"Swimmingly"

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard One

Lieutenant Kettch,
Vanguard Ten

Unauthorized use of Legate Kylar Curran

Corran watched as the kelvan saddled up to the bar, to take care of his own business. Colby seemed to have somewhere to go as well, so the two pilots were left with nothing more than a table, some off-duty time, and a bar full of things to waste pay on.

"So," Kettch piped up from a height around the Trill's waist. "We've got a table, some off-duty time, and a bar full of things to waste pay on."

"You know," Rex replied with a grin, "I was just thinking the same thing."

"And why aren't we drunk yet?" the Kowe asked.

"I was wondering that, too." came the response. "Let's do something about that, shall we? Waitress! "

------------------------------- Forty-two minutes and several exotic liquors later..... -------------------------------

Corran watched - sort of - as he saw Curran's altercation at the bar begin. As he tried to shake off the effects, it became quite clear that t was not, in fact, synthehol they'd been drinking.

He saw Kettch come to both similar conclusions.

It's a well-known stereotype of starfighter pilots that they like to frequent bars a great deal. There is, however, a reason stereotypes become such. Because, more often than not, there is an element of truth in them somewhere.

What this meant was that both Rex and Kettch, as experienced pilots, were also experienced drinkers, and experienced barhoppers. And as the truly experienced bar-hopper will tell you, there's some sort of strange signal in the air that precedes a bar fight.

That was what had the two of them standing and heading towards the Kelvan, even as the large man next to the Legate took the first swing.

It was, of course, all downhill from there.

It was a rather nice brawl, all in all. Corran actually used a bar stool on someone as a weapon - a first - and Kettch quite frequently took advantage of his height to damage his opponents in somewhat... Sensitive areas.

It was going swimmingly when someone decided to muck it all up by attacking the Troyer colony. Unknown to the residents there, of course, the Lammergier colony was undergoing the selfsame problems.

The fight in the bar stopped as the occupants came to realize that it wasn't just them shaking. They began to filer out, and word started filtering around. The Troyer compound had been attacked, and there was no doubt who was responsible. Corran looked at Curran a moment, "Coming, Legate? We've got to get back into space. Things just got nasty in this neck of the woods."

The Kelvan shook his head. "I'll stay, Lieutenant. I'll be of more use here."

"You call. Keep an eye on Colby. I get the notion he'll be safer here."

Curran merely nodded, as the two pilots took off in a (slightly staggered) run towards the docking bay where their fighters were located....

"way to freedom"

by
Turan Trelar
juvenile Quentite ambassador and illiterate

(occurs immediately before 'first aid')

An eternity seemed to have passed by since the lift stuck. Till now, no attempt had been made to get him out of his misery. Again, Turan tapped his commbadge.

"Hello? Is anybody out there?"

No answer.

Turan looked around in the small, almost dark room that kept him imprisoned. Whoever constructed the giant space ship should have spent a few thoughts about manually operating the lift or at least about leaving it when stuck. Finally, the young Quentite's eyes fell on a sign palely glowing at the lift's ceiling. Unfortunately the sign was not written in Quentinarish and the translator they gave him only worked fine for spoken words.

"E - M - E - R - O - E - N - C - Y", Turan guessed every letter and then repeated

"EMEROENCY"

=/\= tweedle-beep ... unable to translate word =/\= reacted the small comm badge in Quentinarish.

"EMEROENCY" retried Turan.

Again, the tiny translator commbadge didn't seem to have any idea about the word Turan read.

"Ok, again ... E - M - E - R - O ... wait, that's not an O, an O is a closed circle. This is a ... G."

Turan shook his head. What a silly mistake.

"EMERGENCY"

This time, the translator told the Quentinarish student what he already expected. Turan continued deciphering the sign. I took another two minutes until Turan proudly spoke the last word.

"RIGHT"

Turan re-read the whole sign:

"EMEGENCY EXIT to open pull handle and turn right"

The Quentite boy sighed, grabbed the half circular handle, pulled then slowly turned it.

'pffft' a rectangular lid opened followed by the 'clack-clack-clack-clack' of an unfolding ladder.

The door to freedom was open.

NRPG: A Simple Intro to the Merc Crew I came up they are going to be part of Klaus' Subplot, primarily because of their Captain. They are on the Troyer Payroll.

"Preparations"

Gunther Engleman,
Captain of "The Huntsman"
Shaka Il'kendria'sha(Andorian),
First mate and Lead Raider of "The Huntsman"
Jim "Palooka" Weir,
Weapons and Sensors officer of "The Huntsman"
Testka "Eagle"(Bolian),
Helmsman Communications of "The Huntsman"
Ian "Mick" McFallon,
Engineer of "The Huntsman"

Location: Troyer Staging Area.

"The Huntsman" is a ship with somewhat of a rich history. You see, she is the very same ship that engaged the USS Enterprise D and allowed The Enterprise's Captain, Captain Jean-Luc Picard to stop a Romulan spy from attaining a powerful psionic weapon. Following the detainment of her crew, she was placed in a Federation Depot, and later a Junkyard, where she was auctioned off for a cheap cost in 2380.

And here she is, new Mercenary Crew, New, Dangerous, Captain.

Bridge, "The Huntsman":

"Hey Cap'n. Why are we just sitting aroung doin nuthin!"
Palooka sat at his weapons station, nervous as hell, waiting for something to happen.

Gunther sat in his chair, contemplating, anticipating.

The Bolian Female in the Helm Station turned to Gunther. "Captain. What are we doing? Haven't those Troyer People sent the Deployment Orders yet?"

Palooka shifted around in his chair. "Yea Cap'n. Come on!"

Gunther spoke finally. "Yes, We are still awaiting the Deployment orders. But something about that Federation Ship is bothering me. I know Dr. Fienberg isn't stupid enough to stay on the same ship. I keep getting reports that he is still assigned to the same vessel, but it may very well be a trick."

Shaka came up from Crew Quarters and addressed Gunther. "Gunther. You talk about this Dr. Fienberg all the time...and yet never try to find him."

Gunther had a frightening look in his eyes. The Eyes of Madness, and Eternal Hatred. "Because I want to Hurt him. I and want to continue hurting him. Then Revive, then beat him to within an inch of his life, and watch as he helplessly dies the same way he left me to die."

Mick was wandering around, making sure everything was ready for combat. "Ya know boss, sometimes you scare me."

Gunther swivelled his chair to face Mick. "Do I frighten you."

Mick was visibly scared. "Yea. Ya do. To be honest...I Think you're a sadistic sonofabitch."

Gunther Swivelled around, still smiling his wick smile. "Good.....good. Make sure we are combat ready." He turned to Palooka. "Palooka, have you been able to get a visual look on that Federation Ship's Registry."

"Hey, Cap'n I'd scan'em if you weren't so paranoid about that."

"If we scan them, they might pertain us as a threat." Gunther looked over at his XO. "Shaka, if neccesary, we may be required to take another Ship. Prepare our boarding equipment and Transporters." Turning to Eagle. "Eagle, Bring us within Range of the Lead Troyer Vessel and prepare to hail them on my signal. I too and curious to why we are waiting."

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

"The argument goes something like this: `I refuse to prove that I exist,' says God, `for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.'

"`But,' says Man, `The Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and so therefore, by your own arguments, you don't. QED.'

"`Oh dear,' says God, `I hadn't thought of that,' and promptly vanished in a puff of logic.

"We Didn't Start The Fire"

Primary Characters:
Admiral Niklaus Vilheimis
Commodore Hunter Reddinger
Captain Morriane Pev'nimal
Captain Alina Drayson
Commander Cassius Henderson

Secondary Characters:
Commander Jessika Trasseur
Lieutenant JG Cameron Bartlett
Lieutenant JG Maggie Pike
Ensign Robert Biessman

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
DNS Reform

Commodore Reddinger wrung his hands. Attacking the Troyer fleet in it's home territory wasn't something he'd ever wanted to do. Statistically, they would soon be sailing to their deaths. 'Admiral' Vilheimis, the mercenary who had become his opposite, commanded an Ambassador-Class starship, as well as a fleet of mercenary and Troyerite support ships. His own fleet numbered a pair of Miranda-Class escorts and thirteen modified freighters of varying types.

Gryphon had no military tradition of it's own. Technical schools on Lammergeir supplied the enlisted crew, leading to lack of discipline. Officers were either mercenary or trained off world at the Ciutric Naval Academy or the Sorvens Defense Force Officer's College, often spending time in either the Ciutric Navy or the Sorvens Defense Force.

Hunter Reddinger was Gryphon's premier tactician. He'd been trained for two years at Sorvens DFOC and spent another four years serving in the SDF. He followed this with another two years at Starfleet's Advanced Tactical College in Glasgow. At the age of 26, he returned to Gryphon and took his role as tactical officer on the DNS Lammergeir. Nearly 40 years later, Reddinger was the Drayson Institute's naval commander.

The venerable officer turned to Commander Trasseur, his executive officer. He wasn't beaten. Not yet. When Vilheimis had brought the Grass Snake to Gryphon, he'd immediately begun planning for the worst.

"Jess," he addressed the young woman. He'd known her as an adolescent. They grew up so fast, "Contact the Yards and order them to bring the Trojan Horse online."

"Sir?" Commander Jessika Trasseur looked up, confused. So far he'd said nothing since he'd arrived on the bridge. He'd simply stared out into space.

"You heard me, Jess," the white-haired commander replied, "Bring the Horse online and give Captain Drayson the go ahead. Director Drayson has ordered a retributive strike on the Troyer Fleet." The expected hush fell over the bridge. Times were tense, but nobody had ever expected civil war. Of course, six months before, terrorism had been a foreign concept. Now, the resentment and hatred was about to boil over, and all they could do was be swept away by it and try to stay alive.

So much for Federation peacekeepers, Hunter thought bitterly.

"Well," he said, giving his crew a disapproving look, "Don't just stand there. Be about it." Reddinger sat down and watched the viewscreen again. Across the rock-filled void, the TNS Grass Snake sat over Troyer, monitoring freighter traffic.... and Reddinger's fleet.

****

Command Center,
Deck 6,
Drayson Naval Yards

Captain Alina Drayson, Director Justin's niece, stepped onto the deck of the Command Center, beret tucked under her arm. Awakened from her sleep shift, she'd been ordered to meet with Commodore Danath, immediately.

She was curious and apprehensive as she approached the Commodore. Her role in the fleet was known only to Commodore Danath and Commodore Reddinger. She was the sole officer assigned to Operation: Trojan Horse, which was currently inactive.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked as she came to attention next to Danath's chair.

"We've been given new orders," Danath replied, handing her a PADD, "Your uncle has ordered a retributive strike. Commodore Reddinger wants to use Trojan Horse as his opener."

Alina was shocked. She had suspected that her uncle would want blood, but had thought that he would have waited to be sure of the target. "Was there any explanation?"

"Your cousin was killed in the attack. Commodore Reddinger's people believe that the attack came from the Troyer region of the belt. So we're under orders to attack," Danath said tersely, "Go. Take the DNS Progress and get underway."

Alina nodded numbly and walked out the door.

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
TNS Grass Snake

Captain Morriane Pev'nimal looked up and cast a languid glance back at Admiral Niklaus Vilheimis, flicking her forked tongue to get his attention. "Klaus, what do you suppose that freighter is doing?"

Vilheimis frowned and straightened his black leather uniform. Looking down at the traffic control feeds, he noted a freighter that was out of place. "Guns, hail the freighter Troyer Horse," he ordered. That couldn't be right? What the hell was a Troyer Horse? And why was it steering toward them?

"No response," the man at the tactical station reported.

"I don't like this, Klaus. We should take them out," Morriane said, shifting nervously in her chair. With the attacks on the conference, everyone was expecting some sort of reprisal... Though one Antares-Class Freighter was probably not it.

"Target their engines," Vilheimis ordered.

"What the... they're not there..." the gunnery officer reported. Vilheimis and Morriane had just enough time to look up before the tactical officer yelped, "SHIT!"

Then the world turned to fire.

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
USS Galaxy

Cassius and his crew looked on in horror and shock as the events unfolded before them. Their sensors had only been restored to them a few minutes before. On the restored viewscreen, Henderson watched as the Grass Snake turned to fire on the freighter, as the freighter leaped to warp and reappeared next to the Grass Snake.

And the DNS Troyer Horse accelerated into the side of the stardrive section of the TNS Grass Snake. A massive explosion filled the screen, and it darkened to keep the Galaxy's bridge crew from being blinded. When the light faded, all that remained was a burning, twisting hulk of wreckage. The port half of the once proud Ambassador-Class starship had been burned away by the explosion, and one nacelle looked to have been vaporized. The saucer section had been ripped from the stardrive, and the bottom was covered in fire.

Drayson had struck back.

Cassius stood. The Galaxy was still too weak to take into combat. "Mr. Biessman, contact Flight Officer Heloi and order her to take whatever fighters and shuttles she can and render aid to that ship's crew."

"Aye, sir," Biessman replied.

"Sir," Cameron Bartlett at Ops said, getting Cass' attention, "You'd better take a look at this. I don't think it's over yet."

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
DNS Reform

It had gone off without a hitch. Captain Drayson had piloted the DNS Troyer Horse in by remote, from the pilot's station of the DNS Progress, a stock Antares-Class freighter. Defended by state of the art sensor jammers provided by Colonel Kensington, the Troyer Horse' payload of explosives had gone undetected until it was too late. One very precise microjump later, and Alina had accelerated their 'Trojan Horse' into the side of the enemy vessel, and then remotely detonated it.

Hunter Reddinger was... not pleased. How could he be pleased when he'd just destroyed a ship that was half crewed by his own countrymen? At least Vilheimis and Morriane would be gone now, but... They hadn't had a chance.

~Which is what you wanted,~ he reminded himself, ~No chance for them, so that your men will have a chance in the coming battle.~

Turning to Commander Trasseur, who was looking on with a pale face, he stood and gave the order, "Signal the fleet, Jess. Order them to deploy fighters, and proceed according to plan."

"DNS Vindication"

"Vindication to Drayson fleet. We are in position. Awaiting orders."

The Drayson war machine, though dwarfed by even one fleet in the Starfleet arsenal, was nonetheless an impressive armada if witnessed firsthand. Gathered together in a spherical formation, the Drayson fleet prepared for war.

Many of the vessels were a various smattering of civilian vessel conversions, merely transport vessels and pleasure cruisers with disruptors slapped onto the sides, and haphazardly wired to the the matter/anti-matter reactor, while photon torpedo pods were welded to the ship's hulls.

Only a few of the warships were actually warships, and only made so by name. The Drayson fleet, much like their Troyer counterparts, had a few formerly decommissioned starships in their inventory. The ships of choice for the Gryphonian fleets were Federation vessels. Robust, reliable, and built to last, a Starfleet ship could operate well beyond obsolecence. And when they were obsolete, they were also very, very cheap.

After the Dominion War, older vessels that were pulled from the junkyards and reserve fleets were once again shelved. Perfectly good (if obsolete) ships that weren't felled by Jem'Hadar fighters were sold to help fund the fleet's modernization. Some were too damaged to be used, and sold.

This was the history of the DNS Vindication, like many other vessels in the Drayson fleet. Vindication was actually two New Orleans Class vessel, formerly the USS Shreveport and USS Baton Rouge. Shreveport was part of the 8th fleet before... and during its massacre, and the Baton Rouge was disabled during the Chin'toka landings. One ships saucer section was still usable, while the other had a perfectly repairable engineering section. Cutting the two ships in half and pasting them together created a perfectly usable vessel, or a 'chop shop job' as the engineers in Starfleet would say. The chop shop job was executed by Drayson fleet authorities, after purchasing the two starship corpses from Federation shipyards.

The result, the DNS Vindication, turned out to be one of the more modern vessels in the Drayson fleet. The New Orleans class, though a throwback from original Cardassian War era, was still used in fleets today, and the Draysons saw the opportunity to get such a relatively modern vessel as a godsend. Overall, the Vindication was more than enough of a match compared to the usual Constellations, Excelsiors and Mirandas.

Captain Marcus Stern, commander of the Vindication, looked out his viewscreen, to see the sea of duranium steel set to light the Troyerites on fire. Old Federation vessels, now part of the great Drayson offensive, given one last shot at glory. The Antares transport and their escorts in the back, holding the landing troops destined to find their glory on the ground.

"About time." Stern grumbled, his heart swelling with pride. Captain Stern, affected by the previous attack by relatives that were at the reception with the Starfleet representatives, thirsted for revenge.

All that was needed was the word of Commodore Redinger, the order that would bring about the maelstrom of war.

((OOC: Takes place directly before Francis' latest post))

"Eyes of the Storm"

Primary Characters:

Flight Officer Jasmine "Jazz" Heloi Flight Officer (reinstated)
T'Shani "Forgehammer" A'Akledorian
Flight Officer "Angel" Angelienia
Pilot "Blue" Tyten
Pilot Heather "Diamondback" Lewis
Flight Officer David "Starbuck" West
Pilot Kell "Wraith" Tainer Pilot Voss "Prophet" Ferris

****

[Fighter Country]

When Jasmine reached the fighter bay after her brief talk with Cass and instructing the engineer and the operations officer on what needed to be done, she made a beeline for the fighter pilot briefing area. She knew that the other pilots were most likely gathered inside to wait for her orders. The knowledge that she, without Rex's presence, led the squadron was rather humbling but being the actress that she was it did not show in her face.

When Heloi entered the briefing room, the other pilots were gathered in small groups discussing current events. Jazz cleared her throat slightly and gestured for the others to take a seat, "As I'm sure you're all aware, the Galaxy has been attacked by parties unknown. The blast has taken out external communications and sensor arrays, which means the ship is both deaf and blind. What we're going to do is become the ship's eyes and ears by linking our fighters' sensors in an array. All you'll need to do is open your comm channels for ship to ship with the Galaxy. The necessary modifications have already been made both to the fighters and to the Galaxy's systems.

"We don't know what's out there, so I want wingmen to stick together until we reach our positions. I'm going to need pilots situated here," she called up a holographic display of the Galaxy and she pointed to the equivalent of the cardinal directions in turn, "We're down three since Rex, Kettch and A'Akledorian are off ship, but that does not mean we cannot compensate. I will need two officers to be scouts once we ascertain the situation. Volunteers?"

Angelienia looked around the room, eying the pilots present. She'd only flown live combat with them once, and really knew most of them only by name, had no idea what they were capable of yet. That made the choice easy. "Me," she said quietly, as she raised her hand.

Kell gulped slightly. This would be his first actual space engagement. (Though the Lieutenant claimed there'd been some too-do with some other Starfleet ships a few months back - which, there had been - but Tainer had no memory of the event, so he was fairly certain it didn't count. He did know that the Lieutenant was his wingmate, and he was, at the moment, unaccounted for. The only thing that he had going for him now was that Rex had drilled them all so often, he at least *felt* like a real pilot.

"Hey, Jazz. What about the new guy that came in right after the Lieutenant left the ship? The Bajoran? Shouldn't we use him, too?"

As if on cue the doors to the briefing room opened. A haggard and bloodied Bajoran male entered, holding what appeared to be a rag cut from a uniform to his forehead in an attempt to stanch the bleeding from a nasty gash over his left eye.

"That 'Bajoran' would be me." He muttered unhappily. "Pilot Voss Ferris, reporting for duty."

Jasmine arched an eyebrow at the state of the man who had just entered the room. That was when she recalled that he had been due to arrive that day, but, with the insanity of the day so far it had slipped her mind. "Pilot Vos, what happened to you?"

Voss brought the rag down from his wound and dropped it on the table with a wet *splurch* sound. "I was in a runabout, trying to provide a fighter screen. When I arrived the Galaxy was being pelted with some sort of energized plasma charges. I took a few out before the damage to the runabout became too much. Some Lieutenant in one of your shuttles was able to beam me and my co-pilot out."

"Ah. Welcome to Vanguard Squadron. Take a seat, Pilot, while I continue the briefing," Jasmine ordered, gesturing towards one of the empty chairs. With the addition of Voss, they were now only one pilot short which was excellent news.

Still limping from the repairs made to his previously broken leg, Tyten smiled as he raised his hand. "Unless you need me some where else, I'll take," he said as he looked at Jasmine for a response.

From the back, a door slid open then closed, admitting a thinned, muted figure into the nether reaches of the room. She stood there for a minute while Jasmine cleared her throat and began to address the congregation of pilots, unaware of the lone figure's presence.

Truthfully, *she* had no idea why she had returned, not even hours before, via a transport from Lammergier before the attacks. But she was here now, granted temporary reinstatement into Vanguard Squadron, with the help of some 'higher-ups' that Tanner knew.

The figure stepped forward, the blue-glow washing over her features and illuminating her from the shadows.

"Where do you want me, Jasmine?" T'Shani A'Akledorian - finally *home* -asked in a still, small voice.

Angelienia blinked. She'd never considered T'Shani beautiful before, but now, after whatever she'd been through, she looked more like a returning EPW than the pilot she'd flown with. Whatever had happened to her while she was off ship hadn't been anything that Angelienia thought she'd want to experience.

That voice was chilling, Heather Lewis thought from her place next to Sanoe Nani. It wasn't the same brash, aggressive, in-your-face T'Shani A'Akledorian that anyone remembered. And truthfully, Heather had no idea what the Andorian pilot could possibly be doing here. Hadn't she been off to rejoin the marines?

Jasmine blinked in shock at the rather, well, demure Andorian. It was not the same T'Shani that she remembered, almost as if the demons that had been haunting her had won some sort of interior battle.

The Betazoid examined the other pilot for a moment before she responded to the question. It was as if she were looking at one of the Tanalya of her people's mythology. The Tanalya were shades, wraiths, and mere shadows of the people they once were...and that was how T'Shani appeared to her.

Tish flicked her antenna briefly, prompting Heloi out of whatever held her tongue, while looking at the rest of the assembled Vanguard pilots. Thankfully, Rex was not here; he'd no-doubt have something to say about her 'return'. "Well, Jazz?" she looked Jasmine straight in the eyes - not to challenge, but in waiting for her response.

"You," Jasmine said, pointing at the holographic display, "Will be stationed here, in the metaphorical 'front' of the ship. Blue, Angel, the two of you will proceed on the scouting mission as soon as we determine what we're up against out there. Hold to these positions," she indicated the region near the nacelles which was close to the fighter bay, "until we make certain our enemy isn't, literally, right next door. For the rest of you, remember, the priority is to keep the Galaxy informed. Sensors, communications, etcetera are all relying on our 'array.' Keep to your wingmen as much as possible. Are there any questions?"

"Who are we up against? Any ideas?" Angelienia asked. "Romulans again? Mercenaries? Something else?"

"That's something for us to find out when we get out there. Without sensors, all we have is useless speculation. I suspect that we're dealing with local dissidents but I cannot be sure. This region of space is rather prime property, which could tempt anyone," Jasmine replied with a brief shrug, "Anything else?"

"No, Ma'am," Tish responded quietly, as she leaned back into the cloak of darkness in the room.

"Alright, get geared up and to your fighters. We launch in ten," Heloi ordered.

"Okay," Heather said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She'd wait until the others were on their way. Truthfully, she admired Jasmine Heloi, for her strength and charisma. The simple mechanic's daughter hadn't exactly ever exhibited those qualities.

Tyten was getting excited. He felt a surge of adrenaline running through his veins at the anticipation of what might lay ahead. "I feel the need! The need for..." he was cut short by a sharp look from Jasmine. He mentally chided himself. Sometimes his excitement got the better of him. Normally his wingman appreciated his sense of humor, but given the gravity of the situation, he knew it was better left for another time.

Kell chuckled slightly at the gregarious Bolian's enthusiasm. (Though gregarious was, perhaps, an unneeded adjective when describing a Bolian. They were all that way. At least, so it seemed. Clapping a hand on Blue's back, Wraith commented. "Well. At least you've got your wingmate. God only knows what the Lieutenant and Kettch have gotten themselves into."

Tyten smiled at Kell's comment. "And thank goodness for her. Not every pilot that gets to have a wingman as skilled or good looking as mine. Even famous for that matter. Deadly combination, you know." He spoke low enough that Jasmine wouldn't hear him. "I hope that the Lieutenant and Kettch are alright," he tried to get back to business, but it was too much for him. He had always lived his life trying to lighten up tense situations with some form of humor or another. This time was no different. "Ah, Kettch," he paused for a moment as if lost in thought, "something about that little furry guy makes me want to just reach over and pinch his cheeks! Though," he added with a laugh, "I wouldn't recommend it. The first and only time I tried, I nearly lost a finger."

Angelienia frowned as she settled into the cockpit of her fighter, hands working their way through the pre-flight sequence automatically. More new people, more unknowns to fly with against an unknown opponent - and she couldn't stop thinking about Krieghoff, and the way he'd looked at her in his bed, the way his voice had slipped under her skin and pushed her into what had been the most powerful release of her life. Nothing else had ever been close to it, not even the thrill of flying live combat. The fear, the need, the knife's edge anticipation... it had left everything else behind.

He was on the asteroid now, taking a team in to retrieve the diplomats and crew. He might be killed - though she secretly doubted anything could do that unless he let it - or hurt at this very moment. She might never get the chance to explain, to try and find a way to make him see they were made for each other, that no one could ever please him the way she could. She might never... "Launching," she said aloud, startling herself as her body took the fighter out into the blackness of space while her thoughts were miles away, forcing her to push her dreams and fears aside and concentrate on what she was doing. Someone was out here, someone that had tried to kill Krieghoff, and she couldn't allow that. He was hers, and no one was going to take him away from her.

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

At the proscribed ten minute mark, Vanguard Squadron - Only a pilot light thanks to the recent addition of Voss Ferris, who was temporarily flying as Vanguard Thirteen, and winging with Kell, shot out of Galaxy's launch bay.

Jasmine drew in a breath as the impact of the damage on the colony "beneath" the Galaxy hit her. It only took her a split second before she was giving out orders, "Take your positions. Start scanning, and shunt the data to the Galaxy." Heloi took a quick glance at her scanner and nodded slightly at the read out. Deeming it 'safe' for the scouts to depart, she continued, "Angel, Blue, you have a go. Don't take any risks out there and keep your comm lines open."

"Acknowledged." Wraith replied, and kicked the thrusters to full and the impulse drive to an eighth, just to give that extra quick. The expanse of the Galaxy, even injured as she was, was still a beautiful sight below him. Well, except for that third nacelle. Shaking his head, he took another glance out his canopy, and hit the comm. "Hey, new guy." he said, looking at Vanguard Thirteen, who flying next to him. "You got a Callsign?"

Voss didn't bother to crane his neck to look over at the other fighter. He maintained his focus on the controls. "I've been called Prophet in the past, though only by non-Bajorans."

"Mine's Wraith. The Lieutenant will do it proper when he joins us - if he's not dead, of course. Welcome to Vanguard Squadron."

"The Attack"

Crew of "The Hunstman"
Gunther Engleman, Captain of "The Huntsman"
Shaka Il'kendria'sha(Andorian), First mate and Lead Raider of "The Huntsman"
Jim "Palooka" Weir, Weapons and Sensors officer of "The Huntsman"
Testka "Eagle"(Bolian), Helmsman Communications of "The Huntsman"
Ian "Mick" McFallon, Engineer of "The Huntsman"

Location: Bridge of "The Huntsman"

"Cap'n, The Grass-Snake has arrived."

Gunther stood. "If I am not mistaken that is the que. Power up all offensive and defensive systems."

The Flash of the Ambassador's Destruction Rocked "The Huntsman."

Gunther was quick to act, his role as a combat commander seemed to fit him well, and would continue to......once his revenge was complete.

"Eagle! Bring us within firing range! Palooka! Pick a Drayson vessel and don't up until they are ashes."

Palooka turned to Eagle, smiling, "This is what I live for."

"What? blowing stuff up? Or getting your ass kicked in every fist fight for the last 8 years?"

"Shut up you old blue crow."

The Andorian male with the Short flat top hair returned. "Sir, we are ready to board any ship in the fleet."

Gunther did a flicking hand signal, and Shaka took an empty Seat, the Bridge Engineering console, since Mick was down in the Aft Engineering compartment. It's a small ship.

Oustide, the battlefield was heating up. Two small Drayson Attack ships, about 1.5 times the size of a Danube Runabout, were on a direct course for "The Hunstman."

Gunther didn't like to play games.

"Palooka, get rid of those pests."

"Gladly Cap'n."

With a few quick strokes on the weapons panel, a full weapons barrage knocked out the lead, which lost control and slid into the path of it's wingmate and both exploded after colliding.

"Yea, I got a 2'fer!"

Palooka High-fived Eagle.

"Ok. Let us continue.....attack something....I don't care what."

"It's all in the Technique (aka I was Bored)"

Lt. Ella Grey
and Engineering NPC's

*****

The USS Galaxy appeared to be moving throughout space with all the enthusiasm of a garden slug.

Ella Grey, having been one of the better students of her Engineering class, who had worked hard and studied harder to become so, knew all of the tricks for getting the engines running right again.

And she had tried them all without success. A garden slug could have beat the Galaxy, Ella thought in disgust.

Rubbing her temples, she leaned back against the console, fighting the urge to lay on it and just sleep. She was already into the night shift by now and, considering how things were moving along, or not in the Galaxy's case, she would probably be here in the morning when her actual shift was scheduled to begin.

Biting back a yawn, Ella looked around at the other Engineers, now that the emergency lights were on full strength.

It was interesting how, Ella noted to herself, that when the well-known procedures to fix difficult machines failed, Engineers often fell prey to some of the lesser-known repair techniques.

Zack Jackson, for example, was currently in deep conversation with the control panel he was working on, as if sweet-talking a machine could get it to work any faster. Rebecca Mathews, on the other hand, took another approach, figuring that if she cursed it enough the warp system might have a change of heart.

Jackson had named his panel 'honey pie' and continued to coo at it while the Rigellan uttered harsh noises in her native tongue and slapped a panel in frustration now and then. Ella wondered what the Rigellan words for 'god damn heap of Federation shit' were because that's what she imagined Rebecca was currently telling it.

Sousa and Prescott were currently pleading and begging with whatever they were working on. Ella supposed that she could also promise the warp core a nice, clean watchamacalit or update its whatever but the truth was that when the crisis was past, she was going to sleep as long as was humanly possible. Probably the only reason she had lasted this long was that she wanted to be exhausted enough to fall asleep without thinking of Victor Krieghoff.

Enrique Matthews, Ella noted with amusement, had pulled out the ever popular rabbit's foot for better luck.

She wished that she could just get over her lo...interest of Victor. It was obvious the relationship could go no farther, especially with him being so damn difficult about the whole thing. Ella wished, and not for the first time, that M'Kantu would just ship him off the Galaxy already. Then maybe she would be able to get back to her life like normal. Afterall, Curtis could only take so many coffee conversations where she whinned about Victor.

Rick Okuda looked like he was about to break down and do some kind of tribal dance for the machine to get it to work. His left foot was tapping impatiently. Of course, he was already on his seventh cup of coffee, Ella thought. He might just have to really go to the bathroom.

The next chance she got, Ella decided, she was going off ship for a monster shopping spree with Indigo Renkert. Clothes always made her feel better and her current wardrobe was behind by several seasons.

BJ Evans was looking at Emma Saturn with interest, either thinking of her blowing on his console for good luck, like on dice at a crap's table, or her blowing on something else after his shift was over. With a nickname like 'BJ' neither would have surprised Ella.

Ella popped her knuckles and then pushed herself off the console. It was time for take #378 with the warp core. Maybe she would be able to coax the ship into moving at the speed of an old woman with a walker, which had to be better than a garden slug, right?

Common Baby, Ella Grey silently began to say to the ship.

"Something's Afoot"

T'Shani "Forgehammer" A'Akledorian
Vanguard Three

-----------

** Concurrent with "We Didn't Start the Fire" **

=^= Vanguard Three: Lammergier =^=

As Vanguard Three *floated* in front of the crippled USS Galaxy, it's pilot, T'Shani A'Akledorian, mentally reviewed all that had occured over the past two-and-a-half months to bring her to this point.

~First, accept risky mission from Tanner...check. Next, invite Mister 'Look, I'm a Field Agent, Again'...check. Get self captured...check. Get rescued...check. Get lost in an alternate timeline...check. Endure three weeks of debriefing, once *rescued*, again...check. Return to Galaxy, no-doubt to have Rex rub it in...check. Get caught in the middle of a system-wide civil war.......~

She let out a low sigh, and tried to flex her antennas under the flight helmet. ~Why the hell had I come back. Damn Al'indal!~ How had he talked her into *this*, again?

Plus, she still felt like shit. And she knew she looked it, too. Truthfully, she was *TIRED*. Umar-damned tired. That, and she was still numb from all that had transpired. Briefly, she reviewed the whole 'mission'...

Her thoughts were momentarily drawn as IM relay lit up on her HUD:

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

BE ADVISED: DRAYSON DEFENSE FLEET AND TROYER TASK FORCE HAVE LAUNCHED. CONFLICT LIKELY. STANDBY FOR TACTICAL MANEUVERS. MAINTAIN PRESENT POSITIONS.

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

~Great.~

Whoever was running the Tactical Operations center on the bridge sure knew how to spit out a *dry* message.

~Well, maybe something will...~

*FLASH!*

quickly, she threw her arm up, sheilding her eyes from the blast, momentarily throwing her fighter out of trim. Damn thing...wasn't even calibrated for her. No surprise, however, as she had destroyed her previous Banzai.

~Rhooz...Here we go, again,~ she thought, as she held steady, awaiting orders from either Jazz or Flight Control...

"Fire Amongst the Stars"

The Story of the DNS Vindication

Seconds was needed to execute the Troyer Horse operation. A sparsely gunned transport, equipped with jammers and explosives, already completed its vengeful run.

The Grass Snake, the most feared vessel in the Gryphonite fleets, was reduced to a flaming hulk in space. The saucer section drifted away, shorn clear by the force of the explosive laden kamikaze. Superheated metal in the blast zones glowed red, their death as bright as their birth in the metalworks. The port warp nacelle was gone, showing a frayed stump, while the starboard nacelle, absorbing the rest of the blast and the shrapnal, was gouged with chunks of duranium and leaking a pea soup plasma. Escape pods burst out of the saucer section like pollen from a dying flower.

Captain Stern's heart was aroused by the beautiful destruction. Moments like this were recorded in history, lovely, glorious moments that ignored the death and saw the wars as acts of bravery, self preservation and the opportunity for notoriety. To see the mercenaries fall was like remember the song about the Red Rocket's glare. Was that not also a war, yet so celebrated in song?

Stern saw the ship, and knew his song was coming. This was the definitive moment for the Drayson Institute, where true patriots created their sovereign nation.

Captain Stern's communications officer called out, "Sir, we have been given the order to attack."

Stern, once parade ground erect, took his captain's seat. "Helm. Proceed toward the Troyer colony Descroix Primus. Tactical, raise shields and arm all weapons, and keep the Troyers off our troop transports. And remember officers... this is our moment, so act and fight accordingly!"

"HOO-AHH!"

Captain Stern's Vindication advanced, turning to starboard in the direction of the Troyer colony. Behind it was an escort of fighters, smaller attack craft, and the wave of troop transports with their escorts. As the Drayson fleet advanced to let loose on the beheaded Troyer fleet, Stern and his task force was given the important task of landing on the colony.

A short distance away was the Descroix colony. Translucent domes, gleaming silver against the starlights, looked like vulnerable bubbles with metallic foundations. Energy shields enveloped the colony, leaving off an emerald shimmer (Romulan shields, the best any of the major powers could offer).

"DNS Innovator and DNS Trailblazer are beginning their attack run." Tactical announced while orchestrating Vindication's symphony of destruction, "Targeting co-ordinates set. All I need to do is push the shiny red button, sir."

Stern grunted his approval. Not much was needed to be said, for it was a straightforward mission. Neutralize ground defenses to allow the troops to land. Destroy phaser and photon emplacements, shield generators, communications and transporter jamming equipment. Simple assignment for one of the more heavily armed ships in the fleet.

For the death of his fellow Draysonites, he would set fire amongst the stars. That was his vow, even if the flames consumed him.

But a nagging sensation chewed at the wary captain. The Vindication, Trailblazer and Innovator had yet to run into resistance. The Troyer fleet was busy engaging the main Drayson offensive some thousands of kilometers away. Not all of the mercenary troops could be engaged at that battle. It smacked of poor planning and tactics.

"Where are the defenders of the main cities?" Commander Anise St.Augustine, Stern's second officer, spied upon her viewscreen and asked the inevitable question.

"No matter." Stern shrugged to himself. The Troyer militia was poor compared to the Drayson fleet, hence their overuse of mercenaries. However, his second officer was correct. There should have been something to suppliment the defense outposts. Though those details nagged at the Captain, he pushed them aside, easily accepting bad tactics on behalf of the Troyerites. "All the easier for us. Tactical! Range!"

"Five hundred kilometers and counting, sir. We can fire at any time. But sir... i'm only finding a few rudimentary structures." Tactical officer Santos scanned the area, looking for the telltale blips, "Nothing. A few Galor class disruptors protecting the shield generators. That's it."

"If that is all... then we will crush them effortlessly! Target the disruptors!" Stern ordered, "Fire on my command!"

"Aye, Captain!"

Tactical locked onto its targets. The main viewscreen showed the vulnerable defense installations. A few Galor class disruptors, what could have been a threat if on a Galor class cruiser, merely a stationary target now that it was placed on the surface of an asteroid.

Stern looked at the Troyer weapons as they fired their first volley. The Vindication shook spasmotically as it was hit, though no harm came to it.

"Shields down, ninety five percent sir!" Tactical stumbled as another shot smote their shields.

The captain turned away from his screen. "Tactical... fire photon torpedoes."

On cue with the Trailblazer and the Innovator, the Vindication buzzed past translucent domes and metal skeletons, rattling foundations as they cruised. All three ships spat out angry red spheroids of explosive anti-matter warheads, pummeling energy shielding, emerald and amber wrestling for control. As the Vindication fired its last volley of three torpedoes, the Trailblazer and Innovator lanced out with swathing arcs of phaser energy, collapsing the shields to the disruptor platforms. Vindicator's torpedoes tunneled into the structured, detonated, and immolated the buildings in showers of rockdust and gouts of fire.

The Troyer guns were no more. The shield generators were now naked, and only a dozen thousand kilometers away. Colony Descroix was further still, at three thousand kilometers. All were easy targets.

"Tactical, target the shield generators, and let loose."

"Aye, sir!"

Nothing stood in the way of the Vindication while it earned its namesake. The deaths of Drayson patriots would be avenged. This was enough to content Stern in his acts, no matter whom was dead.

He was to set fire amongst the stars.

Righeous fire.

***********

Not so for the Troyers. They were unaware of Stern's vow, and therefore not willing to allow the Captain of the Vindication to have his day and his wish.

For the fact was that these mercenaries were used to war, and were therefore prepared for almost any contingency. It was just a matter of numbers, that was all.

Mercenaries were, however, not so prepared for the destruction of their lead ship. Unprepared for a beheading, the body, if willed enough to live, could still thrash about and lay waste. The mercenaries were desperate enough, and were fighting for their lives against the morally convinced Drayson offensive.

But it didn't mean they didn't have a plan to fall back on.

On the Troyer asteroid's surface, rock and metal creaked and grinded, shifting open and erecting spindly, mechanical arms and sluglike metal domes and pillboxes. Clacking into place, the new emplacements whined with pent up energy, spun as ammunition was primed and locked into firing chambers, and aimed towards their destined targets.

The mercenaries had one more surprise.

One Vindication was not looking out for, until their sensors picked up power spikes and new readings off their port bow.

One the Innovator and the Trailblazer did not see, and neither did the Antares class troop transports and their smaller escorts.

"JESUS CHRIST SIR!" Ops officer Trent blurted out, "To port! Multiple pings! They're charging up!"

Stern knew it right away. He was caught off guard, and should have anticipated such a dirty Troyer trick! "Hidden installations! I should have known! Evasive maneouvers, NOW!"

Their starboard side turn barely in its infancy, the enemy's weapons platforms cut loose a volley of amber torpedos and crimson energy lances. Vindicators shields held true against the assault.

Same couldn't be true for the Innovator. The old Miranda class vessel pulled up to stay out of the big gun's range, until a photon torpedo punched through the hull and detonated. Drifting helplessly as phaser shot stabbed into the impulse engines, another photon torpedo pierced the engineering section, detonating the warp core and destroying the ship in a violent, hull tearing explosion.

"Innovator down, sir!" Ops called out, ducking an overhead shower of sparks from an overloaded conduit, "Trailblazer isn't faring that well, and... NO! The transports are being fired upon!"

The guns turned their attentions on the landing fleet, volleying shots at the vulnerable transports and small attack ships. Unlike the trio of starships leading the assault, the transports and escorts could only stand two or three shots from the phaser emplacements, and possibly one torpedo. As escorts were flicked out of space with little effort, turning to demolecularized ash to drift for eternity, transports were dissected in half by phasers or popped like bubbles by torpedoes.

Some of the escorts fired back, their shots bouncing off the gun emplacement shields. A few lucky ships launched photon torpedoes from crude, welded on pods underslung on their ships, but without effect.

"Fire aft phasers and photons at the installations!" Stern ordered, "Get them off our backs!"

The Vindication answered the Troyer's war cry with their own. Fighting off shielding to get at the vulnerable structures underneath, Vindication's phasers and photons rained down on the asteroid's surface. Two of the photon installations erupted in flames, and a phaser tower collapsed after having its foundation ripped beneath it.

The Trailblazer turned about to protect the landing fleet, adding its own fire on the big guns. Phaser swaths from the Trailblazer blew apart a phaser array. As it tried to make another attack run, a photon torpedo launched from a Troyerite silo streaked at the Drayson vessel, colliding with the ship. Plumes of anti matter fire sundered the shields and licked at the Trailblazer's scarred hull, while another torpedo detonated inside the Trailblazer's underbelly.

Drifting helplessly, the Troyer guns cruelly picked apart the starship's corpse like ravenous crows.

Stern watched from his viewscreen as his ship violently convulsed. Troyer's guns were merciless and hungry for their blood. It seemed there was no stopping them. Only half were destroyed. The smaller ships barely held their own. Too much firepower was being brought on the transport ships. Vindication was all that was left to challenge them properly.

A hopeless cause. The shields were powerful and it took overwhelming fire to destroy what they already destroyed, and with three vessels and twice as many escorts. A tall order, but then again, many fell to the guns.

It was time for the Vindication to earn its namesake.

"Helm, starboard side turn. Get in line with those shield generators." Stern ordered. He had a plan after all, and one that would save the landers. "Vindication to all vessels, hold fire until my command. Tactical... target the generators with high yield photons and tri-cobalt devices."

"Sir?" The tactical officer skeptically stared back at his commanding officer, "We have to focus our fire on the guns if we have a hope of taking them out."

"Forget focusing on the guns! The only problem we have are those strong shields!" Stern bellowed, flinching as the ship took a broadside hit from a phaser pulse, "We have the firepower! Make it happen! We'll let the little escorts take care of the easy task of destroying the guns."

"Sir, if we.."

"DO IT! Target the shield generators! Stick with the attack run! This is our moment, remember?!"

Hardly a fitting time to mention glory, when the ship was smoking and shaking from a firestorm brewing from the Troyer guns. The Vindication turned about, continuing on course while laying down cover fire while fleeing the guns for the relatively safe shield generator strafing run. The installations, while swatting the escorts and leaving flaming trails of debris to hit the astroid, smattered shots at the Vindication, peppering its shields with constant fire.

"Five hundred kilometers and closing, sir!" Helm screamed while desperately keeping the ship under control.

More dire news came from Tactical. "Shields down to twenty four percent! We have a lock onto the shield generators. We can fire at any time!"

The ship rocked about, tossing the bridge crew to the side. A few lucky crewmembers hung onto their consoles. Captain Stern and the unlucky ones tumbled out of their stations and slammed into floors and bulkheads. The engineering console whistled as pent up energy overloaded, then burst apart, sending plastic and duranium shrapnal in a buckshot discharge.

"DO IT!" Stern urgently demanded. It was clear to him that his ship was surely dying. Constantly did his ship buck from detonations, squeal as its hull was breached, wheezed as air and crewmen were vented from its ever increasing gouges. Vaguely he was aware of the damage reports coming from his crewmen.

This was their moment. From now on, they were patriots and martyrs.

"FIRE!"

The tactical officer pressed the firing button, and set his actions, and Stern's orders, into history.

A spread of red, hornet like torpedoes and a tandem of aqua hued spheres escaped the Vindication's torpedo tubes.

Enemy fire coursed through the Vindication's hull. Chipping away at now defunct shields, it then started gouging the armor in pieces. Shots pock marked the hull in a death of a hundred cuts, glowing red with superheated metal instead of red with blood. More hits loosened off larger chunks of the ship, sending hunks of structure to tumble into the domes and sand of the astroid.

Vindication earned its namesake. Romulan shielding didn't hold up long to the force of the combined photon torpedo and tri-cobalt bombardment. One by one did the generators detonate, the explosives blossom out, and turn the massive complex into a charred crater, birthing a column of smoke and fire as large as a borg cube.

The death of the shield generator brought down the last of the city's protection. The small escorts, as Stern predicted, were able to destroy easily the structures holding the Troyerite guns. Like a flock of hawks, the escorts returned to their ravaged fleet, and made way for Descroix.

The Vindication was too badly damaged to pull up. Impulse was inoperable, and both warp engines were spewing plasma all over the Troyer astroid's surface. Maneouvering thrusters sputtered and died, unable to prevent the ship from bowling into the asteroid's surface. Scraping metal and plowing an expansive furrow into the astroid, the Vindication slid towards its destined doom. Crunching into a mesa, it shore off a gory quarter of its saucer section, and twisted starboardside, snapping off the starboard nacelle and its strut.

At the sheer velocity in which the vessel was travelling, nothing could stop it from forechecking into the Descroix Colony's primary protective dome. The starship crunched into the translucent bubble, making a horrific metal scraping and crumpling sound, mixed with the terrifying crack of glass.

And then it happened. The Descroix dome ruptured, blowing out protective glass into space. The primary and secondary domes were decompressing, while the terciary dome cracked and splintered.

Nothing was going to save the doomed Troyer colony. Through the Vindications actions, Stern brought what he promised.

Fire amongst the stars.

"Coming out of the Closet"

Ens, Miguel Sandoval
Dr. Teeda Chouu

In the shadow of a small ship-sized asteroid, the Pirate Vessel ANDRASTA hung in silent watchfulness.

Just before them lay the shattered ruins of the Langemeir Asteroid and the wrecked homeland of the Troyer Nation.

Silent flashes of atomic light glittered in the darkness of space, while silversharp ghosts that were attacking Drayson Mercenary Ships darted in and out of view.

It was with a heavy disgust that the Captain of the ANDRASTA shook his shaggy head and spat a curce at whatever gods of ill-timing had doomed his expedition.

What had begun as a simple hostage snatch had become a comedy of errors and bad luck since the first moment.

"T'was not your fault Captain sir," a beleagured first mate offered helpfully from the aft Command platform. "How were we to know those damn fool Draysons would choose to start a war at the same time we took hostages?"

The captain did not reply, but contented himself to watch the silent burning of the Troyer Bio-Domes.

In the fortunes of Piracy the argument of fault or not-fault was never a valid one, for the superstiscious lot that composed most 24th Century Buccaneers only weighed success or not-success when they pledged their loyalty.

The Captain had led them to this system in search of ransom, and now for all their efforts the two prisoners they held in their holds were less than worthless.

After all if the Troyers and Draysons annihilated each other, whom would be left to pay ransom?

The Captain of the ANDRASTA knew this. With glittering eyes he watched the exchange of particle beams in the darkness.

"All that glitters is not Gold", the ancient quote came unbidden to his lips.

Off to one side of the carnage the stately Federation Battleship hung limply in space. Her pristine hull scarred by preemtive strikes, the pride of the starfleet lay crippled in the first moments of battle, not a shot having been returned.

Fleeting daggerlike shapes that were the Federation fighter escourt twirled about the drunken hull like moths around a desert flame. Like angry wasps whose nest has been disturbed they circled hungrily in search of prey to exact vengeance upon.

The First Officer noted the fighters with some concern, "We are too close to the scene Captain sir," he observed, "In the confusion we may be taken for one of the combatants, and while we can outrun any local system trash......"

"....we would be hard pressed to outrun a Federation Fighter." the Captain sighed at last completeing the thought. Inwardly he wondered why a fleet as mighty as the Federation even bothered with fighters in the first place, but supposed they did have some sort of tactical role. "Very well Manses....power up the system engines and plot us a course out of this Rock-Field. As soon as we are in open space, take us to Warp Speed." The Captain rubbed his bearded chin in contemplation. "We'll take out hostages to the Ferrengi. They'll be able to barter the Starfleet Officer back to the Federation for at least a small pittance. Not what we hoped for but its better than a total loss.

Nodding the First Officer beant to his tasks. He for one would be happy to be clear of this Civil War Mess.

Slowly like predator coming to life the ANDRASTA powered up her generators, an antimatter fire growing hot in her belley. The ship too seemed eager to be free of this system, and back out among the stars where she belonged.

Dropping free of their concealing overhang, the ANDRASTA spun about ready to make way when an unfortuante glint of sunlight reflected off her streamlined hull.

There were other watchful eyes in the darkness, and the Hornets suddenly became aware of a stranger in their midst.

"Captain!" Manses exclaimed, "The Federation Fighters have spotted us! They're heading this way!!!"

^^^^^^^^^^^^ ------------------ ^^^^^^^^^^^^

The violent jolt of Micro-Torpedoes impacting the ANDRASTA traveled down through the ships bowels, picked up, and slammed Miguel and Dr. Chouu into the wall of their small pantry/prison

"Ow," was the only thing that came to Miguel's mind as he unsuccesfully atempted to pick himself off the floor.

Dr. Teeda Chouu, who was now sprawled on to of the poor Science Ensign was having similar problems gathering her wits.

"Wha...did...did....we hit something?"

As a Starfleet officer, Miguel was supposed to know about these things, but to be honest he's only been aboard a Starship for a week or two. He presumed from the way the engines raced just PRIOR to the jarring impact possibly meant that they were swerving to miss something, but it was impossible to tell if that was a rock, or a missle, or whatever.

The ship lurched again, although not as violently, and there was a few tense moments as the lights flickered.

Out in the hall, the two could hear the confused shouts of their captors, but it was hard to make out what was going on.

".......inbound!!! Get those blasted inertial dampners reinforced.......secondary relay......evasive manuvers.......Damn Federation!!"

At the word "Federation" Teeda and Miguel exchanged hopeful glances. Where they being rescued? Had they been discovered?

Clawing at his chest, Miguel wished not for the first time that his Comm Badge had not been confiscaated.

Another blast tossed the pair sideways yet again, and the 600 pound file cabinet in the corner creaked ominously.

Both of them gulped unconsciouly. If that massive piece of equipment came loose it would squash them both into jelly.

For several tense minutes Miguel felt the ship around him bank and weave through a complex series of manuvers. It was obvius now that they were under attack rather than the victims of a mere mid-space collision.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear a self-defence phaser whine, and with each shot the lights dimmed slightly.

The pirates apparently were shooting back!

KA-WHAM!!!!

With the biggest jolt so far Miguel and Teeda ricochetted off the wall and ceiling, finding themselves momentarily in a state of free fall.

"Gravity Generators!" Dr. Chouu gasped flapping her arms ineffectually. "We're in zero-G!"

Miguel gulped as he watched the 600 pound cabinet rise precariously off the floor. He attempted to spin out of the way so he would not be under it if the gravity came back on........

WHUMP!

With a slap Teeda and Miguel hit the ground as gravity was restored. The cabinet slammed into the floor with a deadly force, but thankfully it didnt hit them.

Something was wrong however. Miguel still had the strange nauseated feeling of Zero-G in his inner ear.

"Micro Gravity." Dr. Chouu realized. "Generators are working but must be on half power."

Effortlessly Miguel rose to a standing position despite his iinjured knee. "Am seeming more like quarter gravity yes?" Inwardly he cursed his poor English and wished again for his Badge/translator.

Teeda tested her balance. "Quarter Gravity yeah.......little nauseating huh?"

The ship lurched again, and the pair bounced off the walls for several painful moments.

"Am needing to get out of here now. Cannot be standing much more....abuse." Miguel grunted.

Chouu huffed in exasperation, "Dang it dont you think I know that? Unless you want to try bashing this door down again I dont think we're going anywhere bucko!"

Miguel grunted. "Would nto be helping anyhow. Could not be bashing door when was 150 pounds....in Quarter Gravity am now less than 40 pounds....not good for ramming."

Teeda shot him a look, " Well excuse me for the laws of physics Mr. only 40 pounds! Its not my fault the Gravity went out.........HEY WHATAMINUTE!"

Teeda's jaw dropped.

Thery were in micro gravity!!!

"Miguel!" she gasped. "The File Cabinet! A battering ram!!"

Miguel wasnt getting it. "Am you being crazy presently? That am being probably 600 pounds or more..."

"Not anymore!!" she exclaimed moving down to try and get a fingerhold on the edges of the cabinet," In this Gravity its probably only about 150 or so pounds......easy enough for two people to lift!"

Miguel frowned. "Am still not thinking this will be working. I am 150 pounds and I am bouncing off the door. If cabinet is 150 pouns it will be bouncing off door too!"

Teeda however was already straining to lift the monstorus piece of equipment. "Dangit Starfleet, what the hell kinda science did they teach you at the Academy!?! Didnt you take physics? This blasted thing may WEIGH 150 pounds, but its MASS is still 600 Pounds!!"

Miguel opend his mouth to retort, and then shut it suddenly. Eureka! She was right. Mass didnt change regardless of weight, and even though the cabinet could be easily lifted, if the two of them swung it and got it moving fast enough, it would still hit the door with its full 600 pounds of Mass!!

Ignoring his grinding protesting knee, Miguel quickly stooped to assist the struggling Doctor.

"One two three....HEAAAAVE!!!"

Impossibly the massive cabinet lifted from the Deck, its two carryers looking like tiny stick figures next to its bulk. Miguel had a quick premonition of what would happen if the Gravity suddenly came back on.

But they were already shoving the cabinet forward. It wasnt easy, because they still had to overcome 600pound of at-rest intertia, but once it got moving, it gatherd speed quickly.

"One two....and LET GO!!!!"

KRAASSSHH!!!!

The massive cabinet tore through the door in an explosion of plastic splinters.

Tumbling out of their prison, Teeda and Miguel found themselves in a small grungy laboratory of some sort. Red-Alert Sirens were blaring everywhere, and the whole ship was bathed in a strange dim light.

The sound of voices out in the hall were stil present, but the sound of their escape went unnoticed thanks to the ongoing bombardment.

~~Okay now to find a communicator.~~~ Miguel grimaced to himself, thankful that the micro gravity allowed him to stand on his throbbing knee. ~~~If the Galaxy keeps pounding us like it is there wont be anything left to rescue!~~~

"No One Has Permission To Die"

(Takes place immediately after 'Clear As It's Going To Get')

Principal Characters
Lt. (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Lt. (JG) Ahdjiia D'Tinya-Bolivar
Dr. Vladimir Malgin
Ensign Cora Dobryin
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Secondary Characters:
Ensign Paul Hanley
Ensign So'ka Zan Lanaka

****

Gryphon Colony
Runabout Landing Site

The landing site Dr. Malgin had selected was an open park, one of the few that hadn't been filled with revelers during the festival. Small monuments ringing the low outer wall had explained why once the landing party was down and the site secured: this was the memorial park where the Gryphonites honored those that had died in the construction of their asteroid home.

That was unimportant to Victor as he stood inside the park and watched D'Tinya's team set up extra lights to cover the park- the dead were dead, and they no longer concerned themselves with the world of the living. What was important was making sure that as many survivors as possible kept on living - especially the ones from the Galaxy - and finding the ones who had done this thing.

"What's your ETA on the lights, D'Tinya?" The sound of his voice made one of the personnel in her team flinch, but Victor ignored it. He wasn't trying to hide what he was now, and only D'Tinya, and to a lesser extent, Hanley and So'ka could be near him without needing to run and hide from what was standing amidst them.

Someone had made a mistake today; they taken, and tried to take, lives that were not theirs to take. The Galaxy and her crew were Victor's, even if M'Kantu was sending him away, and no one killed in his territory or took lives that were his, not without coming through him first. He'd killed Kragg, the Klingon General for it, killed the entity that had merged with the Defiant for it, and he'd do the same to these people too.

Someone besides the survivors would be screaming soon.

"D'Tinya?" he repeated quietly.

"Last one's in place now," Ahdjiia replied as she finished with the last light.

The thunder of wings overhead heralded the return of the astrophysicist, Kara'nin, and the girl, Lanaka, that had flown in with him. Victor hadn't expected them to just fly up out of the darkness and knock on the viewports to the Caracal as he'd held it above the landing site, and there'd been a moment when his reflexes had prompted him to do something violent, but he'd met Kara'nin before, on the Defiant, and recognized him in time to halt his fingers before they touched a control that would do something irrevocable.

"See anything?" Victor asked as the pair shook themselves and folded their wings back into resting positions, Lanaka shying away from him, and moving to keep Kara'nin between them.

Cutter watched as Zan stepped away walking towards the edge of the park. She was obviously upset; her anger was flaring under the surface, over what was going on, the attacks, over not hearing from Arkedi yet, over Victor's discomforting presence. He knew to give her space; there were far better things to experience than Zan's wrath.

"Lieutenant?" Krieghoff asked again.

"Um," Cutter began, his gaze jumping back to Victor's eyes and immediately forcing themselves downwards to someplace that didn't make him as uncomfortable. "No, not really. There were a couple of fleet uniforms making their way here. Various crewmembers taking advantage of the leave, I imagine, coming here to try to orient themselves. A number of colonists, as well. Since this is the only place with lights on right now, there will likely be a lot migration to this point."

"Thank you, sir," Victor nodded. He glanced towards D'Tinya, saw that she was approaching with the members of her team in tow, and turned to the open door of Caracal behind him. "So'ka, Hanley, status?"

"We're up and running, sir," So'ka replied from inside. "But there's a lot of traffic coming un now that people realize the relay is up. It's clogging the channels."

Victor frowned, ignoring the effect the expression had on D'Tinya's team. "Patch me in, full-spectrum broadcast. I want everyone out there with a receiver to hear me."

"Aye sir." Hanley made an adjustment, and the Caracal's internal speakers suddenly blared out a cacophony of cries, pleas, calm voices requesting assistance and updates, and a hundred more things. "You're in."

Victor stepped inside the door and manually keyed up the runabout's com system. "Silence!" he barked, his presence magnifying suddenly, filling the runabout to bursting in an abrupt fashion that sent both Hanley and So'ka stumbling out to escape it as though they'd been shoved, the single word echoing across the com grid like the slamming open of the gates to Hell.

There was a pause as the com traffic fell off, and then stopped, a single heartbeat of time when no one said anything, and then he started speaking again. "No civilian traffic. No non-critical traffic." His words came out as single statements, delivered with the impact of the measured tread of a thousand screaming souls marching out from the gates that had confined them. "Rescue team on frequency seven alpha delta niner. If you require assistance, call there. Starfleet personnel respond to the landing party's location immediately unless requiring assistance. Everyone else - stay off the air. No exceptions."

There was an extended silence, and then the channel assigned to Malgin's team started to fill up with requests, while the rest of the spectrum remained silent.

Victor turned away from the com panel, his presence receding, still present, but no longer shoving outward so violently. "That's done," he said as he stepped outside. He nodded to Hanley and So'ka. "Good job." Without waiting for a response, he continued to turn, stopping when he reached Cora as she walked up with her one-man Security escort. "Dobryin. Everything ready? You need anything else?"

"I'm good to go," Cora responded already busy with her analysis. This wasn't going to be an easy task. Conditions colony side were less than ideal, however that didn't come as any surprise to Ensign Dobryin. Used to working in places where no living being dared to tread. All the data gathered from her investigation would be transmitted back to Galaxy as soon as it was feasibly possible. While Intel had a set up that would allow them to communicate and transmit data securely without interrupting other rescue operations, Cora still had to make sure the away teams safety weren't compromised. Besides she wanted to get a very detailed look now that they were on the surface. In the long run that would assist in her overall assessment of the scene.

As her investigation proceeded she found evidence of more explosive residue. However it appeared that some strike teams succeeded in their goal of eliminating some targets. Blast scoring from energy weapons was clearly visible. Some showed definitive signs that they were made by Cardassian-modulated weapons. The rest had to been small, mass-driver weapons since damage appeared to fit that of produced by kinetic ammunition.

Suddenly Cora dove for cover as she aimed her rifle to fire. There was no time for any warning but her movements clearly indicated they had a sniper on the loose. Already her rifle was aimed at the intended target. Cora didn't know how many terrorists were still out there but she also wasn't going to allow them to make her a target. Her name wasn't going to end up next on their growing list of casualties.

"Down." Victor snapped the word out to the rest of the group as he turned towards the direction Dobryin was facing without following the order himself as a railgun round spanged off the hull of the runabout next to them. "If you see them, take them out," he ordered Cora, his own eyes sweeping the terrain around them. The two Fruna'lin jumped into the air, a fleeing instinct, but they did not run from the group.

Cora aimed her phaser rifle at the sniper and fired. Orders to take them out didn't need to be given twice. The terrorists wouldn't mess with the away team again, Dobryin made sure of that.

"Good shot," Victor commented quietly, and then turned to the rapidly approaching figure of Dr. Malgin. "We're fine - no friendly casualties. Everything set up?" he asked without preamble. "I took care of the flood of traffic; they're all on one channel for you now. Need anything else?"

Malgin frowned, and a brief conversation which revealed that he was, for the moment, willing to grant that things were 'acceptable.'

"Good enough," Victor nodded. "D'Tinya," he said without turning. "You ready?"

"Ready as always.", Ahdjiia replied, her ears still ringing from the sudden firing.

"Lieutenant," Victor turned to Cutter. "Do you or the civilian want in? We can use you to help scout, and Malgin will need help with rescue work and the wounded. Your call."

Cutter jerked his head towards the security officer, his eyes again jumping back and forth, afraid a stare would anger the man, like he was some rabid animal. Cutter felt like a school child, called on by a professor, forced into the spotlight; all he wanted was out. "I, uh, we can do whatever you need us to do," he offered meekly. Zan turned slightly, frowning at the decisions being made about her by the Starfleet officers.

"You're with us then, sir. See what your friend wants to do, please."

Cutter nodded, small, quick nods caused by the tenseness he involuntarily held himself in around Victor. "All right."

He stepped over to his friend, his muscles relaxing as he moved closer to a more comfortable body. "Victor wants to know what you want to do."

"It sounded like you already made my decision for me. We are helping him," Zan replied. Cutter stood for a moment, waiting for anything else. Nothing came, of course, so he turned to report back to the security officer.

"Listen up, people," Victor's voice carried around the group without the need for a combadge. "We're in two teams. D'Tinya and her group are to locate and evacuate Galaxy survivors. My group will deal with any terrorists that feel the need to die today. The Lieutenant and his friend," he indicated Cutter, "scout for us both. Survivors get priority until we start taking fire. Questions?"

Ahdjiia readied her tricorder, starting to scan immediately for survivors while her team gathered itself.

Victor looked around the group again, nodded once, and unslung his rifle, checking the charge. "All right then, everyone form up and move out. No one has permission to die."

"DNS Justin"

Her chair squeaked as she shifted for the fifth time in as many seconds. Captain Medea Perstman ran her fingers through her red hair as she looked again at the distant image on the viewscreen.

"Identify."

"Showing as the Huntsman, ma'am."

"Posture?"

"Running weapons hot."

She cursed inwardly. Her red hair reflected the temper that she carried with her. Her whole life she had itched for a fight. Used to drive her father crazy when he'd have to pick her up from school after she had just punched some poor unsuspecting boy who decided to tease her because of her hair color. Over time, she had earned the reputation as the "Baby Bruiser" because of her fair complexion. That usually played in her favor because the creeps she dealt with never expected the first punch to happen until it connected.

"Distance?"

"Eighty thousand kilometers and closing."

She always knew it would come to this. The loose alliance they had held over the years had never sat on a solid foundation, despite what others might have thought. The Troyer's were always such arrogant fools, always toting around like they were superior, yet never coming right out and saying it. Given the chance, she'd like to knock the arrogance right out of them. Her knuckles went white as she grabbed the armrests of her chair tighter in anticipation.

"Battle alert! All hands to battle stations."

A siren screamed through the ship. The lights on the small, cramped bridge dimmed and were replaced by a low blue lighting. This made for easy display reading and reduced the margin of error when glancing at a nearby readout.

She watched the Huntsman's image grow larger in the viewscreen. Her heart started beating faster. If they wanted a fight, they were going to get one and she was going to make them sorry they ever started it.

"Send a message to Commodore Redinger that we are standing by for his orders," she smiled, "and tell him I don't want to have to wait too long."

"Stepping Over the Cracks"

Starring:
Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora
Commander Karyn Dallas
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

Guest Starring:
Judge Justine Descroix
Judge Greg Perstman

And other misc. party guests

Location: Outside ballroom, Lammegir

General confusion reigned after the attack.

Caught in the mix was one inexperienced and rattled Ambassador. Mika, caught up in the events, wasn't quite sure what to do.

The contents of the party (or at least, those who survived the decompression of the ballroom) were crowded by its entrance, occupying a long corridor with the panicked, dejected, frightened bodies of Gryphon's ruling elite. Gossip swathed through the crowd, bringing about speculation and blame all at once.

Mika immediately spotted Judge Descroix, a plump, proud woman nearly thirty five years her senior. Her midnight black ballroom dress and expensive, glittering finery were sprinkled with plaster dust, and her silver hair, usually spun in a tight bun, was frayed and spitting tendrils of her own locks. She looked sullen, but defiant.

"Judge Descroix." Mika bowed.

The larger diplomat trumpeted towards Mika, a towering giant lumbering over an elf. She boomed, "Is there any news from the outside, Ambassador? I'm worried sick for my grandchildren out there!"

Mika jumped back with a tremble. The judge could be an intimidating woman when roused. "No ma'am. Nothing so far. Communications have been knocked out. Even the Starfleet personnel cannot reach their own ship."

"Hmmmmmm..." Grumbled Judge Descroix, furrowing her eyebrows and frowning, "I do not like this, Ambassador. Being trapped here, knowing someone or something tried to assassinate us. It frightens me indeed."

"Aye..." Nodded Mika. It was not often Judge Descroix showed insecurity outside her tough, matronly attitude.

Despite knowing almost every face that arrived at the ball, Mika was pressed to find one that was familiar, much less friendly. Judge Perstman, an elderly, stick figure of a man in his 80's, huddled with a group of a half dozen other men and women. His wisened voice contradicted the speculation that was going about his group. There was talk of the Troyerites, and already Perstman was laying blame while keeping sideways glances at Judge Descroix.

Facing two seasoned leaders of the Gryphon Coalition, Mika sh'Sonora was a sore sight, with a dust smattered parasol and drooping antennae.

"Judge Perstman, are you alright?" Mika asked.

To that, the Judge replied, "Yes, young woman, I am fine. No thanks to those... barbarians who attacked us." Clenching his jaw, the Judge took another glance at his Troyer counterpart, "Damn them, young woman. This was cowardly."

Mika left the older judge. She saw in the crowd a starfleet uniform, and instantly her antennae perked up. She ran up to meet the officer, but found when some of the crowd cleared, it was not whom she anticipated.

"Counselor!" Mika yelled and waved, "Counserlor Dallas! Over here!"

Karyn Dallas, still dazed and confused from the initial attack, strained to find the voice who was calling her name. Plaster and other bits of debris irritated her eyes, making them water. Dust and debris covered her skin, tiny shards opening up several small cuts on all of the exposed areas. She could feel a lump swelling on the back of her head, but she wasn't sure how she'd gotten it.

Dallas was just thankful she hadn't been crushed in the stampede to get out of the dining hall. A good samaritan had tried to push her down so that she would avoid falling debris, but Karyn feared not being able to get back up again under the weight of her grav-chair. Belatedly she realized engineers had installed a device that would keep her from tipping over in either direction to the point she couldn't right herself. Karyn had it installed after the incident with Victor. Like a punching doll, she popped right back up, but she could still feel the crush of the crowd pushing her from behind toward freedom.

The collaborative effort that had saved her life was now a nightmare. She couldn't see anything more than a foot in fron of her, and in the back of her mind, she feared the people would allow sheer panic to drive them into a mob mentality, pushing and shoving, simply to escape the terror and confined space. Despite her fears, she remained as calm she could be, breathing a sigh of relief as she finally reached the ambassador.

"Counselor!" Mika breathlessly, urgently said, "Is there any word from Starfleet yet? The people here getting anxious and frightened... and frankly, so am I."

"I haven't heard or seen anyone else yet from my delegation, Ambassador, but I assure you, Captain M'Kantu is doing everything he can to find out what's going on." Her voice came out scratchy and hoarse, and she realized from the burning sensation in her nose and throat, she must have inhaled some debris." She cleared her throat, trying not only to make herself feel better, but to ensure her voice carried more conviction.

Had she been able to see her pale face and the gash just above her left eyebrow, she might have seen how silly that was.

"Damn. We are stuck here then." Mika sighed, slumping down on a bench, "I am at my wits' end, Counselor. We are in a crisis and I can do nothing. I do not like to be this helpless. I... don't know what to do."

"I understand completely, Ambassador, but we have to do what we can to remain calm. The last thing we need is to start a mass panic here in this corridor."

Mika sighed again, "Have you seen James?"

Karyn shook her head. She knew she had no way of knowing if the rest of her team were alive.

"Hey!" Corgan called out, "Looking for me?"

Walking out of the confusion like a lone cowboy, James Corgan waved to the Counselor and the Ambassador, a smile appearing out of his split lip, showing off bloodstained teeth. His face bruised, glasses missing and hair matted and mussed, James was roughshod but happy to be alive. On his arm was an amber coloured rifle.

"JAMES!" Mika squealed, running up to the security chief. She whacked James in the shoulder, and scolded, "You scared me! All those minutes without a word! And coming in like this! What happened to you!?!"

"Oh..." James rubbed his raw shoulder, "Trouble in the bathroom."

"Well, i'm glad you're ok!" Mika's arms clamped down in a hugging embrace, "Don't scare me like that again!"

The Ambassador was unaware of the hug's affect. Though normally James would be flattered, instead he felt a sharp, searing pain cut into his side, and scream out for instant cessation. "AhhhH! Ribs! Ribs! Yrrrrr..."

"Oh! Ummmm... sorry?" Mika wimpered, letting go.

Eyes watering, James slung the rifle to his shoulder and embraced his wounded side, "A group of men carrying these rifles jumped me, ma'am. I was able to stop them... barely. They worked me over pretty well. I'm hurting all over. But otherwise, i'm fine. What happened? I heard explosions."

Karyn shook her head. "All we really know was that there was a series of explosions... Right now we don't know the extent of the damage or whether it was accidental or...not." Karyn hoped her eyes conveyed what she was trying to say between the lines. It was pretty clear in the officers minds they'd been attacked, but there was no sense stirring up blame amongst the groups by bandying the words "terrorist" and "attack" around. "M'Kantu and Justin Drayson are looking into it. I'm sure once they've ascertained what happened, they'll return here."

Karyn motioned for James to come forward and step a little to the side so they were out of earshot somewhat. "What happened to you?"

James whispered, "Ma'am, like I said, I was jumped in the bathroom by armed men. I have them stunned, so they should be out for a long time. They were waiting, most likely for the fireworks to finish. Must have seen me go into the bathroom and panicked. But think about it. They were well armed, if not well trained. This would have been a good time to exploit any chaos... it could have been much, much worse."

"What kind of weapon?" asked Karyn, biting back a comment about how things were pretty damn bad.

He patted his confiscated rifle, "This is the Cardassian Union disruptor rifle, Dominion War era, modified for export, ma'am. They're about as common as the AK47 during the Eugenics War. I just hope to god there are no more groups like the one I encountered here."

Karyn nodded, taking each bit of news as it came. The counselor in her knew James was holding back, and although she wanted to attend his and the Gryphonites needs right then and there, the commander in her knew they had other priorities at the moment. "I hope so too. We can't stay here, but I hesitate to venture further until we know just what the hell we're facing."

"What about communications? I've tried to contact the Galaxy, but all I get is static. I also tried using my commbadge to access the Gryphonian audio communications network, but that was cut off too. Did you have any luck reaching anybody, ma'am?"

Karyn shook her head. "I tried to raise anyone the moment we got out here, but so far nothing. M'Kantu indicated he was going to work on that as soon as they took care of the threat." Dallas didn't aid that sheer shock had prevented the Gryphonites from reacting quickly enough, or that she was afraid Daren M'Kantu was no longer alive.

Sighing, James said, "Sh*t. We have to contact the Galaxy somehow and get these people out of here."

"Excuse me?" Mika interceded, bowing politely, speaking sheepishly, "I'm sorry, but I heard a part of your conversation, and I have an idea on how to re-establish communications."

Karyn and James turned to Mika expectantly. "At this point, we're open to suggestions," replied Karyn.

"Come here, please." Mika motioned towards an information screen. Wiping off the plaster dust, she touched off a sequence of buttons, and activated a ground map of the entire complex. The map rotated, flashing off red, damaged areas and speeding text reports on the side. The warm glow of the monochrome screen lit Mika's angelic face.

She pointed to the top level of the complex, "There is a backup communications array at the landing port. It is an old system, barely working, and it is not a subspace transceiver. Communications will be slow, but it will work... as long as we can aim it at the right place."

She traced a finger from the array room to the shuttle port, "Here is the nearest port. It is well sheltered, and most likely to survive explosions such as these. After we establish contact, this will be the best place to go for an escape."

Her finger dropped back to their current location, and traced a new trail across the map, "To get there, we will have to go through these decks." Her finger rapped on two flashing red areas of the map, both damaged sections, "And we will have to go through this commercial district. After that, it is just the backup array and the shuttle port."

"Assuming the back-up array still works and these scans are accurate," added Karyn. "I'm loathe to put these people in any more danger than necessary by traipsing them through the complex if we don't have to." It was a tough spot to be in. "James, you and I should go." Dallas turned to the Ambassador. "Ambassador, you have a rapport with the Gryphonites and can help keep them calm while we check this out. I assume you're familiar with basic first aid?"

"Aye... a little." Mika admitted, her head sunken down, "I will go help them out." She politely nodded her head again, and snappily ran to help.

James watched the Andorian Ambassador run away. "I've been in a crisis situation with her before, Commander. She may look small, dress decadent, and act like a politician, but underneath those alien silks is a strong woman when roused. She'll be fine. But the others... especially Judges Descroix and Perstman... I have serious doubts that they can handle this crisis without f**king up."

"Look at them." whispered James, his hand waving a swath in the air to point out the rabble salvaged from the party. "What do we do about the Draysons and the Troyers in this crowd? They're going to tear each other apart if they keep talking like this."

Some were injured with broken domeglass and debris. Whispers of rumours passed from one person to another. A humble opinion from one party member mutated into a stance of pure hatred for their rivals.

It was a Troyer attack! No, it was a Drayson attack! The rock miners! The terraformers! No party was unscathed, no person innocent. And when speculation reached the highest ranking members of their faction... their semi-neutral responses may have well been confirmations.

All were scared, and with the paranoia of rivalry running about (and with Perstman and Descroix being the focal points), the situation was about to become explosive.

"I saw this in a psych lab, and believe me, it wasn't pretty. Lord of the Flies also rings a bell too." replied Karyn wearily.

"I think action must be taken soon. Sooner we evacuate these people, the sooner we can stop the bickering." James rapped the panel with the barrel of his borrowed phaser rifle, "There's another conference hall on the next level. That will be a convenient place to put them. Less crowded than here, and they can use the table for temporary beds."

Karyn nodded. "So what are we waiting for, James. Let's move out."

"Alright then... let's do this, ma'am." The chief of security turned himself over to the crowd, "Alright people, listen up! I........."

His sentence was stopped in the middle. One minute of turning his back on the crowd, and already chaos ensued.

The centre of attention was Judge Perstman again, the main rabble rouser and representative of the Drayson Institute. The white haired, elderly man showed spirit undiminished by age, and aimed at his judiciary rival, the angry, matronly Judge Descroix.

"It is your fault, isn't it!" Judge Perstman snarled, shaking a skeletal fist, "You Troyerites have sunk to a new low tonight. Attacking an amusement centre full of children! I should have known!"

A smattering of Draysonites backed up old man Perstman, all possessing angry glares. On the opposite side, Troyerites rallied behind Judge Descroix.

"You blame us for what happened!" Descroix bore down upon the old man, matching him for tenacity, "My grandchildren were up there! How dare you blame us!"

"And I'm supposed to trust your word? You've lied to the counsel and your constituents before! Why should I believe you now?"

"Because I believe there is enough blame to bring on to the Drayson Institute!"

Corgan advanced on the two opposing factions. "Oh, what the f**k? Ma'am, we better..."

"STOP THIS INSTANT!"

Interceding between the two factions was Mika sh'Sonora, a soft spoken, dimunitive, bright blue pixie with the trappings of a decadent damsel, standing between two aggressive groups. Using her frivilous parasol to point a warning at the Draysons, and her unwavering palm to halt the advance of the Troyers, Mika became the wall threatened by two bulldozers.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Mika snapped, rigidly turning to Judge Perstman. "Idle speculation!" She then turned to Judge Descroix, "Gossip! Turning on each other when our lives are at risk! What is wrong with you people? How can you fail to co-operate during a time like this?!?"

Judge Perstman replied, "Young lady, the Troyers..."

Judge Descroix talked over her counterpart, "Like you would understand. You're merely an alien brat!"

A fire grew inside Mika. Months in the making, watching the Judges duel with words, while she tried to act as impartial as possible. Not taking sides, though appearing to be unparticipative. It was all too clear. She was ignored, perceived as not good enough to match their political savvy, too young to represent her 'Federation'.

She didn't think about sweeping away their doubts about her. Mika wanted to be heard, and the fury in her face caused James to form a lump in his throat. Released like a demon in torment, she screamed, "DON'T CALL ME YOUNG LADY, AND DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME A BRAT! I'M YOUR GODDAMN EQUAL! AND YOU'LL DO SOMETHING YOU NEVER DID IN THE COUNSEL CHAMBERS AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Karyn found herself smirking in amusement, whispering to Corgan as she nudged him gently. "Damn, I like her. Where the hell was she for lan'jep? And they thought I was bad," Karyn snorted.

"Young lady, keep out of this!" Perstman foolishly argued.

Mika passionately rose up to meet the old man. Perstman stepped back, trembling as she spoke. "QUIET! Judges, tell your people to calm down and wait for rescue. And the both of you, order your people not to take out their frustrations on each other. We are all anxious. It doesn't mean we have to have a Troyer/Drayson free for all! Got it!?"

"You expect us to sit by while our people die, and while the people responsible could be next to us! What are we supposed to do, Ambassador? Wait to die? Let our fate be put into someone else's hands?" Judge Descroix approached Mika, feebly attempting to match her ferocity.

But Mika answered back, her footsteps sending Judge Descroix into retreat. "YES! Sit down, shut up, and let the Starfleet personnel take care of the rest! They are professionals. They will do what they can to help us, and helping us will be impossible if you people keep fighting! So sit, be quiet, and wait!"

Panting uncontrollably, Mika looked around. Seeing the astonished faces of everyone around, she stopped her deep blue flush and fire filled eyes, and came back to the serene Ambassador seen more often in public. "I'm sorry to act like this. I just don't want to see Gryphon's unity end by this act. Please, don't fight. Co-operate, and let us help. You will find that the prejudice you all hold for each other has no foundation to stand on. Please?"

The judges glanced at Mika, then each other. Eye to eye contact was avoided, reactions were that of shame. The hate between the groups was far from dispelled, but held back by one tiny, blue female.

"We can at least get out of here." Judge Perstman agreed, "But my... prejudices are my own opinions, and nobody has a right to change them but me."

"Fine, but our priorities still stand. We have no choice but to co-operate." Judge Descroix also agreed.

"Good enough." Mika sighed, "The Starfleet Officers offered to go to the shuttle port. They will attempt to activate the backup communications beacon."

"But... that's short ranged, and it needs line of sight." One of the Troyerites said.

"That is, if it works." A Draysonite added.

Mika shook her head in agreeance, "True. It is our best hope. Commander Dallas and Lieutenant Commander Corgan can do it. I'll take the rest of you to a safe place until they get help."

"Wait! Why can't we go with them?" A Drayson woman in a ruby coloured dress questioned. Murmurs of agreement resounded in the crowds.

"We would have to cross the commercial district. A short trip normally, but Lieutenant Corgan found evidence of armed, organized groups. It would be unsafe to cross with such a large group."

"But we would be at the mercy of any group that comes near us!" The Drayson woman begged, "You can't leave us here!"

"We won't abandon you. Don't worry." Mika calmly talked the Draysonite woman down.

"No..." The woman shivered, "No! I won't! I can't! Not with THEM!" She screamed in the direction of the Troyerites. Her panic switched to rash rage instantly, and her hand came down just as fast towards the hemline of her dress.

Flashing silver, the women drew an ornate derringer phaser out of her leg strap.

Oddly enough, the Drayson woman was not the first to draw. While Mika had her attention diverted, a Troyer male was slowly drawing out a jet black disruptor pistol.

"BEHIND YOU!" Corgan sprinted towards the melee.

Time slowed to near absolute zero. Slowly did the attack unfold in its few seconds. Mika saw the derringer phaser climb up to the range of her heart, veering painstakingly to the left to shoot at the Troyerite crowd. Unaware to Mika was the disruptor from the Troyerite man, ready to counterattack.

In that mere instant two thoughts crossed Karyn's mind, *Oh shit!* and *Brilliant diplomacy yet again, Karyn, really*

Fearing for Mika's life, Corgan sprang, though it always seemed too slow.

Here was revealed one of Mika's most surprising secrets. Her strengths always concealed, she held more than just a willful mind. Her parasol, once a decoration, became a whipping weapon, ensnaring itself over the Drayson woman's arm, swatting it downwards towards a harmless shot to the floor. Hearing James warning on time, her leg became a cresent moon, blue and orange arc, streaking towards the Troyerite's disruptor hand, while conducting her ballet-like moves through the corners of her eyes.

The Drayson woman's derringer dropped and split open on the floor, now useless.

The Troyerite's disruptor hand cracked upwards as it was kicked aside by Mika's foot.

The disruptor didn't free itself from the Troyerite's hand right away. A crackling green burst escaped its firing crystal, thumping deep into the corridor's dense, rock cavern roof. The disruptor then escaped from the Troyerite's loosened grip, but not before doing its damage.

A spray of ionized rock showered the confused crowd, and a scrape and shudder of the astroid's stony core hinted at much worse to come. Three errant rocks dropped down around Mika, narrowly missing her shoulder.

Draysons and Troyers forgave their differences as a matter of urgency. Everyone was concerned about one problem, and that was the scraping on the roof that threatened to be fatal.

James was a witness to it all, and in the panic he saw overtop Mika's head. The cave in was coming for her!

"MIKA!"

Corgan dove for the Andorian Ambassador, catching her in midflight as the rocks were coming down. Both the Security Chief and the Diplomat rolled in a tangle, one over the other as their momentum carried them away from the oncoming rockslide. Stone showered down, missing their feet by centimetres, a seemingly endless stream of brown granite tumbling, grating like a golem's hungry teeth, spewing gouts of thick dust that invaded their nostrils and mouths.

An endless minute later, and the last pebble skittered over the backs of the other stones in the pile. The corridor was effectively sealed.

Hacking for breath, Mika pushed herself off James. Corgan also found himself coughing.

"Mika, where's Counselor Dallas?" James asked raspily over a breath of fresh dust.

Unfortunately for Karyn, her timing *was* too slow. Her grav-chair, although sleeker and more compact than most grav-chairs, was still much wider and less maneuverable in a pinch than a humanoid body. Large rocks slammed into her, knocking her grav-chair on its side. As it was programmed to do, the grav-chair was trying to right itself, but it was impossible under the weight of the rocks.

Amazingly enough, the counselor was able to hang on to consciousness long enough to to comprehend what was happening around her. For what seemed like hours, a wall of sound kept her from crying out or thinking clearly, and all she could do was pray for it to be over. And then, just like that, there was silence. For a long moment, Dallas didn't dare breathe, lest she risk another collapse.

When she finally dared to inhale, she coughed violently. Her lungs were on fire from the dust and debris. Carefully moving her neck to be sure it wasn't broken, she stopped cold. She was trapped completely. Karyn was able to cry out in frustration before dizziness overcame her and things went black.

"Oh no..." Mika wimpered, "Please no. Counselor, we'll get you out."

"Mika, we can't risk getting the counselor out with another rockslide. We need search and rescue equipment brought in here. We have some on the Galaxy, but to do that we'll have to contact them. I'll have to go out there alone." Corgan explained, wiping irritating dust out of his eyes.

Mika choked, "You can't! Two people are needed to access the array."

Seeing there was no alternative, the Ambassador said what she needed to say.

"Counselor, Commander." Mika, sullen faced and near morale collapse, breathed deeply, "Someone has to go over there and get that backup array working. I don't want to put the others at risk... so it will have to be me."

James waved to the frightened crowd, "Listen up! We have to find a way out of here. It's too dangerous to stay here, and from what we have seen, its too dangerous to go outside in such a large group. You people will have to move upstairs to the conference room, while Mika and I find the backup array."

"Heh! That old piece of junk? It barely works!" Judge Perstman guffawed.

"You are a good agitator, Perstman." Descroix chided, "We have no choice. Listen to the starfleet officers and our fellow judge. They know what they are doing."

"Thank you, Judge Descroix." Mika bowed to her fellow Judge, "However, someone has to watch over Counselor Dallas. Who will volunteer?"

The crowd grew silent. Nobody was willing to step up.

Tapping his phaser on the ground, James grumbled, "Don't make me 'volunteer' one of you."

Judge Perstman stepped up. "Fine! You think I can do nothing but agitate, then I will prove otherwise. I'll take care of the young lady. You two try to get some help. But I warn you, that equipment is older than me! It's a long shot!"

"Hey, whatever works, right?" James shrugged, "Just do what I say. Oh, and if Counselor Dallas wakes up, she's in charge. Otherwise, i'm leaving the judges to take care of everything. Keep the fighting to a minimum... I know we're all scared, but we greatly reduce our chances of survival if we're dead! Stay cool, we'll get you all out of this. Oh..." James added.

Mika finished, "Take care of the people who fired those weapons."

Everybody in the crowd looked about, confused. Perstman was the first to speak. "They're gone. Ran off after the cave in."

"Sh*t... civilians." James shook his head in disdain, "I don't like having people like that running around, but we have more important things to do. Mika, we best get started."

"Yes!" Mika agreed, "Let's go."

"Watching Lammegeir Fall"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

And
Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora

Location: Lammegeir, Perstman Memorial Commercial District

The plan, according to Mika, was straightforward.

According to the Federation representative of Gryphon, there was a backup communications array, a leftover of the first days of the original Drayson Institute colony. Consisting of salvaged parts to create a crude, cobbled together sublight communications beacon, a comm. dish improvised from the deflector array of an old Constitution class vessel, and a various consoles torn from ships young and old, wired together to somehow work in tandem to give the array the ability to talk.

Working with the sad excuse of communications equipment was another problem waiting to work itself out. There were other tasks to complete, such as crossing the commercial district.

The district itself was five kilometres by one kilometre, and the stretch Mika and James had to cross in order to reach the comm. array next to the spaceport was thankfully short, with transit to cut the one kilometre journey into a minute long sojourn.

To James left was the parliamentary building. Carved completely of alabaster marble from some alien world, and constructed to emulate the buildings of government from the Roman and Greek era, the parliament building was a massive, cliff dwelling structure of power, watching over the commercial district like an all encompassing, angelic entity. Its white winged guards, statues of angels, muscled atheletes and warriors, and patriotic miners directing their miners picks like a field marshal's cane, gave clue to the Gryphonite (or more specifically, the Drayson's) ideals of advancement, glory and progress.

From the main transit booth, where James and Mika went to catch the trolley, they could survey the commercial district, which seemed miles below. Sprawling down the cut cliffs of the asteroid was countless buildings, enough to rival a small city on Earth, built to the sensibilities of the 23rd century architects. Pillars of glass reached out towards the rocky ceiling, each building trying to reach higher and higher as a grandiose gesture towards greatness, a contest of one-upmanship, competition that drove the Gryphonite culture. Below those buildings were the shopping centres, entertainment parlours, holocentres and service parks. Those buildings were less of a testament to the demanding nature of their builders, less fancy and more functional, lacking the transparent statues that reached for heaven and the stars. The beauty of the tall towers, and the simplicity of the poorer districts were distressing, a sad and simple reminder of who was in power, and who were the ones s craping the dirt for a few hours of distraction. The poorer, the dirtier. Rich and poor could all be seen from atop the trolley station, a place for the rich to survey all they created, and gloat.

From Mika and James vantage point, Gryphon's version of Rome be consumed by hungry flame. Dirty, poor shacks, glass towers and marble buildings all burned the same. Revolution was rich in the commercial district. Phaser fire lanced from building to building, as Drayson and Troyer loyalists, revolutionaries of the various classes, Communist rock miners of the agitated unions and local constabulary forces exchanged hostilities for survival and supremacy.

Below, the security chief and the ambassador watched a streetfight on the main street. Various rock miner union members brandishing weapons from phasers to sonic impact hammers marched the streets, chanting union songs and claiming revolution. They were then accousted by streaking canisters that burst out white gas. The miners panicked, and ran about, as disruptor beams indiscriminately swathed through their ranks.

On the other end of the street, Drayson loyalists stayed in a Cantina, pinning down advancing Troyerite kill squads. One of the Troyers, carrying a shoulder launched photon RPG, aimed the crude weapon at the building, and let the rocket fly, bursting apart the main entrance. The cantina then erupted in fire, as Draysonites fled in a panic.

"Dear god..." James gasped. His experiences in the Dominion War and with the Borg left him no stranger to combat, yet the brutality of the revolution touched him as terribly as being a witness to the trench wars in Cardassian space. The Gryphonite rebellion wasn't just two sides fighting, where there was a clear cut difference between good and evil, where the purpose was to fight or be conquered. It was not a conflict that James could understand with one eyewitness account, but one he could guess.

Grandeur to rival the Federation's main cities, but in pocket form, and with people who could barely afford it.

A fleet that was old by Starfleet's standards, yet impressive for a colony its size.

Marble buildings and glass towers lording over shantytowns.

This was the first class struggle James had ever seen. The Federation lacked a clearly defined class structure, since everyone was almost as well off, and extra wealth seemed irrelevant. As long as one contributed, they need not worry.

This culture was much different. With less amenities and a need to cultivate business, Gryphon was as capitalistic a culture as humans from centuries ago.

"Is this what its like... when there is a more clearly defined rich and poor class?" James asked Mika.

"I'm afraid so, James. The rich are those who exploit the resources here." Mika explained, "For that, they need workers. The workers come from the poorer enclaves, while the businessmen and women, merchants, and asteroid owners... you've already meet. Drayson and Troyer families own the businesses, as well as their vassal houses. That is why they could create the Drayson Institute and the Troyer Compact. They had the power and money to make their own governments."

Mika pressed the button to access the trolley, "The Draysons and the Troyers are, in essence, entrepreneurial families, always in competition with each other."

The transit track was a simple transparent aluminium tube, housing electromagnetic tracks that propelled a trolley at high velocities. It was a private track for the Gryphon elite, to transfer between the spaceport and the labyrinthine parliamentary building. Luxuriously equipped, the trolley's crushed velvet red cushions (bordered with a golden rope like substance) were inviting to be sat on. There were only two rows of seats, enough to sit four people. In the middle, opposite of the door, was a miniature replication unit, and overhead were speakers, most likely an intercom system... until classical music piped softly as soon as James set foot inside the trolley.

"Decadent." James sourly remarked, "What is with these people, Mika? How did they turn out this way?!"

The two companions took their seats. Comfortable enough for James rear end, therefore it was comfortable enough for James phaser rifle and Mika's parasol to rest on the two remaining seats. Mika entered in two more commands. The door whooshed to a close, and the trolley rocketed off to the other end of the commercial district.

James watched with a sickened fascination as the chaos on the streets grew. Riot cops were besieged by rebel factions. Squad hoppers and transport hovercraft burned as miners chanted and fired. The cops hid behind blast shields, but dared not leave, only lobbed tear gas to disperse the crowds.

Mika had no stomach to watch Lammegeir fall. She bowed her head, hiding her eyes behind white bangs. "James, I am an offworlder. I can only understand so much of their culture before my Federation biases take over. But I was chosen because I was from a wealthy family. The diplomatic corp thought they would only accept me if I was their social equal, and in a way, I am. I also understand capitalism, which is another reason why I'm here."

She sighed, hiccupping. To ease herself, she replicated a cup of Andorian Greenleaf tea. Inhaling a breath of the sweet tea, she continued, "Competition is everything to Drayson and the Troyers. There really is no Gryphon Coalition, just a mere matter of convenience. The Coalition was created to unite the people of this asteroid belt and protect them from being taken advantage of. It helped both sides bargain with the major powers better, and that in turn led to profits in their mining and petrochemical sectors. The Coalition was a tidy business arrangement between two rivals. The other elements, technology, defense and trade, were add ons, also for mutual benefit."

"Then why are they fighting now?" James asked, "Wouldn't it benefit them not to?"

"Yes, it would leave them vulnerable to any other side." Mika agreed, sipping her tea, "But the old rivalry is still strong. Each side of the Coalition always wanted to one up the other. Drayson build the parliament building using Romulan engineering consultants and Reman marble, so the Troyers brought in Federation engineers and Algonian marble. The Perstman family build the tallest commercial tower, so the Descroix build an entire biodome and city on their asteroid. The Draysons bought Starfleet surplus ships to supplement the navy, so the Troyerites did the same. However..." Mika finished her tea anxiously, "This kind of competition is not sustainable with their current economy. Domes fall into disrepair. Technology grows more obsolete in some areas while the rich get the latest and finest. Even the Troyers, whom couldn't spare rock miners to train for the navy, limited native Troyerites for their navy so that they would have plenty of miners to fund their projects... and left the defence of their areas for mercenaries to deal with."

Below in the streets, union and police forces were clashing, with clubs and picket signs fencing with riot shields and energy clubs. The constabulary opened fire on the unionist, sending panic among their ranks again. The police were also finding pockets of Troyer and Drayson infighting, and were trying hard to fight off their reactions.

Order was losing on Lammegeir.

James said, "Then what was with the terraforming project? If they couldn't afford it...."

Mika raised her hand; silencing the security officer, as naturally as a floating leaf. "James, the terraforming project could have benefited everyone, but not at this time. It is the ultimate project of prestige here. Whomever could implement this project could have the leverage to control the government. It is also the most obvious of their problems. Prestige at the cost of their people's well being. The rich and the poor gap growing ever larger. The war you see outside...." Mika took her first glance at the infighting, flinched, and turned back to James, "...is the end result."

James nodded, "I would have to agree on your assessment."

"That is what I see, James. I may not be entirely right." Mika argued, "I was only here three months, but I still feel I should have prevented this! But I was too damn nice..." Her voice started to break down and waver, her steady, soft lisp quavered and cried, "... I tried to play by their rules! Tried to fit in! I didn't solve their problem! Because I couldn't, they're killing each other and your ship is in the middle! Oh god, James! I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"

Quailing, Mika sprang on top of James, vice gripping his neck while warm, salty tears ran down her cheeks and onto James neck. She cried softly, clinging to the security chief like a security blanket, while speaking words of self blame. "James, I should have stopped this! Now it's my fault everyone is dying out there! It's my fault you and your crew are in danger! I don't want anyone to die because of my mistake!"

"MIKA!"

James yanked the Andorian female off his shoulder. His hands on each of her own turquoise shoulders, he brought her face to face with himself. Her tears trickled down, darkening the fabric of her orange kimono, flying off as sobs wracked her body.

"It's not your fault!" James argued confidently, "Down there, they made the choice to fight. And over at the ballroom, they made the choice to live in luxury at the cost of their citizens. Three months isn't going to solve a multi generational rivalry in which you've only had a few months to understand, so stop blaming yourself for what they are doing down there!"

"But..."

"No buts! Stop apologizing for their actions. You didn't start the war, they did! And if they want to tear themselves apart, so be it! Don't blame yourself for it, you'll just waste time."

Mika brushed Corgan's hands aside, and stood up, sliding off James lap. She surveyed the scene of carnage again, steeling herself, ignoring her tears. "I'm scared, James. I don't know if I can do it. I'm still new at this... and technically I would still be Ordos' bellhop if it wasn't for you. I know I'm barely ready for this... but I don't know how I can do it all."

James left his seat, standing beside her. Reassuringly, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her closer. "Mika, don't worry. You can do it. It may be too late to stop the fighting, but you can still make peace here. You have an insight on this place that most Federation officials can't. You understand why they are rivals, and why they chase money, and why it has brought this war. Now, take what you learned from the Federation... teach them how to foster unity and peace. It is... what we do best, right?"

Mika shook her head, her antennae brushing James cheek, "James, I don't know if I can."

"Try." Corgan said, "But don't sweat it until you get the chance. Right now, we have people to save. Lets save them first. Saving Troyerite and Draysonites... that would help, right?"

Mika sighed, hiccupping a sob, "Yes, it would."

The transport trolley sped away from the fires of the commercial district, leaving the revolution behind for a chance of escape.

[Backpost - Prior to 'Rain of fire']

~Quite an Interesting Discovery~

Lt. Daniel Scarborough

The quiet excitement eminating from the Geological Samples lab would have been completely unnoticed by anyone walking by, unless they realized that the low murmur seeping through the closed door was coming from the Geological Samples lab, a place more somber and boring a quiet than the rocks they studied. Daniel's curiousity was peaked as he entered. "Dr. Sullivan? You, uh, you, you called for me?"

An thin, elderly man peered up from a computer screen near the side of the room, as did one of his two colleagues huddled around. Two more stood at the center, operating a drill that digging into a large metallic rock about a cubic meter in size. His ice white hair was mussed up, but that was normal, and his mouth was stretched into a smile, compressing the wrinkles in his cheeks, deepening them and making them more noticable, which also wasn't uncommon. Crazy old man, perfectly content to sit with his stones, Daniel remembered the Widdlestien girl running about the ship caroling about how he wanted to marry a Tholian. But this smile was bigger, and now that the doors were open the excitement in the room was so noticable, it was practically tapping him softly on the shoulder.

"Dr. Scarborough, my good man, yes, yes, I'm glad you could make it," Sullivan said, waving Daniel over to where he stood.

"What, uh, um...what are you doing? What, um, what are you, uh... studying?" Daniel said from the doorway, eyeing the large stone in the center.

"We're, heh, you can keep a secret, can't you, Dr. Scarbrough? In the name of science?" he said, smiling. "That large, very beautiful specimen is a Gryphon asteroid."

Daniel stuttered for a moment, furrowing his brow, "Aren't you, um, aren't they, um, supposed, um, I mean, you have to ... pay, or, um, get permission, or, or something. Don't you?"

"Oh, don't worry," Sullivan interrupted, moving across the room towards Daniel. "We're just borrowing it, taking a few scans, a small sample or two, then it goes right back where we found it. No one will miss it. Besides, its just a pebble, nothing to be concerned about. The Gryphonites are stingy bastards anyway, aren't they, not letting anyone have a look at their asteroids, not even for science! But, I think we found out why," he said, slapping Daniel on the back.

Recoiling forward a bit, it took a moment for Daniel to respond, "Um...why?"

"Well, actually, that's why your here. To offer a second opinion. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Bob here is made up 62.4 percent iron--"

"Bob?" Daniel interrupted.

"We named the asteroid Bob," Sullivan explained.

Another crewman in the lab interjected, "It was Hank's turn to name the sample and the lump couldn't come up with anything good."

"What's wrong with Bob? I like Bob. My uncle's name was Bob," another explained from the drill, presumably Hank.

"Yes, anyway," Sullivan continued, "Bob, here, is made up of 62.4 percent iron, 8 percent nickel, 3 percent cobalt, 21.3 percent silica and the rest is dilithium crystalates. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? At first we were preoccupied by the iron spheroidals in the silica clumps that were curiously isolated from the rest of the ferric ore, as if it were..."

Daniel looked on expectingly, though he was confused and disinterested, which must have been visible on face. Sullivan, thankfully, noticed and moved on, "Then we looked at the dilithium crystals, to determine a purity estimate, you know. I think the Gryphonites stretch their figures in their advertisements, eh?"

"Um...what did you, um, what did you want me to look at?" Daniel asked.

"Oh! Right, right! Of course. Its the dilithium. The crystaline structure didn't quite look right, I wanted you to take a glance at it."

"I'm not a geoligist, I don't know what I would be able to tell you."

Sullivan laughed, "No, no, I know, of course not, you're a physicist, a subspace physicist, unless you've changed fields without telling me. That's why I asked you here. Take a gander at this structure," he said, guiding Daniel over to the readout they were looking at when he walked in. "Tell me if it means anything to you."

Daniel looked hard at the old man, like he was trying to sell him something, and slowly he pulled his gaze downwards to the computer screen. What he saw surprised him. If these scans were right....

"Uh, um, well I, you, are these, I mean, is this, uh....whoa."

"Aha! I knew it. This is quite a discovery would you say?"

"You, uh, um...yeah. You should, um, uh, tell the captain, I mean, this..."

"I know. And I will. I just wanted to be sure."

"Yeah...yeah, uh, sure? Yeah, I, I, I think, this is, this is pretty sure. I--" Daniel spit out before he was cut off by a large tremor through the ship. The violent shake through Dr. Sullivan into Daniel's arms and then both of them backwards to the ground. Facing up from his current worm's eye view, Daniel could see the overhead lights flicker, sparks fly from his right, followed by a late warning cry and then dark. The power was out on the Galaxy. Red emergency lighting lining the edges of the room began to flicker on and off with intermitant power surges, then another cry.

Sullivan was ripped off of Daniel by one of the crewmen in the room, then Daniel himself was lifted off the floor as Hank gripped and tugged on his arm. "The hydrolic line in the drill busted. Its flammable, we need to leave the room," he shouted into Daniel's face before he began to pull him towards the door. Daniel could do nothing but tumble forward as the crewman pulled him along. He heard a door being cranked shut as he exited, the clack clack much more grating than the soft whoosh one normally heard.

Slowly, he realized he was no longer being pulled along. He was out of the room and the door had been shut, locking in any possible fire threats. Rubbing his forearm where he had been gripped, Daniel started, "I, uh, I think your, um, your--"

"Yes," Sullivan finished, "The discovery will apparently have to wait."

"A Sign from Above?"

Ens Miguel Sandoval
Dr. Teeda Chouu (NPC)

The drifting hulk of what had moments ago been the sleek pirate vessel ANDRASTA tumbled clumsily through the rubble strewn arena of the Gryphon Asteroid belt.

What had once been a sleek well riveted hull now spewed noxious gases and ionized plasma, trailing it in random glowing patterns across the sky.

The ANDRASTA, once a terror of the local spacelanes would never again be a menace like unto a coyote raiding flocks of helpless sheep.

The coyote had met its match in the form of Galaxy's VANGUARD Squadron who had efficiently crippled the beast while sustaining only minor damage.

The Shepherd it seemed, had finally taken the Coyote to task.

Inside the ANDRASTA, the twisted corridors had become a surrealistic world of smoke and shadows, as damaged power relays caused the lights to flicker in eerie manners, and the random creaking of the hull seemed to hearken to the tortured groans of restless spirits.

It was through this nightmarish maze of wreckage that the beleaguered figures of Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval and Dr. Teeda Chouu slowly made their way in the general direction of what they hoped was the bridge.

Beneath their wobbling feet the deckplate vibrated ominously while the mournful wails of twisted metal echoed from somewhere aft. Their visibility was cut to a mere handful of meters thanks to the smog filled corridors, and the acrid stench of burnt wiring and fused plastic assaulted their senses causing noses and eyes to water.

Each step caused their stomachs to turn flip flops within them, partially due to the atmospher, and partially due to the continual 1/4 Gravity conditions that existed on the ANDRASTA.

The Damaged graviton generators mat have made it possible to escape their prison, but now it served only as distraction as the fluid sloshed nauseatingly within their inner ear canals.

Gritting his teeth, Ensign Sandoval made another half leap forward in the micro gravity. The odd bunny-hopping maneuver first invented by the Apollo Astronauts on Earth's moon seemed to still be the most efficient means of transiting a low-g environment.

Just to his side, her face covered with a sheen of perspiration, Dr. Chouu looked determinedly up at the young Officer.

"Hows the knee holding up partner?" she asked in a pant.

~~~Horrible, awful, terrible......~~~ Miguel thought to himself, but instead only allowed her a noncommital shrug.

In turth, his knee having been earlier exposed to the ravages of hard vacuum during his capture, was in horribly bad shape.

The skin was puckered and blacked from burst surface capillaries, and internal the lubricating bursa sacs within the joint had all ruptured spilling their precious fluid.

Every move of his leg brought a horribly audible creaking noise as bone ground against bone in a most painful manner.

Were it not for the low-G it would be doubtful he could even stand.

Fortunately for the pair, contact with the native crew of the ANDRASTA was quite rare. In fact the only pirate they had happened across had ended up being already quite dead from a falling piece of wreckage.

The small hand disruptor they had liberated from his corpse promised to be quite useful if they encountered anybody else, but in the back of his mind Miguel wondered if he even had the nerve to use it.

Even as he continued to bunny-hop forward through the smoke filled darkness, a cold sweat that had nothing to do with exertion broke out across his forehead. that pirate had been in truth the first dead-body Miguel had ever seen in his life. EVER.

Oh to be sure there had been the funeral services for his dearly loved Abuelo Sandoval six years ago who had passed on at the age of 108. The teenaged Miguel had sat through the long Catholic service in the tiny Zacatoleca City Basilica staring at the calm peaceful face of his grandfather laying in the casket.

Then there was the Academy class in exobiology last summer when they had examined and dissected a Vulcan cadaver who had donated his body to the Academy Science Division.

Technically those had been dead bodies, but there had been no sense of violence or reality about those situations.

With the pirate, laying sprawled across the metal decking, a fallen beam piercing his torso, and the frozen look of shock firmly etched in his dead features........that had been REAL DEATH.

It had taken a few hesitant moments before Miguel had worked up the nerve to pick up the disruptor.

Now, with the dead mans weapon humming quietly in his own fevered grip, Miguel picked his way further down the corridor.

There was a turn just ahead, and with a slight shift in his balance he proceeded to bunny-hop around the corner...........

..........Only to run literally face to face with an individual hopping down the opposite direction.

Despite the micro-G, the laws of Physics ensured the two collided with all the force of two NFL linemen running full tilt.

Crying in agony as his leg bones ground painful together, Miguel ricocheted off the pirate and back onto a soot blackened bulkhead.

For himself the pirate also went tumbling, however despite the whoosh of air being pushed from lungs, he made nary a sound. Bouncing twice on the hard deck, he came up in a semi-graceful crouch, blond hair waving liquid-like around his sharp features.

It took a second for Miguel to recognize him.

"Tu...." he breathed despite the pain.

The slim 'pirate-boy' of 16 or so years whom had been the overkind jailer straightened slightly, his brilliant blue eyes fairly glowing in the flickering half-light.

The "Freak" as the other pirates had referred to him did not seem to be a member of the regular crew, but Miguel and Teeda had surmised him to be an unwilling 'passenger' much like themselves.

Indeed the lad made no move to recover Miguel's dropped disruptor despite the fact that it lay directly at his feet.

"Hey...you....kiddo." Dr. Chouu called nervously as she moved to Miguel's side. "How do we get out of here? How do we get t the Bridge? The bridge? Do you understand Bridge?"

The lad looked at her curiously indicating that he could indeed hear her words, but made no effort to respond on any level.

Instead he considered the pair oddly for a moment as if trying to understand how they came to be escaped from their cell. Then without a word he stooped to snatch up the fallen disruptor.........

Teeda and Miguel sucked in a breath.

..........and gracefully kneeling handed it back to Miguel without even blinking an eye.

~~~~Madre de Dios be praised, blessed Virgin....~~~ the young El Salvadoran thought frantically.

"Gracias.....Gracias Senor.....Bente Doctora...Come be helping me get up." he gestured towards Chouu, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Chouu was still gawking at the boy and had to blink herself back to reality. Quickly she moved to Miguel's side and looped her arm around his shoulders.

"Okay Mikey....lucky for me you only weigh 30 pounds or so now.....lifting one three. One.....Two....Three...."

"ARRRRGH" Miguel couldn't bite back the outburst.

His knee....like a motor engine too long deprived of its lubricating oil had finally decided to lock up. The bones in his joint worn into sharp protrusions that froze painfully into position.

"Ay....its......stuck...." Migel panted, "I don't think I am being able to...." he grunted to distracted to think of the correct English words.

The blond boy watched the interplay with an odd expression, and at length move to kneel before the collapsed Miguel studying him intently with those huge blue eyes.

Sweat poured down the the Ensign's brown skin, while white teeth snarled in contortions of pain.

The boy bit his lip and a look of extreme trepidation washed over his features..

With hesitant arms, he reached out to take Miguels in his own. For an instant the science officer almost jumped at the uncanny smoothness of the boy's palms, but he became frozen in the intensity of those eyes.

A shudder seemed to pass through the lad's slight frame and his teeth gritted in a silent contortion of what seemed to be pain.

At the same moment a wash of liquid coolness coursed down Miguel's legs and seemed to douse the fires that raged within his knee. His jaw dropped open and within the space of three heartbeats he felt his joint reposition itself smoothly into place and almost audibly refill with synovial fluid.

"How...." he stammered. The pain was utterly gone. He felt surprisingly good and quite well rested.

"How...." the boy's hands spasmed in his own and drenched in sweat the slim hands slipped out of his grip as the strange boy rocked slumped awkwardly against the bulkhead, his face screwed up in intensity. The boy shifted his leg slightly and the loud CREAK of grinding bone shattered his otherwise silent demeanor.

"Oh my dear lord...." Dr. Chouu breathed her hand rising to cover her gaping mouth. "Tell me he didnt....."

"Si' He did." Miguel replied astonished. Gingerly at first, then quickly moved to catch the boy as he slumped to the deck. "He just....he just......" Words failed him in either English or Spanish.

But then just as the boy was almost fully lain to the deck, he suddenly reversed direction and rose to a standing position with surprising smoothness.

A sheen of sweat covered his face and his blond hair was all mussed, but his movements seemed strong and deliberate.

A sad frown touched his features as he gazed down at the two amazed ex-prisoners.

For the Catholic Miguel it was just too much. "Madre de Dios its a miracle...." he breathed and sank to his (now full healed) knees, "Who ARE you?

1360