"Help"

By
Cmdr. Karyn Dallas,
Chief Counselor/Second Officer

and
Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg,
Medical Officer

Location: Outside the Main Counseling Office.

Dr. Fienberg was an emotional wreck. HIs stagger through the hall caught a lot of eyes, but no one intervened specifically because of where he was headed. -Help.....just a little bit of help.- His flashbacks, the first ones directly following the war, never left him like this. It was not so much the effect of the event, but rather, the cold fact that he had lost the ability to control them. Five years of progress lost after incoherent ranting, moments, complete emotional detachment, and a single, terrible memory. Though they never actually met other than the usual Psych evaluations, only one person's name rang in Klaus' head. Karyn Dallas. He had never really had much use for a counselor. His father took him to a Psychiatrist when he was a boy. Didn't help much.

***Main Counselling Center***

A single word slipped from Klaus' mouth after the door closed. "Help." The blonde female sitting at the reception desk was too polished to be startled by whatever incoming clients had to say. Although she had to admit this wasn't exactly the typical "I'm here, now what the hell do I do?" response. "That's what we're here for, sir. Do you have an appointment, or is this an emergency?" She had already come around the desk, prepared to notify a counselor on duty that there was an emergency.

Some of Klaus' sarcastic wit managed to seep through.....whether that was a good thing or not. "I just suffered a flashback while on duty....so I believe the answer is yes."

The blonde nodded, taking his answer in stride, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "I'll buzz Commander Dallas and let her know you're coming. She's free at the moment."

***Karyn's Office***

"Please come in, Klaus," gestured Karyn with a smile. "Take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?"

He sat slowly, his face ten years older. "I suffered a flashback. My PTSD has resurfaced." He obviously got right down to it. Karyn saw the distress in his face and simply nodded. This was not unexpected, nor was it something indicative of a complete breakdown.

"Do you know what triggered it?"

"It started to return following the battle with the Romulans. And the flashback was triggered by a loud noise."

Dallas nodded. "Alright, well, why don't you start by telling me about the flashback and its specific details. Part of the process of working through them is to break the association between the details and the emotions that come with them. Take your time, ok? You're safe here."

"Well, to start off with, I was involved in several boarding missions on cardassian outposts along the border in preparation for the retaking of DS9. One Outpost had to be destroyed after we failed the boarding operation. The flashback was that specific operation. The station had a continigent of Jem Hadar and the boarding part was being overrun. Being a medic, I was allowed to refuse a weapon. We were being overrun and the Aries was having great diffculty locking onto us. In that several minutes of holding them off, we lost 3 soldiers, with a total of 5 casualties. I managed to stabilize the two that survived, but the 3 fatalities were beyond my ability. Not even sickbay's full facilities could save them. It was horrifying..." He managed to get so much out...but his voice started to crack, and he stopped.

"And you felt responsible?"

"I was helpless, even if I did have a weapon, I may not have made much of a difference, but I simply cannot kill, I could never bring myself to it. But we were so close to death, and even as the blue sparkles disappated in the Aries' transporter room, I still couldn't shake the feeling. My shoulder had been skimmed by a cardassian phaser, and I didn't even know it was there until I had returned to the Sickbay ten minutes later."

"So you felt you should have tried to stop them," Karyn clarified, "that you shouldn't have elected to go without a weapon even though it was against your nature?"

Klaus nodded. Painfully. "Yes. But I still knew that even if I did take a weapon, I wouldn't be able to make a kill shot. I could have forced myself to stun the Cardassians, but the Jem Hadar would have been a futile attempt. I know this because my first mission had me carrying a weapon. A type 2 hand phaser. I just could not fire. I hand froze." Dallas leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. So that was the problem. "Perhaps it wasn't your values that kept you from firing, Klaus, perhaps it was basic fear of having the favor returned." Klaus had never thought about that. He had a slight _expression of horror on his face. "I don't know...." Denial. "This interpretation troubles you... Why, Klaus?"

Klaus did a stereotypical nervous swallow. "As I doctor....I swear to put others before myself in all things.....this interpretation reveals that I am being self serving."

Karyn leaned forward. "But you're not just a doctor, Klaus, you're a man who wants to survive."

Klaus shrugged. The load was lighter, but still backbreaking.

Karyn decided to try a different approach. "You must have felt very conflicted...here you were a physician focused on preserving life, and all of a sudden you were being asked to accept a mission that wasn't about that. Not only that, but you were being targeted personally by people who didn't give a damn about you or your philosophy."

"Well, I was one of many. I felt that my duty to the Federation was more than my own personal philosophy. I put one part out.....and continued the rest. I was conflicted for many years. One of the reasons I started drinking heavily. Among others....." He trailed off for a moment. "I know for a fact, that any Starfleet officer that served on the front line during the horrible war saw a friend or more die." He stopped again. "My condition was not as severe as many, so I was assigned to a shipboard counselling program. I stayed so secure.....save for my attempted suicide.....why now do I lose control?" A single tear started to come from his eye.

"I don't know," Karyn replied honestly, taking note of the tears trailing down his face. "It could be that you've been in hiding all these years, never really working through this stuff, or it could be something else entirely. I think you and perhaps the counselors you saw, were looking for the quick fix. Nevertheless, your drinking and attempted suicide suggest to me that you're burying your pain. I think you feel this need to put on a brave front because you were told you didn't need anyone to talk to."

Klaus shrugged. The lone tear began to be absorbed into his skin.

"Tell me about your tears," Karyn probed gently, "what are you feeling?"

"Nothing. Nothing.....that's why it hurts." He thought for a moment. "I know of one counselor that seemed to try and help.....but....."

"But what?" Dallas asked.

"But....we got involved.....romantically. I don't really know what happened. We met after my suicide attempt. She was assigned to me. She helped me through it...but we kind of just drifted together...and I forgot all of my problems......it was like a dream....but something happened....we drifted apart...and I left the Sturmovik and came here. We said we would meet and continue again....but as you probably know....I got married." He fiddled with his wedding band.

"Actually, I didn't know that, Klaus. That's not in your service record. Did you want to tell me about your marriage?"

"Probably the best thing currently happening in my life. We've been a part recently....but Kay and I are very happy." Karyn frowned.

"I'm not sure I follow you. If you're happy, why do I get the feeling your marriage troubles you?"

"....it feels a little bit like a mistake."

"Ball Crashers, Part 2"

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

Location:
Banquet Hall (Men's Bathroom)
Gryphon Government Building
Lammergeir

Soundtrack: "Dance Commander" By Electric Six (some obnoxious fight music please?)

"What the..."

Inside Lammergeir's banquet hall, at what was the gala of the year, or more specifically its marble lined men's bathroom, James Corgan was watching an odd, out of place sight indeed.

And it was sitting in the bathroom stalls.

The though processes for the chief of security at the time were, ~"What is a man with denim work jeans doing at a party like this? Not even the waiters and waitresses were dressed in such a sloppy manner."~. For the most part, this was true, for the employees of the banquet hall were dressed in well pressed, high class, yet servile clothing. Not dirty dungarees like the common labourer.

It took a security officer, trained to be investigative and curious, to point out that out of place detail.

It was also going to take a security officer's training to figure out what to do next.

"NOW!" Boomed the loud voice of a man twice his muscled girth, as James jumped back from a bathroom stall who's door burst open as if it was hit by a phaser blast. Out came the brute of a man, smelling of worksite dust, wood shavings and day old body sweat, lurching out like an enraged beast trying to snare an unsuspecting rabbit. His slab like muscles tightened underneath pitted and scarred skin, and his arms reached out like Frankenstein's monster.

Reaction time was slower than James expected. This man was not a profession, but a mere thug. But when James saw the Cardassian disruptor slung to his back, he decided to take the thug seriously.

Dropping to the floor in a swift motion, the brutish labourer nearly stepped over the security chief. That is... if the labourer was given the chance. As Corgan dropped down, he tucked in enough to reach the phaser on his ankle. Pressing a button while the phaser was still strapped on his leg, he pressed his foot against the attacker's muscle plated chest.

The brute pole-axed instantly. James rolled out of the way as the brute's bulk slammed noisily onto the tiled floor.

Hand springing back into an upright position, James had no time to scan for anyone else. Before he knew it, two other men burst out of stalls, each nearly as large and muscle-bound as the first brute that jumped him. Two men were on top of him already, grabbing each arm and slamming him against the sink counter. James felt the burning pain in his back from the slam, and another as yet a third man came out of his stall and shoulder speared him in the stomach.

Pain was flooding James vision. Out of reflex, his knee shot out at the middle man, catching a satisfying amount of nose and teeth in a blow that blasted the poor fellow's face. With teeth flying and blood flickering in ribbons in the air, the attacker fell as well, clutching his wounded face. A fourth man, younger than the others and skinnier, came out finally, his rifle swinging, catching James in the jaw in an upright swing.

Blows pummelled James' comparatively slim body, courtesy of three men who were larger than he, and had great strength, if sloppy technique.

"Kill the motherf**ker!" Screamed the injured, bleeding man, as another tooth fell out of his face.

Corgan received two more punches to the jaw, rolling his head as the rain of punishment continued. His legs were being cautiously pinned by two other sets of legs, and his arms were held back by two sets of burly arms, while a smaller guy worked his body like a prone punching bag. Blood snaked down the corner of his lip, and wormed a small trail down his left nostril, and his cheek swelled a blistering red. James wanted to see clearly, but the stars in his vision and a rocklike fist to his stomach stopped all attempts, instead causing him to retch and gag.

The injured, bleeding man was reaching for something on his side belt. James could see, doubled over and gagging from the air that was forcibly evicted from his stomach, that it was amber coloured and shaped like a curved talon with a barrel.

~"SH*T!"~ Corgan's eyes widened in fear. It was a Cardassian phaser pistol!

The instinct to survive was more powerful than a labourer's muscles. Squirming with a shot of adrenaline born from the will to survive, Corgan outmuscled one of the men pinning him, freeing a trapped leg.

The youngest man, the boy working him over with fist and rifle butt, was about to give him another punch to the stomach.

By that time, James freed his other leg, and jumped up with both. He had the labourer in a scissor grab, while the other two struggled to keep his arms from working themselves free. The boy was gagging, James legs tightened to cut off his breath.

By that time, the injured man, with a bleeding face and a hellwraith smile, drew out his pistol.

"End of the line, Starfleet." Was his premature statement of victory.

~"I'm not going to die."~ James' body squirmed tightly, trying to rock the people off him. He found that between keeping a vice grip on the boy's neck, and the two older men holding his arms, he was effectively trapped. ~"I'm not going to die... I'm not going to die..."~

"Any last words?"

James didn't recall what set him off. It could have been the attacker's arrogant statement, leering like a man who couldn't wait to get his first murder, wielding the appropriate Cardassian weapon like the tyrannical footsoldier that the first user of his pistol must have been like, watching as a helpless man was at his mercy, and enjoying it with a perverse mental pleasure like a torturer watching his victim struggle with the shackles as he was being punished.

The last time James checked, it was not the way he wanted to die. Borg, Cardassians, Jem'Hadar. No stupid, ignorant, asteroid squatting bumpkin was going to beat him up ignobly inside a bathroom, and then phaser him to death while he was trying to take a piss!

"No... f**king... WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The extra boost of anger punched up Corgan's strength exponentially. His legs swung about as his torso twisted, tossing the choking young lad towards the pistol wielding thug. The lad's body was propelled towards the gunman, and both collided together, tangling in a heap of limbs and curses on the ground.

The momentum of James throw freed another arm, and with it he swung about, thrashing the man to his left with the most powerful fist slam he mustered. The man's head cracked into glass, spiderwebbing the surface and leaving a rivulet of blood. Seeing as it still didn't free James from being pinned, he repeated the process two more times, watching the victim's head bounce off the glass.

In unison, his enemy let go, while the other one threw a punch into his cheek. It tottered James sideways, flinging off his glasses in the process.

Corgan's glasses were barely bouncing on the floor by the time he turned his attention to the only fresh man in the brawl. It was a hasty few seconds. James foot kicked upwards, meeting the unfortunate man's testicles, kicking them with a force that could send the dangling orbs skyward like the lead weight that rang the bell in a carnival hammer game. With barely a wimper, his opponent went down to his knees, futilely grabbing his private parts as tears streamed down his face. James spin kicked the man out of his misery, knocking him out with one foot to the side of the head.

The attacker he pummelled into the bathroom glass charged from behind, fists swinging. An easy effort it was to duck, then deliver an elbow to the solar plexus. Then, James turned around, sending an axe handled fist blow to the stomach, then upwards to the jaw. A third man was rendered unconscious.

On the other side of the bathroom, the bleeding older man and the young lad untangled themselves. In the melee, the older man lost his pistol, and cursed as he scrambled on the ground to reach it in time. The younger lad, still coughing, was sitting up and not aware of what James was doing next.

James still had a type II in his side holster, a fact made very clear when he drew it and promptly stunned the both of them with two well aimed shots to the chest.

Surveying the damage done to the bathroom, James Corgan felt a twinge of regret for doing such a destructive job. Around him, five men were laying unconscious, from phaser and fist alike. His eyeglasses were on a water soaked corner of the room, both lenses cracked and useless. The first man James knocked out was sprawled out on a busted toilet, which was also the source of the water leakage. Two different dresser mirrors were broken, one shattered by the repeated poundage of a head, and the other completely busted, with shards of glass hanging over a drab gray backboard.

James himself felt a burning pain in his back, and tasted blood on his lips. His face felt welted and mashed, and a sharp pain persisted in his torso. His breath was raspy and his lungs burned with each intake of fresh air. Otherwise, he was fortunate to be alive.

Five men against one.

Very good, or very lucky. James was taking whatever he could get.

"Sh*t." James pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the blood from his nose and lips, "How the hell am I going to explain this to the Captain?"

Unfortunately, Lieutenant Commander Corgan wasn't given the time to find out. He felt a rocking in the asteroid, and heard a terrible, dull thud. It was then followed by a rumbling noise, as if a fire of Armageddon like proportions was being unleashed outside.

He knew that fire. So much like the war. Like artillery... or more specifically, like space bombardment.

It was also very close.

"Oh god no..." James looked back at his attackers. "This is..."

James was out the door, bolting fast.

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

"Alright everybody, calm down. We'll get through this." Mika sh'Sonora, the supposed Ambassador and calm before the storm, tried in vain to relax the crowd that was gathered around her, outside the banquet hall.

Could she blame the people for being so distressed? She watched it with her own eyes, watching the fireworks, than the bombs as they decimated the amusement complex. Many of the dignitaries had children there, enjoying an evening of amusements while the adults went to their formal party. She, like the fathers and mothers at the party, watched as the systematic bombardment destroyed the complex, leaving nothing but a charred foundation of what was once a dome.

Then the bombs came down upon their dome. She rushed the dignitaries out of the building, and watched with a helpless tearing of her soul as those less fortunate were trapped inside to perish a slow death in the vacuum.

The question left in her head was 'why'? Did she not try to foster peace between the Troyers and the Draysons? What was to become of months of peace negotiation, deal brokering and planning? Did she do anything right during the months she presided as the head judge?

Many were dead, and she knew it was inevitable that the blame was going to be placed on her. It was her job to prevent such disaster through diplomacy, and she had failed in her eyes. Failed herself, and those who would never see their sons and daughters again.

"Why?" She choked back a sob, her Parasol shading the tear in her eye, "What did I do wrong?"

"We're Off to See the Wizard..."

By
Kylar Curran,
Ex Liaison Officer

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Muliple-Personalitied Current Pilot

Ensign Colby Elliot,
Stooge #3

Lieutenant Kettch,
Everyone's Favorite Teddy Bear

------------------ Vanguard One En Route to Dernos Asteroid Gryphon Asteroid Belt ------------------

"Are you having fun, Mr. Rex?" Curran stomach dropped for a loop as the Trill spun into a loop under a rather large asteroid that coasted nearby.

Blinking running lights marking the safer passages, blazed in the starry night. Far off, if the Trill would hold his course long enough, Kylar swore he could see the monstrous asteroid eating catapults launching their waste debris into the nether reaches of the belt; to join its comapnions in a desperate hop of being caught in the fringes of a comet and carried into a new life.

"I'm having a great deal of it, Mr. Curran.' Corran replied, leveling the fighter off onto a solid approach vector. "You're not getting motion sickness are you?

The Kelvan closed his eyes as the daredevil pilot skimmed under and over a series of darting smaller debris, just to counter with a 90 degree downward (if you could reference it as that in space. It was all relevant to the position one was in when it happened, he guessed) spin to avoid a much larger asteroid.

"Not. At. All. Mr. Rex." He clenched his teeth to fight off the vertigo.

Am intercom signal chirped along Curran's right arm. Glancing to the Trill up forward, he recanted on reminding the pilot of the incoming transmission when his stomach dropped once again at the sight of another asteroid dipping towards them.

Hey nudged the button beside the flashing light.

"Mr. Rex is busy at the moment." Another asteroid flew by the window.

"Legate Curran?" The tinny ratchet of a voice echoed in his ears from the built-in receivers on the helmet he wore.

"Speaking. Do you want to leave a message or not?" He was getting edgier with this inane waste of breathing whoever it was on the other end.

"No, sir. This message is for you. You are to divert to Troyer for your scheduled meeting. There have been some complications."

His heart raced. What had happened? Complications? He hoped the police forces of Gryphon hadn't countered his appointment.

"Is there any more detail to the message?" He hoped not. Last thing he needed was to be caught.

"None, sir, other than a new set of coordinates on Troyer."

"Transmit the packet to me here." The telemetry above his right hand lit up as the information passed through to the fighters navigation system.

"Do you have the new flight plan, Lieutenant? Take us there."

"On our way already." Corran replied as he finished sending the new flight plan over to Kettch with a text comm. The fighter accelerated then, as the two fighters approached Dernos. His attitude shifted to business then, gathering from the Legate's tone that something was not quite right.

------------------ Vanguard Ten En Route to Dernos Asteroid Gryphon Asteroid Belt ------------------

Kettch chuckled as he watched Corran's fighter do multiple loops. Likely messing with that stuffy kelvan, no doubt. Abruptly, however, he felt something in his throat, and stuck a paw back towards Colby. "Hey, kid. Hand me that back by your feet."

Colby looked around beside his feet, hoping he would find something flight related there, instead all he found was a paper bag. He picked it up and held it forward, "here ya go."

"Thanks." the fuzzball replied, and the stuck the paper bag in front of him as he started coughing rather violently. He close the top of the bag when he was done, and shuddered. "Ugh. Hairball. Sorry about that."

Colby was in shocked disbelief at what had just happened in the seat a head of him. A hair ball, a fucking hair ball. He didn't say anything.

Kettch whuffled slightly - the Kowe version of a chuckle, and looked at the message console as he saw a new set of coordinates come from Vanguard One. Frowning, the fuzzy little man told Elliot to strap in as Vanguard Ten caught up to Vanguard One. He had a hunch that leave had just been cancelled.

Corran and Kettch skillfully brought the two starfighters down at the designated coordinates. As they were exiting their cockpits, the two pilots locked gazes and nodded. Each grabbed the sidearms locked under their seats. That danger sense was going off for both.

"We're here, Legate." Lieutenant Rex said. "So where's here?"

Colby looked around the area as he moved away from the fighters, taking a glance back he could see the pilots getting their guns. He smiled, it wasn't a real vacation if you didn't have to worry about getting shot in the ass by a stranger. Where ever they had landed wasn't exactly the nicest looking place in the galaxy, it was the kind of place where everyone was dirty and Colby and the others were probably the only starfleet officers coming in for a drink. Seedy was the right word for it, Colby had been to worse in his youth before Starfleet and seeing this place now almost made him nostalgic for those days.

"Nice place," Colby said with a sarcastic smile.

OOC: Takes place about an hour before "Rain of Fire"

"A Kelvan, a Trill, A Terran, and Kowe Walk in a Bar..."

By
Kylar Curran,
Ex Liaison Officer

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Muliple-Personalitied Current Pilot

Ensign Colby Elliot,
Stooge #3

Lieutenant Kettch,
Everyone's Favorite Teddy Bear

*****

Troyer Asteroid
Some Dusty Miners Town

"I agree, kid." Corran muttered under his breath. "Where are we, Legate?"

"Approximately 12 kilometers out from the main population centers. A trading port." A stocky figure came into view from a booth just off the docking pad.

"It'll cost you 12 slips of latinum to park here. Turn over the keys if we have to move 'em." The bulk of man, clothed in dust-caked garb, his face covered in pockmarks and cold sores, blocked their path down the slim catwalk that connected the docking pad to the main ring.

"We're Federation officials, invited at the behest of Roland Troyer." The Kelvan stepped forward in the dusty air.

"And your point is? 12 slips, or get lost." Curran leveled a hard stare at the decaying fool who had planted roots, blocking his way. "Troyer doesn't have any sway out here, the rich pansy he is." From behind the beast, a half dozen more of his posse propagated themselves into a circle behind him.

"You're now up to 30 slips. Interest on making me wait. Any longer, and we impound the craft."

"Fine." The Kelvan had no use for the fighters with the exception that they were his only ride off this rock. The Trill and his fans could do whatever the hell they wanted. He opened his satchel to withdraw the moneys.

"Give him your keys, or whatever it is you use to start your craft, Lieutenant. Or leave to come back later. Make up your mind."

Colby looked to the girzzled durty toll collector and shook his head. He would have played the I'm bigger then you are card if he didn't figure the guy had a gun. But looking around this nasty place Colby was sure the man would have a gun.

Corran's eyes narrowed momentarily as he fished out the key-card that allowed the engines to start on Vanguard One. He gave Kettch a nod as the small Kowe did likewise. "That's the keycard," he noted to the hulking toll collector. "But they're DNA encoded, just in case anyone gets a notion about trying to steal those fighters."

Big Man just grunted.

"Where is the... 'Red Lantern Inn'?" the Legate asked. The behemoth, busily counting his slips with dirty, puffed fingers, tossed a thumb over his shoulder. "That way." Down the catwalk.

"Besides the obvious, *where* that way?" The dust clouds were whipping up stronger. Ventilation obviously needed some work on this rock.

"It'll cost ya."

"Nevermind. I'll find it myself." Turning to his companions, "Come or go, or do your own business. I don't care." He slung the already dust battered case over his shoulder, coughed, and started down the catwalk.

Elliot moved in step with Curran, wondering if the 'toll taker' would try and charge him for using the catwalk.

"Right then." Kettch observed. "Let's get going, mate."

The foursome began walking, trusting their feet to find the path that was difficult to see. When they were out of hearing range, Curran leaned slightly over towards Rex. "Lieutenant, I was not aware that keycards for fighters had begun to be DNA-encoded."

"They haven't, Legate. Sounds good though, doesn't it?" Rex grinned back. "And call me Corran already. Mak'ala, what is it with everyone on this ship refusing to use people's names?"

"I've got plenty o' names for you, hooligan." Kettch mock-growled.

"Quiet, furball." the Trill replied.

They were walking down what could laughingly be called a "street" now, a dirty, filthy place full of ramshackle, rundown buildings. "Look like this place has seen better days." Corran observed, stating the obvious, but feeling that someone had to say it anyways.

"Never know," Colby said as he looked around, "This could be the garden spot

of the whole fucking place."

"Careful, Lieutenant." The Kelvan, who'd remained silent as the ventilation whistled around the apparently dead town, spoke up. "We're being watched. If the locals had heard that comment, they might have seen fit to kill you where you stand." As much as the Trill wanted to be 'friendly', Curran had no use for first names. Like he'd let the inferior species use his first name!

"Well, someone had to say it." the Trill replied, and cocked his head as something not too far away caught his eye. "Curran, there it is. Red Lantern Inn."

"Excellent." The faded sign, dusty and hanging in the breeze, battered against the weather-worn pole it hung off of, one of its latches broken and rusted.

The Legate led the way in, pushing the waist-high double doors aside. For all the world, it looked like a saloon that Corran had seen recordings of in his Earth History class that he'd taken while at MIT to make him a little more familiar with the planet. Straight out of the Ancient West, this was. Dingy bar, man wiping glasses, large mirror, check. Dirty, unsavory patrons, some gambling, some nursing their drinks under sour expressions, spoiling for a fight.

Corran grinned. "I *like* this place."

~It does seem extraordinarily familiar.~ Vorrin commented with a wry tone in his thoughts.

~Well, it should. You practically lived in these places, old man.~ Corran thought back.

~Shut up, Corran.~

OOC - I thought I would throw this twist out to the away team. Bring flashlights and magboots.

~Hungry Sky~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Arkedi Nitel'rajek Zan Lanaka

OOC - All bracketed dialog translated from Mika'Kardi.

"<There you are.>"

"<Oh, hey, Zan.>" Arkedi said, turning around to face his current lover and old friend as she touched the base of his wing from behind.

"<You ran off. Clearly, you were distracted. Enjoying the show?>" Zan asked, bending back Arkedi's wing like a door and moving up to his side. She was referring to the puppet show taking place before them, a marionette show taking place on a raised stage in front of an audience of about 50 humans sitting on the floor. Children, mostly, accompanied by thier parents, as far as Zan could tell. The puppeteers were visable above the valance curtain, pulling the strings. They were as much a part of the show as the puppets themselves.

"<I like watching,>" Arkedi said, wrapping his wing around his mate slightly, "<I cannot understand it though. I wish I knew English better. I can tell these colonists have some unique slang words, but I'm sure I'm missing all the interesting stuff. They have an accent, too, among the men. Their u's are relaxed. I'm thinking about going back to the ship and getting some recordings.>"

"<You'll be a master of the language before you know it. You should make the recordings and go back to them later.>"

Arkedi nodded and returned his attention to the show. "<Look,>" he laughed, "<did you see that puppet jump back in shock. Very real, very funny.>"

Zan chuckled, though more to support Arkedi's easy amusement than at the show. "<How come you never picked up puppetry?>"

This suggestion caused a larger reaction than the puppet a moment ago, "<There are only so many hours in a day, Zan, I can't learn every performance art,>" he laughed, "<besides, I dance. I am my own puppet.>"

"<It's not as much fun when you're pulling your own strings.>"

"<I'll pull your strings.>"

"<That doesn't even make sense, Arku. Come on, lets find Cutter,>" Zan said, turning and pulling Arkedi along by the wing.

"<Last time I saw him, he was hitting on a very attractive blonde woman. Over there somewhere,>" he said, jerking his wing from Zan's grasp and pointing witht he large guiding feather to her left. They began to walk, passing through the crowd trying to find their friend; then they were in the air. What was that, that sound? Louder than thunder and much sharper, a boom. An explosion. The sound startled them and both Fruna'lin threw open their wings and took off from the ground, carried up by the shock wave. They were acting on instinct, fly away, flee, don't fight, not even aware of what was happening, they were concentrating on navigating the turbulence, the hot updrafts throwing them every which way in the chaotic gravity. People were screaming and panicking and racing around below them and to their sides as they scrambled up the walls. More booms, rumbling through the asteroid cavity, thundering, slightly more distant than the initial one right behind them.

Finally they turned, or Zan did. Arkedi stopped immediately after as she left his peripheral vision. The two sat there, hovering in the cavity about hundred meters from where they started, large, slow flaps keeping them aloft, bobbing them up and down like a leaf on an ocean wave. "<An explosion. A bomb?>" Zan said, panic racing through her voice.

"<The puppet show.>" Arkedi gasped from behind her.

"<Those people. Those kids.>" There was nothing left, nothing discernible. The stage was completely gone, minor fires were the only thing left, burning up the remains of the red curtain and wooden planks. The fires were bigger on the edges of the blast field and spreading, catching on peoples cloths as they ran away or ran towards or just ran. Their shouts were louder than the fires, than the hot whipping smoke Zan and Arkedi were sailing on above them. "<Cutter! Where's Cutter?>"

"Uyain!" someone shouted from behind them, above them. "<Move!>"

Zan turned, "<Cutter!>"

Arkedi suddenly noticed what was happening as Zan whirled around in front of him. He began to look, too, only to see a large mass rush by him and slam into Zan, pushing her downwards, towards the fires below. "<Cutter?>"

"<Move Arkedi!>"

Move? Arkedi furrowed his brow and set his tongue to ask out what, why, when another object rushed by inches from his face. Reflexively, he threw himself backwards with a thrash of his violet wings and fell. It was huge, long, yellow, the careening object. The amusement ride, the coaster cars, they were thrown off their tracks, at him! He tumbled, scared, startled, relieved it had missed, still panicking. The coaster train barreled by, squirming through the colonies various gravity pulls like a great worm and smashing into the large sun window shining on them all, through the window, out into space.

"<Arkedi!>" Zan called out as he struggled against the forming currents of air rushing out the open window.

"<No!>" Cutter yelled, grabbing Zan's ankle as she jumped back to her feet, ready to take off again. He jerked it, causing her to fall back down. She hit him, slamming her heel into his forearm and tried to get up again.

"Ka! Ist!" he cringed, but he quickly ignored the pain and grabbed her leg again, "<Zan! No! He's a tornado dancer, he can handle himself. If you fly up, you'll get caught in the currents and then you'll both die when he goes to save you!"

She glared at him, appalled, angry. Then her gaze shot up and saw that Cutter was right. Arkedi was diving downwards, even making headway against cyclonic winds well above two hundred kilometers per hour; a purple bullet shooting through dust and hurtling debris to safety. Then the gusts hit her, a wall of wind wishing to drive her upwards to the void. It would have, had Cutter not been anchoring her leg to the ground, instead, it simply knocked her back to the ground for a third time.

"<Zan! Stay down! Thekh!>" he cursed, except it was more of an order this time than profanity. Eat dirt. "<Stay against the ground, the wind can't catch you. Help me trip the humans, keep them down, too!>"

Zan nodded, wide eyed with dread, and immediately began to fulfill Cutter's absurd request. She began kicking out with her legs and flailing her arms, she must have knocked down six people, all the while shouting above the roar of the wind, "Get down, hug the ground!"

Eventually, the wind stopped and stilled. It was quiet enough to hear the humans scream again. She looked up, a large metal door had shut over the sun window, sealing the leak. It was so much darker now, without the glowing, red sun filling the sky the colonists had built themselves. It was an ancient Katojoar dream, to be taken by the sky, to be absorbed by it, to become one with it. It almost became a nightmare.

Slowly she stood, ignoring the people grabbing on her long, flowing clothes, pulling at the feathers on her wings, shouting Angel, Angel! Where was Arkedi, and where was Cutter? He crawled off, to trip people, to save them. She tried to move through the gripping hands, like wading through clay mud. "Let go," she cried in English, "Let go of me. Cutter!"

She pulled her wings up, freeing them from the human muck. They were crazed, now, a mob, unsure, scared, helpless and seizing onto any hope, anyone who showed less panic than they, dragging any help they could find back down to helplessness. She needed out, up, to fly away; and then she was off the ground. But, she had not flapped her wings. Gravity was gone. And then, a moment later, so were the lights.

Pilot Tyten
Vanguard 5

"Man Down"

Pain shot through his leg for the millionth time in a matter of seconds. Tyten had been in the launch bay spending time with his fighter when the attack came. He remembered how the engineers on duty had given him strange looks when he tried to explain what he was doing. It didn't seem such a hard concept to him to understand, really. He wanted to just, simply, spend time with his fighter.

He had read once that in the history of ancient Earth, when soldiers still rode into battle on horses, that they had done something very similar with their steeds. In fact, he had read that they used to sleep next to their horses, get their milk from them (well, the female ones at least), even eat meals at the same time. It amazed him, really. So, that's what he was here to do.

Yes, he understood that a fighter was no where near to the living breathing creature that a horse was, but to him it was the same. He couldn't explain the connection that he felt between he and his fighter, but it was there. He avoided talking about it with others because it usually garnered the same looks that he had received from the engineers earlier.

He was on his way back from a replicator with a plate of food when it happened. The ship shook violently throwing him off balance. He had been able to recover from the first, but he was unprepared for the second. He felt his feet give way from under him as he tumbled to the floor. The plate of pasta he was carrying was now down the front of him.

He rolled over just in time to see a barrel flying through the air towards where he was laying. It was just his luck that the power would happen to go out at that moment. He rolled to the left, but the sudden and sharp pain in his leg let him know very quickly that he had not gone far enough.

So, that was then. Now, he winced again in pain. Through the dim lighting of the emergency lights, he could see the blood pooling around his ankle where the barrel now rested. He laughed. The blood looked like a rabbit. Suddenly, it did not hurt as much and then, he fainted.

[Before the terror attacks, after the first past of this post... "Classify This"]

"The Commander and the Journalist"

Commander Cassius Henderson
Emmett Bregman

****

Tom Rundell has decided his purpose in life was to make mine a living hell. I'm convinced of this. First, he felt he had to tan my hide for 'interrupting the executive officer during his duties for a request that should have been passed through me.' Personally, I feel Rundell just wanted his ego stroked. So, I sat through the lecture - ignoring him of course - before I grabbed my cameramen for our interview.

I didn't exactly tell Rundell that I was going to interview Henderson - I didn't want to have to sit through another lecture. Instead, I led the way with Shep and Dale in tow towards Cmdr. Henderson's office. I had high hopes for this interview...hopefully they would come to pass...hopefully.

****

Executive Officer's Office,
USS Galaxy

"Lysander, get off my desk," Cassius said, tempted to laugh at the thought of former Tactical Advisor and Executive Officer Lysander Hawksley on his desk. Pennington's cat looked up at him with a 'why should I care what you think' expression oh so common to cats. Cass was feeling better, and had remembered that it was time to feed Lysander, so he'd brought the cat up to his office.

He was giving the cat the look that he usually reserved for department screwups when Bregman returned.

Emmett smiled at the site of the cat reigning supreme over the desk, and perhaps the office. He was certain the cat shot him a dirty look when he led his two man crew into the room, "Ah, should I beg forgiveness from the cat for coming in for the interview?"

"Hey, Lys', knock it off," Cassius said, picking the cat up and placing him on the floor. Incredulously, the cat walked behind the desk and sat down in his chair. Cass sighed and pulled out two of the other ones for himself and Bregman. "You'll forgive, Lys, in turn, I hope? A... friend of mine left him with me, and he's not entirely tuned into the concept of humans being in charge."

"A typical feline," Emmett nodded knowingly, after all ex-wife number three was Caitian. He settled himself into the offered chair and gestured for Dale and Shep to set themselves up. While they were preparing, Emmett turned back to Henderson, "I'll start with a few primer questions, Commander, and then the interview will essentially go where your replies lead us. I hate scripted interviews."

"I do too," Cass replied, a veteran of too many SFI review boards, including the court martial that lead to his being cashiered. Not that it mattered now, with his commission reactivated.

When Dale gave him a thumbs up, Emmett began, "Before we begin, Commander Henderson, I would like to thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk to us."

"Certainly, Emmett," Henderson replied naturally, "You don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"Of course not, Cassius, or would you prefer Cass?"

"I do perfer Cass," he nodded, "It was a war nickname, from some people I worked with closely during that period. We were all riding the edge back then, and being comfortable with each other was really important."

"That it is," he agreed amiably, "Cass it is. Would you tell me about why you decided to join Starfleet? Feel free to throw in any anecdotes from your academy days or from before."

"I entered Starfleet because that was what Henderson's do," Cassius said, "My father is Rear Admiral Alaric Henderson and my mother is Captain Kaitlyn Granston-Henderson, the Commanding Officer of my father's flagship, the USS Callimachus, which I was born on. My little sister, Elisa' is serving as the ACFCO on the Tiberius. And my Great, Great, Great Grandmother was Fleet Admiral Anna Henderson. It's an interesting reputation to live up to."

Anna Henderson was a name that no cadet escaped the academy without hearing. She'd been made famous for her 37 year flag command on the USS Relentless, an eventful period during which she'd worked tirelessly, rising from Rear Admiral to Fleet Admiral, being present during the Khitomer negotiations, and fighting against the Rihannsu afterwords.

"I personally wasn't really sure what I was doing at the academy for the first few years," Cass continued, "But I found some close friendships with fellow cadets. Close friends my own age had been hard to come by growing up on a small ship. Once I gained those friendships, I think becoming dedicated to protecting all Federation citizens was an easy step for me. Besides, I was rapidly getting swept up in the political climate of the time."

"What was the political climate of the time, Cass? How did that affect things for you at the Academy?"

"The Dominion War. Everybody had an opinion. Should we sue for peace? Should we fight to the death?" Cass said, "My friends and I, we knew better, or at least we thought we did. We knew that the Dominion wasn't going to stop until we were all serving them. So we chose to go into tactical, navigation, and intelligence, all of which would really help against the dominion."

"It's probably better that way. I would have made a horrible explorer, considering I barely passed Professor Sembrie's Advanced Spatial Physics class that last year," Cassius said, "So I went into Intel and Tactics."

"Intel and Tactics," Emmett repeated thoughtfully, "Was your first assignment in one or the other? And have you found that particular combination of skills to be useful throughout your career?"

"I was working as an intelligence officer on the USS Saladin. It was during the Dominion War, and I worked with a number of others all based on the Saladin," Cass said, "I do think that my skill choices have helped me through my career. Both Intel and Tactical help me see different sides of a problem."

"Really? Can you give us an example of how 'seeing the different sides' of a problem proved useful?"

"Recently, we fought a group of Romulans who attacked the USS Pallas Athena at the Romulan border," Cass replied, "After we'd defeated them, we took their commander into custody, However, it seemed too simple, so I had an officer watch the prisoner, and sure enough, his superiors attempted to contact him, which gave us a better idea of what was happening. A week ago, the USS Kestrel was able to defeat an incursion by the same isolationist movement that threatened the Galaxy, just because we were able to get their operating patterns figured out."

Emmett nodded, suitably impressed, "How do you feel, Cass, being assigned to the USS Galaxy? Considering it's reputation, etc. Do you feel you have something to, well, live up to?"

"I think there is a legacy to this ship," Cassius said, thinking of Dallas, Corgan and Suder, the last remaining department heads from the original Galaxy, "It was one of the most exceptional vessels in the fleet under Captain Price. And I think we're beginning to return to that level of capability. We have to form a sort of... next generation. Not to replace the old, but to make sure that what they lived, worked and died for is preserved."

He nodded briefly, "What would you say that is? That..thing that they tried to preserve?"

"The freedom we enjoy here in the Federation. When you look at all of the governments around us, few can claim that their citizens are entirely their own people," he said, "Which is why Starfleet is so important. It's a joint military and scientific organization. The men and women of Starfleet are the protectors and explorers. We garauntee that freedom's future."

He really did like these people's idealism. It was rather...well...cute. "Why would you recommend joining Starfleet to someone who seemed to be leaning down that path?"

"Because Starfleet's like a family," he said, "Without one person, we're all dimished. Everyone makes a difference. Plus, you get free housing, food, and travel. I've made a lot of good memories traipsing around the Milky Way on starship."

Emmett nodded thoughtfully, "Can you share some of those more...memorable memories?"

"There are quite a few," he said, "Vacations on Risa, Pacifica, Haven. Poker night on the USS Havoc. Really anything I've done with the people who I work with. You get close after a while."

"I'm sure," he agreed briefly taking a quick glance at his chrono, "Well, Cass, I believe that we have taken up enough of your time for today. Thank you for speaking with us. I'll be sure to share the finished product with you and with anyone else whose interviews will be used in the documentary."

"I look forward to it. And if you need anything more, let me know," Cass nodded, offerng his hand to Bregman.

"I'll be sure to do that," Emmett replied, shaking Cass' hand, "And don't forget to send out your little encouragement notice to the crew. I don't want to end up with more unanswered questions."

"I'll make sure it happens," Cass replied, standing to watch Bregman and his crew gather their things.

Now if only he could find the cat.

"Getting Up Fighting"

Commander Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer

Lieutenant Ven'r Nong,
Tactical Officer

****

Type 11 Shuttle,
Main Shuttlebay,
USS Galaxy

Ven’r staggered as the explosions began shaking the ship and shivering the hull. The alert claxon did not start, as he immediately expected, and one by one primary and secondary systems began to shut down. Luckily he was still in uniform- it wouldn’t do to assume one’s post not properly attired.

“Computer-status?” he asked the air. Pause, no reply. “Ven’r to Bridge,” he tapped his badge, getting the subdued trill indicating the com system was down.

At the moment he had to assume they had been compromised and that their system had been taken down in preparation of gaining control of the Galaxy. Using the manual overrides he got out of his quarters and into the corridor, armed with a phaser, a modified tricorder and some non-standard bladed weapons. Other crew could be seen moving about inside the corridors, panicked and unable to contact the bridge. Starfleet regulations mandated that in this situation consolidation of their forces and resources was mandated the priority, confirming the chain of command. With communications down, the only way to do so would normally be the use of internal sensors. Since it seemed primary systems were down, Ven’r had to look at other options.

Accessing the secondary maintenance tubes from a junction, he climbed into the arteries of the ship, preparing to commit havoc if he had to.

It took a few minutes to drop two decks and move through the saucer engineering decks to a shuttle bay, checking to determine what system were active and dead. Warp power was down, the core quiet and likely not able to restart without manual overrides. Problems was, according to his scans the protocols in the isolinear processors had been scrambled and without some way to open the intermix chambers, there was no way to startup the core. That meant all of the systems had to be reinitialized. That could only be performed from the outside, gaining com access to the core. And since communications had been taken down, the network had to be restarted and reprogrammed from scratch.

Not his bailiwick, but he knew how to use what he HAD to do what he NEEDED.

Emerging out into the shuttle bay, he stealthily moved to the same type-eleven shuttle he’d arrived in, accessing its outer lock and moving inside. He quickly brought the systems up and disabled its automatic telemetry, preventing the system from inquiring to the primary navigation and computer, in case there was a virus.

Accessing the shuttle’s sensors, he scanned the Galaxy looking for life-signs and badge signatures. It took a moment to access the Intel protocols and to load them to the shuttle’s sensor palette, popping up the “pings” from the command-level implants put in all officers of department-head level and higher. After the Cardassian War and the Dominion War, Starfleet had authorized the use of hidden self-powered beacons allowing those who knew what to look for to find ‘fleeters on active scans.

Using the data he had in his tricorder, he loaded anti-insurrection protocols into the com buffer, awaiting transmittal to the com system. Using sensors he isolated the com buffers for the Galaxy and targeted them for a directed eMp, channeled along the now-powerless EPS conduits.

“Computer, channel ten megawatts from the warp core and link it with the emergency transporter, targeting the primary communication processors and the primary EPS connections to it. Prepare to initiate a phased eMp on designated targets.”

+This action is not recommended..+

“Save it for later- command override Nong-kHef-Ip-naUK,” he ordered.

+Authorization recognized+

“Recognize all commands from me with this code for all actions ‘not recommended’,” he ordered, saving himself some irritation. The computer chirped and trilled to comply. “Energize.”

Behind him the emergency transporter array activated and hummed up through energizing as it phased and transmitted the electromagnetic energy into the designated coordinates. Sensors showed that the eM flashed into being sustained over a three-second burst before the transporter fried, shutting down main power for a moment to prevent backwash. +Main power is offline due to power backwash through the EPS grid+

“Was there significant damage to the EPS grid?”

+Negative+

“Restart primary power,” he ordered.

+Restoral of primary power will require three minutes, fourteen seconds+

“Initiate quick start protocols.”

The computer trilled in protest to the order but obeyed the mandate already placed on it. Main power was restored in a moment, with some fluctuations, which he closely monitored. “Scan Galaxy’s primary com array and local EPS grid.”

+Scan complete+

“Does the processor show structured data in its files?”

+Data structures in the com processors represent approximately sixteen-point-zero-six percent+

“That will have to do- computer, energize the command-level com badges of everyone currently on the Galaxy.”

+This will reduce primary power to eighty-six percent+

“Execute command,” he ordered, monitoring the console as the system energized the com badges of all registered command-level crew currently on the Galaxy, making them all chirp. “Slave all type-eleven shuttles on Galaxy through your primary processor and reroute all communication function randomly through each shuttle’s com array every six seconds. Load anti-insurrection protocols to all slaved shuttles.” Again the computer chirped as it executed his orders. Hopefully that’d give him a few seconds to prevent himself from being locked down.

“Nong to Commander Henderson,” he called having keyed the Commander’s badge open. He imagined the Commander was sitting up in his chair, quite suddenly, shocked that something was suddenly working.

+Henderson here + Cassius said, hoping this wasn't another one of the sixty odd calls he'd now gotten complaining about things not working, not to mention the turbulence +Go ahead, Lieutenant Nong+

“We have communications of a sort sir,” he advised through the shuttle’s amplified, linked and supported com. “I have slaved the other three type-eleven shuttles under one command, giving us the expanded sensor and communications output of all four of the runabout-classed shuttles. We’re not blind, deaf or mute anymore nor do I show foreign parties on the ship at the moment. But without main tactical systems and shields there’s no way we can prevent a boarding action. There is also a foreign program in our computer core that appears to be suppressing all functions.”

+I need you to work on getting that program out of our systems. We'll send some people from Ops down to help you as soon as we can+ Henderson said +Talk to me about what you've done so far+

“Yes sir,” he replied checking readings as he performed a diagnostic level scan or the core. “I have sent a phased electro-magnetic pulse through the com array and the subspace communications core. It has appeared to wipe out all of the programming in that system. I propose to reestablish the subspace core and processors from the shuttle’s, since they use the same protocols and programs. I cannot reprogram all of the lost data that is in the system but when the backup core comes back it should rewrite itself. I have a series of anti-insurrection protocols ready to go into the com sub processors that, if successful, will remove all traces of the foreign program and adapt, in effect inoculating itself against that program. We may then be able to use i! t to rid the main core of the attacking program.”

+The com array was completely blasted off the ship, that's why you're getting nothing from it+ Henderson fed Lieutenant Nong the information that he had +You're authorized to proceed with your plan, Lieutenant. The subspace core first, then take care of the program. We think it's gone dormant up here. Once you've ferreted out the enemy program, make sure you keep a copy of it for further study. Anything else+

“No sir but the scans of the primary computer core’s programs without main power active is going to take these shuttles’ awhile to sort. Do we have any idea when main power will be restored?” He asked, putting in the commands for three of the four shuttles to begin their scans of the primary core, breaking it down into quadrants and identifying base programs only. The Intel protocols he had in his tricorder could help locate any extraneous programs by their content, if not the file names and directories.

+No, we don't. With the ship's communications barely functional, we're still establishing chain of command and taking damage reports+ Cass replied, gesturing to Biessman, who was manning tactical, to stop listening and start coordinating the short wave radio network that was being set up across the ship +As soon as I know, though, you'll be the first to find out, Mr. Nong+

Of his own shuttle, he dropped all secondary programs out of active and archive memory, eliminating all navigational data, which accounted for nearly twenty-eight percent of the main core’s memory usage. If successful, they could reload in later in seconds. He entered the commands to systematically purge the remaining data from the isolinear core of the subspace communication processors and waited as the transporter began a sustained low-powered hum. As he watched the sensors, the display of the core, which had been broken up into three-dimensional grids, was wiped of all encoded data.

“Thank you sir,” Ven’r replied, “I’ll be ready to reinitialize the subspace core in two minutes. From there, I can energize the EPS grid locally and link the subspace processors to the subspace array linked between these shuttles. You’ll have communications, with the grace of Q’ey’les, in a short while. I cannot tie it into your consoles with main power down but you’ll have voice address badge communication capability.”

+Thank you, Lieutenant+ Cass said, wiping sweat from his brow +That alone will be vastly appreciated. We're essentially communicating with spit, coat hangers, and hope+

“I’m not really an engineer sir,” Ven’r replied busily as his hands danced over the consoles, “but I know we can do better than that. Though sir,” he cocked his head to one side curiously as he worked, “what is a…’coat hangar’?”

+Uhm... on old earth it was a piece of copper wire twisted into a wide based triangle with a hook at the top, so you could hang coats on it+ Cass explained +Some people used them to replace television antennas...+

As he was speaking the computer of number two shuttle indicated that the scan had been completed of primary files in its section with no anomalies detected. He commanded it to begin the next section and added commands to the others to scan the rest of their sections until all scans were complete or an anomalous file directory or full program had been detected.

+Oh, and before you ask, a televisions an old version of our view screens and monitors+ Cass said, smiling for the first time since the explosion.

“Ah.” Ven’r responded, trying to sound enlightened, likely failing miserably. “Humans have a… ‘distinctive’… use of language.”

"So do Klingons," Cassius grinned again, "I hate to cut this short, Mr. Nong, but I have a lot more to attend to. Keep up the good work."

Then he turned back to the purging of the subspace core, as the console chirped and drew his attention to the process. The purge had completed and now the core had less than .002% of encoded data in place; the root directory remained. It was physically embedded into some of the isolinear processors and couldn’t be removed, or affected, without physically being replaced or altered.

“Acknowledged Commander,” he replied, “listen for a double-strike on your com badges as this will be an alert to you that subspace communication are now available.”

"Thank you," Cass nodded, "Henderson out." Turning up to face Biessman, he watched the other officer shake his head. "Have somebody run and get Ensign Haverlock. With Remur and tr'Khellian on the surface, he's the most capable in your department when it comes to computers."

“Computer, initiate transfer of harmonized impulse plasma from this shuttle’s EPS manifold to the primary EPS relays for the subspace communication core currently targeted by sensors.” The system chirped by reply and the transporter energized again, the steady low hum filling the tiny cockpit. “Initiate subspace core initialization from this source only. Load anti-insurrection protocols from the tricorder files marked with the Klingon character for ‘hunt’.” More chirping and the tricorder lit up like a warp core as the download and accessing began. In a few moments, the scans of the core showed that the programs had been loaded and were initializing, building base structure, finding all connected channels and identifying hardware.

“Computer, divert power from the secondary EPS grid in junction sixteen-sigma on Galaxy to the primary EPS relays in the subspace core processors. Once the relays have taken the power load from the secondary processors, halt shuttle-manifold-to-processor-relay transfer.” More chirping as his commands were initiated, the Galaxy primary computer was offline and couldn’t prevent the subsystem overrides from the shuttle. “Computer, will the Galaxy’s subspace processors and core only run communications through this computer?”

+Affirmative+

“Will Galaxy’s subspace traffic be routed through the subspace arrays of this shuttle and the other three slaved to it?”

+Affirmative+

“Computer, allow only access to the program and the established communications protocols with my clearance or with a higher security clearance than myself. In any case, alert me through my tricorder detailing their identity with a biometric scan, should anyone attempt to do so or override any of these measures.” After the Dominion, he wasn’t taking any chances.

+Affirmative+

“Status of program scans of Galaxy’s primary computer core?” he asked, replicating a large mug of high protein broth. It was something only a Klingon, or someone raised with Klingons would like and it was a favorite of Ven’r’s. He chewed on the Targlet’s eyeball as he turned back.

+Sixteen-point-seven-none percent complete; estimate complete scan in three hours nineteen-point-six minutes+

Plopping down on the primary control couch he sighed gustily and slurped on his Targlet-eye soup and muttered, “’Guess I have a long while to wait.”

+Please restate the command+

“Oh shut up.”

"A Warm Welcome, Part I"

by
Pilot Voss Ferris,
Vanguard Squadron,
USS Galaxy

***Runabout St. Lawrence - Aft Passenger Module***

What a long, strange trip it's been.

It was a human saying, one that Voss Ferris didn't fully understand, but he couldn't deny the wisdom of it. It *had* been a long and very strange trip for him, for as long as he could remember.

Or maybe *this* was the strange part of it? Maybe his new life, so different from the one he had known for so long, was the strange one and his old life was normal? It certainly felt odd, sitting here in the passenger compartment of a Starfleet Logistics Transport Runabout, in his fresh and clean new uniform and on his way to his first posting as an official Starfleet Officer.

It certainly was a far cry from what he was used to. From his existence as a thief and beggar on the streets of Occupied Bajor to his days of living in armed camps with the Resistance and the Maquis, and even his time trapped aboard the USS Voyager, none of it could have prepared him for this...a life of Normalcy. A life where he wasn't fighting for survival, or liberation, or freedom from the law.

Being a productive, law-abiding citizen of the Federation was just plain weird.

Not that he still didn't have his battles to fight. He did, but now they were more...civilized. And far less black & white than before. This shuttle flight was a perfect example.

There were dozens of Runabouts just like this one attached to the Starfleet Logistics Division, all of them used to ferry crewmembers around from posting to posting when other arrangements can't be made. These tiny ships log more hours at warp than some of the exploration cruisers. They also carry an assortment of officers, from different species and different corners of the Federation, across the length and breath of UFP space. It was here, in these small cramped vessels, where the true exploration of the galaxy began for many officers.

In the 7 days that Voss had been onboard the St. Lawrence he had met three other officers being transported to their individual assignments, all long since delivered to their respective destinations. He had also met the two-man crew that operated the ship itself. They had all had plenty of time to get to know each other, and each of them had a different reaction to who and what Voss was.

It had all begun innocently enough. Simple questions about who they were and where they came from, the usual chitchat. Voss did his best to avoid direct answers, not wishing to delve too deeply into his service aboard the Voyager. And then one of the other passengers, a fresh-faced Human Ensign directly out of the Academy, realized that he recognized Voss as one of the "special Cadets"...one of the officers placed in the Academy's accelerated Officer's Training Course that had been designed for the returning Maquis members from Voyager.

That had been on the first day of Voss' seven-day journey. The reactions had been as varied as they had been back at the Academy. The fresh-faced Ensign seemed to have the strongest reaction of the passengers, having heard all the rumors while attending the Academy. But to his credit he didn't show them too often...mostly he avoided Voss as best as he could on the very small Runabout.

Of the other two passengers one was a Vulcan Lieutenant, and he seemed as disinterested in Voss' history as any Vulcan would be. The third was a Tellerite Lieutenant JG, who took great pains to express his opinions of the Maquis, the Voyager, and all subjects that even remotely related to them. By the time he had finished talking, a few days later, Voss was surprised to realize that the Tellerite believed the Maquis to be brave individuals that were only doing what they thought best.

The most hostile, or at least cold-shouldered, reaction came from the St. Lawrence's flight crew. Ensign Williams and Crewman Winters had been piloting this Runabout for 6 months now, and each of them came from families with long histories of service to the Fleet. Apparently each of them had lost relatives to the battles with the Dominion, and they were very proud of their family loyalty to the Federation.

While neither of them came out and actually called Voss a traitor, the implication was certainly there. Ferris' service aboard Voyager only went so far as to earn him a basic level of respect and the courtesy of being left alone in the rear cabin. Once the other three passengers had been delivered to their respective locations, Voss found that he had the cabin pretty much to himself...the crew rarely came aft, and Voss never ventured into the cockpit area.

And so the battles continued. They were different kinds of battles, far less overt than what Voss was used to, but they were battles nonetheless. Three years now and still going strong...he hoped the crew of the Galaxy would be a little more open minded, but he wasn't getting his hopes up.

The St. Lawrence shuddered a little, and Voss looked up from the PADD he had been writing on. It was the telltale sign of warp deceleration, and he knew that they had arrived at last at the Galaxy's location. He stood up, intent on gathering his belonging together in preparation for transport, when the red alert klaxons began to sound.

Without even thinking about the sanctity of the cockpit, Voss ran forward and into the Runabout's command area. The panoramic windows showed a combat scene, with the large Galaxy floating powerless amid numerous blooms of explosive power. Voss could see the weapons being used, some sort of highly charged and self-contained plasma spheres, but he couldn't determine the source. They seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"She's drifting sir." Crewman Winters was saying, obviously to Ensign Williams. "Amid all those asteroids and the weapons fire, she won't stand a chance."

Voss stepped up to stand directly between the two officers. "We need to do something." He said simply.

Williams turned and frowned. "What the hell do you expect us to do? We're a single Runabout."

Voss pointed out of the windows and towards the incoming weapons fire. "Intercept those spheres! We have phasers, use them!"

"We can't stop all of those!" Crewman Winters said.

"Not all of them, no." Voss answered. "But if we can take the pressure off of them, they might be able to get their defensive systems up again."

"We can't fly through there." Williams interjected, ending the debate. "We'll be ripped to shreds."

"I can fly it! Prophets, we need get in there!"

"That's enough!" Williams yelled. "I'm not handing over the helm of this craft to you!"

Voss clenched his fists. "Don't you mean to the likes of me? You can't have some filthy Maquis traitor flying your nice clean Runabout now, can you?"

The argument was cut short before as Winters yelled "Incoming! We've been targeted!"

"Evasive maneuvers, alpha sequence!" Williams answered as he turned back to his console. The Runabout shifted and tilted in space, moving to duck out from the path of the plasma fireball, but the automated evasive tactics were inadequate for dealing with so many stellar bodies. In trying to calculate how to avoid the fireball and the asteroids, it failed to do either.

The runabout maneuvered around one fairly large piece of space rock, only to clip another with it's aft port nacelle housing. As the computer tried to compensate, the fireball erupted against the surface of the first rock, bathing the small vessel in shards of rock and waves of energy. The lights in the cockpit winked out, but the room was illuminated brightly when the console Williams was at exploded violently. Both Ensign Williams and Voss fell backwards and to the deck plating.

It became strangely silent in the cockpit, that odd sort of silence you experience after a massive input of stimuli. Voss slowly came to realize that he was still breathing, and also that he was face down on the deck. He tried to push himself up, but a heavy weight pressed down on him.

"Sir? Ensign Williams, sir?"

The weight on Voss' back lessened, allowing him to move again. He turned over and realized that the weight had been the inert body of Williams, now mostly charred and burned. Winters had pulled the body off and to one side, and he was trying in vain to awaken the dead officer.

Voss got back on his feet and stepped past Winters to the console he had been manning. Damage indicators were flashing...warp drive was gone...SIF generator one was damaged. Shields were at minimum, but other than that they were doing okay. The asteroid had shielded them from the worst of the blast.

"He's dead Crewman." Voss said simply as he laid in a winding course through the edge of the asteroid field that would spiral in towards the Galaxy. "I need you to man the auxiliary console."

There was no response, and Voss turned to see the young Crewman simply sitting on the deck. Winters was barely 20 years old, if that, and obviously way out of his element. Voss, while sympathetic to the Crewman's feelings, just didn't know how to comfort him. Instead he reached out and snapped his fingers in front of Winters' face. It was enough to draw the Crewman's attention to him.

"I'll make this simple for you Crewman. If you don't want to end up like him, you need to get up and get on that auxiliary console. Have you trained in tactical sub-systems?"

Winters muttered something, and then cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah I've trained on them."

"Good. You have weapons then. We're going in to take some of the heat off the Galaxy."

Winters nodded simply and, as if on autopilot, manned the console and called up the tactical sub-systems. Finally he blinked, his higher reasoning taking over again, and asked "But, if we go in...won't we be destroyed?"

"If we don't, the Galaxy will. There are only three of us in here Crewman, and about a thousand people in there. We have to do what we can to take the pressure off. You have tactical, I'll fly us in."

Winters nodded and turned back to his console."Yeah...I mean, yes....sir."

Voss glanced at Winters for a second before looking back at the sensor data. He took a deep breath and toggled off the computer piloting assist sub-routines. With a flick of his fingers, he executed a two-thirds impulse burn and vectored the St. Lawrence in towards the nearest grouping of fireballs on an intercept course.

"Into the battle." He muttered as the phasers began to fire and detonate as many fireballs as they could reach...

~Finding Each Other in the Dark~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Zan Lanaka

OOC - Bracketed dialog translated from Mika'Kardi.

"Lel ka uyalan! Release me! Let me go," Zan screamed. She was floating in the cavity of Lammergeir colony and there had to be at least five people gripping onto her clothes trying to save themselves. The gravity was out and the lights were off. There was no light except that cast by the fires burning wood shrapnel and clothes and curtains and carpet. Oh, ka, the fire! It was spreading like spilt liquid water now that there was no gravity to hold it back, consuming everything, everyone. It was beautiful, Zan thought briefly and she looked down, horrifically beautiful.

"Look, I'm going to move us away from the flames," she shouted over the cries hanging on her ears, realizing they weren't about to let go. She lowered her wings slowly, steadily, fighting the instinct for the quick, forceful flaps that were normally nessecary. They would be more powerful here, which wouldn't nessecarily be bad, but they would fan the liquid fire below sending droplet seeds out to spread.

"Stop pulling! You're safe. Calm down," she spat as a hand tugged on the straps of her head band, "Don't pull on that."

But it didn't stop. They were heading for a bridge walkway, her and her human riders. They would be able to hold onto the railings there, move off by themselves to safety. They were a few meters away when her clausterphobia overpowered her control. She jerked her wings upwards, smashing them into the still air, sudden breaks. The humans holding on did not undergo the same quick change in momentum, they were flung up past her head to the bridge. "Hold on to the railing!" she yelled.

She flapped again, beginning to move away, but not everyone had let go. Whoever was pulling on her head band still had a hold of it and ripped it off her head. Time froze in the moment before panic; the magnetic chip Cutter had given her was rotating off in the zero gravity. Her hand shot out, she had to catch it, but it was flipping away to fast. Then the vertigo struck as the iron of Lammergeir crammed magnetic directions of every which way into her mind. She contorted, her body spasmed and spun in the darkness as it instinctually tried to reorient itself.

After a couple of tries, her arm found her left breast and tapped the Starfleet communicator attached there. "<Cutter! Help!>" But all she could hear was high pitched static.

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

"Stay behind me!" Cutter ordered to the mass of people behind him. He stood at the front of an open cafe, or held himself there, technically. He couldn't stand in the lack of gravity, he had to push against the top of the large open door, pressing his feet against the ground. He was the door now, the only shield between the people in the cafe and the river of fire rushing towards them.

What was it even burning? It didn't look like there was any fuel, it was just flowing towards them, an independent entity of its own. So bright, the yellows and oranges and reds and whites, specks of blue, it flooded his vision, everything else was black. He should be freaking out, he should fly away, save himself, but Starfleet had brainwashed him well. Protect, his mind screamed, save at all costs.

So, he tried his best. His white wings were outstretched to either side and as the tidal wave of fire rushed towards him, he swung them forwards, shoving the air away. It worked, the fire rolled away to the sides, it worked, briefly. Liquid cannot be controlled so easily, it began to flow back, so he beat his wings again, blowing the fire back once more.

He was losing his grip, his wings were exerting a force capable of lifting over twice his body weight, his hands and the friction of his sandals weren't going to be enough to hold him in place. "Help!"

Suddenly, he felt a pressure in the small of his back. Cutter whipped his head back, startled. A man, Starfleet, in a yellow uniform, had wedged himself between Cutter and support column in the cafe. He flapped again, continuing his tenuous battle with the flames and it was easier, with this new support. "Thanks," Cutter said.

"No problem, just don't bash me with those. I saw your friend fight in the tournament, I wouldn't want to be konked in the head with that kind of power, its not as thick as Ex'ch's," the man joked. Joked! To the man standing between him and death. It took all of Cutter's concentration to not flee, and this man was joking. Then, "Keep doing what your doing, Jessica is looking for something to fight the fire with."

Good, Cutter thought, he was losing the fight. The fire was finding ways to leak through, hugging the ground like Cutter himself had done earlier when the sun window burst. Then, an explosion of white cold erupted from between his legs. An extinguisher! In a few moments, the fire near them was dead, the cloud dispersed and the flames were locked away by the white foam coating on the surfaces between them. It was dark again.

"Take care of these people," Cutter said to the shadows behind him, "I have to find my friends."

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

"<Zan! Arkedi! Can you hear me?>" A voice hit Zan's ears. Ka! Cutter! She shouted out through the spinning world, "<Cutter! Cutter, help me!>"

"<Zan and Arkedi! Hopefully you can hear me. I can't hear you. The Galaxy's communications array must be down, our communicator pins are functioning normally. You must switch it over to standard radio mode.>"

He wasn't here, Zan realized, he was somewhere else. He was giving her instructions, to what? To modify her communicator?

"<You have to remove the front plating and tap the white button twice. It is at the top of the pin, near the point of the chevron, to the left of the transiever assembly. You may have to use an earring pin to reach it. This will put our pins in direct radio contact and will allow you to speak to me or anyone else within the 500 meter range.>"

She had to press a white button with an earring pin, in near blackness as her magnetic field sensing milir was going haywire? She was afraid to try, afraid of losing her communcator along with her magnet. But she had to, she had to try. She reached down for the pin, missing it twice before finding it and ripped it from her shirt. Holding it between her two thumbs and a finger in her left hand, she pried off the cover and then tried to find her ear with her right. Her reality was so distorted, ever changing, she felt like a cubist painting, nothing was where it was supposed to be and everything seemed to be moving around; she wanted to vomit and was suddenly surprised she hadn't yet. Finally, her hand touched her ear and grabbed on, afraid of losing it again. Her fingers managed to pull the earring out, ripping the lobe as jerked away to a different spot on her head.

There was a little light from various souces in the asteroid, perhaps enough to see this button, but she couldn't focus her eyes. She didn't know how powerful her milir was, it was distorting her vision. North was in every direction, aligned with south, perpendicular, parallel, shifting, curving in circles. So were lines, points, whipping about in her field of view as if she were on an amusement park ride. She slammed her hands together and touched her wrists to her nose, using the stable sensation of touch to correct her sight. It was too dark, she couldn't tell where this button was, so she felt around with the needle of her jewelry, searching for a hole, a depression.

"<Arkedi? Zan? One of you did it, you switched the pin to direct radio mode,>" Cutter said, his voice erupting suddenly from the pin held at the bridge of Zan's nose. She dropped the earring, letting it float away, and jammed a finger into the open communicator.

"<Cutter! Cutter, can you hear me?>"

"Sema," he replied, "<Hello, Zan. Good work, now tell me where you're at.>"

"<Cutter, help! I lost my magnet! My milir, its, ka! It hurts.>"

"<Zan>," Cutter shouted through the communicator, "<Zan, hold the communicator to your forehead. It has some magnets in it, it may help.>" She did, and it did, a little. It pulled north forwards, like the magnet before, but it wasn't as strong. She could still feel the random fields from the asteroid's iron, but the chaos had dropped to a background noise. She gasped in relief, breathing heavily, uncontrollably; she must have been partially holding her breath before.

"<Thank you, it does help.>"

"<Good. Where are you at?>"

"<I don't know,>" she replied, "<I floated up when the gravity went off, above the walkway you pushed me to. There were people hanging on me, trying to escape the fire. I carried them to another walkway, but I don't see it anymore. I don't know.>"

"<Can you see the fire?>"

"<Which one?>" she asked, looking around her. There were a number of fires visable at different parts of the colony.

"<Okay. That helps actually. I think I can find you. Stay where you are. Look for my wings, you should be able to see my white easier than I can see your green.>"

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

She had to have flown off this way, Cutter thought as he made his way through the open space above where he fought the fire. There were a number of walkways, he looked around each of them as he passed. She should be around here somewhere. He looked around, he was equidistant from most of the fires now raging in the colony. It was dark, he was too far away from any of the deadly light sources to see anything by silhouettes, and everything was black, no color.

"<Cutter,>" Zan suddenly spoke over the communicator, "<I think I can see you.>"

He stopped his movement as best as he could and floated there; his wings were open as wide as possible, two great white flags in the darkness. "<Good. I'm not moving, come towards me.>"

He didn't see her until she was upon him, grabbing his body with her arms and legs and wings. "<Cutter, ka! I've never been more happy to see you!>"

"<How's your milir?>"

"<Still hurts, the world is still spinning, but the communicator helps.>"

"<Good, here,>" Cutter said, removing the magnetic chip from his head band and replacing the communicator in Zan's with it. He removed his communicator and slipped it into his and then reattached Zan's pin to her shirt.

"<You can handle yourself without out it?>"

"Sema," he said. "<I had to learn to cope without in training. Its difficult, but I can probably manage better than you can.>"

"<Where's Arku?>"

"<I don't know. He never responded. The colony is a little under a kilometer wide, and he got pretty far away from us when the window broke. He could be out of range.>" Or worse, but Cutter didn't mention that. "<We can try to look for him, or at least move around the colony, hopefully get into radio range with him. But we should stick together until the lights come back on.>"

Zan was about to respond, when the two Fruna'lin were flooded in light. They looked over, at the source, a spot light. It passed over them and they could see what it was attached to. A Starfleet shuttlecraft. From the Galaxy.

"<Lets go,>" Cutter stated, grabbing Zan's arm and dragging her along as he flew towards it.

OOC: Takes place about 15 minutes before "Rain of Fire"

"So Much for the Bar..."

By
Kylar Curran,
Ex Liaison Officer

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Muliple-Personalitied Current Pilot

Ensign Colby Elliot,
Stooge #3

Lieutenant Kettch,
Everyone's Favorite Teddy Bear

Colby moved into the place and had a look around, it looked like a shit hole, but it also had drinks and enough drinks could make even a shit hole look good. Colby looked down to Kettch, "I'm afraid to talk to them 'cause I can't fucking remember which one is Corran and which one is Curren," he said with a horse chuckle.

Curran had slipped up to the far end of the inn bar, where a rather large male with an enormous protuberance for a nose was wiping down dirty glasses with an equally grungy cloth that may have been white in its earlier incarnation. Now it was a grimy grey.

"Barkeep." He was ignored. "Barkeep." A little louder, but still ignored.

"You need to be flashier." Another dirty, odorous fellow slung himself up onto a broken stool beside Curran, spun out a strip of latinum, and glinted it off the dull light. Instantly the bartender halted his useless task of wiping down the murky, debris encased tankard, to sidle to the new patron. He had an eyepatch, greased back hair, and a rather large hairy wart growing out of his neck.

"What'll you have, Curran?" The Kelvan squinted a brow. This must be his contact. He didn't look any different from the other calloused folk who drowned their sorrows in the bar.

"Altairian water."

"We don't serve that here. Only grog."

"Give us two, Newburn." He handed over the strip, but snatched it away before he could take it. "In your best glasses. You know the ones."

Newburn grabbed the strip and bit down with his one good tooth. Guess he did it often.

"I don't drink alcohol." The grog had arrived as the Kelvan made the statement.

"You'll drink it, or we don't have a deal. Otherwise, as dumb as the patrons here are, they'll know something is up if you don't drink. Now, haul it." His contact slugged back the contents of the tankard, gesturing for a refill.

Curran swirled the dark liquid around. It had a pungent odor. Not wanting to make offend the contact, he drank it deeply. Sometimes being a diplomat was not as endearing as many people thought it was. It burned down his throat, making him dizzy momentarily.

"I have your goods. Do you have payment?" Another tankard back. Curran's was refilled.

"Yes. He slipped open his satchel slowly, so as not to draw attention. Withdrawing his family sigil, he slid it across the wooden surface.

"It was all I was able to obtain on short notice." He picked up his drink, and was able to draw back half its contents.

"It'll do. Kelvan sigils command a decent profit. Lots of high-priced mineral embedded in the logo." The contact nodded, pocketing it. He tossed back another tankard, gesturing to Curran to do the same, which he regretfully attended to. Another pair met the two men.

"No more..." Curran had the beginnings of a slur. Things were getting dizzy. "My goods?"

"Already in your packsack, Kelvan. It was nice doing business with you." With that, he got up to leave, but not before Kylar gripped his arm.

"Check goods." He opened the packsack, and to his amazement, the vial was in there. He popped the cap with his one hand, and saw it half-full.

"Satisfied? Now let me go before I tear that arm off you."

"This is only half. I was promised a full order." The Kelvan stood on his feet, staggering in his spot.

"Are you trying to cheat me, Kelvan? We agreed on the order. Prices had gone up, and that was what I was able to bring."

"You're a liar!" Curran's face contorted into anger as he knew this supply would only last him a month at best.

"I've had enough of you, slug." The brute's hands came out of nowhere to grip the Kelvan around his throat to lift him off the floor.

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