"Shot in the Dark"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

And
Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora

Location: Lammegeir, Spaceport tertiary communications centre.

The electromagnetic trolley, the fast track transportation device used by the Gryphonian elite to traverse between the parliamentary building and the spaceport, whirred itself to a g-force dampened halt. The classical music stopped, and the sliding doors whooshed open, as if demanding in New York Cabbie fashion to 'get the hell out'.

Complying, Mika and James stepped out, and under their command, the trolley sped off back to the other end of the line. It left no emergency escape for the Ambassador and her escort, but it left an escape option for the other Gryphonites trapped near the ballroom.

It also left Mika and James stuck at a terminal in the Spaceport. The section they currently occupied was equipped well enough. Touchscreens left unmarred by attacks were blinking on and off, as were the overhead lights. One of the screens flashed a low power warning until its flickers permanently ceased. Dark lights didn't diminish the polished, marble tile floor, or the plastic panel walls with real oak trim (a rarity in the 24th century). The duo's footsteps made an audible clacking sound on the polished floor as they watched the sights.

The left side of James showed a wall that wasn't plastic, but transparent, looking down at the spaceport in typical Gryphonite elite fashion. It looked down to a brutally simplistic installation, with metal gratings for floors, cheap duraplast counters, tables and chairs, fake velvet rope barriers forming zigzagging lines to desks holding boxy, bulky video monitors, all facing towards phantom customer service representatives whom had their imaginary backs towards viewscreens that used to depict arrival and departure times, fees and product placements.

Everything was the same. Grimy, cheap, old and obsolete. It was also abandoned. As Mika led James to the comm. room, he could help but feel nervous in this ghost station. The food court was empty, with replicators left on and spilling unmentionable gunk. Tables with neglected trays of food and cups of drinks were upturned and left to their own devices. It was as if everyone ran in a panic and left.

"Shouldn't this place be the busiest building on Gryphon right now?" James glibly said.

Mika glanced back, "It should. I think… yes! I remember! I saw it in the displays. This spaceport is linked by a tunnels to the main commercial district, but those tunnels caved in during the attack. We took the back door, and I think it's the only way in and out for now. Those that were already here must have boarded ships and left already."

"What about transporters?" James asked.

"Transporter technology is expensive here. It is either a tool of the military or a luxury of the rich." Mika responded, "And they prefer to show off fancy transportation."

"Oh." Sighed James, "So much for that idea. How close are we?"

"Over here. Not too far now." The transition from the 'rich' area to the 'poor' terminal was more striking than trodding underneath the poor area from the rich sector's transparent glass. The rich area was white, but when tromping down a flight of stairs, the white glow of the rich area was drained by gray and steel, and coated with leaks, greased conduits, and industrial noise. The spaceport was most primitive, even by outpost standards. James kept his guard up, eye scanning the halls from the iron sights of his Cardassian rifle. Mika hid behind James, using the large, lanky officer as a muscled shield while watching the rear.

Somewhere in the distance, a pipe was leaking, dropping liquid into a puddle at short intervals. It was getting on James Corgan's nerves.

"Here!" Mika pulled James in the direction of two iron girder doors, with the sign 'employees only' in eight different alien languages (as well as Federation standard). Rolling up the sleeves of her expensive alien kimono, she set her blue fingers on two of the bars, grunted, heaved, and threw the two sliding doors apart in a rusted, agonizing squeal. She collected her discarded parasol, and squeaked, "I did it…." And then looked down at her hand, and frowned.

"What is it?" James bent over her, concerned.

Mika beamed, "Nothing to worry about, James. I broke a nail."

"Oh…" James sighed, deadpanned.

They entered the communications room unopposed, and stopped to take in the archaic nightmare that awaited their input.

How they were supposed to force any work out of the equipment was a problem unto itself, much less how to use it. They looked up at a tower of monitors and sensor screens, all showing white snow and the occasional blip of activity. Status screens sporatically placed among the racks of duotronic computer equipment read countless sentences, billions of words… all red and flashing warningly. The equipment itself looked old, some even older than a hundred years. Input devices with plastic, analog keypads and fat, chrome microphones were hooked to dusty beige terminals, while their statuses were read out on boxy, liquid crystal screens. There were dozens of round screens that imitated old fashion radar dishes, complete with a rotating monochrome green line circling constantly. There were few seats, most without arms and set to wheels. Like the rest of the poor sector of the space station, all the walls and equipment had an aged, dejected look. The windows looking out into space, the only fresh sight to see, were dusty and crowded out by equipment, thereby showing slivers of open starlight.

"Old is an understatement. How the f**k are we supposed to use this?!" Cried the security chief. "Does it even work?" "Sure it does!" Mika chirruped, flashing her political grin, "You need to find the right terminal! Don't look at all the equipment, look for the right console."

"Are you sure you know what to look for?" James tapped one of the many screens. A corner of the screen had tiny white writing, and upon closer inspection he saw the words 'USS Kaga, NCC 1749'.

"Yes." Mika rushed over to a console and clacked on the keyboard, "I was given a tour to this facility once. They tried to impress me with their improvisation. I'll work the tertiary communications array. You have to go to communications dish control. I don't know where to aim the dish, so I need you to do it! Go!" "Alright…" He rushed to a console… and stopped halfway. James hadn't a hint of where to go.

Mika looked back and directed, "Upper deck! Take the stairs, third computer to the left. Go!"

The upper deck, third console to the left, was labelled in small letters 'dish control', and barely noticeable. "Right!" James confirmed. He climbed the stairs, pulling at the railing to go faster, "Here it is, Mika. I just have to put in the co-ordinates of the Galaxy and we'll be home. Get ready with the message." "Ready here, James." Mika flicked on a plastic switch that squeaked a computerized blip. The microphone next to her shrieked feedback as she snatched it in her tiny hands. "Aim the dish." "I'm going…" Corgan's index finger prodded the screen, vanquishing flying toaster ovens and showing a scaled down input screen. The co-ordinates the dish was currently aimed at were shown, as well as a small readout of the dish's status. So far, it was undamaged. Beside James, a radarlike screen flashed to life, though no dots appeared.

James could only roughly guess where the Galaxy was located. It was nearby, that much he knew, but the Galaxy wasn't outside their window. Knowing the transporter's range, the Galaxy couldn't possibly be seen by eyesight, and maybe not by the station's primitive sensor equipment.

"Mika, what about the sensors? I can't see her." James asked.

"I'm trying, but I can't get long range sensors working. Short range is also down. We're down to local space traffic control sensors… and they're limited."

"Crap…" James typed in the co-ordinates, "We'll have to take a stab in the dark…"

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

The clockwork-like gears of the rotating shaft connecting the dish to the tower grinded the dish into position. Unseen by the naked eye, the old dish fired off its shot of radio transmission into open space. It travelled like buckshot, a cone limited in range, and slow.

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

"Ambassador sh'Sonora to Galaxy. Come in, Galaxy." Mika repeated, the same message she blurted off for the past five minutes, "Ambassador sh'Sonora to Galaxy. Come in Galaxy!"

Corgan leaned from his chair, "I'm trying a sweep of the area where the Galaxy should be. I can't get sh*t out here, Mika. Even with a piece of crap like this, I should have hailed them right now."

Antennae drooping and swishing like a thoroughbred's impatient legs, Mika snapped, "Then we'll have to try some other areas." "If we shoot off signals everywhere, we'll take too long. Not to mention the line of sight problem below the installation. We'd have to wait until this asteroid rotates over." "Then there has to be a better way." "I'm thinking…." James mulled, "Aren't there any satellites?" "No, there was only one, and if it worked we wouldn't be here. Their communications satellite handles the entire area."

"Damn…" James hissed, trying more co-ordinates as Mika kept crying out for help. The request for aid was so close to success, and an idea so close to emerging that trying to dredge it out caused only a delay in bringing the idea out. "Satellites, not one in the sky." "None. Ambassador sh'Sonora to…" He let Mika sound off, and was half caught in a concentrating daydream, "Satellites… something… anything…. any reflective materials on the asteroid?" "None that I can think of. Come in Galaxy!"

"Come on… wait!" James paused, and slammed the console with his palms in a rhythmic order, "HAH! We're thinking about strictly satellites! What about ships?! Are there any ships around? Anything? Shuttles? Unmanned?!"

Mika raised her head out of her screen at a snail's pace. "The occasional unmanned ore freighter that travels from the mines to the spaceports… JAMES! You're amazing! Why didn't I think of that?! Sellman Minerals has a mine close too here, and unmanned freighters travel from there to here daily! Hurry! Aim the dish to a heading of one three two point one, and send an uplink signal."

Silently, and excited, James Corgan typed in the co-ordinates. He heard the grinding metal gears and whirring shaft of the dish as it shifted to position. A clack set the dish in place, and James screen notified him that the dish was in position.

"Ready?" James called.

"Ready." Mika gripped the microphone like a wand. "Good." James pressed the enter button, "Lets get the f**k out of here."

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

The dish once again fired its buckshot out into space, tied, blinded, and earplugged to detect no sound. The lone shotgunner from space guessed on equilibrium alone, and pulled the trigger.

Skipping out of the barrel of the deflector dish was the signal. Travelling at sublight, it seeked a target; someone to hear its plea.

On board the robot freighter Sellman 18, the signal found what it was looking for. Its communications equipment was newer than the tertiary system at the spaceport, and wasn't dependant on a satellite. Even a rudimentary robot freighter needed a subspace communications system, which was what the signal from the space station looked for. Receiving the blind shot into space, the robot freighter duplicated the message, converted the signal to be more compatible to subspace systems, and fired the shot right back at the colony.

=/\="Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora to Galaxy. Come in Galaxy."=/\=

"Omm"

by
Lt Jg Claire Barnes,
Security Officer,

Unnamed pilot

Turning around to the blonde woman sitting on the floor of the shuttle in a yoga position with her eyes close, the pilot shook his head again.

She was one of the wierdest passengers he ever had. At least the big fat grey bear-thing hadn't done anything bad. In fact, it hadn't done anything of much except munch on a leafy branch and sleep most of the trip. For a pet, it seemed kind of crappy to him.

Turning back, he checked the console and was about to turn back and call out to her. Twisting, he gasped and jumped as he yelped, finding that she had moved up behind him totally quiet.

"Oh, sorry."

Getting his breath back as she slipped into the co-pilot's chair, he said, "Just about to come into sight now, and won't be long before docking. Your pet ok? Alive?"

Laughing, she smiled, "Yeah, Blinky's okay. He sleeps most of the day and is very low maintenance."

"As long as you are sure he isn't dead. We are coming up on Starbase 212 now. Dropping out of warp now."

Looking out the window, Claire smiled. Bringing up the sensor display, she couldn't find any ships big enough to be her new station.

"Runabout Murranbidgee to Starbase 212, permission to dock to unload passenger before heading back to my carrier group."

[Starbase 212 Control, permission granted. Please head to Docking Bay 5, coordinates being sent.]

"Thanks. Oh, and has the USS Galaxy arrived yet?"

[Not yet. They shouldn't be more then a few days though. Control out.]

Five minutes later after the runabout landed, she walked over to the chair, her rucksack over one shoulder, and picked Blinky Bill up. Shifting him around, she headed down the ramp. An officer waiting at the bottom of the ramp gave her an info packet holding directions to temporary accomodation until the ship arrived.

"Where the Wild Things Are"

By
Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Federation Liaison Officer

Lieutenant JG Chase Remur,
Chief Tactical Computer Analyst

Marine Captain Nicole Wymann,
SFMC Embassy Detachment Executive Officer

*****

After the Trill pilot Rex had stumbled his way out of the tavern with his furball companion and the Operations Officer Colby Elliott, the haggard Kelvan quickly assembled whatever scattered thoughts that were amassing in his addled brain. The liquor had slammed into him the force of a rampaging herd of Targ, shredding his mental processes apart like they oozed blood in the frenzy of ripping, tearing claws.

The distant thrum of repeated thumps shook the compound, bringing a new haze of dust down around him.

Holo-vids crack led to life over the bar, the fighting in the bar stopped as the static-driven images formed in a cascade of snow.

Thump. Those excessively drunk fell down.

Thump. A crack above in the wooden beams.

[An unprecedented attack on Lammergeir colony has been blamed on terrorist activity. Video imaging is just coming back online, audio is enhanced through communication arrays established by the Federation starship sent here to arbitrate.] The form of someone took shape on the vids. Explosions, missiles displayed behind her.

[The Drayson faction has determined that the attacks originated from or near the Troyer territories. They have declared a war of retribution. Even now, graviton bombs rain down on key Troyer settlements. Troyer itself is under severe attack. All citizens are encouraged to make their way to the nearest bomb shelters.] The woman cupped a hand to ear, but her expression was lost in the video signal.

Curran was vilified. Who would commit such a horrendous act? The Galaxy was supposed to have prevented this exact situation from occurring!

"The Federation was supposed to have protected us! They now turn their backs on us? Why haven't they stopped this?"

"Because they want it to happen, you idiot! They were always on the sides of those damn terraformers. Drayson must have made a deal with them and tricked us!"

"Why can't we all just get along?" Belch.

Curran sidled his way to the back of the bar, where the exit was closest. He needed to get to the government building. Asking would probably not be in his best interests. His lithe build and lack of bruising, marks, sores, and/or disfigurations precluded him from being a local.

"Where do you think you're going?" Not all, but most of the eyes at the bar turned to him. He felt a presence line up behind, blocking the exit. Must have been the drunk he thought was passed out.

"Listen, I don't want any part of this. I need to locate your remaining leaders." He put his hands up in a peaceful gesture, palms up and out.

"Damn right, you aren't going to be a part of this! Like we'd take you to our leaders just to wipe out the rest of them?" He felt his arms grabbed and twisted behind him.

THUMP. The wooden beam that had cracked above finally snapped, bringing down its mass on the wall behind Curran. He felt the arms let go. Without hesitating to verify if the drunk was alive or not, he bolted out the gap in the bar wall.

"Get to your shelters before you get the chance to strike back if that's what you're after!"

THUMP! The ground shook, the haze was thick, and Curran gagged on the sulphuric gases that burned his throat. He stumbled on with the straggling citizens who in turn were searching for their bunker entrances. Curran, his face covered in torn strips off his wardrobe to protect h is identity let alone his lungs, questioned every one he could find until he got his answer he needed.

*****

Minutes, hours, days. Time was an unknown. Apparent minutes after Curran had slipped through the interlock between sections, the way station dome had cracked, instantly killing any stragglers left outside their protective shelters.

He'd found his route, though. The elevator lifts were knocked out of commission. Power had been disabled in the upper levels. The air was getting stale and the Kelvan was light-headed. He avoided peering into the depths of the shaft that he was now using the access ladders for.

*****

Ages passed. Time was irrelevant. Kylar could still hear the decompressions of the graviton bombs as they impacted far above him. Thankfully, he had sealed shut the emergency shaft bulkheads every 5 levels or so to keep him from becoming one with the universe. As much as he desired cohesion with that which we all aspire to, death was not quite the way he envisioned it.

His nausea was passing. He must be close to the level he needed.

His target came into sight. A nondescript black sheet with a single touch panel not unlike the plethora of others just like it he'd passed on his journey down.

Except behind it was what he needed. He depressed the over-ride to open the doors.

*****

Some time later, he found himself in a plain grey room, with three walls, and a forcefield.

"Why have you imprisoned me? I'm a Federation citizen. You can't hold me!"

"We can do whatever we like to war criminals." A swarthy man, his hair greased back in a slick visage of someone you'd call 'Guido', shimmied into the heavily plated room. You could no longer hear the thumps of the bombs above, but the dull echo of phaser fire.

"War criminal? Explain. I came to discuss with your leader what the Federation can do to assist."

"We need not explain anything to you, Federation. Your likes are no longer wanted in Troyer. And after we're through with the Draysons, you can leave. All contracts are terminated." He raised his hand, calloused and crisp. "Before you go off preaching how we need your business, don't be too sure of yourself. You failed to protect us in your promise of deflecting the terrorist activities of the Draysons. Why should we do business with those who brought this holocaust down on us?? Our worlds are under attack. Our leaders are missing. Most of them were on Lammergeir, and its dome was the first to crack." His eyes glimmered at the sudden curtain of horror that drew on the Kelvan's face.

"Oh, yes, your Starfleet friends were in there, too. Looks like they couldn't control their own cronies. Even your own ship hangs dead in space."

"Why would the Federation ally themselves with someone who would betray them? They must surely realize the might of the Galaxy."

"Because there is no honor among thieves. A trick, to throw off your own part in this heinous crime."

"No!" Kylar threw himself against the bars. "I saw the videos. The assaults came from your own space. I must talk to your leader to call a halt to this! Too many lives have been lost. Why continue it?"

"Because they blew our fleet leaders out of the sky! THEY are killing our people! We never started anything. How could we? We hardly have enough credits to pay off those damned mercenaries. Why would we launch an attack with barely sustainable defenses?"

"The facts remain. The strikes originated from Troyer."

Just then, a door slammed out of sight of Curran.

"Sir, we're being over-run! Ground forces have penetrated the upper levels. Gate docks are lost!"

"We'll deal with you later!" Greasehead ducked out of sight with the kid.

*****

Not quite an hour later, Curran was standing outside his cell.

Gathered around him in the cramped confines of the Troyer detention center were Lieutenant JG Paige Remur, Marine Captain Nicole Wymann, and ten of Colonel Kensington's SFMC Embassy Guards. It hadn't been pleasant, but with a Federation Hostage, Colonel Kensington had been quick to respond, and the Runabout had blasted away the external defences with extreme prejudice, and the marines had blitzed the complex after Lieutenant Remur hacked the doors.

The previous day and a half had been a nightmare for Paige Remur. She'd barely made it out of the banquet hall, and had instantly been grabbed by Colonel Kensington, who'd been escorting most of the Federation citizens (especially the military advisors) to the embassy. From there they'd monitored the situation while Paige worked hurriedly to correlate reports.

Then they'd recieved the report that Legate Curran had been dirtside on Troyer. A few well targetted satelites later and their fears had been confirmed. The hostage situation they'd feared had become a reality. Kensington had hardly breathed as she issued orders, sending her second in command and a fifth of her troops, as well as Remur, onto a runabout and off to Troyer, while at the same time handing down situation command to her third, 1st Lieutenant Nagrennot dav'Niollar.

And it was on the turbulent shuttle ride through the battle zone above Troyer that the information had all come together. The technology report on the attack blasts that Remur had been looking for was sent to her from the Embassy. The graviton bombs that they'd used to knock out the communications array and shatter the dome... That sort of weapon was completely beyond the Troyer Compact's technological capability.

"Legate Curran, we have to move quickly back to Lammergeir. We have information that suggests that Troyer wasn't responsible and our communications array was damaged on the way in," Captain Wymann shouted over the din of the Drayson attack force's ground campaign.

Remur shook her head. In the end, her information probably wouldn't matter. The damage was done, and the underlying anger would radiate out from the wounds for decades to come. The phaser rifle felt especially heavy in her hands. More so than usual.

"Yes, yes, of course. Have you had any luck locating Roland Troyer, yet?" He was shuffled between a pair of guards, bounced unceremoniously off Remur and their entourage in their tight quarters. "What evidence?"

"Their intelligence databases were easily decrypted." Remur led the Kelvan upwards through the broken and twisted corridors of the lower levels. Moans and cries of the injured and dying rang through with a dull echo. How could this have occurred?

"Their encryption codes were severely outdated, using only megabit encod-"

"Yes, yes, get to the point!" He wasn't an idiot. The Liaision Officer was quite familiar with encryptions. He'd broken the Romulan Ambassador's hadn't he? (It was more likely an error on Omar's part in failing to add a layer or whatnot, but Curran didn't know that)

"Their level of technology is not capable of launching such a concentrated and decisive attack. Their weapons manifest did not contain enough graviton bombs to assault Lammergeir, let alone the other territories."

"Could it be a trick? An alteration to the records? A secret buildup? Not like it hasn't been done before." He thought back to ancient Earth History. He could think of many countries and territories in the 20th and 21st centuries that'd accumulated offensive assets 'off the record'. Eugenics Wars aside... Khan and Colonel Green had located some of these hidden arsenals, had they not?

"It could, but preliminary data suggests they did not have the financing in place to commit to the attacks. They have virtually no defensive ability. It is simply not logical to assume they would sacrifice themselves in order to achieve the aims of eliminating the Draysons and alienating the Federation. The psychological profile doesn't suggest such forward thinking measures. They have, in fact, suffered heavier losses already than the Draysons."

Curran was about to open his mouth, explaining that not every race is logical, but clamped it shut. There were a lot of gaps in the story. It was up to time to find out the truth.

"Where are Roland Troyer and Justin Drayson, then? We must get them together to stop this travesty."

"That may no longer be possible, sir." Remur gulped silently as she ducked under an overhanging beam, Curran narrowly missing it himself. The sulphuric gases grew stronger here, burning his lungs. They must be near one of the mines.

"Explain."

"It would be better if I showed you, sir."

"Then do so, Lieutenant! We have little time to waste."

"Morning"

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Operations Officer,
Starbase 23

Location: Starbase 23

Morning. Or at least, what could be called a "morning" around here.

Subdued lighting slowly pushed its way back to full power, signaling the start of a new day. On most planets, the dawn would have been marked by the rising of at least one sun from some point on a horizon, slowly sizzling the skin of anyone around with comforting waves of radiation. But on a starbase, only the omnipresent artificial lighting gave any indication of a change from night to day.

And just as it did every day, the beginning of the starbase's day signaled shift's end for its night-duty personnel. Among them was Ensign Tarin Iniara, who had just completed her shift in one of the main cargo bays and would soon be heading out.

To the casual observer, she didn't look to be that extraordinary. With average height and athletic build, close-cropped red hair and nondescript blue-grey eyes, Ensign Tarin could have been almost any Bajoran in a Starfleet uniform. She did her work well but not too well, kept to herself but wasn't unfriendly, and during her two years aboard Starbase 23 had made plenty of acquaintances but few real friends. Even now as she made her way through the bowels of the starbase she would decline any offers of companionship or recreation from fellow officers, putting herself on auto pilot until she inevitably returned to her quarters.

She seemed to be one of many officers on Starbase 23 who always appeared to be waiting for a better assignment to come along. To whisk them away from the monotony that inevitably descended if one spent too much time aboard any of these Federation-owned metal monstrosities. Day after day, silently floating in the void of space, always changing but never going anywhere. Ensign Tarin appeared to be just another officer marking time in this little corner of the galaxy.

To the casual observer, that is. Fortunately for her, most everyone on a starbase was just that.

The doors to her quarters softly whisked open as Iniara input the access code. She was already pulling off her uniform jacket as they closed behind her, forcing the bright morning light back into the hallway. Now in almost total darkness, Iniara tossed the jacket to her bed, falling unceremoniously into her desk chair and prying her shiny black boots from her feet.

A small blinking cursor on the desktop terminal caught Iniara's attention. Curious, she smacked her palm down on the computer's control panel, luckily managing to hit the correct button with one finger.

The screen flashed to life, adding a fair degree of illumination to the darkened room. "Two messages?" Iniara muttered as she read the screen out loud. "Who...?" The presence of not one, but two messages in her perpetually empty inbox was quite a surprise.

Calling up the message list, Iniara scanned them to see if either would be worth the momentary excitement they had already caused.

FROM						SUBJ			STARDATE

1 Commander Tarin Kaeylia Long time no see! 50405.30
2 Starfleet Command, Bureau of Personnel Transfer orders 50405.30
       

The first message was normal enough; Iniara had neglected to send her sister any correspondence within the past few weeks, so Kaeylia was probably checking to see if she was still alive and hadn't been transferred to an even more out-of-the-way locale. But the second message...

"Transfer. Orders." Iniara read the subject line out loud, opening the message before she settled on excitement or disappointment.

To: Ensign Tarin Iniara, Operations Officer, Starbase 23
From: Starfleet Command, Bureau of Personnel
Date: 50405.30
Re: Transfer orders

You are hereby ordered by Starfleet Command to report to Starbase 212 for assignment to the following ship. You are authorized to use any available transit and/or shipping to report as soon as possible. USS GALAXY NCC-70637-A

Iniara didn't even make it to the end of the message before thrusting her arms in the sky, letting loose a raucous "WOOHOO!". The Galaxy! Finally, she would be off the wretched Starbase 23 and onto a real ship again! Iniara leaned back in her chair as she let the information settle in, a very uncharacteristic smile creeping across her face.

And to the casual observer, had there been one in the room, Ensign Tarin Iniara would have for now seemed like a person with a bright future ahead of them.

"Freefalling"

Director Justin Drayson
Drayson Association Leader

Director Roland Troyer
Troyer Compact Leader

Colonel Regina Ophelia Cassie Kensington
SFMC Embassy Guard Commanding Officer

Under-Ambassador Audrin Dernos
Gryphon Council President Assistant to Ambassador sh'Sonora

*****

Utopia was in flames.

Standing alone in his office, 100 stories above the streets of Lammergeir, Justin Drayson looked out over the colonial seat. He had once had hopes for a better Gryphon, perhaps even... dare he think it... a unified Gryphon. But he had sold his soul for a chance at that, and it was going up in flames around him.

He'd promoted building projects, pushed for continued terraforming, and brought in Romulan architects to design many new government and public service buildings. He'd wanted to suggest a throwback to the Roman Republic, especially with the new Gryphon Council Building's close resemblance to the Roman Senate Hall. In the end, the Roman Empire's tyranny was the closest he would get.

Instead of his dream, 'Rome' was in flames, and like Emperor Nero of old, all he could do was watch it burn.

An hour before, he'd attempted to address the mob crowded around the base of Drayson Tower. However, there was no talking to them, and the violence in the streets had only increased when word of the Drayson assault, with the destruction of not only the Grass Snake but also the entire colony on Descroix, had reached the people.

In hindsight, Drayson thought, ordering the assault had been shortsighted, rash, and foolhardy. But it was done, and thousands were now dead, including every man, woman, and child from the primary dome on Descroix.

Rubbing his sleep deprived eyes, Drayson turned back to his desk and nearly jumped back through the window. Standing beyond the far side of his desk was Audrin Dernos, Under-Ambassador to Gryphon, with a PADD tucked under one arm. Dernos seemed to have an uncanny knack for keeping to the shadows, and more than once he had snuck up on Drayson. (In truth, Dernos was an field agent of Starfleet Intelligence.)

"God damn it, Dernos, how hard is it to ring the god damned chime?!" Drayson snapped. Even though the Ambassador and her assistant both knew the passcodes, it was common courtesy (and one that Ambassador sh'Sonora never failed to follow) to ring for entrance. Dernos never did.

"My apologies, Director, but the latest reports have come in," the Under-Ambassador reported, handing his PADD to Drayson and stepping back.

Justin Drayson accepted the PADD from Dernos' gloved hand, glanced at it, and placed it on his desk. He didn't want to read it. There would be casualty reports, on both sides of the conflict that he had started... That he and Colonel Kensington had started, he reminded himself. The marine had been all too receptive to his pleas for more action than talk. But when she'd proposed their present course, it had given him pause. Not because he was afraid, but because of the lives he knew would be lost. But in the end it was for the common good, and they would be dying for the future of Gryphon, right? A unified Gryphon, right?

No. It hadn't gone down the way they'd planned. Instead of annexation, they'd brought on revolution. And he would burn for it. There could be no questioning that. The situation was beyond recovery.

"It's not good, is it?" he asked, not wanting to read it himself.

"No, it isn't," Dernos nodded as he replied, then launched into the list, "The rescue units you dispatched to Descroix were attacked and massacred on their way to the colony. We believe that Troyer forces are responsible. Commondore Reddinger reports, however, that his fleet has overrun the Troyer Defence Fleet, and they're gaining control of the situation in space. Landing forces are being sent down to the Troyer colonies, and Troyer itself is in our hands. Director Troyer, however, has gone missing. We estimate total casualties to be in the area of 12,700 dead and wounded."

"Dear god..." Drayson whispered under his breath. That was over a quarter of Gryphon's population. And that probably wasn't counting the fighting on here, on the capital asteroid, "And Lammergeir?"

"Another 7,000, including Judge Smythe, Judge Hruggin, Judge Drayson," he paused, letting that sink in, "... sixteen council members, seven Starfleet marines, and a member of the Galaxy delegation, Chief Warrant Officer Katrina Olegoski, their acting Chief Liaison Officer."

Drayson's face was pale, and he turned away. "Leave me. Take Captain Moncrieff with you." He couldn't face them. Too many had died for him already. It was better if he was alone.

Dernos nodded, and headed for the door, pausing to order Marine Captain Algernon Moncrieff, the Drayson director's Starfleet bodyguard, to follow him. Moncrieff nodded gravely and fell in behind Dernos.

*****

Roland Troyer was on the run.

His tower on Lammergeir had been blown apart by a hovercar bomb not fifteen minutes ago, and he had been lucky to escape the blast. Marine Captain John Worthing had advised him to leave the building, as it was open to attach, and they'd quietly slipped out the back. Unfortunately, somewhere between the tower and the residential district he was now trying to sneak through, he'd lost Worthing, and was now on his own and unarmed.

With the current state of affairs, that was not a wise thing to be. His face was too well known, and the Drayson patrols and loyalists that were roaming the streets would no doubt catch and kill him if he didn't find shelter soon. He could only hope that it would be a Troyer group that found him.

For the thousandth time, Troyer asked himself what was happening, how his people were being blamed for the attack. They'd lost people too, and stood to lose far more now, so why would they have perpetrated the underhanded act of terror that was the cause of this... rebellion.

His people were paying for the sins of another.

That realization almost made Roland Troyer weep. He had been a dedicated director, lobbyist, and friend for the people of Troyer. He'd grown up alongside many of them, under the dome of Troyer, which had been overrun as he was preparing to leave his office. His home was no doubt being ground into the bedrock.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it all. Like Justin Drayson, it was out of his hands now, and all the work he'd done over the past thirty years was burning down around him.

But a familiar face was approaching. One who he knew he could count on for protection.

*****

Justin Drayson turned around and walked back to his desk. Sitting down, he stared out into space for a brief moment, then his eyes settled on the desk. A slugthrower sat on top of the PADD that Dernos had brought him.

The Drayson Naval Yards DST-26 was the standard issue sidearm of the Drayson Navy. It was a black powder and bullet firing, semi-automatic handgun. It was built for durability, was accurate at a range of 25 meters, and had a clip of 20 10mm rounds.

Director Drayson's initial reaction was one of surprise. ~Where did that come from?~ Then he realized. Dernos must have slipped it onto his desk as he turned to leave. But why?

He pondered it for a few moments. Prehaps he had felt that with Captain Moncrieff out of the room, Drayson needed a way to protect himself. Uncomfortable, Drayson checked the weapon's clip.

One bullet.

No, Audrin Dernos hadn't left him protection. The Trill had been suggesting a way out, and had left him the means to affect it.

Drayson considered the possibility. His daughter was dead, and her mother the same, long ago. He had no other children, and his closest living relative was up there in that firefight, her ship probably twisted and dying. He was too old to have children. The Drayson line was at an end.

And he didn't deserve to live, he decided. After all the blood he'd spilled, he was only wasting other people's air now.

Replacing the clip in the handgun, he thumbed the safety off, and considered the best method. Deciding, he pulled the slide back, let it click forward, and placed the weapon to his right temple.

Andrea, I'm coming.

He clamped his eyes shut and squeezed the trigger.

*****

Roland thought he was finally out of danger. He was walking on the unlit sidewalk of an abandoned section of the city. It seemed that everyone was out fighting. Yet somehow Colonel Kensington had managed to locate him. Silently thanking god for their Starfleet allies, Troyer pulled his overcoat, hung over his shoulders, close around him.

"Regina," he said as they got within eight feet of each other. She was in full battle armor he noted. Evidently the situation had deteriorated further.

But it no longer mattered to him. As they closed to six feet, Colonel Regina Ophelia Cassie Kensington raised a silenced Drayson Naval Yards DST-26 and shot Roland Troyer in the throat.

He dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the pain. His eyes went wide, pleading with his killer.

"On your knees. Just how I like a man," Kensington said, and shot him twice more, in the forehead and the heart.

He keeled over, face first, onto the sidewalk.

*****

Audrin Dernos rushed into the room. Not that he was surprised, but appearances had to be maintained, especially with Marine Captain Moncrieff on his heals. Dernos stopped short at the sight of the body, seemingly shocked. Placing a hand to his mouth as if he had to barf, the experienced field agent swallowed hard so that Moncrieff saw it.

"Sir," the captain said, but Dernos waved his attention away.

"I'm fine. More than can be said for Director Drayson," Dernos said, turning to walk from Drayson's office, "Have the DSF (Drayson Security Force) seal the room until Alina Drayson can be recalled from her ship."

The captain nodded, and left. Turning back to look at Drayson, he nodded.

"We all have to reap what we soy, Director," he said, and left the room, bound for the embassy.

*****

In the distance, Kensington heard a hovercar approaching. She dropped the handgun next to the body and turned. The car had the standard SFMC markings. That was a good thing, she thought, as it meant she wouldn't have to kill an innocent. Not that anyone on this rock was innocent, or so she had observed. The trim, upper-class born officer raised her arm in the prearranged signal, and waited for Marine Captain Worthing to pull up alongside.

"Three times?" Worthing asked as Colonel Kensington sat down next to him and peeled off her gloves and boots, being careful not to touch them with bare hands. She deposited the items, standard fare for a Drayson, in a container that had been preplaced.

"Yes," she answered, "Take us to the Embassy."

"Uneven Keel"

Lieutenant Corran Rex

As Rex and Kettch stumbled into their ships, it occurred to one - well, to both really, the shorter one was just the first to verbalize it - that they should, perhaps, be flying.

["Lieutenant Rex,"] he started, activating the comm with a hiccup. ["I'm not entirely certain that we should be heading into combat.":]

"Nonsense." the senior Lieutenant replied as he powered up his engines. "We're not that drunk."

~My wrinkly dead ass you're not too drunk to drive.~ came Vorrin's slightly muddled voice. ~You're so drunk that I'm dreading the hangover.~

~Well then. You concentrate on that, while I try to tell these control panels apart.~ Corran mentally replied.

["This won't look good to the other pilots in the squadron, you know."] Kettch muttered successfully managing - barely - to start his craft.

"Then we'll tell them we were hit on the head or something." came Rex's reply as Vanguard One lifted unsteadily into the air.

He really , really hoped he didn't hit any debris on the way out. It was definitely synthehol only after this trip. "Kettch, I'm not getting a control tower reading. Looks like we're on our own."

["This asteroid's been pelted by bombs, or torpedoes, or ... Something. The fact that there's no response surprises you?"] came the little furball's sarcastic reply.

["Nice, you little walking carpet. Come on - let's go make certain our pilots aren't getting killed."]

Aiming for what he sincerely hoped was the launch dome's forcefield - marveling that it was still working - the Trill very much hoped that his vision wasn't as blurry as it seemed to be.

On uneven keels, the two starfighters streaked back out into the asteroid field.

Well now. This would be a... Test.

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

On their weaving way, Vanguards One and Ten narrowly made it out of the thickness of the asteroid field. The experience was... Rather frightening, and luckily served to help sober the pair up. Not a lit, mind, but enough that they were fairly certain of the various buttons and controls that they were operating. As they streaked in at slightly faster than a safe flanking speed, Rex's tactical sensor lit up, showing that the rest of the Squadron had been deployed. Though.. There were eleven pilots out there, instead of ten.

Where in the world had Jazz picked up two extra pilots?

He was about to tap the comm to ask her when the rest of the Tac display lit up. Two Vanguards had just shot off towards something farther in the Belt - a pirate ship, by it's scanner signature. But almost two dozen small contacts were coming from somewhere to face off with the fighters.

As they neared closer, the Trill finally made sense of what the scans were telling him. The fighters that were encroaching on his people were what were commonly known as 'Uglies'. The were cobbled together ships, literally pieced together from the scraps of derelict and destroyed, or decommissioned, craft. They were typically used by smugglers, pirates, mercs, and other less than savory types (like lawyers). Nineteen of the craft were closing on Vanguard and the apparently crippled Galaxy.

["Jazz to Vanguard. Uglies coming in at six o'clock. All craft abandon sensor positions and take up a defensive pattern. Keep them off the Galaxy."] came the voice of his exec.

Steadying his stomach - which was threatening to heave it's contents onto the controls - Rex tapped the comm. ["Vanguard Leader to Vanguard Squadron. We haven't missed the party, have we?"]

He could hear the smile in Jazz's voice as she replied over the private comm. ["Hell no. Welcome back. I'm happy to give you you're squadron back. So you know - T'Shani's back, and we picked up a new pilot He's flying as Vanguard Thirteen - his name's Prophet."]

"Damn. I'm gone ten minutes, and you're recruiting replacements." he said as he eased his fighter into the lead position of the defensive formation.

He wondered absently if anyone notice that it took his fighter a little longer to slow to a stop than normal.

Toggling back to the squadron frequency, he steadied himself again. ["Allright Vanguards. Uglies coming in. Be careful - don't underesti.. Under... Remember to take them seriously, even though their ships are cobbled together. Uglies can be real nasty if their Engineer was talented enough. I don't much know what their beef with us is, but they're coming after us, so they've made their decision. Take 'em out."]

"Prize Crew"

Ens. Miguel Sandoval
Dr. Teeda Chouu
Jan Pirate Captain

With a nervous sigh, Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval settled back into the rickety old Command Chair of the Pirate Vessel ANDRASTA. All about him the smoky haze of burnt wiring and fused circuits swirled in in the eerie halflight of battle-damage.

To his left Dr. Teeda Chouu of the Lammergeir Science council noted his reluctance and nodded in encouragement. "Go get 'em Mikey." she smiled. "Two months out of the Academy and already the Captain of your own ship."

A snort of derision greeted her comments as the ANDRASTA's previous commander rolled his eyes in contempt. He knew as well as any of them that Miguel commanded nothing more than a tumbling slab of heat-blistered metal. One more piece of space-borne debris in an asteroid system peppered with similar sized flotsam.

Miguel swallowed hard and tried to remember everything he had ever learned at the Academy about ship functions. A subject that he had only paid passing attention to at the time.

"Okay...let us be getting to work...."

((( One hour Earlier )))

Following their attack on the errant pirate vessel, the gun-happy fighters from Galaxy's vanguard squadron had largely left the tumbling hulk alone to its fate.

Returning to their defensive circle surrounding the Federation Starship, the tiny fighters left behind a powerless, drifting slab of twisted metal that spewed gas from scores of tiny hull breeches.

The Official Federation Log would indicate that Vanguard had detected and Engaged a menacing Troyer-Mercenary vessel, leaving it crippled and lifeless, but the reality of the situation was a bit different.

Neither Troyer, nor lifeless, the ANDRASTA crew still hung onto a sliver of hope as their tiny world drifted farther and farther out into the endless ocean of night.

The majority of hands dead or wounded, there still remained however some evidence of life crawling though its groaning smoke-filled passageways.

"I am being thinking we are going the wrong direction now." Miguel peered into the gloom and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "All passageways are being much alike I am thinking."

Behind him in the darkness, his two companions offered no reply. The First, Dr, Chouu, simply because she had none. She was a scientist, and not in any respect familiar with ship designs or layouts as (she assumed) the Starfleet trained Miguel should be.

The second companion said nothing, simply for the fact that he NEVER said anything. The slim enigmatic boy of perhaps 16 years simply gazed at the frustrated officer with a slightly quizzical-puppylike expression.

Glancing back at the boy, Miguel once again felt the strange religious stirrings in his Catholic soul.

The lad had HEALED him....pure and simple. With a single touch the vacuum-ravaged knee injury that Miguel had sustained had sorted itself right out, and he could now bound through the ANDRASTA's 1/4 gravity without the slightest twinge.

The odd, peaceful expression in the boys great blue eyes only served to compound the 'Messianic' feel to him.

Miguel thumped the bulkhead in frustration and continued on down into the flickering half-light.

~~~Blasphemyblasphemyblasphemy!~~~ he thought.

It seemed like the Universe was playing one big joke on him since his arrival aboard the Galaxy.

First he had been placed in charge (nod nod wink wink) of a nearly defunct Botany/Ecology department, staffed with what amounted to the dregs of fleet personnel.

Second his immediate superior, The Chief of Sciences, was an obscene mockery the Angelic Icons of Miguel's Faith. He quickly came to view the....'thing'......as a cruel joke.

Now captured and help prisoner during what should have been a peaceable Terraforming mission, Miguel once again found his faith challenged in the form of one miracle performing boy whose abilities shocked him to the very core.

If the low gravity would have allowed it, Miguel would have stamped his feet in frustration, but instead contented himself with 'Bunny-Hopping' as menacingly as he could.

>>BRIDGE<<

The twisted, soot-covered sign brought Miguel's happy band up to a stop.

The thick double-bulkhead next to it was not sealed off as it should have been, but rather had been jammed open by a landslide of falling debris.

The way inside would be narrow and delicate, filled with sharp metal edges and such, but the soft buzzing of static could clearly be heard from just beyond.

Gripping the stolen disruptor tighter Miguel felt his limbs tremble in fear. He was a Scientist! This ray-gun nonsense was insane.

Working his way past the rubble was easier than he had thought. The micro-gravity allowed him to very neatly glide through the obstructions with only the slightest of effort.

It took only a second to see that his disruptor would be totally unnecessary.

If the rest of the ship had been 'damaged' then the bridge could be considered an outright disaster area.

Wreckage decorated the tiny control area in the form of shredded metal confetti and erratic neon sparkles of sparking circuits.

A multitude of video screens glowed dimly in the haze, displaying either hissing showers of static, or warning lights well past the redline in a multitude of areas.

The ANDRASTA possessed actual transparent windows in its forward control area, except these no longer displayed the stunning vistas they once did. Soot and tar blackened the glass in several places, while a formidable looking spiderweb of cracks loomed menacingly over one fragile pane.

Just looking at the cracks, Miguel could almost feel the alarming chill of the endless void outside.

The command crew.....well what was left of them....was obviously not going to be a problem for Miguel's tiny band.

Two sub lieutenants lay sprawled across the debris filled deck, their faces blackened and moist with death. The third figure, the Captain obviously was hunched under a control panel grasping a bubbling bloody wound in his chest.

His feverish rapid breathing was nothing more than a rasp, while occasional wet coughs shivered his frame to the bone.

Blood oozed out between his trembling fingers, spurting occasionally with every breath of air.

Miguel felt nausea rise in his throat and took an unconscious step backwards away from the carnage bumping into Dr. Chouu who crawled through the entryway herself.

"Yow....what a mess." she shook her head sadly and then noticed the gasping captain "Hey this guy's still alive."

~~~Not for long I think.~~~ Miguel thought in horror. The realities of life and death were not something the young El Salvadoran had ever encountered before.

More experienced, Dr, Chouu knelt before the stricken pirate and attempted to survey the injuries. Alas her Doctorate was in Physical Sciences and not Medicine so there was little she could do.

"J....jj.....jaa jnnn." the captain stuttered, blood bubbling at his lips. His eyes were wild and filled with impending doom.

Neither scientist could make out the words.

"Ja......jjj...Jan.....Jan...." the dying man coughed desperately.

"Jan?" Dr. Chouu glanced back at Miguel. "His wife...or girlfriend perhaps?"

Miguel shrugged.

"Nyaaa....JAN!!" a glob of clotted blood slipped out between the pirates teeth to plop onto his chin. A trembling injury covered hand rose to point with obvious pain. "Jj...Jan..."

The Miguel and Chouu turned to follow that indication, and found the pirate pointing directly at the wreckage filled doorway where the strange blond haired boy stood, blue eyes wide with sadness.

"Him....his name is Jan?" Chouu asked amazed. "You need him to....oh." The Doctor cut herself off with a sudden realization of why the injured captain would take such an interest in the mute boy.

Miguel felt a shock run to his core as he realized it as well. ~~~He wants him to HEAL him.~~~

The boy, Jan, obviously was not as gung-ho about the prospect. He actually took a step backwards away from the shattered remains of his captain, while at the same time the glistening in his eyes told of the anguish he felt over the dying man.

"j...jn....pl...please." the pirate pleaded." a hint of finality in his voice.

Chouu and Miguel stepped back, not sure of what to do, both looking expectantly at the traumatized Jan.

For several anguishing moments the mute wrestled internally, the intense emotions playing across his smooth features. Finally however, biting his lip in nervousness he took a first step forward towards the shattered captain.

Even though Miguel knew what was coming he still felt a wave of awe wash over him. He hadn't known what to expect when he had his knee healed, but now the scientist in him studied the process with eager eyes, while the Catholic in him turned somersaults in rebellion.

Jan laid his hands gingerly upon the captain's own and closed his eyes in obvious concentration. The effect was almost immediate. The blood bubbling from the pirate's chest wound stopped in mid-pump, while the rasping breathing grew increasingly more even.

Simultaneously, and most amazingly, the front of Jan's tunic was almost instantly stained with a similar pool of redness, and the poor lad's face contorted with waves of unbelievable pain. Jan coughed horribly and blood misted the air with each hack.

At last with a noiseless cry Jan collapsed backwards onto the deck, his tunic awash with blood, and a pool forming beneath him, while tiny rivers of the stuff ran from between his lips.

Alarmed Dr. Chouu leapt forward to cradle him, but Miguel stayed back, breath held in awe and fear.

Almost before Chouu could kneel to comfort Jan however, the puddling of blood stopped and his breathing grew relaxed. The lad sat up wearily on his own and unconsciously wiped a bit of blood from his chin.

The Pirate captain was also recovering his strength and made a move to stand shakily. The motion shook Miguel out of his reverie and the Botanist raised the stolen disruptor shakily.

"Nay....do not be worrying about me Starfleet." The Captain waved his hand dismissivly. "I'll not be causing any trouble, having done enough dying for one day. The ship....such as she is....is yours."

Jan was also getting to his feet.....slowly but gracefully. He touched the sopping red mess that was his tunic and made an expression of distaste. Glancing nervously at the others he stripped off the blood soaked shirt and let it plop wetly to the deck. Miguel could see with amazement that his skin was without injury or hurt in any respect.

~~~Miracle~~~ he thought.

(((NOW)))

=/\= ROGER THAT ANDRASTA.....UNDERSTAND YOU ARE ADRIFT AND WITH MINIMAL POWER....DO YOU HAVE LIFESUPPORT AT THIS TIME?=/\=

Miguel glanced at the former Captain who was now manning the only working computer console on the bridge. He shrugged, and made a 'so-so' motion with his hand.

Miguel nodded and turned back to the crackling speaker. He was quite surprised that the pirate was being so cooperative, but he supposed that the near death experience would have shocked anybody into contemplation.

"Ah...Galaxy....we do have minimal life support at this time, but there are several wounded aboard at this time......recommend Search and Rescue As soon as feasible."

Miguel savored the feel of his native Spanish in his mouth. The captain had returned his confiscated Comm-badge and translator enabling the scientist to avoid sounding like an idiot to all who listened.

=/\= ROGER THAT. UNSERSTAND WE'RE STILL PICKING UP THE PIECES OVER HERE, AND THERE ARE PROBABLY A HALF DOZEN MORE DISTERSS CALLS ACROSS THE SYSTEM. DANG TROYERS AND DRAYSONS REALLY TORE EACH OTHER APART......WE'LL GET A SHUTTLE OUT TO YOU AS SOON AS WE CAN.....GALAXY OUT =/\=

Miguel clicked off the speaker and glanced over at Dr. Chouu. They had only just been informed of the tragedy that befell the Gryphon system, and were still trying to absorb it all. As anguished as Miguel had been to learn that the precious terraforming project had turned into a bloodbath, this was Dr. Chouu's home.

There was no word yet of potential survivors on Lammergeir.

Swiveling in his chair the Starfleet scientist considered the pirate captain first, and finally the boy Jan. Both seemed quite recovered from their ordeal, and indeed Jan was studying a static-filled display with some fascination. Absorbed by the colors perhaps.

Miguel flexed his own perfectly healed knee unconsciously and tried to quell the disquiet in his soul. He leaned back in the chair and closed his tired eyes an old bible quote coming unbidden to mind.

~~~....he shall be bruised for our transgressions, pierced for our iniquities......~~~

"What Have I Done?"

Laura Sellman,
Director,
Gryphon Coalition

Audrin Dernos,
Liaison to Gryphon Coalition

Days had passed in Gryphon, the fires had begun to burn out in a physical sense. The burn of the spirit in every man, woman, and child throughout the system still smouldered.

Every single individual in the system knew someone that had died.

Roland Troyer and Justin Drayson were both found dead. Troyer the apparent victim of an execution-style hit, and Drayson had committed suicide. These events in and of themselves had brought a calming effect down upon the society. The looting and rioting had come under control for the most part.

Troyer itself had been devastated when Drayson had announced the fault had lain with the mining faction. Tensions had been rising for years between the two; rifts had formed between brothers and once brethren.

Such as it was that beliefs and politics had risen like fat from a simmering stew, drowning the contents within. They'd driven the common senses and that which bound humanity together apart in celestial fury. The emotions had come flooding and overwhelmed all sane thought.

Now, it had burned itself out, its candle burning bright for one flaring instant as it used up all its energies in one burst, to sputter out as its life faded before its time.

The starship Galaxy had completed its repairs and now, under order of the provisional government led by the last survivor of the former government, it took its leave from the system. It was no longer wanted.

Laura Sellman, the provisional Director of the Gryphon Coalition, rubbed her elbows as they crossed her torso. She gazed out the viewport in her new offices on Drayson, the curtailing smoke still rising to form a hazy atmosphere in the dome. The Federation ship edged its way gracefully out of the system, its maneuvering thrusters firing as it navigated its way out of the asteroid belt and Starbase 212.

She'd formally severed ties to the Federation for its failure to prevent the terrorist attacks, as well as its apparent support of the Troyer government during the crisis. Their fighter squad indiscriminately fired upon Drayson craft. It didn't matter that they had assailed Troyer craft as well. In fact, the shared distribution of firepower only solidified her stance on their departure.

"Congratulations on your appointment, Director." Sellman turned her back on the starscape shining through the dome above. Audrin Dernos, the Under-Ambassador to Mika sh'Sonora, had been permitted to stay under her close scrutiny. He was now her liaison to the Federation as the Council president position had been dissolved and the Andorian departed with the other Starfleet peoples.

"Somehow, it doesn't feel as rewarding as I'd hoped. So much death and destruction, Audrin. 13,000...."

"Yes, such horror." Silence hung between them like a thick blanket.

"Don't play the compassionate card, Dernos. You got what you wanted." A former judge of the Drayson faction, she circled the oaken desk that had previously belonged to Justin. The idea that the Director had put a bullet in his head in this very room shook her, but it would suffice while her offices were being built in the new government building across the square.

"We got what we wanted, Sellman. With the help you requested, of course."

"Don't remind me. I have enough on my conscience. Your heart is cold enough to live with it. I'm not sure mine is."

"Oh, it is, Director. Else you would have picked up that gun right behind Drayson. You hungered for this. You would never have achieved this level of power without myself and associates assistance. You put on this grand show of compassion and love. Your heart is as cold and black as it needed to be."

Laura tapped her foot, biting her lip. Audrin was right, of course. Drayson was a fool. He didn't see the potential the Gryphon Coalition held in the palm of their hands. With t heir contracts all pledging assistance in incursive parties, they had no need to fear invasion of any sort. It was unfortunate to drive the Federation away, but they were a means to an end. There were too many supporters of allying with the UFP once again, and that would have brought down terrible wrath from the other contracts. Just the fact that the Federation would have obtained lower costs for their minerals, while causing inflation if not a halt to their known enemies would have been suicide for the Colonies.

Plus, the peace-loving Feds would come running to their aid if they asked. The compassion of the UFP was going to be their downfall in the end.

"Whatever, Dernos. Where are your associates so we can get this damn treaty signed?"

Before Dernos could answer, the hum of a transporter beam echoed in their ears. A greenish mist swirled at a single, round transporter pad, installed by Dernos immediately after the Starfleet vessel had taken away all Federation citizens except himself. He'd of course, 'volunteered' to stay behind to pursue Federation relations now crumbled. Right...

Audrin keyed a terminal on Sellman's desk, causing a rumble as blast shields fell into place over the viewports.

The swirling mist coalesced into an indiscernible shape as the lights dimmed in the room.

"My associate doesn't like bright lights." Dernos explained to Laura Sellman, who was a little on guard. Alone in a room with Dernos and his associate made her more than a little leery, but those were the conditions.

"May I introduce our new partners, Director..."

"You have appropriated our condition of trade, Dernosssss?" The deep basso rumble of voice, slick and slippery with the quantitative underlay hiss met the inhabitants even as its filter mask did little to muffle the tone.

"I have." Dernos again depressed another key on the terminal. A door opened to their left within the alcove containing the transporter pad.

A form shifted from within, rising from a cot in the cubicled room.

"It's about time! Any longer and I would have had to kill someone." The pitch of confidence and cold calculation was in complete contrast to the personality it had portrayed for so many years previous.

"Commander Garo'fr'th, may I introduce Katrina Olegoski, formerly of the USS Galaxy and Federation Liaison Corps." Olegoski nodded tartly in the direction of the Hydran, now recognizable in its form in the dim light. Everything in three's. It's triple eyestalks dangling at each occupant.

"Dernos, get me something to drink. That prison cell you beamed me into lacked any suitable provisions." Audrin raised a brow, but bowed off. He'd accomplished his task. There was no need for reciprocal banter.

"How... what... you died! I saw you trapped in the dome!"

"Yes, well, Starfleet Intelligence has other methods of extraction. Transporters are such a wonderful invention, are they not? Install a single use one-way transporter pad in a sensor dampened location, flip a switch..." She rolled up her sleeve, lifting her forearm. "Sub-cutaneous transponders set to a specific frequency. Beamed me right here as soon as they blast doors closed. The look on M'Kantu's face was priceless. Wish I had a snapshot." She handed a Padd to the Hydran.

"This technology and more, Commander. Fleet deployments, defenses, shipyards. Complete scientific assessments of all planetary and cosmic bodies along the Hydran borders that Starfleet had been able to survey."

"Exccccellent, Ssssstarfleet. Thissss trade is accccceptable. The Gryphon Coalition will have our alliancccce. Begin neolithium transsssferssss immediately. We are grateful for the opportunity presssented to exsssplore your ssssysssstem. Sssstarfleet, you will come with ussssss." Without hesitation, or a word, the green mist took them both away, mindless of the transporter pad.

Dernos returned a moment later, the carafe of juice coupled with 3 glasses. Hydran metabolisms were incompatible with humanoids.

"What have I done?" Laura Sellman's actions had finally sunk in. She'd consciously cooperated with the deaths of almost 13,000 colonists, and now she'd unwittingly provided the Hydrans with critical classified information from a Starfleet officer who'd been in her offices the entire time and never knew it.

"You have gained power in your colonies and a valuable ally in the coming days, Director. The dividends are only going to begin paying off. Give it a few years, and you'll be a most powerful independent in this sector of space. You'll see. Now, let us drink to the occasion." He poured a cup for Laura, and one for himself. Setting down the tray, he proffered a mug to her.

"But at what cost, Audrin? What cost....? She ignored the glass, seating herself at her desk, holding her head in her hands.

"What have I done?"

"3,000 Light Years to Graceland - PART 1"

Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer

Commander Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer

*****

Commander Cassius Henderson waited until they were a day out from Gryphon. It had been a mess. A complete, abject mess. But what was done was done, and Cass had decided that he was tired of sleepless nights. Something had to be done regarding the Pennington question. He'd more or less come to the conclusion that his finding her would be more beneficial to her than Starfleet doing it.

Approaching Captain M'Kantu's door, he rang the chime. He knew all too well the thoughts that were probably going through the captain's mind after their expulsion from Gryphon.

"Enter." Daren couldn't even begin imagining the mess that was Gryphon. The Galaxy, unable to respond to the attacks, was blamed for the whole situation. The report to Starfleet Command is not one he would enjoy.

"How are you holding up, sir?" Cass said, walking over to the desk and waiting for M'Kantu to ask him to have a seat. After their initial encounter, he was curious what the ship's commanding officer thought of his own performance during the crisis.

"How i am holding up is not the matter of consequence, Mr. Henderson. It is more a development of how best to present the situation to the Council that we are no longer welcome in the system." M'Kantu had not been in his seat when Henderson had entered, For this matter, he had turned to the rituals all Starfleet Captains do when mulling serious situations. Ponder the stars as they elongate by.

Cassius walked over to stand next to him, looking out at the stars. One was home. One was Gryphon. Had Rima found a place at one of them? "You're right, of course. I have to admit. Before yesterday, I never could have imagined events would deteriorate so fast. What really gets at me is that we still have no idea who launched the attacks, and what their motives were."

"Motives for terrorism are never logical, Mr. Henderson. Have you concluded your report on the Galaxy situation? Starfleet is anxious to evaluate our status at the time."

"Yes sir," Cass replied, producing the required padd, "I just finished double checking it with my bridge crew, as well as . That should contain all the necessary information."

Daren took several long moments to scan through the report. He would read it in more detail later this evening when he began to comprise his report. It was bound to have him up all night. Thankfully engineering had been able to give Operations enough system resources to keep his tea supply in stock. A long night indeed.

"Now, Number One, what else can I do for you? Something on your mind?" He'd learned to recognize when his First Officer had something to say.

"Actually yes. It's Pennington, sir," he said, resisting the urge to call her by her first name. It was what he did. Continuing, he nervously rubbed his neck, "Remur, Haverlock, and I were talking, and we would like to request permission to take one of the runabouts and look for her."

"A runabout, Cass? That's not a request to be taken lightly. Do you have any idea where to begin your search? I was under the impressions Starfleet was taking care of the matter."

Taking care... Henderson frowned, "Ensign Haverlock has a friend who works security on 212. Evidently Starfleet's official investigation hasn't begun yet. Our hope is that we can locate our first clue in the old security camera footage." Okay, so it was a longshot, considering the size of 212, and how many people were on it, but it was the best Cassius could do.

"Why do you feel you must be the one to investigate this, Cassius? Why is it so important to you?"

"Truthfully, sir," he nodded. It had been bound to come down to that. "I feel responsible for her. She was sent here to learn from me as my ACTO, in the hopes that I could... rehabilitate her. She had a colorful record at the academy. Obviously things have changed since she was assigned here, but I still feel that responsibility."

Daren mulled this over. It was a growing experience to feel responsibility for your fellow crew, but there was something more here. An intangible. "Sometimes responsibility means delegating matters of a possibly biased nature. I get the feeling this is a potential conflict of interest, Cass. There's something more to this than her just being your ACTO, isn't there? I get the feeling this is quite personal."

"It is. She's a problem officer, and one that I worked with and felt that I was making progress with," he replied. And he knew it was a conflict of interest. Remembering his conversation with M'Kantu, he knew that the older officer expected the truth, and Cassius wanted to give it. However, it was made complicated by the fact that he didn't entirely know what his feelings regarding her were.

M'Kantu nodded. Cassius had a protegé. Maybe his XO and Pennington could learn from each other.

"Granted, Cassius, on one condition. Do not let your personal feelings cloud your thoughts. Rima is to be taken into Starfleet Security the moment you apprehend her. Do not deviate from standard policy in the apprehension of AWOL 'fleet crew. I have no desire to lose my XO as well. It is fortuitous we are on shore leave for the next two weeks. Be sure to return by then. Do NOT be late. I want you back in a week. No later. You are aware of the punishment for being late." He fixed the XO with a hard glare. Daren meant business in this regard. "Do I have your word on that, Mr. Henderson?"

Cassius frowned, but responded confidently. Whatever happened would happen anyway. At least this way it would be him doing it and not a nameless goon from Starfleet Security. "Yes, sir. It was always my intention to do so. Anything else would only be delaying the inevitable."

"Then go, and don't scratch the paint on the runabout."

"Aye, sir," Cass replied, and snapped off a salute before departing. He needed to go find Remur and Haverlock and get a move on. Time was already running out, and they'd yet to begin.

"Good luck, Cassius. Dismissed."

"Permission to Engage"

(Takes place immediately after 'Coming Out of the Closet')

Principle Characters
 
Flight Officer "Angel" Angelienia
Pilot "Blue" Tyten
 
Secondary Characters
 
Unauthorized appearance by the voice of Flight Officer Jasmine "Jazz" Heloi

****

Gryphon System
Protective Orbit About USS Galaxy

Angelienia's cranial ridges made her look unattractive when she frowned, which was why she tried never to do it, even in the privacy of her cockpit, behind her concealing helmet. At the present, though, she was doing it and paying no attention to the fact as she stared in disbelief at the damage done to the Galaxy and the colony below them. How had a bunch of raggedy-ass rock miners gotten their hands on the equipment necessary to cripple the Galaxy and shoot up the asteroid colony below her like this?
 
The firefight taking place at the Troyer colonies between the two faction's mercenary fleets wasn't showing it to her - they were using fairly conventional weapons: phasers and disruptors. The scoring on the Galaxy was unmistakably from a plasma-based weapon, though, and no one was tossing those around. To make matters worse, the impact points didn't look like those made by Romulan plasma torpedoes - they were too small, without the wide arcs of plasma discharge scoring. That meant smaller charges, fired more rapidly - which meant someone else entirely was here. Someone unknown. And that meant that her being out here with Blue was a smart decision - there was another ship in the area, maybe more than one, and they were armed heavily enough to be a threat.
 
=/\= "Blue, are you getting anything? All I have on this arc is the two mercenary fleets engaging each other." =/\=
 
Tyten watched as the battle erupted between the Troyer and Drayson fleets. The work of death that was exploding only a short distance away, relatively speaking, was humbling.  Angelienia's voice brought him out of his trance and he quickly looked over his sensor panels.
 
=/\= "I've got nothing on the box here.  Adjusting my position to three-five-three by seven-two." =/\=
 
Carefully moving his fighter so as not to draw any attention to himself, he swiftly glided into his new scanning position.  Instantly his sensor warning system lit up.
 
=/\= "Hello, what have we got here.  I'm picking up a freighter just on the edge of my sensor range at two-one-seven mark three.  Trying to identify now." =/\=
 
Angelienia's frown deepened, as she made a course change. =/\= "I see it. Try and lock it down, Blue, we need to know who that is." =/\= She clicked over frequencies. =/\= "Jazz, we've got a freighter trying to slip out of the system in the confusion. They're on a trajectory that places them in a firing position on the Galaxy as they pass. Permission to engage?" =/\=
 
The slightly harried voice of the flight's leader snapped back. =/\= "Permission to engage and disable, repeat, disable only - if their weapons are hot, Angel." =/\=
 
=/\= "Understood, disable only if weapons are hot," =/\= Angelienia returned and clicked back over to Blue. =/\= "Jazz says we engage to disable if their weapons are hot. I think they want someone to talk to. =/\= Privately she smiled. Attacking to disable a ship of that size was a greater test of skill than destroying three of them would be. Besides, if there was someone on that vessel that knew what had happened here, she wanted to speak to them too.
 
=/\= "Copy that, Angel.  I'm going in for closer scans. =/\=
 
Tyten accelerated as he closed in on the freighter.  At first glance there was nothing spectacular about it to report.  He surmised that it would have the usual compliment of weapons that most freighters had, but that's where he made his mistake.  Hot phaser fire lanced out towards him.  His fighter shook from the impact.  =/\= "Whoa!  That was a type nine phaser!  What is a freighter doing with type nine phaser banks?"=/\= he shouted into the com.
 
He spun his fighter to avoid another barrage of fire.  =/\="I'm going to say that's considered running with weapons hot.  I'm making my first run, targeting their weapons platform." =/\=
 
His fighter rolled as he made his way on the underside of the craft, his own phasers slapping outward at the freighter's hull.
 
Angelienia's frown vanished and a predatory grin replaced it. "There was no more waiting and wondering, it was time to go to work. =/\= "Jazz, suspect ship has fired on Blue with military-grade phasers." =/\= She kicked her afterburners and spun the small fighter over, angling in on a vector that would force the enemy to split his fire or leave himself undefended against one of the two fighters. =/\= "I repeat, ship has fired on Blue with military-grade weaponry. We are moving to engage." =/\=
 
=/\= "Roger that, Angel. We can provide no backup at this time," =/\= Jazz responded, frustrated.
 
=/\= "Understood, Angel out." =/\= A single click, and Angelienia was on frequency with Blue again. =/\= "I'm on your six, Blue. Breaking to target's aft to draw fire from you. Jazz says we're solo on this one." =/\=
 
Smiling, Tyten replied, =/\="I can handle that. Means more action for you and I." =/\=
 
He came around for another run at the freighter. The freighter's shields screamed in protest as his phasers danced across them. It tried to respond with several blasts, but the small fighter was too quick for their targeting scanners.
 
=/\="Blue to Angel. Make sure you go in hard and fast. That way it will keep their targeting scanners confused. Whoever is working their weapons must not have a whole lot of experience doing so." =/\=
 
Angelienia didn't respond as she sent her fighter dancing around the aft of the freighter and then looped back up and over the fleeing vessel's dorsal side to hammer the same shield Tyten had hit. The characteristic flare of a shield flashing to overload and being reinforced rewarded her efforts. =/\= "Hit that shield again, Blue," =/\= she said, as she twisted her craft into a sharp turn to evade return fire. =/\= "They'll reinforce it again, and when they do I'll  make a run on the aft shield and try to take out the engines." =/\=
 
=/\= "Copy that, Angel.  I'll have their shields lit up brighter than fireworks on First Contact Day." =/\= Even as he said it he winced. He knew it was a horrible joke. Swinging around, he launched a relentless volley at the weakening shields.
 
With a few taps on her weapons controls, Angelienia programmed the fighter's microtorps to home in on and strike the freighter's aft shields, and then rolled into a dive. "=/\= "Starting my run, Blue." =/\=
 
Phasers firing at low power - more to provide a light show than anything else - Angelienia scored several hits on the weakening shield, saw the flicker as it was reinforced again, and jerked the stick over to lift her ship's nose. =/\= "Torpedoes away," =/\= she reported as the pair of microtorps sizzled out of the nose of her fighter and skimmed along the body of the freighter. As they reached the end of the ship, and as Angelienia wheeled the fighter over to follow them, the torpedoes flashed out into open space, looped around, and homed in on the aft shield.
 
The twin explosions struck as one blow, taking the shield down and leaving the aft of the ship momentarily defenseless. Angelienia, racing past the end of the ship, flipped her fighter end for end, inertial compensators screaming as they redlined, and fired as her nose came in line with the now defenseless engineering section of the freighter. The beams sliced into the hull just forward of the port nacelle and dragged down between the nacelle pylons like a knife, the cut bleeding plasma and molten metal in their wake. There was a single explosion that blew off some hull plating and the nacelles went dark as the engines shut down and started to vent excess plasma to prevent an explosion.
 
=/\= "Engines down, Blue. See if they want to talk now." =/\= she smirked, knowing the maneuver would look good when viewed in the after-action briefing.
 
=/\="My pleasure." =/\=
 
He opened a channel to the freighter.  =/\="Unidentified freighter, this is Pilot Tyten of the Federation starship Galaxy.  Now that we've stopped shooting at each other, perhaps you could introduce yourselves."=/\=

"The Woes of a Teddy Bear'

By:
Eptgac the Teddy Bear (Evil PlayThing Given by the AntiChrist)

Also of semi-importance:
Ensign T'Pol (8-ball) Hunter,
aka, Demon Lady

He could hear footsteps outside, in the corridor. They shuffled to a slow stop outside of the quarters. His little button eyes opened wide, or would have, if that was physically possible. Was it HER? Was she back?

The footsteps moved on. It wasn't her. This time.

Eptgac the teddy bear breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that his owner, the one others called 8-ball or Ensign Hunter, but he called Demon Lady, was working right now. He knew this because some hours earlier, when she had been called into work on a day she had planned to sleep off her perpetual hangover, she had played a one man game of soccer with Eptgac which ended with her booting him into the trash can on the other side of the room, where he still remained, all scrunched up and awaiting her dread arrival. He did not want her to arrive.

On days like these, when he was stuck in some uncomfortable place like a trash can or a toilet or a fireplace, Eptgac liked to daydream of the old days when he had once been the dear little comfort of a sweet blonde child named Sally. Sally, Eptgac thought, had been a wonderful owner. She had been all of six years old and in the two years Sally had owned him, she had only thrown a temper tantrum once, and Eptgac had not been abused or beaten or crucified in any way during that temper tantrum. The Demon Lady, seventeen years Sally's senior, threw six temper tantrums a day, and that was if it was a good day. During those tantrums, the Demon Lady had used all of her knowledge from whatever depths of hell she had come from to beat, torture, and maim poor Eptgac.

Oh, how he missed good little Sally! She was sweet and kind and never pretended Eptgac was one of her many ex-boyfriends to vent upon. But she had decided at the wise age of eight that she was too old for teddy bears and Eptgac had been sold over and over for short periods of time until a rather whiny young man had picked him up and deserted him in the torturous hands of the Demon Lady.

Even his name had changed. That was sort of an occupational hazard when one was a teddy bear, and Eptgac had gotten used to it, but with Sally he was Fuzzy Wuzzy. He missed being Fuzzy Wuzzy. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a good name for a teddy bear. Who ever heard of a teddy bear named Evil PlayThing Given by the AntiChrist?

"Fuzzy wuzzy had no hair," Eptgac thought to himself. "Well, I bloody well don't now, since parts of it have been BURNED OFF!"

Eptgac sighed. To think he was losing his hair this early. He wondered if there was Rogaine for teddy bears. Even if there was, he wouldn't ever get any. Not in the hands of the Demon Lady.

"This is hell," Eptgac thought miserably and tried to settle into a more comfortable spot in the trash can. Unfortunately, one of the million drawbacks to being an inanimate object denied the privilege of adjusting one's body in waste baskets, or anywhere else for that matter.

Footsteps came down the hall again and stopped outside of the Demon Lady's Quarters, ie, Eptgac's Four Walled Version of Hell. "Move on, move on," Eptgac thought desperately to the people. "Don't be the Demon Lady."

It was the Demon Lady. The door whished open and the footsteps led her into the room. The door whished shut.

It was during these times, when the Demon Lady skulked around in her brooding, pissed off manner, that Eptgac always found himself thinking, "Maybe she won't be in a bad mood today. Maybe many glorious things happened to her, like she. . .did whatever it is that makes owners happy. Maybe the Demon Lady will decide not to beat upon me."

This was, of course, never a very realistic hope, but Eptgac had it all the same. He tried for a more logical approach. "Maybe she will be in a bad mood because, let's face it, when is the Demon Lady in a good mood? But she won't remember where I am because she left me upside down and squashed in a trash can, and she won't find me when she looks for me so she'll decide to beat up something else. Maybe she'll never find me. Maybe I can stay in the trash can my whole life!"

An eternity in a trash can was not an entirely un-depressing thought but anything beat the Demon Lady and her passion for being utterly evil.

"Godammit," Eptgac heard the Demon Lady swear and felt himself fall backwards and then down as the Demon Lady kicked the trash can over. Eptgac rolled out of it and lay limply on the floor. "There goes THAT idea" he thought to himself.

Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy wuzzy wasn't very fuzzy, was he?

No, he wasn't very fuzzy. He wasn't even Fuzzy Wuzzy anymore. He was just Eptgac, Evil Plaything Given by the AntiChrist.

As he flew across the room for only the zillionth time that week, Eptgac told himself that one day, he would be in the hands of a less sadistic owner, a little girl, this time, with pink ribbons in her hair. Her name would be Sally or Mary or Sarah and his name would be Fuzzy or Teddy or Cutsey and everything would be just perfect.

As he collapsed on the floor, Eptgac thought to himself that that one day was gonna be awhile.

STARFLEET COMMAND INTERNAL MEMORANDUM

SCIENTIFIC SURVEY COMMAND UNITED STARSHIP GALAXY

SCIENCES DIVISION BOTANICAL SCIENCES

Copy Attached. Mkantu, Captain Commanding USS Galaxy. Kara'nin, Lieutenant Science Division USS Galaxy Hoelscher, Proffessor Federation Botanical Sciences, Starbase 64

RE: Gryphon: Final Report (Attachements)

FINAL SUMMARY:: It was given to this body, prior to making starfall in the Gryphon Sytem to prepare for and implement procedures to support and advise the Lammergeir Sciences Counsil in exploring the feasability of Terraformation projects.

It was given as facts that the Lammergeir Counsil would provide an appropriate liason to the Botany Department to act as guide and facilitator for project implementation.

To this end said department found one Dr. Teeda Chouu as a very skilled and knowledgeable liason.

The proposed site was well selected within the Systems habitable zone, and despite some defficulties in soil aeration and crop rotation schedules, it is the opinion of this Department that an effective biodome could have, and should have been possible given adequate technical and material assistance from Starfleet as a whole. (See Attached Appendices A-E) Preliminary forcasting had put Bio Dome output at roughly 1/3 current Gyrphon consumption levels within 2 years, and at 2/3 consumtion within 6 years. The effect of a 66% reduction in imported foodstuffs will be recognized as not insignificant. And it was the opinion of this Department that the full weight of Starfleet should have been thrown behind the endeavor. (See attached Appendices F-H)

Unfortuantely, in light of recent events in the Gyrphon system, which are outside the purvue of Botanical Sciences, it has becoeme obvius that sufficient funding will not be available due to "alternative" rebuilding priorities.

It is ths the reluctant report of this Department that the current prospects of a functional Agricultural Terraforming project within the Gryphon System is at this time......unfeasable. (see attached Appendix I)

Ens. Miguel Antonio Sandoval
Botanical Science Division.
USS GALAXY

((OOC: This backpost takes place during the fight. -Laurel))

"Stuck"

by
Emmett Bregman
&
Lt. Ella Grey

Location: Corridors of the USS Galaxy
Soundtrack: "Help!" by The Beatles

Ever been in the middle of a school of fish in one of Earth's oceans? Just watching them dart one way to the next for no apparent reason always amused me. One time they're heading left, then no, they must head right, then wait a sec, let's go back, etcetera. That, oddly enough, reminds me of Starfleet officers in the middle of a red alert.

Gotta go to this place, then, no, something else I need to do over there...It just cracks me up. Perhaps I could take some shots and come up with some sort of humor piece - the lighter side of Starfleet, perhaps? Visions of Starfleet officers turning corners at full run before banging into each other coursed through my head. Now *that's* entertainment.

*****

Emmett Bregman led the way as he, and Huey and Dewey behind him, headed

for one of the observation lounges at the front of the ship. He wanted to get a few external shots before he actually tried getting to the bridge. Emmett was too much of a pragmatist to not recognize that he'd get thrown out on his rear if he actually entered the bridge during a red alert. However, he was a journalist. He did, after all, have a higher calling.

Emmett wasn't quite paying attention to what, or who, was ahead of him as he turned the corner and like he was laughing about internally before, he ran into whomever it was. "Watch where you're going!" he exclaimed after he had regained his balance. Shep and Dale weren't as lucky, and the two of them had to pick themselves off the floor.

Ella Grey, tired and cranky, gave the trio a very sour look and then pointedly flipped them off and continued on her way to another faulty piece of wiring that, hopefully, when fixed would aide the ships progress. It was a very Engineering attitude, fixing a problem to head off another. Problem was that it rarely worked out that way.

"Hey!" Emmett exclaimed when he saw the gesture. It was *her* fault that she had walked into him after all. She should be apologizing, not giving him the finger. After all, *he* was Emmett Bregman. Documentary film maker. Pulitzer prize winner! Academy Award winner! She should really have had more respect. So, he decide for the lack of much better to do - turned out the damn observation deck was sealed off at the moment (it was, after all, only a few more steps down the hall) - to follow her.

What did this yahoo want, Ella wondered as she continued to fiddle with the panel. She furrowed her brow and made a shoo motion at him.

She was cute, for a kid, and Emmett graced her with his best charming smile. "I believe you owe me an apology."

Ella scowled and then paused briefly in her work to indicate that she could not speak.

Now, how interesting. A mute engineer. His journalist mind was already working a hundredfold. What an idea! He could see the headlines now...Mute Engineer saves the Galaxy. Nah...he'd have to work on that. Emmett paused in regarding her before the metaphorical light bulb turned on. Of course! She was Ella Grey, former singing sensation. "Miss Grey, isn't it?"

Ella leveled him a look. She knew that tone.

"Would you be interested in an interview? I'm Emmett Bregman - I'm sure you've heard of me," So, he was egotistical. So what? "I'm creating a documentary on the crew of the USS Galaxy. I'd love to have you join in."

She pointed to what she was doing, indicating that she hardly had time to stop and play the child prodigy turned engineer.

He shrugged, there were always to ways to a woman's...er...heart, that's it, heart. "Then, can I offer you dinner?" He had turned on what he termed his 'woman magnet' - he had yet to meet a woman who could resist him. No, wait, there was ex-wife number two...then again, she was an *ex* wife. Yup, he amended, no woman could resist him. "And maybe later an interview?"

Ella turned, ready to express a dozen emotions of irritation, when a better idea hit her. She smiled at him suddenly, full of charm and mischief.

If Emmett was startled by the sudden about face, it certainly did not show in his expression. "Is that a yes?"

She shrugged coyly.

"Ha, ha," he replied with a grin, "Shep, Dale, go back to your quarters. I'll give the two of you a call when we're ready to do that interview. In the meantime," he cocked his arm for Ella to take, "I'll be taking the lovely Miss Grey out to dinner."

If Shep and Dale were willing to gag in front of Emmett, they probably would have been. However, they had been properly subdued by the rather brash journalist and years of Starfleet training. After all, it was never a good idea to make fun of a superior a**hole in front of them. The two nodded and left as fast as their feet could carry them - that is, to be as far away as possible before their laughter overcame them.

Ella slided her arm into his. It had been so long since she had gotten to play with someone's head and she really would be doing the ship a favor, she rationalized. She took lead, gently pulling the man along towards a jeffries tube.

Emmett arched an eyebrow at the gesture. She wanted to go into..? Wow, she certainly worked fast. "Ms. Grey, there will be time enough for that later," he graced her with his best 'lady killer' smile, "I believe I was taking you to dinner?"

She took out her notepad. -Private Interview-

"In a jefferies tube?" he asked, rather confused. As interview places went, he had been in worse. Like that jail cell on Ceti...he quickly squashed that thought. There were some things that just weren't worth remembering. There are plenty of more...comfortable locations for an interview, Ms. Grey. Like one's quarters, for instance..." What? So he couldn't resist.

Ella gave him a slow smile and continued to walk towards the tube. Either he'd follow or he wouldn't. She was betting he would.

Now he was even more confused. It was rather annoying not having someone who could actually tell him what was on her mind rather than this whole mime meets world act. Ella pulled enigmatic better than most women he knew, and that included his last wife - and she was half Betazoid. Gamely he followed, keeping a little ways behind her. Surely she had no intention of doing something...inadvisable. Right?

In a rather comical fashion, Ella pulled him in. Had the news crew been there, they would have seen a rather startled look on Emmett's face as he disappeared quickly into the tube, feet flying behind him. As they the jeffries tubes were notoriously small, Ella was laying on her stomach facing him and Emmett was laying on his stomach facing her.

And then, to distract him, she kissed him.

Lights exploded in his head when he felt her lips brush his. Just what the hell was she pulling? First she pulls him inside the jefferies tube, then she starts kissing him. He'd heard of fast, but damn! Then again, his libido was telling his brain to shut up and enjoy itself.

When it came to a contest between Emmett's brain and it's interaction with his libido and an attractive woman, the attractive woman invariably won.

Ella found the right panel and suddenly the lights in the tube went out. The doors behind Emmett locked and Ella quickly slid backwards and out the other end of the tube before he had the chance to follow. She locked the door with a certain satisfaction.

Creep.

He heard the click and started swearing. He just got locked in. Son of a... "GOD DAMNIT! OPEN THIS DAMNED TUBE LIEUTENANT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?!" he hit the door panel and was unable to get it open. He tried moving backwards and hit another closed panel. The damned cramped space kept him on his stomach, and thanks to his height, he couldn't even turn himself around to attempt opening the back door.

He was well and truly stuck. He began to curse in American English, then he switched to other languages - using some terms that would make even the saltiest Marine blush. And still...she wouldn't open the door. He was going to make certain Lt. Ella Grey never worked another day in her life again. Reprimands, even a nasty article on her, anything. If she'd just get him the hell out of the fucking tube.

His anger was all consuming. It was dark, he was stuck in a tiny jefferies tube, and for all he knew he'd be forgotten in this godforsaken place until he died of hunger, water, or something else. Some joke she tried pulling on him. Hell, tried? She succeeded. And he fell for it like the sap he was. "LIEUTENANT GREY, I WILL BE TALKING WITH YOUR SUPERIOR OFFICER AND GETTING YOU REPRIMANDED IF YOU DON'T LET ME OUT! HELL, I'LL BE DOING IT ANYWAY!" For all he knew, she had to actually be looking at him to understand what he was saying. Which meant, he was yelling for no reason. "GOD DAMNIT!" he cursed again.

Ella smiled as she sent a message to the Engineering department. They would find Emmett Bregman in about an hour, maybe less if he kept yelling. Still smiling, she went back to finish her work in the corridor.

Fuming quietly, Emmett began banging on the bulkhead in the characteristic tapping of Morse Code. Maybe someone, somewhere, would hear it and search for it's source. He wanted out of this damned tube yesterday, and when it happened he'd show the lovely Miss Grey just why he held a black belt in jujitsu and karate.

Bitch.

******

That does it. I've had enough of this god forsaken place. I'm going to march myself upstairs and talk to Commander Henderson about getting Miss Grey reprimanded and, even better, assigned to the worst bloody assignment in the entire fucking universe. She had just messed with the wrong journalist.

Especially when said journalist had friends in, ahem, *very* high places.

OOC:

This is the beginning of a mini-anthology, detailing the major events that have shaped my character, T'Shani A'Akledorian. These posts run 'in-between' as flashbacks from the "From the Shadows..." mini-mission that Francis and I are publishing.

I hope you enjoy this little serial, and that it helps to shed some light on Tish.

Enjoy!

MJ

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

"Shattered Mirrors, Part I"

As told by Colonel Al'indal Markay'di'n (SFMC)

----------

=^= 2100, 9 February 2381: USS Holdfast - Deck 6 (Ship's Lounge) =^=

...Cassius spoke up: "Colonel, you knew T'Shani before she was transferred to the Galaxy. She often speaks highly of you, and that's pretty rare for her to do about anyone as far as I can tell. But she's a mystery to me. Can you tell me anything?"

"Well...in order to understand T'Shani, we'll have to start at the *beginning*..." Markay'di'n leaned back in his chair, as he began telling the tale of the warrior named T'Shani...

*****

=^= 2300, 11 May 2365: Outskirts of Raath Ra'Chuul, Seltax VII =^=

"Shhhhhh....!"

"Okay, okay...I'll be quiet!" The young Andorian girl whispered loudly to her best friend.

"You better be!" he hissed back. "If any of these stupid <Teegh'aa> wake up from your loud mouth, they'll probably stampede!"

Which was, of course, true. Teegh's - like their Terran equine equivalents - were actually pretty smart, but prone to spooking at the slightest notion. The two blue-skinned youths were currently making their way through the dark night across Old Man E'verytheriin's pasture, full of about three-hundred of the slumbering beasts. Although the girl had been uncomfortable with this route, it *was* the quickest way to the river.

*SPLURSH*

"Ewwww..." she wrinkled her nose and cocked her antennas to the side. "I think I just stepped in a pile of..."

"Shhhh....it's over there!" the boy whispered loudly to her, as she kicked the remnants of the sticky mess off of her sandal. He smiled widely, antennae curved upwards, as he pointed down towards the edge of the woods.

"Tron," she said, worry creeping in her voice, "are you *sure* about this? What if our *parents* find out that we're gone this late?" After the last *incident*, T'Shani didn't want to see her Thuub that angry, again.

"Don't worry, Tish," that was his nickname for her, "They all went to the city, remember? To go watch that new vid that's showing...and everyone else is asleep, aren't they?"

"Yeah..." she said, uncertainty still creeping into her voice.

Tron turned back to her, visibly annoyed, his right antenna twitching a little. "Tish, you worry way too much," he said as he started off into the woods.

T'Shani A'Akledorian hurried to catch up, still not quite sure as to *why* she had let him talk her into this hair-brained idea, in the first-place.

"Wait...Tron!" she yelled after him as he headed forward, "What if there are Blood Spiders in there?"

She really despised those damned things; black-iridescent spiders that spanned about 30 centimeters, actually looking more like some freakish hard-shelled Terran crab from Hell...when the colonists had first settled Seltax VII, *someone* had brought a pair of the damned things with them as a *pet*...after they got loose, well, you can imagine what happened. The ranchers hated them too, they would gang up and kill Teeghaa, though they usually only went for the sickly ones...

Tron burst out laughing...which caused a couple nearby Teegh's to stir...

"Tish! Ha! You should see the look on your antennas! You look *soooo* scared," he mocked, sticking his tongue out at her and circling his right antenna, a sign for 'crazy'.

"That's *not* funny!" her voice squeaked at his prodding. Now one of the Teegh's awoke...looked at them...and...

"Oh...<Umarin>..." the boy said under his breath as the large animal bellowed long and low, rising in pitch to a shrill cry, instantly waking the rest of the three-hundred-or-so beasts around them. Clearly spooked, the stupid thing actually began to *charge*......them!

"Tish! Run!" Tron called out as they both took off, as fast as they could, trying to outrun the dumb animals.

Now, the whole friggin' *herd* was caught up in an uproar: hollers, bellers, and other noises coming from the out-of-control mass, and all of them were following the leader...headed directly for the two Andorian children.

~Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!~ T'Shani ran as fast as she could towards the line of trees, keeping an antenna on Tron, who was only a few meters ahead of her...

"Tron, watch out!" she cried as a rampaging Teegh closed in on him, bucking wildly...

Tron tucked and rolled out of the path of the rampaging beast, quickly getting back to his feet an running even faster, catching up to A'Akledorian.

He ran beside her, and...smiled? "Heh, your <Thuub'a> is going to kill you!" he puffed through the exertion of running.

"Oh...yeah...?" she huffed back, "This was *your* idea, you <uukh>!" ~I should never have listened to him...stupid boys...always getting people in trouble!~

"Aaaaagghhh!" Tron shouted as another Teegh stampeded towards him, causing him to break away from T'Shani...

"Tron!" But he was already gone, lost in between the running herd.

"<Rhooz>!" she swore into the night. She was only twenty meters from the forest's edge...fifteen...ten...five...

"Oh!" T'Shani cried out as her toe caught on the exposed root of a Zehlk tree, sending her sprawling, antennas-first into the hard ground...

The Teegh's broke off their run at the edge of the forest, instead either stopping, or turning back to run the other way...

------------ Elsewhere... ------------

"What is that?" The Commander inquired of the tactical officer on duty.

"Just a localized livestock stampede, Sir," he was about to add that he *thought* he had seen two of the Blueskin's life signs - but didn't - as he wasn't completely sure, due to the large mineral ore deposits in the region which were wreaking havoc with the sensors. They'd have to send a signal-probe down there, before the landing.

"Very well, open a channel," he stood from dais at the center of the bridge as the communications officer nodded her head.

"To all Imperial Vessels, commence operations." Turning to the man standing at the aft of the IRV Temla's command bridge, "General, you may begin your invasion. To Romulus!" he saluted the traditional military salute, then bowed to the senior officer, before him.

The general watched as the mighty warbirds shot their green bolts of lethal energy to the surface of the planet. "Yes, to Romulus, indeed, Commander," he whispered, while turning on his heel, to march out to the staging areas. ~Soon, this too will be cleansed~

*****

"Oooooowwww," she moaned, while rolling over, onto her side. Tentatively, she reached up to her forehead, and brought her fingers back, coated with her own blue-purple blood.

~Great, how am I going to explain *this* to <Thuub'a>?~ she groused. Tron was *soooo* dead!

"Tron! TROOOOOONNNN!" she called out into the night. Stupid boys! She should have never let him talk her into going down to the river this late at night. And through a field full of Teegh'aa, as well!

"Boo!"

"EEEEAAAY!"

"Hahaha!" Tron laughed at his frightened friend, as he hung upside-down from a strong Zehlk branch.

"THAT'S *NOT* FUNNY!!"

"Hahaha....whoa!...OOOWW!" he moaned, as he lost his hold on the branch, tumbling on top of Tish. She shoved him off her chest, punching him, for good measure.

"Serves you right, you...you...you <uukh>!" She pointed to her cut forehead. "Look what you made me do, Tron! How am I going to explain *this* to my Thuub'a? Huh, genius?!"

Tron rolled over, looking up at her, while he rubbed his ribcage. "What did I *tell* you, Tish? Don't worry...there's a dermal regenerator back at my house." he got up, brushed off his shirt, and started walking away from T'Shani, toward the riverbank.

~Aaaarrrrrggggg! Stupid *BOYS*!~ she fumed, while following along. She would *never* let him talk her into one of his hair-brained 'missions' - as he called them - again!

"So, Tron," she tried to keep her voice from squeaking, "what's so *great* about the river at this time of night, huh?"

"Shhhhhh..." he turned to her, while beginning to cross the bridge, "It's on the other side, c'mon."

Frustrated, yet intrigued, T'Shani decided to follow. There was *no way* she was going to look like a <geed> in front of Tron.

She made her way across the bridge, and followed Tron down the bank of the Koruus'S River. As they wound their way through sand, dirt, grass, and roots, Tish looked out onto the gently-flowing water of the river. This time of year, the Koruus'S was high, due to the snow melt from off the B'thmes mountains, to the west of the city. Far down-river, Tish could hear the roar of the rapids...she looked back up, to the sky, to see clouds dancing in, out, and around the moons. Hel'traa was rising and full, tonight, while S'meern was a low, large yellowish-gold orb on the horizon...

"Here. Tish: look..." Tron pointed an antenna toward an eddy in the middle of the river's channel.

Crouching next to Tron, she stared at the water, trying to discern exactly *what* she was supposed to be looking for...

"Tron, I don't see..."

As the clouds started to cleared away - allowing the light of Hel'tra - a Guh'na fish jumped high into the air...for a second, it seemed to stop in mid-air as it turned, arched, and...

*FLASH*

"Oh!" Tish eeped, as the graceful Guh'na's body lit up in a bright green-white light.

"Tron, what is..."

As the cloud-cover dissipated, and the full light of the twin moons shone on the waters of Koruus'S, the single Guh'na was joined by...

**SPLASH!...PLOONK!...SPLASH!..PLOONK!..SPLASH!PLOONK!SPLASH!PLOONK!...**

...a chorus of splashes and flashes lit up the night air with sound and sight. Tish was mesmerized by the dancing acrobatics of the fish. She had read about the Guh'na's strange mating rituals in school, but this was the very first time she had seen it with her own two antennas.

"You see," Tron whispered quietly, while pointing to the now-living waters of Guh'na, "The Guh'na return to the place they were spawned from during last season, to mate. The males - the green ones - flash to attract the females - the white ones. Though, they can only mate in mid-air. Hence, the 'dance' you see, here, Tish."

"Wow..." she whispered quietly, keeping her voice low, lest she inadvertently be the cause of stopping the magical dance before them. She wondered at the sight before her. Something as simple as the procreation of this species required such an intricately-timed and acrobatically-challenging ritual.

Tron flexed his antennas back, sighing, "My <Thuub'a> showed this to me, a few years ago. He told me that this is why we must respect the <Guh'na> that we take, and never take more than we need. Otherwise, there won't be enough left for...this..."

Tish was surprised that Tron was being so...so... *thoughtful*. "Wow...it's so..."

**SPLASH!PLOONK!.......SPLASH!.................SPLASH!.........**

Silence...

Tish looked up, wondering what had caused the sudden stop of the Guh'na's dance. "Tron, look..." she pointed to the sky, toward Hel'traa...or where it was, just a minute ago...

"What the...?" Tron echoed, as he quickly stood up, surveying the sky, alongside Tish. He peered up at the sky, where the bright moon should have been showing, instead, he only saw the many outlines of...

"Starships...?" ~But why would they be...?~ he was cut-off in mid-thought, as he saw a bright green...

**FLASH!**

The bright orb streaked across the sky, trailing a green trail behind it, like a comet. It disappeared below the tree line of the forest. Moments later, a green-white flash flared above the tree line, from the direction of the city, followed by a low rumble - like thunder - trembling the ground beneath them.

"Tish, c'mon!" Tron pulled at her, as he hurried toward the bridge, about a klick away. "Hurry, Tish!"

She ran behind him, careful to not trip over the exposed roots and thickgrass as he hurried down the riverbank. "What *is* it, Tron?!" she squeaked, as another flash and rumble filled the air. Briefly, she cocked her left antenna toward the river, catching the water rippling with the shaking of the ground.

As they reached the bridge, they both looked downriver, toward the rapids and the city of Raath Ra'Chuul, beyond.

**FLASH!!**

Their arms went up, protecting themselves from the bright flashes of light, turning night to day in an awful, eerie, day-green glow.

**BOOM!!**

They both cringed as the sonic waves impacted them, sending them sprawling to the hard duraplast surface of the footbridge.

"Tron!" Tish wailed. "What's happening!!??"

Tron sat up, rubbing at the back of his head, where it had hit the duraplast. "I don't know, Tish. But we better get..."

He stopped, as he looked back to the east, from whence they had come. ~A flock of <Noozh'aa>?....No, those don't look like birds...they look like...~

"Are those spacecraft, Tron?" Tish led her gaze toward the quickly-approaching 'flock', while Tron slowly began nodding.

"Yeah...and they're coming....Tish! C'mon!" he yelled as a green lance of particle-energy shot toward the bridge, cutting a swath across it, taking out the middle section.

"TRON!" she screamed, as the craft came about, the light from S'meern glinted off the green-hull...

~Greenbloods~ Tish though, as a chill ran down her spine. Her Thuub'a had told her awful stories about the wars he had fought against them, and how their ships were marked with the wings of terrible birds...

Tish heard the scream of ionized plasma, as another bolt reached for her. Without thinking, she dove off the bridge, into the river. Scampering to the surface, she tried to catch her breath...

"T'Shani! Swim over here!" he heard Tron shout, from somewhere on the west bank of the river. She tried to follow his voice, while also avoid the fire from above, but the current of the river was picking up, whisking her straight toward...

~Oh....<rhooz>~

The rapids were fast-approaching...

"Patsy?"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
And
Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora

Location: USS Galaxy, docked at Starbase 212 Ten Forward

An hour before, the Galaxy docked at Starbase 212 after its disastrous foray into Gryphonite territory. The crew was eager to get off, forgetting near destruction and combat, revolution and the hatred aimed at their direction… all for a few days off at the Starbase's leisure facilities.

(It was Starfleet, after all. Witnessing revolutions in minor territories was more commonplace than one gave credit for.)

The last couple of days were dull. While the Galaxy warped its way home, James Corgan was once again buried in work. Starfleet wanted reports, a vast field of reports that covered every second of the Gryphon Incident. They were most fascinated with the coup, James involvement with the Ambassador, and the events that led to evacuation of the colony. Intelligence was especially fascinated by the sudden revolution, executed by unions of rock miners and other common class citizens.

It was tiring, upsetting work. James didn't want to think about it.

The one fine, redeeming point of the entire mission was gone, as far as he could tell. Ambassador sh'Sonora had not been seen on the ship for the entire week, having shut herself in her room while she had to discuss the Gryphon revolution with her superiors. She was asked to leave by the Gryphon provisional government, and left her Under- Ambassador to finish Federation business while she was left to explain to her superiors what happened. To James, it was a necessary and unfair action to take on a diplomat whom risked her life for their peace, even though she fell short of accomplishing that goal.

Gone for an entire week. James expected Mika to leave the Starbase as soon as they docked. It was much to his surprise, and hers, that they found each other at Ten Forward.

James was done his shift for the day, and ready to coax Mika out of her quarters. On his way, he planned to go to Ten Forward for a much needed cup of coffee. That coffee was soon forgotten when James saw Mika at his favourite spot, looking out the wide porthole at the all-encompassing Starbase. She was without her trademark parasol, and her dress was much more subdued, a pastel peach with a light blue sash, wrapping from shoulder to waist, and tied around her hips.

Deep in thought, her icewater eyes staring at nothing, not even space, Mika didn't notice James Corgan until he approached her directly.

"Hello." James greeted nicely, "May I take a seat?"

Mika snapped back into reality. Andorian antennae and eyes looked back at James hauntingly. There was obviously a lot on her mind, a melancholy that didn't let go. She didn't mind the intrusion; disturbing thoughts lost against the company of a handsome officer she liked.

"Take a seat." She sighed. "The last couple of days have been… busy. I could use some company."

"Thank you." He smiled. It coaxed a returning smile from Mika. One seat was available, and it was next to her. Bashfully uncomfortable, James placed himself next to her.

In her hands, she fingered a PADD, and brought her attention to the contents when she couldn't find words to say. She would pause, and look at the PADD, pause, look at the PADD. She moved her lips, and an audible gasp came out of her mouth, but then she went back to her PADD.

"I was looking through my old notes." Mika blurted, finally finding the bravery to say her words, sounding all the more uneasy with her soft, wispy voice, "I was… trying to come up with a compromise for all parties concerned. Two weeks ago… I realized that I couldn't just compromise with the Draysons and the Troyers because I didn't like what both sides were leading their people into. Therefore… I did what I was supposed to do. My superiors wanted me to do what was best for the Federation, to keep our interests at heart, and our interests were only in trade, that's all." "James." She looked directly into his eyes. Her quavering voice, shifting, uncertain stare were as scared as if she was presenting the speech to the Gryphon Assembly, "Do you want to know what my decision was?"

James nodded, "Sure. What did you decide?" Smiling, Mika said, "I decided to go my own way. It was not the Federation's best interests that I was worried about. All the Federation wanted was fuel and minerals. It was Federation philosophy, or the way I saw it that I wanted for the Gryphon Coalition. Therefore, I decided that the Terraforming project should not go." James raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that the Federation wanted this project to go underway." "We did, but the way I see it, the Gryphon Coaliton could not have done this project without sacrificing the needs of their people. They were already in an economical competition with each other, and building monuments and stockpiling navies to one up each other. They could not afford the Terraforming project without sacrificing more of their riches, and the poor and middle class people would pay, just like they paid before."

She paused to reflect, with regret in her heart. "I wanted a future where the citizens of the Coalition were treated fairly, where class had no real distinction, where everyone had as equal of a standard of living as everyone else. There would still be those that were rich, but like the Federation… being richer or poorer would be less relevant because everyone would be well taken care of. The domes would be fixed, supplies would be more abundant, the working class would have better wages… it was the working class that would make the Gryphon Coalition."

"If you had more time… you could have saved the Coalition." James added. "Yes, I could have." Mika agreed, "And that wasn't all. I was on the verge of bringing these ideas to the Judges. I could have persuaded them to make these changes. And when the standard of living was increased, I was going to suggest not just a Coalition, but an Alliance. Think of it… a more unified Gryphon. Merged armed forces so that the Draysons and the Troyers would not have private armies, but a Gryphon armed forces more concerned about their nation. It would have been wonderful."

The implications of an Alliance between the Draysons and the Troyers was not lost on James. A more unified Coalition, with a stronger middle and lower class, with no need to cause a revolution when the lower classes were not taken advantage of… it would have created one of the most stable minor powers in the Alpha Quadrant.

"It would have been a hard sell for those with power." James said.

"Yes, but think of the gains! They still had leadership, but if they were the ones to implement these changes, it would be seen as just leadership, James. Gryphon could have been a respectable power… a unified power, a rich and prosperous power. And it could have been done if I had time to act…. and if I saw the conspiracies that were unravelling before me. How could I have been so blind!?"

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself." Corgan countered, "You couldn't have seen everything during three months. You tried your best." Her PADD clattered on the table. She then picked up another, and while ignoring Corgan's encouraging words, she spoke hers in the voice haunted by ghosts of failure. "The Gryphon Coalition blames us, and since I was their head representative, they blame me. I have received this evidence from the Gryphonian Naval Investigations Unit. It is from the wreck of a ship called the 'Troyer Horse'."

The PADD showed a charred piece of wreckage, zoomed in to show a Starfleet serial number. She continued, "This was a piece of Starfleet technology. I checked the serial number with a few sources… and it came from Starfleet. Odd part is, this is a subspace scrambler used to mask ships from sensor scans. This was not a piece of technology the Gryphonites could have obtained from us in their ship purchases. It had to come from us, or it was stolen."

A pit in James throat settled into his stomach, sparring rounds of boxing with his stomach lining. It was undoubtedly Starfleet material. Something was amiss, beyond Mika and himself. "You were set up?" "I was." Mika mewed, "I didn't authorize such a transfer, but someone had to. Someone in the Federation helped destroy a government I was trying to bring to peace, and turned me into what you humans call a 'Patsy'."

Refusing to believe what she said, James stood stern, and spoke matter of factly. "No! I refuse to believe that! They know you did your damnest to do your job! No rational person will believe you were the one that brought down their government!" "We're not talking about rational people James!" Mika snapped up, shutting James argument down, "We're talking about people who see things at face value. They will see this evidence, and the actions on Gryphon during the last week, and they will blame me. In fact…" Mika choked back a sob, "…they already have."

The third PADD on the table, which she had not bothered to pick up but instead pointed too, showed the dire news. "I have been recalled by my superiors. They have called for a performance review, and a possible disciplinary hearing. Though they have assured me that our meeting will be fair and impartial, I am afraid that they will see the results of the Gryphonian revolution, and not the things I did to help."

Mika raised a finger to halt James from speaking up. Her voice turned cold as she said, "I know what you are going to say, and I'll say something else. I know my superiors. They do not take a failure such as this lightly, especially since the Federation was involved in the battle. They will drag my body through the hot embers… I may not have a career when they are done."

Beset by frustration and sadness, Mika vacated her seat. Her eyes transfixed on the technological cathedral that was the starbase's dry dock, watching the gnatling shuttles and workbees flitter from the Galaxy, an old Excelsior three docks down, and a trio of courier runabouts. She had no focus but that of distraction.

"James, I'm leaving today." She said, looking back at him with regret, "I don't want you to get mixed up in this."

James scoffed, "No problem. I've been censored by an Admiral, butted heads with a stubborn Fleet Captain, and have driven superior officers nuts over the years. And that's not the serious stuff, Mika. If you factor in the amounts of battles I've been in, you can trust me when I say the Federation Liason Corp can't do much else to me that hasn't already been done. Give me the word, and I will vouch for you."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "No, James. I won't allow it. I will not bring anyone else down with me. Just… stay out of it, ok?"

Getting out of his seat, James approached Mika. She was helpless, and James knew that his show of support couldn't help much either. Diplomacy wasn't his job, and he couldn't use words and diplomacy as well as she. His support would be as useful as an appendix at best.

He surrendered and agreed, "If that is what you want… so be it. I can't do much to help you but tell them of that incident. However, they know about us calling for help during the disaster already. I wouldn't be help… but please, don't hesitate to ask me for help. I want to help you."

"And I want to help you James." Mika countered, "I can do that by keeping you out of it."

She pivoted from the porthole with perfect grace, and daintily beelined to Ten Forward's doors. It brought to James mind the presence of a peacemaker, like the Ghandi's of the past, with the strategic genius of Kissinger, then made pure by nurturing nature of a nun. Her air was always easy, charming, and open, without a knife behind her back when it came to intentions. Her secrets were reserved for those whom crossed her, and if the ease and quiet confidence in her step didn't give away her martial arts lineage, then a demonstration cleared all doubt.

A charmer. A diplomat. A warrior without equal.

What Ambassador could know about her traits? Why were they so willing to discipline her, kill her career, for something beyond her control? James saw her value, why couldn't anyone else? "Mika!" He yelled, "Are you giving up already?"

Her antennae cocked towards his direction. "No James. I will fight their decision. I have a slim chance of coming out unscathed. I will try for that chance. Unfortunately," She added, opening Ten Forward's doors, "I may not see you for a long time. This is goodbye, James. See me when this blows over, ok?" "Ummmm…" James didn't want her to leave. Though hard to acknowledge with a person already in her heart, he didn't want to see such a gentle angel go. Ever since their first encounter. He was a Lieutenant, and she an Under-Ambassador for a tyrant. Since then, there was always something holding them back, previous relationships, work, and other obligations.

And it was that reason again why Mika left the USS Galaxy and James Corgan's life.

OOC - Backpost on the asteroid

~Out the Window, Below~

Arkedi Nitel'rajek

"Hey."

The voice seemed to come from the corner of reality, if it was real at all. It didn't seem to fit into the dark black and red universe Arkedi was living in, had nothing to do with the green black bird that flew through the ground into a cave he had to fetch to please the faceless girl with golden crimson hair.

"Hey."

It repeated. What was that? Why was he over the ocean now? The cave was beneath Lafirana city, on land. We'll he would just have to go back, so he did the most natural thing and dove into the ebony blue. Wait -- you can't fly underwater.

"Comin' around, I see."

And with a jerk, Arkedi jumped universes, from the monochromatic red to one full of color, and shook with frieghtened confusion. This universe was full of color and full of ugly, apparently, as the only thing currently in it was a giant wrinkly peach and grey face sprouting hairs in places Arkedi had never seen it grow, on any species. He started to spasm, to try and back away but he could find no anchor from which to shove off.

"Whoa, whoa, d'ere. It's okay, okay, you were jus' dreamin'."

Crystalization. The jump was complete, and Arkedi felt his whole body relax as he released a long breath of air. He was indeed just dreaming, he realized, though he could no longer remember what; he rarely could. The transition from dream to reality was so abrupt it knocked out any memory except that of its existance, that was so strong it could even cloud the real world, calling it into queestion. "Ah," he emitted eventually.

"Yea, I realize I'm not da best sight one could wake to," the face laughed, backing away a bit.

The movement was so smooth, Arkedi realized that it was floating, and then, so was he. He took the oppurtunity, now that he was able, to look around. It was dark, a white lanturn put out a lot of illumination, but the light was so sharp and it created such dark contrasting shadows in so many places that the room still seemed dark. And it was rather small, he noted, a bed room with a bed against the wall, blocked in by an end table, a set of metal drawers built into the opposing wall, and a desk and chair on the other side of the room. The chair seemed to be the only major piece of furniture floating with Arkedi and the old man, the pillow and part of the sheets and several other small items were as well, but the big things stayed in their place. They must be fastened there, Arkedi rationalized.

"I am where?" he asked in English.

"My bedroom," the old man responded, and Arkedi breathed slightly at the obvious response. "You crashed d'rough my wind'uh, d'ere, jus' as da depressurization stopped, fortunately. You mus've been flyin' really fas', dat's bubble glass, it's very hard to break."

Slowly, Arkedi picked through the man's accent and remembered what had happened - the explosion at the stage, Zan's tackle by Cutter, the barreling train that nearly scraped off Arkedi's face and its subsequent crash into the large sun window that marked the top of the asteroid colony of Lammergeir, the large resulting depressurization that created tornado-like winds blowing out into space and his own death-defying breakneck speed flying to save his life. That may have been the fastest he's ever flown, it was very thrilling, harkening back to the tornado dancing stunts he would participate in back home, and he suddenly had a strong urge to do it again.

"You really scratched up y'uh arm and should'uh, too." He laughed loudly, suddenly, "I didn't knuh what was goin' on, a loud r'uh outside, you comin' and crashin' d'rough my wind'uh and d'en start bleedin' all ov'uh da place. D'en da gravity goes out and da lights. I d'ought the world was endin'." Then he laughed again, "Turns out it's jus' a civil w'uh."

Arkedi wasn't sure what the man said, the accent was so thick. He glanced to his arm, the top was wrapped up in a white shirt and tied tight with his yellow armband; it was stained red. Below that, on his chest, there were two small bandages pulling shut a long slice in his pectoral. Whatever sliced his skin, sliced his sleeveless shirt as well, causing that half to fall away and float and flutter with any movement. His Starfleet commbadge was gone, ripped off in the crash and lost amongst the floating items in the dark. The gravity and lights were obviously out, but Arkedi could not discern an explanation in the man's speech. The last sentence was jibberish. "Civil w'uh?" Arkedi repeated. He thought about the phonetic shift this man was using, then asked again, "Civil *war*?"

"Yea, civil w'uh. I've been watchin' dem out da wind'uh," he explained and pushed himself off a wall towards the window, his hand beckoned for Arkedi to follow. He did, pushing on the air with his wings rather than using the wall as the man had. Arkedi peered out the shatter glass with some worriment at what he would see. The colony as a whole appeard to be dark, but there were a number of lights on in various parts, battery powered lights, he assumed, emergency lights. The apartment he had crashed into overlooked a small park surrounding the base of a statue. This section seemed to have gravity, since the statue had apparently fallen and shattered on the ground. Why a park would have a higher priority for gravity than an apartment complex, Arkedi did not understand. There were a bunch of shots coming from the ground below, and whistles and clangs of weapons fire. It was the sound that most disgusted Arkedi, creating a sadness that he wanted to vomit out.

"Dey pulled down dat statue jus' a little while ag'uh. Dey jus' put it up right after I moved here, about ten years ag'uh, had a big celebration. Down now, d'ough," the old man explained, then clicked, which Arkedi had learned meant disapproval. "Yea, I knew d'is was goin' to happen eventually. Dey put on a nice image to outsiders, suckered me into emmigratin', didn't kn'uh dey fought suh much. I been tryin' to save up to move again. I didn't do it fas' enough, obviously."

"Why?" Arkedi asked, "They fight why?"

"N'uh reason. Family feud, as f'uh as I can tell. Big daddy Drayson and his friends didn't like big daddy Troy'uh and his friends. You'll hear about fightin', political fightin', I mean, ov'uh terraformin' and economic independence or solid minin' and large economic gain, but it's jus' a cov'uh f'uh not likin' each other."

Arkedi frowned and shook his head, as he watched a band of three men race across the park to take positions and continue fighting. "That makes no sense. They care much about thier father liked who why? Is important why?"

"Why do dey hate who d'eir fa'der hated?" The man repeated, and Arkedi nodded, realizing that the man understood him just as well as he understood the man. "I don't kn'uh. It's a family d'ing, hon'uh dy fa'der," the man said. He turned and looked at Arkedi, concentrating on his wings for a bit, then added, "It's a human d'ing."

Arkedi spat, "Is really dumb. My species is not like this," he explained, "Are not expected to think like our parent, instead, are expected not to. Relations of them belong to them, only them."

The man shrugged. "Families uh very important to humans, probably dee most important."

They sat for several moments in silence contemplating the idiocies of mankind as they watched the violence below them. Finally the man spoke, "I assume you'uh from da Federation starship? We don't get many touris's."

"Sema," the Fruna'lin nodded.

"I d'ink dey landed a shuttle a little while ag'uh, ov'uh d'ere," he pointed out the window. "Now dat you'uh awake, you may want to fly ov'uh d'ere. You should get d'ose cuts looked at. I didn't kn'uh what I was doin' when I wrapped you up, I was makin' it up as I went along."

"You will stay?" Arkedi asked.

"Oh, yea, I'll jus' sit tight here. D'ey'll stop fightin' soon. I'll request a loan from da Federation to move, I imagine it won't be hard to get now. Besides, everyd'ing I own is here, I can't jus' leave it."

Arkedi nodded in understanding, looking about the apartment. There didn't seem to much of any value, but then he was only in the bedroom, he hadn't seen the rest of the apartment. He looked out the window again, concentrating on the lights the man had pointed to. He started to pull himself through the window when the man said something else.

"Here, take dis," he said, handing Arkedi an old black vest. Noticing Arkedi's confused look, he added, "You'uh shirt is too bright. We'uh dis, you'll be harder to see, dey won't take pot shots at you."

Arkedi didn't speak. His eyes widened in shock at the thought that the fighting humans would try to shoot him. He slowly took the shirt from the man's hands and put it on backwards, so the opening was in the back where his wings were. He thought about how fortunate he was that his wings were dark purple and that he had worn black pants that morning. He turned back to the window, now much less sure he wanted to leave, but he stepped out of the window anyway.

"Good day to you," the old man said just before Arkedi took off.

"Ekanarado."

1376