock indignation. " I'm standing right here."

Reynolds looked at Dr. Mike as she started subtly guiding Rex away. "We'll see you later, ladies - don't wait up. I promise we won't be home before midnight."

The Betazoid and the half-Betazoid stared at each other, bemused. "Am I the only one to think that this was part of their plan all along?" Jasmine asked her new companion. "Knowing Tara, you can bet your britches on that," Mike drawled with a wry smile. After a moment's thought, the Doctor held out the sticky confection, "Want some?"

"Seductive Reasoning"

By
Sub-Centurion Atole Tekri
Diplomatic Attache to Ambassador Omar

And
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security,
USS Galaxy

Ten Forward hosted the evening crowd. Consisting of mostly party goers and dates, the small bar and bistro became alive with activity. But unlike the lunch crowd that Corgan was used to, the evening crowd was more relaxed and casual, not rushed or in the middle of work while stealing a morsel of food between shifts.

It was an attitude he could get used to, for he felt like he needed to loosen up more than anyone. His date was, for all he knew, businesslike. Sub-Centurion Tekri was due soon, and he didn't look forward to messing up.

So far, everything looked good. His PADD on the table, the notes for a new guitar song splayed across its screen, the results of waiting for an hour. He was at the table next to the windows, showing the stiletto streaks of starlight passing by at warp. He was freshly showered, shaved, and his uniform was clean and neat.

~"Ready?"~ He questioned himself.

Tekri walked into the bar. Her attire was an evening form of her earlier clothing. Several of the men who were seated alone looked at her. They went back to their previous task though when they were glared at.

She seated herself by the chief of security. She admired his very clean-shaven appearance.

"I do apologize for not arriving when you did." She looked at him apologetically while the lonely men looked at him with envy.

Flushed red with embarrasment, James replied, "That's ok. You don't have to apologize." Truth was, James prepared and arrived early, and her arrival had no co-relation with the female promptness stereotype. If she was late, James appreciated whatever efforts she went through to get ready for this meeting.

Her dress highlighted and complimented her hourglass figure, and her face and hair were more dutifully put together than most Starfleet officer women he knew. Hints of alien perfume he couldn't identify floated near him, tickling his nose. Little details like that he appreciated. He hoped his efforts to look presentable were worthy enough.

He came out of his chair, seeming to pop out of a split second, perfume induced daydream. "Where are my manners? Here, have a seat." He said, as he slid out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank You."

After Atole Tekri seated herself, James sat down. The waitress, a cheap imitation of beauty compared to the Romulan temptress, asked to take orders. "Coffee. Black, Please. How about you, Madam Tekri?"

"The same."

The waitress nodded acknowledgement, and scampered off to fulfill the orders. This left James without much to work with. He knew he showed some form of chivalry and politeness, and from the hostile looks of many of the single men in the room, he may have showed any of them up too much. He could sense the jealousy. But it didn't matter much. It was Madam Tekri's night, and maybe a little bit of his night as well.

"Forgive me if i'm a bit rough." James apologized profusely, "I haven't had a conversation with a Romulan since the War, and that was with colonial conscripts on the front, not Officers. But i'm definately glad to talk to have the opportunity. Thank you."

She smiled at him with delight. "You do not need to apologise. Saurian Brandy is often a rough beverage though it is highly valued."

She touched at his left arm lightly. "Is that the same for you?"

He didn't resist her touch, but in fact blushed, "I would have to agree, though it must be an aquired taste. Tell me, why so facinated with a simple security officer such as myself?"

The coffee mugs arrived on time. Nodding a thanks to the waitress, James took a thoughtful sip from the mug, and spoke as he put the mug back down. "But I guess that why I looked forward to meeting you in private. Probably more so than I would care to admit. There's much i'd like to know about you, starting with why you are interested in me."

"Do I have to have a reason for taking a liking to you?" Tekri asked of the chief of security.

She cringed from the taste of the coffee. "Lieutenant commander we should try a better beverage. How about a strong alcoholic drink of your planet?" She challenged him bravely.

He mused at her reaction to the coffee. "You'll get used to it eventually. Another aquired taste. But as for alcoholic beverages... that might be a problem."

"Why?"

"You see..." James sheepishly explained, "Starfleet regulation strictly prohibits the sale and use of alcohol on all Starfleet military and exploratory vessels. Sometimes there are stashes... but I have yet to gain the confidence of the bartenders to use them... considering my position. So I have to settle for synthahol. Sorry."

But he added with a mischevous glint, "They don't say anything about private ownership however..."

"Very interesting."

"I have a bottle of French Absinthe in my quarters. Another... aquired taste, but a facinating drink. If I could, I would get out some Romulan Ale, but even with that stuff legalized since the War, it's hard to get some. Oh!" James laughed mildly, "I'm talking too much about me. What about you? Tell me a little more about your origins."

~"C'mon Corgan ol' boy. Keep her away from the booze. If she finds out booze poleaxe's me like a phaser on stun, who knows what i'll compromise!"~

She smiled at him briefly. "Both of my parents are bankers: our family has always been wealthy. I went into the military instead of banking and that decision was not popular with my family. Both of my parents then have often attempted to force me to get married to a son of one of their political associates." The subject obviously annoyed her.

"Lieutenant commander what about that alcohol that you said was hidden inside of your quarters?"

~"Sh*t. She won't let that go. Oh man, what do I do now?"~ James thought of an excuse. Technically he was allowed to have the bottle, and technically Captain Brhode's old draconian rules forbid contraband. But every officer had at least one bottle of alien liquor. He was worried about the effects of sharing the drink with Madam Tekri. Very well, a bottle of Green Fairy could be the end of him, Madam Tekri's supposed target, and any credibility to the Galaxy's security force.

He had to think fast.

"Well, I do have an idea..."

**********

Fifteen Minutes Later

~"Way to go, dumbass."~

It had taken only a few seconds to come to a decision. It was not only to throw caution out the airlock, but take the venemous, beautiful snake right into the sheep's pen. More specifically, Corgan's quarters.

Arm in arm with Madam Tekri, he found her delightful company. Laughing at any jests he made, discussing the issues aboard the ship. And even feeding her small tidbits of unclassified information, enough to pique her interests but not enough to endanger anyone.

Spying was hard work, and he felt as if he was standing over a bed of knives. But with pleasant company, he tried to shut out any thoughts of Rebecca out of his mind, and tried to derive enjoyment out of whatever he could.

"Here we are." James pressed the door button, opening his quarters, "Lucky for you, i'm one of the rare bachelors that keeps his quarters clean. By the way, do you like music?"

"It depends."

"Computer, lights. Also, play Carlos Santana." He ordered.

The computer complied with a soft activation of the lights. It came soothingly through hidden speakers, allowing the intricately blended instruments to meld and compliment the ancient musician's expert guitar play and masculine, introspective voice. The song wasn't overwhelming like most of his music, and was part of a mix that was perfect for lounging.

Little details weren't just restricted to Atole Tekri, after all.

Along the walls were shelves filled with music, all in different formats. Pre World War 3 compact disks and flash memory, isolinear chips and rods, all categorized, sorted, and neatly arranged. On one wall, a Pink Floyd "Dark Side of the Moon" poster hung in a well protected glass frame; a relic that was irreplacable. His bedroom was shadowed in darkness, his living room maticulous though barely used, and even his kitchenette showed signs of cleanliness and military precision. It was his living room that held his music hobby, his creative outlet, the other half of his life.

The only area cluttered was a desk, with a pile of PADD's and a guitar, broken at the neck.

"Please, have a seat." James motioned to the couch in the bedroom, "It's a bit strange, but my hobby is Terran Rock and Roll music. My sister's in the music industry, and I dabbled with it once myself, so I've come across some rare memorbilia. I figure somebody has to preserve it, considering how unpopular it is compared to Terran classical." Given the human habit to wander on about artifacts, James waved a hand to the guitar, admiring its polished white surface, "A 1997 Fender Strat. Only one in existence now. Was broken during a Hirogen attack. I recent picked up a wood regenerator that had enough sensitivity to fuse the wood without leaving a trace. Maybe it will sound the same when I fix it."

The music put him in a more relaxed mood. "No peeking." James mischevously voiced, waiting for Tekri to close her eyes.

Tekri stared at him with surprise though she found it rather intriguing. She complied with the request.

In a shelf, James produced the absinthe. He then went to the replicator, ordered up the spoons, the glasses, and the ice water, and set them on the table.

Everything now was on a razor's edge. He had to be gain her confidence, or lose every chance of keeping her within arm's distance, all without falling for her tricks. Though his doubt was lingering, he couldn't stop, and felt rotten to be so deceitful.

If it all wasn't a game, and if she wasn't a spy, he could learn to like her. If only their date wasn't tainted by some sick game...

"My parents were neither rich nor famous." He confessed, keeping his voice low enough for Tekri to hear as he went to gather more stuff, "I'm the son of two Starfleet career officers. They were first to break the mold. My family's full of entertainers, musicians, thieves, runners, drifters, pretty much the type of people Humans do not admit having in their society. Mom was a quarter spanish and terran born, my dad was a spacer. Both came together at Starfleet Academy. They raised my younger sister and myself on starships. Space travel has been my life since then."

"Ok, all clear."

Tekri looked at it with interest. This human was very interesting. She did not enjoy not being totally truthful with the chief of security. He certainly was not similar to the human security officer that she had been taught at her tactical school.

She decided to consume some of the alcohol to ease her concerns but she drank far too much of it: having an entire glass inside of ten seconds was not pleasant and even her military training could not conceal it. She gasped with surprise but managed to not vomit onto the carpet.

"Whoa! Take it easy, Madam Tekri." James sipped his glass. He found himself disarmed. Perhaps it was unfair to serve that particular drink? He would have thought a Romulan could handle anything less than their famous ale. "I should have warned you. Absinthe is a bit powerful. One cuts it with water and evaporated sugar, but even with that it can be a little shocking."

"Shocking? No!" Tekri found that her concerns were far less with this pleasant beverage. She had not consumed strong alcohol until today and it was rather enjoyable. She noticed that the physique of the security officer looked even better than it had prior to the drink.

She then attempted to restore her composure. "Could I have a second glass of this drink?"

~"Oh my god..."~ James watched her, agape, ~"What is she trying to do now? Should I give her more? It would give me the advantage..."~

He sipped at what was still his first glass. "I wouldn't recommend it."

~"D'oh! Baka!"~

"James." Tekri quietly used his name while reaching to remove his attire.

Aware of what she wanted, James had to think fast. "Another drink?" He offered, preparing another while taking a more generous quaff of his own. The buzzing sensation started, relaxing him, though not enough from Tekri's predator like advances.

"Madam Tekri." James' hands kept the Romulan spy busy, heading off with countertouches of his own, keeping her happy with a brush to her hair. He was interested most in her elven ears. "You're drunk. I think that's enough for you."

Her susceptibility to alcohol was his main advantage. She made the mistake of partaking first, and taking more than her companion. It was his game now, and he had control. At this state, he thought of the advantages. He could ask her about her plans, and maybe even get a truthful response.

Tekri's mission could be utterly destroyed. The Tal'shiar's reputation would be forever slighted, and it would be because of a little Absinthe and a simple security officer.

"I better take you home." James got up from the couch. He hasn't the malice to go further.

Tekri calmed herself while he stroked her ears. Though she had not tried it with anybody before then it was very enjoyable. She opened her eyes when he stood though.

"I am fine!" She pushed him onto the bed and then began to remove her attire.

Was the Romulan ever strong! Her push was effortless, and James found himself astonishingly sprawled on his bed. No woman has ever done that to him before, not even Princess Dev'or'aH the Klingon maiden ever tried! This was something intriguing, and normally, James would be ready for what the Romulan spy intended.

Rebecca. Did he not promise himself to pick her, even at the sacrifice of another friend? Though it had been months since the redhead left his life, and months without finding a trace of her, James still had a yearning feeling for her embrace, her kind words, her laughs and her smiles. Whatever feelings he had for Tekri were either lustful... or pitiful.

She loomed over the security chief as an intimidating, lithe shadow. One shoulder and most of her left breast was exposed. Aflush with a tint of green from her copper based blood, Atole Tekri was obviously drunk, and didn't care. Her smile was coy, though the birdlike ridges on her forehead were knit seriously. Carlos Santana's music played at a furious rate, echoing the ribcage slamming beat of his heart.

~"Don't show fear. I know you want to, but not yet, Corgan! Don't show fear! Stand up to her!"~

"Madam Tekri, you're drunk." James picked himself off the bed, unruffling his uniform and zipping his overshirt back up, "When you're drunk, you do what instinct tells you, without rationality." He felt the buzz of alcohol in his system, "You are rushing too fast."

"Sssshhhhh...." James whispered. he was now close enough to her to feel her heart, their bodies nearly pressed. Gently, he lifted the shoulder of her dress back on, "I have a better idea, Madam Tekri. I have done this before, and I know how to make it that much... sweeter."

"Wait..." James crooned, his stare intense enough to crack a granite heart. He allowed the more passionate side of him to take over. When he thought about how to fight passion with passion, it was quite simple... if one didn't lose their calm. "I want to know you better... want to know you more. What makes you tick. What makes you scream. And what makes you want to come to me for more. I want to please you in ways you have never considered before. But in order to do that...."

His one arm wound around to the small of her back, keeping her tottering, drunken body upwards. The other brushed her hair, her eyebrow, her ridges, and her cheek, "...you have to be patient. I want to know you. I don't want to make this one night where we made a drunken mistake. Let me take you home."

"No."

"Trust me, Madam Tekri. You'll appreciate this in the morning." James whispered in her ear. And as if one part of his temptation gave away, he leaned over, and gave Atole Tekri a kiss.

Tender, moist, soft, firm, not forceful, and a brief flicker of tongue to lure her further. It was quite possibly the best kiss in his life.

He drew away from her face. Though Tekri tried to get closer, James wouldn't allow it.

"I'm taking you home. Now." James stated.

Tekri pushed against him but having consumed a large amount of alcohol then she was presently no match for a security officer.

"No!" She loudly said to the chief of security as they left his quarters and a number of crewman glanced at both of them with very amused looks.

~"Oh... how do I do this without making a scene."~ James Corgan asked himself as she was uncomfortably wedged where he would feel it the most. Hot breaths mingled, and the outside world took notice in the halls outside his quarters. To most, it would be a passionate date. But to those who saw the chief of security (and was therefore a topic of much gossip)...

He granted Tekri another kiss to the lips, but kept it short to speak, "I want to as well. But not on the first date. I want to take you home, and dream about you first." He kissed her again, "And keep on dreaming. But it won't be like the real thing. You can bet I'll try that someday with you." His last kiss was mostly on instinct, so he willed himself not to prime his mental pump for sex any further.

He escorted her home, with Atole Tekri keeping a close embrace, until James swore he would have to literally pry her off with a crowbar. Her quarters were nearby, so the trip wasn't long. At her door, the passion didn't stop. It took three minutes of close bodied intimacy before he could find the nerve to push Tekri off and close her into her quarters.

"Goodnight, Madam Tekri." James waved in spite of a facial expression that meant protest, "I'll see you tomorrow... which is not soon enough."

"James!"

As the doors whooshed to a close, James wiped his flushed brow, and futily re-adjusted his jacket, which came unzipped again in the petting and kissing frenzy. His cheeks, lips and neck was stained with the bullet hole patter of faint green lipstick. His hair was mussed with a hundred rooster tails, and his glasses were perched on an odd, vertical angle.

He went back to his quarters. Two glasses of absinthe, a scattered box of sugar cubes, a pitcher of ice water and the damnable green bottle of alcohol was left. He swore he only had a glass or two, though he only remembered fighting off Tekri's advances... and drinking a few sips. But to his surprise, half the bottle's contents gone!

His head swam as he barely stood upright. His fingers fumbled for his glass, and he downed the rest. Then he went for Tekri's glass, and paused, looking at the lipstick imprint and the smelling the faint whiff of her perfume.

If only she wasn't a spy, so James kept thinking. If it wasn't a game to keep her close, to find out her objectives. If only her advances and interest were for something other than business. If only James knew for sure if Tekri wanted him, or better yet, wanted something more genuine than one night of rabid alien sex.

If only James didn't stop pining for another woman. Perhaps he wouldn't feel as rotten about the whole staged thing as he did now.

~"What a night."~ Corgan sighed as he finished off Tekri's old glass. Collecting the last of the absinthe, he dumped the glowing liquid down the waste extraction unit. ~"I won't be using this again!"~

"Dark Reflections"

Primary Character:

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Acting Chief Tactical Officer

Secondary Character:

Ensign Robert Biessmann
Tactical Officer

****

Tactical Offices
Deck 11
USS Galaxy

****

Savar tossed a PADD onto his desk and sighed irritably as he boosted himself to his feet. He paced towards the viewport and glared out at the workbees fussing around the enormous Starfleet vessel. His faint reflection glowered back at him. The two weeks since the battle in the Llhoranth asteroid field had been frantic with activity and change, leaving little time for indepth reflection - but now he had the time, all of the Romulan's thoughts were dark and forboding.

The thing that concerned him most was the end of the battle against the RSE D'Salva and the RSE Vent'nor. It had jarred horribly with everything he stood for, everything he felt, everything he was. On a technical level, he could look back at the encounter and be proud of preserving the Galaxy intact: she had been outclassed and outgunned, and yet he had managed to force a stand-off. But from the Bridge of a Starfleet vessel? The more he thought on it, the more repulsed he was by his own actions. He felt unclean inside his own body, unable to rest for more than a few moments, before the horrible realisation of what he had been responsible for - the deaths of his own compatriots - hit him again.

But there was something unreal about the whole scenario - so many unanswered questions. Stuart had cut a deal with the Imperial government, and tr'Bhutra had been returned home in disgrace, doubtless to face nameless horrors at the hands of the Tal Shiar, almost certainly never to be seen again. Well - even that depended on which faction had the upper hand on a particular day. But there had been no explanation - for the Starfleet, dissatisfaction with the peace settlement seemed a simple, attractive catch-all explanation for whatever tr'Bhutra had done. Stuart had even quoted Admiral Valerian in a debrief - what had the old man said? The Romulans were an ' agressive race of people who are raised to conquest in the name of their empress'. Such acts were just second nature to them. This was an offensive suggestion, and tr'Khellian had railed forcefully against it, only to be slapped down by the now-departed Captain Stuart. It simply reinforced, for Savar, how little the Federation understood the Rihannsu, or their mnhei'sahe. The Rihannsu did not view treaty-breaking lightly: this was an abberraton, and an unexplained one.

The most worrying thing of all was the very end of the battle, after the Vent'nor had activated its self-destruct sequence. Savar had reacted with horror as Stuart ordered the crew beamed off the warbird. Did she not understand that any Rihana would rather die than suffer the disgrace of captivity? Rather than withdrawing, the Galaxy proceeded to rob the enemy of their remaining dignity. But nothing had shocked tr'Khellian more than to see pursuit shuttles launching from the warbird, as most of the senior officers fled like worms, only to be followed by escape pods launching as the Vent'nor's crew abandoned their dying vessel. This had physically staggered the veteran of countless campaigns. He had seen escape pods used only once in his career, when a warbird was being drawn inexorably into the gravity well of a spatial phenomenon, and the rescuing vessel's tractor beam only had the strength to retrieve the small pods, not the mothership itself.

These men and women had preferred captivity on a Federation vessel to an honourable death. What did this say of tr'Bhutra's mission, and their adherence to it? They were not willing to die for officers who had led them into a potentially catastrophic diplomatic incident, and then fled. Had the morale of the Galae sunken so low?

His concerns had been brushed aside. There was no time to pause and consider the worries of a tortured exile. The Empire and the Federation had stared at the spectre of war yet again, and both were eager to move on. And yet a new fissure in the alliance had just opened. Neither side would forget the incident at Llhoranth.

Savar turned from the window, shaking his head, his eyes searching for some far away place beyond his vision. He walked out into the outer offices, where Ensign Biessmann was stationed.

"Oh, good evening, sir," Biessmann said. He hadn't seen Savar arrive. The Romulan had been in there since he had knocked off alpha shift.

"Ensign," Savar nodded. He glanced at the PADD the other officer was working on. "How is your analysis of the battle proceeding?"

"I'm making some progress, Sub-Commander," he replied.

"Good." He took a small PADD from a big pocket on his Galae tunic and handed it to the young Terran. "I expect at least a preliminary report on your analysis within the next two days. In the meantime, this is a list of personnel matters to be taken care of."

Biessmann took the PADD and looked up at Savar. "Sir, has anyone heard from Lieutenant Pennington?"

Ah yes. 'Lieutenant' Pennington. Savar's left eyebrow rose in distaste at the mention of her name. He had been incredulous when, upon his return, M'Kantu had authorised the promotion of Rima Pennington to the rank of junior lieutenant. She had done nothing to earn it, and could only assume this had been achieved through the influence of Cassius Henderson - now permanently assigned as Executive Officer. He had seem the BuPers file before the promotion had been actioned, and voiced a protest to M'Kantu (Henderson had, unaccountably, disappeared). This had, as usual, fallen upon deaf ears. But then, two days later, his misgivings had been fully justified: true to form, Pennington had run away. She had been missing now for a week.

"No, Ensign. She has been formally listed as AWOL. I do not expect to see her in the near future." He gestured towards the PADD. "Please make the necessary preparations to receive Ensign Ban Dhur as Pennington's replacement," he instructed. "Have Ops move Pennington's belongings into Cargobay 3, and reassign her quarters to Ensign Dhur. When he arrives onboard, please see that he receives the basic briefing pack and that he gets a tour of key facilities. When you're done, he can report to me."

Biessman nodded. "Understood, sir."

"Thank you Ensign. Good night."

Tr'Khellian strode out of the offices and along the corridor towards the turbolift. There was, of course, another matter playing on his mind. He had not seen Atole Tekri since the battle, but he had been constantly tailed - as he was being now - by a security guard. Much of the time, this was Victor Krieghoff, who seemed to terrify many of the crew, for some unknown reason. Tonight, it was someone else.

"Computer, locate Lieutenant Commander Corgan," Savar said, as he stepped inside a turbolift, waiting for the guard to catch up.

"Lieutenant Commander Corgan is on Deck 8," came the nasal reply.

The guard stepped inside the turbolift. "Take me there," tr'Khellian commanded, standing back as the doors closed, and the lift hummed towards its destination.

They stepped out onto Deck 8, where the senior officers' quarters were located. Savar's own quarters were here, just a few doors down from Corgan's, and he walked the familiar route comfortably, as the guard moved ahead to enter his quarters before him, to scan them for any signs of foul-play.

"No!"

A female voice screamed in petulant protest from further down the corridor. Savar's eyebrows rose. Loud guitar music was blaring out from someone's quarters.

"I want to as well."

It was Corgan's voice. Tr'Khellian ducked into a side-corridor.

"But not on the first date. I want to take you home, and dream about you first." There was a sloppy noise. "And keep on dreaming. But it won't be like the real thing. You can bet I'll try that someday with you."

Tr'Khellian screwed his face up in disgust and disbelief. He couldn't believe his ears. The Chief of Security was on a *date* with a Tal Shiar assassin tasked with killing him, and they were both drunk, and practically down each others throats! She had been onboard less than three weeks, and she had already seduced the man who was tasked with preserving his life. Corgan had not only disgraced himself, he had betrayed tr'Khellian, and the Rihana felt an encroaching sense of doom. He had overestimated the Security Chief, and underestimated his would-be assassin.

They tottered off down the corridor, stumbling and sniggering like tipsy adolescents, observed, stealthily, incredulously, by the stony-faced Sub-Commander. They paused at the door to Tekri's quarters, where she rammed herself up against Corgan and ground up and down, lustily. The Security chief, flushed, his glasses askew, fought to get the doors to her chambers open. Finally, she threw herself at him, smothering him in kisses.

Thoroughly disgusted and feeling nausesous in the extreme, Savar turned away, and stalked towards his quarters. The guard, now standing discretely by the door, maintaining infinitely more decorum than his superior officer, nodded, to indicate that the scans were negative. Tr'Khellian retreated into his rooms.

He paused, and looked out of the long window, the faraway look re-entering his eyes. Savar felt his heart sink as the doors hissed to a close behind him, and the light faded from the room.

"Starbase Casablanca"

Starring

Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval

Special Agent Bin Hux

Life on the Federation Frontier was not the serene philosopher's paradise that it was in the UFP's Core Worlds. Here out on the fringe, the age old game of intrigue and espionage was played out on a daily basis in an invisible war where the players had no faces....but the casualties still bled.

Here in the mist and shadows of the Starbase 212 'underworld', agents of the Federation, Klingon, and even Tholian Empire slinked their way from shadow to shadow in an never-ending bid to outmaneuver one another to gain that ever-elusive 'edge' over the opposing government.

The Klingons were old hands at the invisible game. Ever since the days of Sherman's planet and the Station K-7 incident, agents of the Empire had wormed their way into Federation society seeking to gain by stealth and treachery, what their more violent brothers sought to gain in open battle.

The Federation was no slouch at espionage either. The spy's craft had been honed down through the ages to the point where the current Section 31 agents were among the most dangerous....and often the most unassuming individuals in all the galaxy.

The Tholians were a new game in town. Comprised of a race of 'sentient' rocks, the Tholians themselves could scarcely participate in active espionage. However, as possessors of one of the most valuable mineral deposits in the Quadrant, the Tholian's were able to hire mercenaries with the tempting lure of diamonds, emeralds, and precious metals in almost limitless supplies.

These desperate 'rogues for hire' had become quite proficient in spycraft, often finding 'greed' to be a more effective motivator than 'patriotism'.

Special Agent Bin Hux, code named KATANA, was on the trail of just such a mercenary. Federation Intelligence had traced the movements of a Tholian operative to Starbase 212 a few weeks before, and it was now up to KATANA to root out this spy and determine what he was after.

The lanjep treaty had thrown the entire borderlands into turmoil, and no doubt anything the Tholians were poking their rocky little noses into could not be good news for the Federation.

Moving with Catlike grace, Bin glided from shadow to shadow. The darkened areas of 212's lower levels making a perfect labyrinth of light and shadow in which to stalk his quarry.

The ordinary hustle and bustle of 21's Primary decks were literally hundreds of decks above, and here in the station's bowels nothing living moved save for Hux and his prey.

The very fact that the Mercenary agent had chosen to come down here was indication enough for Hux that the 'Big Deal' ....whatever it was....was about to go down.

Sliding up against a slate-gray support pylon, Hux strained his ears for signs of his quarry.

.......There.......

Up ahead the faint whisperings of two voices in hushed conversation reached Hux's ears, and he felt his pulse quicken. He could not make out all the words, but the key phrase of 'Federation Trade routes' drifted easily across the room.

Those routes were highly confidential considering the unpopularity of the lanjep treaty, and any trade in their dispositions was definitely illegal.

This was it!! He had been led to the big boss himself, and now the Federation could expose the whole spy-ring in one fell swoop.

With infinite patience, the Bin drew his special silenced phaser, and peered around the corner.

There....two men were huddled over a small data PADD, while nearby a small crate of precious diamonds and gems sat waiting. Sure fire evidence of a Tholian payoff.

Tightening his grip on his phaser, Hux reached around to take slow careful aim......Agent KATANA was about to score another big intelligence coup for the Federation.......

..........Except for the fact that at that exact moment a confused looking Starfleet officer carrying a very large potted plant, and wearing a stupid lopsided grin lurched out of a nearby turbolift and ran smack dab into Mr. hux

"Oh pardon' Senor, No visitarse tu!" Miguel Antonio blurted out in apology to the poor man he bumped.

"What the Hell....Get off of me!!!!" Agent Hux struggled to retain his footing and with surprising strength shoved the newcomer aside. ~~~Of all the rotten luck.....~~~ he raged as he once again brought up his weapon seeking out the Tholian Agent and his contact.....

....but it was too late....the two shadowy figures were already gone, their valuable data with them.

"DAMN FLEET MORON!!!!" Hux fumed "I almost had them!!!"

Not even remotely understanding the little excitable fellow's rantings, Miguel shifted the weight of the potted plant to one arm and attempted to help the fellow up with the other.

"Excuse please!" he offered grinning just as broadly as ever, "I am getting lost in big place...wrong ele...elevat...ah...que dice ascensor....ah Wrong Elevator! So sorry!"

It wasn't that Miguel was an idiot, it was just that he was having the time of his life exploring the vast innards of the Starbase, and had not yet made it to actually checking in aboard the USS Galaxy.

He figured the place would be his home for months and months on end, so what was the hurry.

Hux however was fuming, and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a furious Headache. Bin was Senior Agent assigned to this case, but he realized that he was as much to blame for taking on the two by himself. "Of all the fool....amateurish mistakes....." he berated himself. "Hux to Mel." He called, after pulling a tiny hand communicator from a hip pocket. "Lost sight on suspect in the 'Underground'....do me a favor and monitor all ascending turbolifts, in case this guy was spooked back to the upper levels."

=/\= Can do boss.....=/\= Came the crackle of a female voice over the other end. =/\= What happened? =/\=

Hux glared at the still grinning Miguel. "Ran into a problem...literally....I'll catch you back at the Comm Center Mel....let me know what you dig up."

=/\= Right-O Boss =/\=

Pocketing his communicator, Hux motioned for Miguel to come closer with his finger. "Come here Starfleet....you owe me a drink for that!"

"Bosom Buddies"

With Ensign Zeke Wikkins
(Security)

and
Lt. Kathleen Kelly
(Medical NPC)

(Previously: After saving the universe once again, Zeke Wikkins and the away team returned to the USS Galaxy and what passes for their normal lives. Having technically lost the challenge match and sole ownership of thier apartment to Simon Crumbley during the hand to hand tournament, Zeke now finds himself reassigned to new living quarters.....)

Location: Hallway of the USS Galaxy

"I HATE DR. MALGIN!" Kathy Kelly screamed as she stormed down the hallway like a run away locomotive, stomping her feet on the carpeting for emphasis. She had been tutored by the good doctor and was well on her way to being anointed a full fledged surgeon until today's holographic training exam when she had made the simple mistake of using a Sarot Needle holder rather than a Vascular model to suture a holographic representation of a human heart. The Russian surgeon had dumped an arm load of PADDS on her and told her in his usual, no-nonsense manner to study a bit more. The doors to her apartment swished open then closed behind her sealing off the constant din of noise that accompanied the busy hallways of the ship. She unceremoniously dumped the multiple PADDS on her oversized purple couch and plopped down with a sigh into the matching chair next to it.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrr!" she said pounding her fist on the arm rest.

She kicked off her boots.

"Doctor, the patient has a boot in his sanctimonious ass. What tools will you need to remove it?" she muttered, then answered herself. "1 Pratt rectal speculum, 2 Ribbon retractors, and 1 set of Babcock forceps. Be careful not to bump patients head during procedure as it is apparent that said patient's head resides in rectal cavity."

Feeling a slight ebbing of her frustration, Kathy settled on a shower. She peeled off her tunic, removed her bra and gently massaged her breasts which had begun to ache slightly. She slithered out of her pants and let them lay in the small hallway, then opened her bathroom door.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" she screamed seeing a mountain of a man sitting on her toilet.

The gigantic male officer in Security or Engineering gold seemed even more surprised as his wide eyed gaze fell upon the woman's bare breasts.

"SATAN'S BIG BROWN EYES!!!" he bellowed, yanking up his trousers with one hand and covering his eyes with the other, nearly falling over in the process.

Kathy sprinted to her bedroom and returned with her phaser in hand, pointed squarely at the man's torso. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU PERVERT?!?! GET OVER THERE! NOW!!" she ordered motioning with the tip of the phaser to the living room. The man looked again at her slightly jiggling breasts and screamed, threw his arm up over his eyes and nearly stumbling over the wooden coffee table.

"I NEED WATER!!" he yelled, a request so strange given the circumstances that Kathy handed him a vase full of fresh flowers. His massive hand yanked the delicate yellow blossoms from the urn, then he paused and spoke reverently.

"BLESSED CARPENTER, STRIP FROM MY EYES THE IMAGE OF YON SUCKLING SACS AND DELIVER THY HUMBLE HAMMER FROM THE TEMPTATION OF SEDUCTIVE JEZEBELS AND HARLOTS. AMEN."

And with that, he splashed the now holy water into his eyes.

Kathy Kelly looked on with a look of sheer bewilderment screwed onto her face. "What the hell are you?"

"I....am Amish." he said. "Please, cover thyself that I may once again gaze upon thee."

Suddenly conscious of her nudity, Kathy pulled her tunic top back on while at the same time keeping a wary eye on the intruder.

"Do you mind telling me what you are doing in my apartment?" she asked.

"It is now my dwelling also. I lost a fight with Brother Crumbley and now find myself looking for a new manger. We are now apparently...roommates." the large man drawled.

"YOU GOTTA BE SHITTING ME!" Kathy exclaimed.

"I am Amish. I do not shit." the officer said, then extended his hand. "Ensign Zeke Wikkins. Security."

"Now hold on a minute. I come home to find you not only on my door step but on my toilet of all places. You scare the hell out of me, kill my poor flowers, and insist that you now live here too. The only thing you do have going for you is that fact that you haven't tried to undress me with your eyes...oh WAITAMINUTE! THAT'S BECAUSE I WAS ALREADY NAKED TO BEGIN WITH!!!" she said, the paused to take a breath.

"I'm not in the habit of inviting men over for sleep overs..." she started.

"I see that." Zeke said, picking her bra up off the couch.

"Argh!" Kathy growled, snatching it from his hand. "This is TEMPORARY! I'll check this in the morning and see if we can't iron this out. They can't be serious about us being roommates, but for now you can stay. And don't get excited. You get the couch, I get the bed. The toilet seat is always..ALWAYS to remain down and if you find any more of my undergarments, please let me know. Any questions, Bub?"

"Two actually." Zeke said. "What is thy name?"

"Kathy Kelly. My friends call me Kat. You don't." she said walking to the doorway of the bathroom, intent on having that shower. "Second Question?"

Zeke Wikkins paused, then pointed to her bottom. "My uniform is not quite like that? Should I have one as well?"

For the second time this evening, a wave of self consciousness nearly washed Kathy Kelly away as she realized that she was only wearing a black thong with her tunic top.

"AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!" she bellowed, trying to cover her bare cheeks as she vanished in the bathroom.

Zeke shook his head.

"I thought that looked painful."

"A Galaxy by any other Name....."

Starring

Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval

Special Agent Marshal Bin Hux

Starbase 212 Lounge.

"So what kind of Rose is it anyway?" Marshall Bin Hux eyed the gangly looking arrangement of thorny branches sitting before him with a less than optimistic eye.

On the next barstool over Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval considered the bottom of his glass of Tequila and frowned. "I thought I ordered double.......too much ice...not enough Cerveza .

"Yo Starfleet.....Earth to Ensign Sandoval.....What's in the pot mister?"

"Ah mi Rosa." Miguel shook his glass a bit as if to dislodge any alcohol that had perhaps gotten stuck. "I am not knowing yet. It is rose yes?.....But what kind? Who is telling?"

Bin Hux, an agent of Federation Law with almost 20 years of experience knew an incongruity when he saw one. "Your supposed to be some sort of plant scientist person.....and you don't know what kind of plant this little pile of twigs is?"

Miguel gave up on his empty glass and sighed sadly. "Am not knowing yet. Es nuevo...how do you say...I is new. . . ..Genetically manufactured yes? Senior Project in Academy......got a B-plus. Not knowing what it will be until it blooms yes?"

Hux eyed the B-Plus rosebush and briefly wondered if the professors back at the Academy were being a bit too generous in their grading.

"Looks more like collection of popsicle sticks with thorns. So I lost my main suspect....because of the mystery Rose behind door number one?" Hux drained his shot of Saurian Brandy. "Hardly seems fair."

Miguel's frown deepened. He already felt pretty bad about the inadvertent bubbling that had apparently interfered with an impending arrest on the part of Marshal Hux. While this trip to one of 212's local cantinas was supposed to make up for the goof, Miguel still felt quite responsible.

"Lo Ciento de nuevo." Miguel repeated again in apology. "No intendo Mariscal....."

"Ah hell kid......" Hux held up a finger signaling for another round.....(On Miguel's tab of course)....don't beat yourself up. I got another line on that yahoo....I'll get him before the week is out."

"Ah."

"So Which one is yours anyhow?"

"Que dice?"

"The ships?" Hux gestured across the bar to the massive floor-to-ceiling viewport that looked out on the cavernous Starbase 212 interior. No less than three massive Starfleet Ships-of-the-Line, and a host of smaller vessels hung in serene silence amidst the shadows and spotlights of the dockyard.

"Which ship-o.....is-o......yours-o....?" Bin rephrased the question into his best Spanish.

"Ah si......Alli." Miguel gestured randomly. "Es Galaxy yes? Big one. Much damage.

"Big one eh?" Hux considered the ships. The 'Big-one' was obviously the huge three-nacelled leviathan that dominated the majority almost two separate drydocks. Hux wasn't up on Starfleet procedures much, but wondered idly when Starfleet started going in for building Battleships.

"Big Sucker.....looks like a runaway asteroid on steroids. Couple of nice shiners on her too. Combat ship eh?

A look of pain seemed to cross the young El Salvadoran's face and for a moment Hux wondered if the lad was still beating himself up about the escaped suspect.

"Combat vessel?" Miguel repeated. "Si. . . .I . . .I think so, but. . . . . .must be mistake I am thinking...I am scientist."

~~~Ahhh that was it.~~~ Hux thought and considered the battered hull of the Galaxy through the bar viewport. "Life on the frontier aint what you expected huh? " The Marshal looked at the sad little rose-bush and frowned. As pathetic as it seemed, it was obvious the young officer deeply cared about the silly little plant, and the sudden confrontation with the fact that he was being assigned to a combat vessel was no doubt a shocker. "No....obviously it isn't what you expected."

Miguel sighed and watched the fleet of workbees that swarmed over the Galaxy in an intricate ballet of engineering orchestration. In truth he wasn't quite sure WHAT he was feeling.

Was it as simple as fear for his own life.....fear brought to reality as he considered the battering his future home was prone to taking?

Or was it something else? Was it some sort of internalized remorse that the life of scientific discovery, and research that he dreamed of.....was obviously not a priority.

"Is about Science." Miguel tapped the bar top forcing himself to pay attention. "Is about life...and green growing things." He touched one of his plant's delicate thorns.

Bin considered that for a moment before he too reached out to test his finger against a thorn. "Perhaps there's a metaphor here lad." He offered. "Perhaps there is a linkage between the rose bush and the Galaxy."

Miguel turned his head quizzically.

"The bush as it is now......"Hux explained. "Gaunt, devoid of foliage or bloom, but covered about by sharp crude thorns.....Ah!"

Hux pricked his finger as if to make a point.

" So too is the Galaxy. . . . . a burnished hull of uncaring Duranium and steel, stained with phaser burns, and bristling with weaponry."

Hux extended the pricked finger towards the huge portal. A single drop of blood glistening in the lights of the Docking bay.

"But the Rose bush in the future.....Poof! Beauty amidst the danger.......and the Galaxy?"

"Si?" Miguel asked.

Hux stuck the pricked finger in his mouth. " Well if you are the kind of man who can coax beauty and humanity from this pile of twigs.......Well maybe there's hope for the Galaxy as well."

Miguel stared without breathing.

Marshal Bin Hux winked at the awestruck Ensign. "Bon Voyage Kid.....I hope you can help both of them bloom."

OOC: BACKPOST: Takes place just after the battle in "Changing the Tide"

"Rubbing Salt..."

by
Flight Officer Jasmine "Jazz" Heloi
(Matron Saint)

&
Flight Officer T'Shani "Forgehammer" A'Akledorian
(Terror in Blue)

Jasmine had become convinced that it was her fate to have life spit upon her at times. Just when she was getting ready to enjoy the drink Tyten owed her after their job at bringing down the Rihanna shields she got the call to get herself to a ship to mount a rescue mission. True, she was the Exec, and rescues were part of the job - especially when it was one of their own - but she heartily wished that this particular rescue didn't fall upon her to carry out.

She got to rescue their very own terror in blue - and not Tyten. Instead, it was T'Shani - the one who almost did her best to tear her throat out let alone wreck her mental pathways with her rampaging emotions. Jasmine was willing to let her dislike of the woman go, she was a Betazoid after all and dislike was one of the emotions frowned upon by her people. Then again, she had spent far too much time around humans to let a little thing like the feelings of her people get in the way.

Grumbling a little about the injustice of it all, Jasmine took the Toronado - one of the Galaxy's runabouts - to rescue the errant pilot. She apparently got her ship blown to smithereens chasing a Rihanna fighter. Admittedly it was mutual destruction - but she couldn't help but feel childishly pleased at the result. 'Jasmine, that was beneath you,' she chided herself, but it did not matter much. She would feel as she pleased, no matter how many times she yelled at herself.

The runabout slid through space at what seemed to be a snail's pace. As one who was used to the grace, maneuverability, and speed of a fighter - the runabout was hardly fit for a battle. Thankfully, the battle was over and all she had to do was trace the signal of T'Shani's lifepod. She wasn't vindictive enough to leave the other woman hanging in space, but she figured that a rescue by her of all people would just rub salt on the existing wound between them. That thought gave her some pleasure.

When she finally found, and hovered, over the pod - she beamed it's occupant on board using the runabouts single pad transporter. Jasmine straightened her posture to regard T'Shani coolly, "Are you injured?" It had to be asked, and she figured cool formality would be better than any snide comments - thought she made them aplenty in her head. The one about loosing something important was particularly choice.

At first, she was surprised to see who had rescued her, but then Tish just scowled at Heloi's remark. Obviously, the XO was enjoying the fact that she had gotten Vanguard Three destroyed. ~Fine, let her be that way.~

"I am fine, Ma'am," Tish said coolly, while sitting herself in the copilot's seat of the Toronado. Then she chuckled to herself, while pulling off the PLSS and her flight helmet.

"Right," Jasmine replied, unconvinced as she slid back into the pilot's seat.

"I just find it interesting: *you* saving me. I guess not even my wingman gives a shit. Heh..." she laughed again, this time a little more sadness and pain creeping in, under the icy facade. ~So, Nani really *does* hate my guts, eh?~ Though, that was *still* no reason for her to be left stranded out in the middle of space.

Slowly, her antennas drooped, as she contemplated these thoughts. ~Hell, Rex must have been half-tempted to just leave me out there~ She laughed, again, as a comedic scene played in her mind's-eye of Rex trying to decide if he *really* wanted to save her blue ass.

So *that* was what was bothering her. The Betazoid actually wasn't certain what had happened to T'Shani's wingman since she had been chatting with Tyten when their wing had returned to the Galaxy. Instead of temporizing, she referred to her own situation and why she was the one that came to rescue the Andorian, "My flight returned relatively unscathed, so I turned around, grabbed the Toronado and came to fish you out of the water. We didn't want you hanging out here longer than absolutely necessary." Heloi actually was replying truthfully, and no matter her personal feelings in the matter she would never leave anyone out in the darkness for long.

"Rhooz," she swore, softly...almost in a whisper, as she fought back a tear from forming. She knew that most everyone didn't like her - hell, she could care less - but she had never considered how *much* they despised her. And she wasn't even a fucking Greenblood! No...*they* were welcomed with open arms aboard one of Starfleet's most advanced flagships. *They* were given their very own lavish offices, bridge duty, secretaries, body guards...even a personal *assistant*: that Tekri woman. It seemed, more and more, that Starfleet was doing everything it possibly could to sleep with the enemy...

The emotions coming off of the other woman were complicated at best, and Jasmine cast a concerned gaze at the other pilot. Sure, she could just slip her shields and take a peak at what was bothering her but that was unethical. She merely guided the runabout in silence, slicing through space and rubble on their way home.

"Fuck," she swore again, this time louder, as she sat herself up in the copilot seat, trying to nonchalantly wipe at her eyes. ~Well, fuck them, then~ she thought. Soon, she'd be off this hunk, working for Tanner again. Then maybe...maybe she could get an assignment with Red Division, again. Working for people who actually gave a flying-damn about the galaxy. Markay'di'n had talked her into this gig...but it obviously wasn't working-out.

Deciding that the silence - save for the few curses coming from the Andorian - was more than enough, she broached it with a few words of her own, "Want to talk about it?" The offer was truthful, but for all she knew the woman was going to jump down her throat for it. 'Damn Betazoids and their psychiatric nonsense' and all that.

Tish just glared at Heloi. For all she knew, the XO had just come out here to gloat over the fact that T'Shani had lost her ship. ~Damn Betazoids and their psychiatric nonsense~ she *harrumphed* to herself.

"T'Shani," she used the first name deliberately, not as a slight, nor even as a token of friendship but to get her attention, "I am not trying to psychoanalyze you - to be honest, all I care about right now is getting us home. However, it seems to me like you have few people to talk to. Despite what has happened between us before, or even if you think I'm Rex's little yes-man, you're still one of my pilots. I don't have to be a Betazoid to know that something's bugging you either about this battle or even about the fleet in general or me in particular. I just know enough that it helps to unburden yourself, even if it is in a shouting or screaming match. Though I do request that you not rip out my throat - I'm rather fond of where it is."

~So...the Lapdog has a sense of humor, after all?~ she couldn't help but think, bitterly.

Tish wouldn't admit it to herself, but she was jealous of Jasmine Heloi. It was stupid, really. But the Andorian had noticed how everyone wanted to be around the Betazoid; how they respected her, even though she was nothing more than an actress in another role.

Even Rex - or that pig, Vorrin, inside him - had taken a little more than a casual *liking* to Heloi...at least, that's how Tish saw it. Truth be told: Heloi - in some ironically-twisted way - was everything T'Shani Ardorannan A'Akledorian was *not*: beautiful, successful, popular......strong.

Jasmine merely returned T'Shani's glare with a calm glance. She could still feel the emotions pounding against her shields, but she did not seek to psychoanalyze them for that was not where her particular talents lay. "I've found," she said in her musical voice, "That speaking of your troubles out loud does help to give you some peace. The offer stands, T'Shani, if you wish to avail yourself of it." For the first time, at least the first time in the Andorian's presence she felt no anger, disgust, or even pity. Instead it was genuine concern -a concern she would feel for any of her fellow pilots thought it would, of course, be of more strength were it her own wingman. It seemed that command was starting to rub off on her, and she stifled the wry smile that threatened to emerge on her face.

Deep down inside, the Andorian had hid herself...her *true* self; never to be hurt again. This...this 'icebitch' mask was just that...something people saw, and decided that they better not mess with, to leave her alone, and keep herself safe.

~Screw this~ T'Shani thought, as her protection grew around her emotions, again, as her face set in stone, once more.

Turning to the XO, she tried for a trademark sarcastic smile, but couldn't quite pull it off. One part of her was screaming for release...to talk to someone, *anyone*. Another told her that she would die, before discussing the horrors that had happened, so long ago.

No, she had let her guard down during her last meeting with Rex...when she had slipped-up, and let herself be exposed, as the haunting of the past had driven her to rage at her CO.

The emotions playing across the blue woman's face were fascinating for a Betazoid, even when she attempted to seal herself off with her Vulcan-like mask. For anyone who could look her eyes still told the tale of what lurked in her mind. She did not speak beyond what she had said before, instead waiting for T'Shani to make the first response. That would tell her what path to take.

Tish drew herself up, pointing her antennas directly at Heloi, before speaking. "What's in *here*," she hissed, pointing a blue finger to her hearts, "nobody cares about...and it's none of your business, Ma'am."

~Shit...I slipped, again~ she realized, as the words left her mouth, too soon to recall. She really *did* have to get off this gig. Ever since the had set her blue feet on board, she had been acting more and more like a goddamned Pinkskin.

Jasmine smiled grimly, "Actually, I beg to differ. *I* care. If you wish to keep playing your cards close to your chest, that is your prerogative. However, as I said before, it helps to unburden yourself - and I am a good listener." The offer was posed, if it was accepted it just might help the other woman. She felt as if there must be a tortured soul inside the shell that she used to protect herself - and she wished to bring that soul out to heal. It was as natural to a Betazoid as breathing, however it was moreso for one of her ilk. Her mother was a Healer, both of the body and the mind. It was not hard to tell that she did take after her.

Tish simply swiveled her seat back to the front, to stare out to the stars, outside the Toronado's transaluminum spacescreen. ~Stars...so many of them...so many lives...so many...choices~ she thought, contemplatively.

Heloi knew how to be patient, for that was generally the way of war and of acting. Patience for the role of a lifetime, patience for the start of battle, always patience. She could wait, so she continued to mind the console as their ship headed back towards the welcoming embrace of the Galaxy.

T'Shani was about to brush all those thoughts away, and just keep quiet for the rest of the trip back to the Galaxy. But as her gaze shifted from the starfield to the runabout's control displays, she caught her reflection in the spaceshield. For a moment, she studied that face, almost as alien to her as that of a strange creature from a distant galaxy. The face looked tired, worn-out, hurt, angry, cunning, anything but happy.

~There had been a time...~ so long ago, under the bright skies on her family's grand estate, on the outskirts of Raath Ra'Chuul. She remembered playing amongst the Zehlk trees in the forest, swimming in the river, and sneaking through a field of slumbering Teeghs in the middle of the night. She remembered Tron, her best - and really, *only* - friend, now an accomplished field agent at SFI.

Then, her mind darkened, as her antennas went rigid, as she recalled the horrors that the Romulans brought upon her and her family, coupled with the sadness of the loss of her rescuer and mentor, Korman.

~No...no....~ she began to shake her head, slightly, chasing the memories away; locking them within her, where they could neither do benefit *or* harm...

"NO!" Tish yelled, while slamming her fist onto the LCARS panel, nearly cracking the isolinear display.

The emotions emitting from her companion had been growing darker, more violent, and much more intense. They battered against her mental shields, culminating with the exclamation and physical abuse of the LCARS panel. The Betazoid was concerned, both as the Exec and as someone as familiar with psychology as a person of her race must be. What could have caused that particular reaction?

Drawing a deep breath, while commanding herself to cool down, she spoke softly: "Sorry, Ma'am...I...I think the battle just...got to me."

~Talk to her!....NO!...You can't keep...YES I CAN!...Then what?...I...I DON'T KNOW!...I DON'T KNOW!...You'll end up dead...FINE!~

Jasmine neither smiled nor frowned at that response, merely making a non-committal sound, "The panel can take the abuse." However, she wondered, could T'Shani continue to do the same?

Tish opened her mouth...then closed it, feeling like a fool for loosing her emotional control. ~I'm a Grandmaster! I should be able to.....~

The Vanguard Exec waited with all the patience of a woman awaiting birds to eat from her cupped palms. T'Shani needed to talk, yes, but to try to force her to do so would probably cause more harm than good. She was trying to make the effort, and she mentally encouraged the Andorian, but it would be up to her blue skinned pilot to take that step. To speak, to share her pain, and to maybe heal.

"Jasmine..." Tish started, her voice soft and devoid of the usual icy tone.

She almost started at the surprise of T'Shani, of all people, using her first name. Quickly schooling her expression she nodded encouragingly. "Yes?"

The blue woman continued, "Have you ever..." she stopped, again, feeling like the scared twelve year old, holding her slain father's chaka as she stared at the devastated city...she shook the memory away.

'Carefully, Jazz, carefully,' she cautioned herself when her fellow pilot stopped in mid sentence. Patience, thankfully, was a virtue she had in bounds. She mentally encouraged the woman to continue, "Have I ever?" she prompted.

Tish wanted to go on...and didn't want to go on. She...she wanted to shout it out! Yet she wanted to hide it away. Inside, she was a mess. Outside herself, she could control what happened. But now...~Now...what are you going to do, A'Akledorian?~ She sniffed, quietly, as her antennas drooped, once more.

"I'm here," Jasmine said quietly, keeping an eye on the controls even as she kept a mental 'eye' on her companion.

~What the hell? Why not?~ the Andorian reasoned, within herself. ~What have I got to lose? At the most, they'll boot me out of the 'Fleet!~ Which - in her mind - wasn't so bad, after all, seeing as what the current situations were. Besides, she was resigning her commission, as soon as this wretched mission was over.

Feeling weak, for the first time in fourteen years, T'Shani A'Akledorian started to tell her story...

"The summer I was twelve years old, the planet that I grew up on - Seltax VII - was forcibly annexed by a Romulan armada..." her left antenna bobbed, slightly, as the memories came rushing back.

Romulans. Suddenly, T'Shani's reactions became clear and the Betazoid suspected she knew what would come next. There were times that she wished that a character like Starfire was real - someone who could, and did, protect the innocent and the helpless from the bullies of the universe. This was one of those times, but she was getting ahead of the story.

She drew in a deep breath, and continued, her voice almost a whisper as she looked down to the control panel surface in front of her.

"We were successful in repelling the preliminary Romulan strike force - decimating their encampment - but were unprepared for the main invasion force of Shocktroopers.

"The battle lasted for three days, with over thirty-thousand dead, on both sides. During one of the battles, my scouting party was captured. The Romulan General in charge of the invasion..." her lip trembled as she spat out his awful name "...*Toluk*...took some of the younger warriors...including me...and...a-"

She inadvertently choked; she just couldn't bring herself to say the words that described the awful things done to her...she had been so young, so...*pure*. And that *BASTARD* had...had taken from her what was most precious...her purity.

Not to mention the torture...she squeezed her eyes closed, as her hearts pumped faster; the pain and agony of what they did to her body still as agonizing and horrifying to her as it was fourteen years ago...

Heloi listened to the Andorian weave her tale and she felt a pang of sorrow for the child that T'Shani once was. She reached across the distance between them and gently grasped the other woman's hand. Though the motion was human, the feelings behind it were universal - I am here. You are not alone. I'm so sorry that that had to happen to you. The bastards. With that touch, she dipped her shields a little to send a wave of comfort and understanding to the best of her ability. She was more a telepath than an empath, but all were a part of a full Betazoid.

For the first time in all of fourteen years, T'Shani A'Akledorian cried. Quietly at first...then openly sobbing as her mind's-eye replayed *everything*: from her team's initial scouting run, to Toluk's barbarous torture of her body.

She leaned over, in her chair, as the sobs racked her tall, angular frame. ~Wha...what the *FUCK*?!~ she had *never* let herself open like this...not even for Tron. Maybe that was the reason they had never really been able to grow any closer. He had actually gotten over it.

Jasmine's expression was compassionate as she continued to send mental waves of comfort towards her companion. To have suffered so much...it was enough to make even an actress want to cry for her pain.

~ENOUGH!~ her warrior instincts kicked back on - into overdrive - and quickly built up her shielding, again. ~Why...why...WHY?!!~ she screamed at herself. ~Why am I so...weak?!~

She could feel the Andorian's attempt to compose herself and for a moment the Betazoid wondered at the true alienness of her companion. In one of her people, such an emotional release was considered healing and something necessary for continued mental well-being. In other cultures, this was not always the case.

Sniffing slightly, again...she straightened up, pulling her flight jacket down to aright it. Next, she wiped her eyes with her left hand, while still holding onto Jazz's with her right. Slowly, she turned to face her XO, now seeing her in a different light; apart from the teacher's pet Tish had made her out to be.

Jasmine spoke softly, "Feeling better?" She seemed to be somewhat lighter both mentally and physically, and Heloi felt gladdened by that fact. However, she still worried about T'Shani, so much emotion was kept under iron clad control - the instant that it truly broke would be disastrous for both T'Shani and for anyone near to her. This helped to relieve the pressure but by no means did it remove the problem.

Tish chuckled, this time with a little more mirth. "Th..thank you..Jasmine...But..." she did her bes to catch her breath from her ordeal, "...you won't be having to worry about me for much longer, Ma'am," she gasped out, now being more *formal* towards Jazz.

"You're very welcome," Jasmine replied before latching on to the second comment, "Why do you say that?"

Tish was just about to respond to Jazz's question, but was surprised as a bright, bluish-white flash lit up the cockpit, coming from the crippled warbird. ~Shit! They've self-destructed!~ Tish thought...

Jasmine never heard the answer to her question for a few moments later, the controls blinked to let her know the shuttle's systems were receiving the ILS signal from the Galaxy's shuttlebay. Following the glideslope, Heloi guided the ship back home where T'Shani was whisked away by medical to leave Jasmine on the flight deck with a great deal on her mind.

T'Shani, she realized, was not an cold hearted woman as she had first thought. Instead, she was a tortured soul in need of release. As a Betazoid, it was her moral duty to answer that call. As the XO for the Vanguard Squadron, it was her job.

She only hoped that she was up for the task.

OOC: Takes place the same day as "Transition", and immediately prior to that post.

****

"Quid Pro Quo"

Starring:
Ambassador-General Natasha Mol,
Federation Liaison Corps (Ian)

Admiral William Valerian,
Starfleet 76th Task Force (Francis)

Admiral R.E.L. Price,
Starfleet Command (Mostly Pat W.)

Ambassador Jonas Galali,
Federation Council Representative (Ian)

Guests:
Captain Meghan Alexander,
Commanding Officer, USS Tiberius (Francis)

Colonel Regina Kensington,
Starfleet Marine Corps (Francis)

****
Federation Diplomatic Offices
Conference Chamber 3
Paris, France, Earth
Date: March 25, 2381
****

Upon entrance into the offices of the Federation Liaison Corps, situated in Paris, France, one got the sense that comfort and ease were the deciding factors in its overall design. The alabaster walls and efficient lumbar design of the furniture appealed to many cultures, but this room appealed to only two cultures. That of the home species of Terrans and on Risian.

At the head of the crescent shaped seating table sat the current official presiding over the Federation Liaison Corps., Ambassador-General Natasha Mol. In her late 40's, she rose through the ranks quickly and was assigned the recently amalgamated Diplomatic Corps - where she was previously posted - Federation Border Patrol, and Judge Advocate General's Office.

"Admiral Valerian, I'm not at all convinced of the need for a Starfleet presence at Gryphon. I cite the Gryphon Non-Interference Act of 2379 as evidence." Mol lifted a Padd up and read off the litigation.

"As the Citizen's Coalition of Gryphon have so passed within their legislation, there shall be no established presences of any outside contracts within their established territories within the Gryphon Asteroid Belt without due permissions and requests from the Coalition Government body.

"Therefore, due to their established independence from Federation membership in 2279, Starfleet and the Federation shall not interfere in the day-to-day business nor instigate any negotiations without contact first received from the Coalition itself first."

Standing on the other side of the table, Admiral William Valerian, nodded, having expected as much. Well past 50, Valerian was a veteran of Federation political matters, and was used to such things. After all, he'd been on the Project ArchAngel advisory board when Admiral Hoth, Senator Guignon, and Commodore Illyanovitch, had been designing it.

"Yes, Ambassador-General, I am aware of the Non-Interference Act." Valerian replied, "However, I'm afraid the situation on is somewhat more dire than reports had previously suggested."

"I cite a message that we received at Starfleet Command yesterday, from Ambassador-At-Large Mika sh'Sonora, who is currently serving as impartial council president for their governing body," he lifted his own Padd and read.

He read: "While we had initially hoped to avoid this end, the Citizen's Coalition of Gryphon requests direct intervention from Starfleet units, due to recent terrorist attacks with the Coalition. Privately, I believe these attacks to be the work of increased polarization of the citizens, due to opposing views on the issue of terraforming."

"So what does sending a Starfleet taskforce in going to solve, Admiral?" Ambassador Galali, late of Quentin, chimed in from his seat to the immediate left of the Ambassador General. The pudgy Risian hadn't lost any of his rotundness, but a spark had glimmered out since the last time we saw him on Quentin. "Are you hoping to bully the terrorists into submission? That would be so typical of Starfleet." The Federation Representative shook the padd containing the information of the occurrences at the Gryphon colony.

"Actually, Ambassador Galali, I had hoped to solve this through diplomacy. What I propose is that we send in the USS Galaxy, which has just completed repairs at Starbase 212, to mediate the dispute," Valerian said, "While I do believe that the Galaxy's presence may give the terrorists pause, I think a more permanent settlement is needed. Perhaps you'd like to go along, Ambassador? I've heard that your last assignment didn't go so well."

Galali, sputtering, was about to blurt out a reply, but Mol touched his arm, leaning into him to whisper unintelligible words. Jonas snorted, but kept silent.

"Pardon me there for a minute, mate, but why send the Galaxy?" Admiral Lee "The General" Price spoke up for the first time since the proceedings began from the right of Mol. "She's an awfully big ship to send in for a bit o' diplomacy, isn't she?" Robert Price, his temples a bit greyer, was the former commander of the USS Galaxy. He knew it that ship, he knew her capabilities, and he knew what the new refits had given her. "There's a fair number of Border Patrol ships in the area, Admiral. You could've easily taken one of those for your needs."

"And I would like to know who authorized the sending of sh'Sonora and Kensington, Admiral." Mol in turn drilled Valerian. The relaxing surroundings would take no queue from her.

"Admiral Price," Valerian said, deciding to address his *opponents* in turn, "While the overall goal of the mission would be one of diplomacy, we cannot ignore the fact of just how dangerous terrorism is. The more threatening the ship we send in, the longer the terrorists will be likely to keep their heads down. It's a deterrance factor. The ships of the border patrol are outdated. Many of them are old Soyuz or Excelsior class ships, decommissioned from the regular fleet."

"The use of fear to inspire diplomacy has always been the tool of fools across this entire Galaxy, Admiral, and it is not a tool that the Federation should now or ever condone. " Price replied quietly, and firmly, one hand momentarily adjusting the position of his hover-chair.

He turned to Ambassador-General Mol, "When the Citizen's Coalition of Gryphon originally sent their request for a replacement Council President, I was the one who took the call. Understand, this was just before the Liaison Corps was formed, otherwise I would have been glad to hand off to you. I had heard of Ambassador sh'Sonora and found her to be unassigned. As she had been our Ambassador to Q'Onos for almost a year, I was certain that she was up to the challenge. Colonel Kensington was sent at their request as well, to aide and train their police forces, as well as to command the embassy guard."

"The Gryphon Coalition is situated in an asteroid belt, I see." Admiral Price lifted his matching Padd to Mol's. "In the Badlands. Cardassion Union, Breen, Klingons, Lysians, Romulans... the area has been minimally explored. Galaxy could survey the area whilst negotiations are underway. Could be dangerous. Galaxy won't have any backups, you understand, Admiral? There have been reports of minor skirmishes in the area, but this is out of Federation territory, mate."

"A survey sounds like an excellent idea, Admiral Price," Valerian nodded to the well liked officer, "And I wouldn't have it any other way. There are too many delicate situations with the surrounding governments as it is. Just look at what happened to me on the Romulan border last month. If it weren't for the Galaxy, I wouldn't have survived."

"Fair dinkum." Price muttered, almost to himself, and then pondered the report for several long moments. "That mess'll give the diplomats a bit of a run, eh?"

"These terrorists, do we know who they are and what they want?" This time, Galali jumped back into the fray. The tone of his voice, hoarse, and monotonous, betrayed the anger simmering from Price's words.

"Colonel Kensington's reports suggest that while we cannot be certain at this time, the obvious may well be the truth," Valerian cited a PADD containing the Colonel's situation reports, "The desperation of the Troyer Compact to stop the largely Draysonite terraforming movement cannot be underestimated."

"So, let me see if I understand this," Natasha, shuffled the padds into neat stacks on the workspace, sliding them aside to steeple her fingers in front of her.

"The Draysonites, who are terraforming the asteroid belt for colonization, are in conflict with the Troyer Compact over... what? Why are the Compact struggling against them?"

"It's an economic struggle, in truth. Or perhaps it's a class struggle," Valerian said, "The Compact is formed largely of dilithium miners, their families, and others who stand to profit from the continued mining. The Drayson Association is comprised of those who want the Gryphon Coalition to move forward and become more settled, like a 'normal' colony. They're in favor of terraforming most of the larger asteroids, where the largest deposits are, but also where the most surface area is.

"Were these two not of one group at one point? Did they not settle the belt together in 2279?"

"Yes. The colony ship S.S. Gryphon was lead by Director Justin Drayson and his mine foreman, Horace Troyer. They established the colony in 2279 to profit from the extensive dilithium deposits that had been found. Though they were highly sucessful, eventually all civilizations evolve," Valerian explained, having read Colonel Kensington's report several times, "Troyer kept mining, Drayson was eventually swayed by environmentalists and progressionals. Time passed, people died and were born. The result is the current situation."

"Now Ambassador sh'Sonora is a Council President. What situation occurred to give her such an influential position, and why a Federation representative? That could breach the non-interference act just by the act of circumstance."

Valerian smiled to himself. Somebody hadn't done their homework. "The Gryphon Counscil is comprised of six judges and a council president. The judges are always elected three and three, from the two parties. The council president is imported to provide impartiality. Out of the three counsil presidents since they passed the Non-Interference Act, two have been from the Federation. The first was a Bajoran."

"Wouldn't the presence of a Starfleet ship in the sector actually stir up the hornets nest more, 'mate?" Captain Price chipped in, the Australian accent more pronounced. "There are historical facts that have shown this to backfire, as you're no doubt aware."

"It might. It might not. There are historical precedents to suggest that as well," Valerian said, then clasped his hands together in thought. "One thing that cannot be ignored is that the Gryphon Council has requested Starfleet's presence. No doubt at the urging of Ambassador sh'Sonora, but it still cannot be ignored."

"What about other powers in the area? A starship like Galaxy would be a grand prize to some of our opponents in there. Her presence might invite more conflict, bring a dogfight to the Gryphons. That'd not look good on us, 'mate. Are ye prepared for that?"

"The Galaxy would be just as inviting as an underdefended Excelsior of Soyuz if it is defending the efforts," he said, "The Galaxy has the edge, however, of actually being able to defend herself. And with the reports going about the various governments of how the Galaxy chewed up two D'Deridex-Class Warbirds, I think most sane commanders will think twice."

"Admiral Valerian, what is it about this sector that is so desired by you?" Mol took back the spotlight from Admiral Price. Not that he didn't ask the wrong questions. Very viable indeed. "These are a people who've lived for the last century without our help or intervention. Their location is somewhat strategic, yes, but too many civilians to be a viable outpost. Admiral Price is correct in his observation that Galaxy is a bit of overkill. Even an old Soyuz or Excelsior would be a bit much.

"Galaxy attracts attention rather than dissuades it. You are requesting it be sent for defensive purposes in some other fashion, not a gung-ho dominance effect on some random terrorists. Might does not make right, Admiral. You have another reason."

"Let's not mince words, then, Ambassador-General. Neolithium, the Warp 10 Crystal. Word hasn't leaked out yet, and I'd prefer to see the Gryphon Coalition under our protection before it's annexed by somebody else," Valerian said pointedly. He had other reasons too, but those were for him to know.

This provoked a murmur amongst the triad forseeing the requests made by Valerian.

"I see why you'd want Galaxy now, Admiral." Ambassador-General Mol looked first left at Galali, who imperceptibly tipped his head, eyes closed. Then back to Price, who repeated the gesture.

"Then we are in agreement. You have your ship Valerian. Issue the order."

With that, the groan of chairs emanated as the three of the presiders eeked out their seats (well, two, as Price always brought his own chair with him) to leave in single file out of the room, leaving Valerian alone with his thoughts.

"Heh. With pleasure, Natasha," Valerian said, and turned on his heel to leave the room. Now all that remained was to head back to his own office and begin work.

****

USS Tiberius
Deck 3
Admiral Valerian's Private Quarters

"Thank you, Captain Alexander, the accomodations have been excellent," Valerian said to the image of his new flag captain. He had to admit, it was quite the coup d'etat, acquiring Captain Alexander and his new flagship, the Sovereign-Class USS Tiberius. The vessel had been Fleet Admiral Mercereau's personal flag captain's first command, and she had recently spent time using it as her flag while Relentless was in the yards. Considering their not so amicable working relationship, it was a slap in the face.

He snickered derisively. ~How do you like them apples, you stuck up genetic freak?~

Captain Alexander evidently noticed, "Sir, is everything alright?"

Valerian smiled. She must have thought he was coughing. "Yes, Captain Alexander, I'm fine. That should be all for tonight. I'll call you in the morning if I need anything further."

"Aye, sir," she said, and closed the channel.

Valerian quickly placed a call to the Federation Embassy, Office of Colonel R. Kensington. Now that he was finished assuming command of the Task Force, he had other matters to attend to. Not surprisingly, it went through immediately, as it was a prearranged call. The familiar face of Colonel Kensington appeared, replacing the Embassy seal.

"Admiral Valerian, what an... unexpected pleasure," Regina Kensington grinned, "I trust your trip to Romulus wasn't too bad? I had heard some rumor about you nearly getting killed by the Romulans not once, but twice."

"People keep telling me that, Colonel," he said, then shrugged, "It must be true."

"I'm sure, sir. I'll ask some other time, when we can chat. You have news for me?"

"Yes. The meeting with Ambassador-General Mol went well. They've agreed to allow me to go ahead with the assignment of the Galaxy, as well as the intervention force. I've forwarded the correct documentation to Ambassador sh'Sonora. In the meantime, Colonel, you and Mika know what to do. Go to the Director Drayson and get the best deal that you can."

"Of course, sir."

"Good," Valerian said, "Expect Captain M'Kantu to arrive in two days. I suggest you be finished by then, seeing as his arrival will somewhat complicate your schedules."

"Right. By the way. Senator Sorenson called Mika three days ago. They spoke for some time," Kensington said, ever dutiful, "You may want to check into that."

He sighed in irritance, "I'll look into it. You have your orders, Regina. Carry them out."

She smiled thinly and closed the channel as Valerian shut his end. He'd had quite a full day.

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