USS Galaxy: The Next Generation Sim Log
Stardate: 50406.08 - 50406.14

"Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"
(Or "Stash returns to full time posting on the Galaxy!")

Stardate: Somthingorother.4
Location: USS GALAXY, shared quarters of Kathy Kelly (NPC) and Ensign Zeke Wikkins, Security.

Ensign Zeke Wikkins walked through the corridors of the Galaxy just before the graveyard shift. His recently relocated shoulder - wounded in the attack on the Lammergier asteroid - still throbbed a bit, despite the medication from Dr. Malgan. The crisis the crew and ship had been faced with had stabilized. He could now see crewmembers beginning to walk about the halls with much less nervousness - even at the current hour.

He stopped in front of "his" quarters and straightened his uniform, just on the off chance that Kathy Kelly was still awake. The doors slid open and the large man slipped inside into the darkness. He sighed with relief as the doors closed and the shadows engulfed him. His head was still pounding and he wanted nothing more than to lay down for the evening with a gel pack on his forehead.

Kathy was apparently fast asleep, so he stripped off his uniform and wandered over to the replicator.

"Gel pack ....cold...." he whispered.

A loud chirp acknowledged his request causing him to jump. The blue pack materialized and he grabbed it and gingerly made his way to the couch that served as his temporary bed. He didn't want to wake Kathy rummaging around for his pajamas, so he figured he would just slip back into his uniform before she awoke in the morning. He was eager to crawl under the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch.

"Lights!" Kathy yelled from the couch and the room was instantly lit up. He absentmindedly covered himself with the first thing that he found available - the cold gel pack. His eyes snapped open as he made "first contact" with the icy blue coldness.

Kathy seemed a bit startled by his appearance. "Where have you been buddy? Galavanting around, swilling synthahol in the bar? Having a ball, no pun intended, in the holo deck?"

Zeke was freezing himself to death and the last thing he wanted was another trip to the mad Russian doctor. "If thou must know, I was in the sickbay. Now..."

"What did you do to your groin?" she asked with what seemed like a mixture of amusement and genuine concern as she peered down his muscular frame nonchalantly until her eyes rested below his waist.

"NOTHING!..I mean..I injured my shoulder during the attack on the Lammergier asteroid. Woman please. Thy inquisition..." he replied, clutching the pack painfully closer.

"So why are you wrapping yourself with the cold pack? Wait, never mind. I'll never understand the way you men think. Your thought process is so not normal its scary." she said.

"Woman, if thy will pardon my forwardness, what does thy require from me at this ungodly hour?"

She slid over and patted the side of the couch. "Come here. Relax."

At this Zeke's eyes grew even bigger. "I..I am Amish. I don't..."

"Not that, you pervert! " she said with a playful smile. "Although I could shake your homemade britches if I put my mind to it. I couldn't sleep and just wanted to talk. To see how your getting along on the ship. To see how your day went."

"Um, does thou have any idea what time it is? Roosters back upon my father's farm do not even think of crowing this early in the morn. And thee were sitting in the dark wanting to...chat?" Zeke said, easing onto the sofa next to her, careful to keep a respectful distance, yet still keep his unmentionable covered.

"Sure, whats wrong with that?"

"Er, nothing...but right now?" Wikkins asked greatly confused and on the virge of frostbite.

"Typical male!" She said swatting him in the shoulder as she stood up. Zeke doubled over in pain as she hit his sore shoulder.

"Sister Kelly..." he groaned.

"No, no, its all right. You don't have to talk now if you don't want to, Mr. Insensitive. I don't want you to do anything your not comfortable doing. I'll just go to bed, maybe read a book or something" she said. She walked past Zeke and glanced down reflexively at his groin again as she walked past. "Ahem..You ..ah..better get some sleep. "

The doors to her bedroom swished shut behind her. The Security officer sat there for a moment, catching his breath before he realized that he was still holding the ice pack to his ever shrinking nether region. He then realized what she was talking about and walked over to her door.

"I am not tired, it is just half frozen if thy must know!" he yelled.

"Good night Zeke." she called out.

"Seriously!" he said defending his manliness.

"Whatever you say Zeke!" she called out.

He limped back to the couch, flopped down and dropped the gel pack on the floor and sighed as he pulled the cover over himself. "Heavenly Father grant my groin relief..." he started to say in prayer, then blushed. "Thou know what I mean, Lord." he said embarrassed and glancing over at Kathy's bedroom door. At least his headache was gone.


OOC: Here's the next-in-line of the Cass/T'Shani mini-saga. Hope you enjoy! Only three more episodes, until the big 'surprise', at the end! Hehe...Markie

MJ

==========

"From the Shadows, Part VI"

STARRING:
T'Shani A'Akledorian
Cassius Henderson

GUEST STARRING:
Arthur Blackwelder (F. Byrne)
Norra Ridgeway (M. Miller)
AMIE (Both)

Captain Brenna Worthman (F. Byrne)

SPECIAL APPEARANCES:
Colonel Al'indal Markay'di'n (M. Miller)
Captain Michelle Novanya (F. Byrne)

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

** Following "From the Shadows, Part V" **

=^= 0100, 10 February 2381: Bridge of USS Holdfast (NCC-1947) =^=

Marine Colonel (Detached, special assignment: Above Top Secret) Al'indal Markay'di'n ran a finger through his long snow-white whiskers as he looked over the Mission Ops board. It wasn't like a standard LCARS panel, however.

Actually, there really *were* no panels to speak of on the bridge at all. Instead, the same strange white-creme colored floor, walls, and ceiling wrapped around the small duty crew, creating a sense of ethereal openness and space.

In front of him, the holodisplay *floated* beneath his hands and up, around - yet slightly below - his forward vision. Using both eye-tracking and icono-digital inputs, he was able to manipulate the controls and data feeds much faster than if he had used only his hands.

Markay'di'n looked over to a section of the Ops board that had begun pulsing a dark maroon color. Using his implanted nano-array, the Deltan officer 'looked' at that section, causing it to zoom-out and open into different data blocks, projected three-dimensionally around his vision.

~Good~

Although neither technically 'outranked' the other, Al'indal deferred to Michelle as to what was happening, as the Holdfast *was* her ship. Even so, *he* was responsible for the eventual success or failure of the mission objectives.

"Team has entered interspace, Captain. Estimated time of arrival at objective: thirty minutes and counting," he announced to Novonya, who was seated in her command chair in the still-traditional center of the bridge.

Novonya's teeth were clenched, and it took effort to open her mouth to reply. Waiting during an operation was always tough, she thought as she forced herself to reply. "Thank you, Colonel. Keep me appraised of their ETA every five minutes." She looked over to the officer in charge of monitoring AMIE. His report should be next.

"Sir, AMIE has initialized her secondary protocols," the young man in Intel Black reported from the next console over.

~Now, if things will go as planned...~ Al'indal thought. But he knew better than to hope in that. No...a Marine never 'hoped'. He either did, or did-not. And now, he was counting on his protege to *DO*.

~C'mon Tish, don't let us down~

=^= 0130: Romulan Interspatial Starbase, Rel'kessan System =^=

[<Shuttle Dalteri, state your cargo and intentions,>] a gruff voice spoke in Romulan, over the comm-link.

The Romulan SubCommander at the helm leaned over to speak into the microphone, as Tish held her breath.

"<Control, we are transporting Federation spy's as prisoners, apprehended while preparing to infiltrate the secure interspace zone. I intend to deliver them to Base Command,>" she replied in a clipped, military-style of Rihannsu dialect.

There was a moment's pause, as the base officer was - in no-doubt -verifying the transport's clearance codes and orders.

[<Acknowledged, Dalteri. You are ordered to Bay Five, Section Three for secure landing. Adjust course now to bear on Approach Lane Five.>]

"<Adjusting course now, Control. Shuttle Dalteri ETA is five minutes. Standing by,>" she turned off the microphone while keeping the communication's array on standby, as the autopilot guided the transport toward the starbase.

Quietly, she turned around to her 'passengers'...

*****

Norra still wasn't sure that this had been such a 'bright idea'. She'd been the one to point out that they stood less of a chance of getting caught by using a simple beam-in/beam-out.

But, according to Mister 'High-and-Mighty Technology' (Blackwelder) standard transporters couldn't operate in interspace. So now, they were stuck in the present situation.

Cass Henderson crouched, lying back with his head against the wall. He was engaging in a method of meditation taught to him by Worthman many years before, floating information that he wanted to remember on the top of his mind. He was grateful that they'd destroyed all of their written information before being taken onto the transport.

He envied T'Shani A'Akledorian, he realized. She'd had the luxury of being with those she 'cared for' before they left. He had spent the final hours in conference with Art Blackwelder, a man whom he disliked, on most days. Neither his patrons - deMercereau or Worthman - or his....he didn't know how to describe Rima. What was she to him? It wasn't a question he could answer, or should be trying to answer. Not right now, in any case.

Arthur Blackwelder fumed. He'd gotten into an argument with Gunnery Sergeant Ridgeway about the technological aspects of their mission. Marines just didn't *understand* the finer points of technology, which made Red Division the obvious solution to their techno-intelligence needs.

~Why waste time making your own advances when you can steal other people's?~ All that marines understood was force and....he groaned silently. He was starting to sound like Mister 'Self-Righteous-Idealist' Henderson.

For her part, Tish hadn't spoken at all since they had been taken aboard the transport. She laid her back into the hard, cold inner hull wall of the transport, trying to prepare herself for how she was going to get her team out of *this* one...

*SWISH!*

Cassius looked up, just in time for a Rihannsu security team to march smartly into the shuttle and gather them up. He took notice that the troopers wore unmarked uniforms. It wasn't too surprising, he decided.

It was a political environment where the Tal Shiar was on the decline and Rihannsu Naval Intelligence had stepped into the foreground of the new intelligence establishment on ch'Rihan. These men were struggling to find the 'win' that would save their dying organization.

The team was roughly brought to their feet and walked-off the transport; four guards on either side. The Tal Shiar wasn't taking any chances, this time.

The SubCommander warily trailed the guards and prisoners out of the shuttlebay, as well.

Casting his eyes ahead, Cass concentrated on the layout of the base, memorizing as he went, and trying not to be distracted by the swaying of T'Shani's hips. Did she always have be so....*overwhelming* with her body language? On the other hand, he was sure that one of the Rihannsu guards was staring at that same ass, and that meant the*guard* was *off-guard*.

Tish continued her walk in silence, noting that the guard accompanying Cass - behind and to the left of her - was sufficiently distracted by her 'assets'. She made sure Cass got an eyeful, too. Tish really couldn't help teasing him. It was her way at getting back at him for his staunch idealism. Quickly, she discreetly glanced with her antenna to Ridgeway, to her right.

Norra noticed Tish's signal and nodded, ever so slightly. She blinked two times, while keeping her face neutral, giving nothing away. They were set. Now, if their 'hosts' would be cooperative...

Henderson watched Norra and T'Shani's signals, and flicked his middle finger at Blackwelder, who glowered back. They were ready. And it seemed they'd reached their destination.

The SubCenturion on duty for this detention block stood and removed her sidearm before stepping forward to issue the standard challenge.

"<Identification and orders.>"

It was a command, not a statement.

~Here goes nothin'~ Norra thought, as the SubCommander that had delivered them stepped to the front of the group and bowed slightly to the SubCenturion, then saluted sharply in the traditional Romulan way.

Quickly, she spoke, without challenging the SubCenturion's eyes. "<SubCommander Tem'la of the IRV M'Nessa, transferring prisoners from shuttle Dalteri to primary detention cells for incarceration, by order of Imperial High Command, SubCenturion.>"

"<I'll need to confirm them with the C-in-C, SubCommander,>" the SubCenturion replied. "<It should just take a minute.>" The Rihannsu officer turned and walked back over to her console to entered the information into the computer terminal.

As the SubCenturion worked to confirm the orders, an Instant Message flashed across all of the team member's TEDDs. The ensuing *conversation* took less than two seconds to complete, between the team, with the help of the nano-arrays.

[AMIE: STANDBY FOR ESCAPE MANEUVER ALPHA-FIVE. CONFIRM.]

All four "YES-NO" indicators quickly blinked to [YES].

[AMIE: CONFIRMED. COMMENCE IN FIVE...]

"<SubCommander Tem'la, I can't find anything in the database. I'm going to have to call up and make sure this is authorized,>" the SubCenturion said, raising her disruptor to cover Tem'la.

[...FOUR...]

T'Shani's muscles tensed, readying for action as the SubCenturion trained her weapon on Tem'la.

[...THREE...]

Norra checked the jammers that she had 'set' via her TEDD on their way down here. As long as no particle weapons - Rihannsu or 'Fleet - were discharged, her little 'bugs' could handle re-signaling the data feeds. Even if the Romulan bastards wound-up dead, her devices could 'fake' their biosigns to the main computer, thus preventing base-operations from being tipped to their activities.

[...TWO...]

Cassius allowed his eyes to flow through the control menus now embedded in his vision. He carefully selected the items he needed and waited for AMIE's countdown to complete. It wouldn't be long now. Then they could really get the show moving.

[...ONE...]

Art winced. He was capable of combat, but this seemed like an unnecessary risk. That disruptor could mean the end of the entire mission before it even began. And he knew the Romulan officer wouldn't hesitate to vaporize them; guards and all. Collateral-damage had never been a big deal to the Romulan High Command.

[...MARK. INITIATE.]

SubCommander Tem'la calmly - yet quickly - walked forward, reaching out

and touched her finger to the SubCenturion's ridged brow. A small yellow-orange glow emanated from Tem'la's finger, followed by the rag-doll collapse of the SubCenturion.

In a blur, T'Shani jumped up high, twirling counter-clockwise with her left-leg extended to catch her guard in the throat, immediately collapsing his trachea. A moment later, he was lying still on the floor.

Cassius spun over his right shoulder and thrust his hand forward, a combat knife appearing as he accessed it from his TEDD. Jabbing, he caught the distracted guard just below the third rib, severing a critical nerve-ending. The guard slumped, and Cassius used him as a shield when Art's guard fired on him.

Blackwelder went into the prepared, choreographed routine, waiting for the guard to fire on Cass. Then he stepped in behind his opponent, and carefully broke his neck with a well placed strike with a metal pole that he had stored in his TEDD.

Norra - the seemingly diminutive blonde Southern Belle - quickly brought her right arm up to a square, and threw back a wicked punch to her guard's face, instantly breaking his nose. A split-second later, she spun around to face him, while quickly stabbing at his abdomen with a series of punches and finger-spars to his heart; right where a Terran's liver would normally be. A look of immense pain crossed the guard's face, then went expressionless as he silently slumped to the floor.

That was the last of them. She kicked the guard for good measure, just in case.

~Impressive~ T'Shani thought to herself. Not many humans were trained in the Vulcan 'Harm Touch' schooling of martial-arts.

"Whoa! What did you just do to him?" Art asked Norra, as soon as he was sure the area was clear.

"Stahped his beatin' hahrt, muh'dear," she gave him a teasing smile while adding, "Jahst dahn't piss me ahff, *Ahrt*," she teased sweetly while selecting the Assault Rifle from her trans-belt's inventory. ~He's actually kinda cute when he's not being such a *dickhead*~ she mused, while cocking the 'shotgun' with a loud **SWISH-CLICK!**.

"Sure, no problem Norra," Arthur replied, still a little shocked. He'd never seen any human do anything like that, and he had seen some strange combat in his time with SFI. He flicked through his menus and removed one of the Enhanced Type IIs.

"Alright you two, you can flirt with each other after we get out of here, understood?" Tish growled.

Arthur laughed briefly, sighting down the barrel and giving his weapon a quick once-over, while Norra shot a disgusted glare toward T'Shani.

"AMIE, objectives' status?" Tish queried, while arming herself with her hrisal'aa.

The SubCommander's form cocked it's head to the side, while accessing the station's computer database to compare the information she had gathered with the current mission objectives. In less than a second, she had formulated, extrapolated, and determined what had to be done to complete the mission in an acceptable time frame.

"The Hellfire is being held at docking bay four, station port side, under heavy guard. The ship appears intact; it does not seem that the Romulans have been able to extricate the Deep Shadow drive systems. You must first deactivate the security protocols in place, by accessing the main computer core, *here*." A nav-beacon and route-tracer lit up the overlaid map, indicating where Arthur and Norra had to go.

Tish nodded as the trace-map floated into her view. ~Good, the security measures have held, then~ she thought to herself. Surely, the Rihannsu scientists were having bloody hell trying to figure out how to operate/extract the mysterious machinery, without activating the Hellfire's self-destruct mechanism. Another Red Devision trick...

AMIE spoke up again, after taking another moment to access the computer system again. "Captain Worthman and her party are being held in Detention Block Five, cells eighteen through twenty. Conditions, unknown," she said the last part with a slight frown crossing her face.

Tish nodded as the schematic layout flashed onto her interface, and another nav-beacon and route was overlaid. Turning back to the 'team':

"Good. Lovebirds: get our ship back. Cass, you're with me. We're gonna get the 'prisoners'. AMIE, enable your infiltration protocols, and deactivate your holomatrix."

AMIE immediately embedded a copy of her core structure-arrays over the Rihannsu computer's own intelligence routines. Given the access codes that SFI had provided (thankfully, they worked), AMIE now had *almost* complete control of the starbase's computer network. There was just something....she placed a 'HOLD' tag to that *thought*, as she deactivated her hologram.

The SubCommander's form shimmered then winked-out, leaving a small, floating circular disk. T'Shani plucked it out of the air, and tucked it into the inner breast pocket of her tac-suit.

"Watch your back, Cass," Blackwelder said, looking to the marine NCO. "Norra, you have point." He indicated a passage, headed off in the direction of what they were 86% sure was the main computer core and access center.

Norra passed him, while swinging the Assault Rifle in front of her. "Jahst dahn't be stahrin' at muh ahss, *Mistuh* Blahckweldah," she chimed as she ducked into the corridor.

"What? I'd be remiss in my duties if I didn't watch your ass, *Miss* Ridgeway," Blackwelder grinned, then jogged off after her.

The love-banter was making Tish sick. She turned to Cass, momentarily catching him looking her over in her tactical suit. Smiling wryly, antenna's curling, "Shall we, Mister Henderson?"

"Naturally," he said, as if challenging her. It was time to prove that Brenna Worthman was no traitor, that T'Shani was wrong about her, about him, and about Red Division. This was what he'd been born to do. Selecting the Enhanced Type II from his TEDD, he followed her down into the hatch.

Before he could answer, she had disappeared down a floor hatch...

Typical. Cassius was step behind her, rifle in hand.

----------------------- Detention Block Five... -----------------------

Brenna Worthman completed her six-hundred-fifty-second workout routine. The forty-seven year old SFI Captain had started doing them as soon as she'd been placed in the holding cell. It served two functions. One, to keep her from become complacent, weak, or bored, and two, to keep track of time. By using her very careful timing of the routine's length and the downtime's length, Brenna was able to determine that she'd been in captivity for...something in the order of two and a half weeks, give or take a few days due to torture, and being passed-out afterwords.

So far, she hadn't broken. The information that she'd gleaned during her time as SFI's Liaison to the new Romulan Naval Intelligence helped her to resist the torture techniques of the Tal Shiar. She'd been beat, brutalized, humiliated, and raped, but her will remained strong.

She wasn't as sure about San'X Ateles'kes, who she hadn't heard or seen for far too long, a week by her count. She was in the cell next to her, and there was no way to peek in. Lemmes was still there, unconscious at the moment, his rotund, piggish form slumped over in a pile in the center of his cell.

The thing that bothered Brenna the most was that she still didn't have a plan, and was in all likelihood in over her head. She'd known that Commodore Illyanovitch was trying to get her killed or worse, but there'd been very little she could do about it. So now she was here, in a prison cell in Rihannsu territory, working with Red Division. None of that suited her. For the thousandth time, she sat down on her bunk,

ran her hands through her long, curly brown hair, and tried to use what she knew to plan.

Then she heard it. Some sort of sound, and she wasn't sure where it was coming from. The brig was designed to bounce sound around so it came from nowhere, it's weird angles serving a purpose other than to be unorthodox.

~What was that...?~

*****

"So, Cass," Tish wiggled her way in front of Henderson, as he trailed behind in the Jefferies Tube, or whatever the Romulan equivalent term was for the access tunnels. With AMIE monitoring and masking the sensor net, they could move through the tunnels freely.

"So, T'Shani," Cass replied, trying not to spend too much time ogling her ass. It was hard enough being on an operation without her flaunting herself and distracting him. Calling on the discipline that he'd learned as an independent agent, he willed himself to concentrate.

Tish couldn't help but chuckle at Henderson's tone of voice, as Cass was no-doubt getting a fine view of her rear. "How far back do you and Brenna go?"

"2373. She was the adviser assigned to me, Arthur Blackwelder, Simone Ovrali from Ciutric, Veloric from Vulcan, Sigmund Blackwelder from Alpha Centauri, and Celias sh'Veltarran from Andor," he replied. She sure knew how to ask hard questions. He could remember each of them with vivid detail. Too many ghosts in his past.

"Hmmm," she sighed as she stopped, checking her TEDD for further directions.

"She was a good teacher, and better handler. When we graduated, we became her group, nominally assigned to a ship, not actually on it. A lot of what we did during the Dominion War and after it is still classified. Arthur and I are the only ones left."

As she continued moving along, "And are you *involved* with her, Henderson?"

Cass laughed. "She's 7 years my senior. We were colleagues.... shared a lot of the same ideals. But at the time I was involved, more or less, with another woman, so it never really occured to me."

Her antenna bobbed back, as she noted the coolness to his voice. Well then, at least it wouldn't cloud his judgment, when it came time to act.

"How about you, T'Shani? How did you come to know all of these people...Tanner Houghton, Al'indal Markay'di'n, Korman Blackar? You seem very comfortable with them," Cassius asked, turning the conversation away from himself. He had no desire to relive those years.

Tish let out a low sigh, barely audible, as she watched the IM from AMIE flash across her TEDD:

[AMIE: TEAM ONE, STAY PUT FOR NEXT TEN MINUTES, WHILE SECURITY SHIFTS ROTATE. STANDBY FOR ALL-CLEAR. ACKNOWLEDGE.]

Both Cass and T'Shani 'blinked' their YES-NO indicators to acknowledge.

Propping her body against the tunnel's curved wall - slightly hunched over - she looked at Cass. Strange how it was: at these *times*, she didn't feel adversarial toward him. Just like when he had caught her in the holodeck, after the fight she had had with Rex.

"Cass...it's a long story," she said quietly, antennas dropping ever so slightly, while brushing an errant strand of her silvery-white hair from her eyes.

"So tell me," he asked softly, squatting down, a comfortable position developed through years of work for SFI, "It sounds like we have some time to kill before we carry out our part of the mission."

She sighed again, leaning her back into the wall. "Very well, Cass. Korman rescued me, after Seltax Seven fell, when I was ten. He was the commander of the Marine party that searched for survivors along the outskirts of Raath Ra'Chuul...that *was* the capitol."

"I remember reading about that when I was a plebe at SFA London," Cass said, looking through his TEDD windows to monitor the progress of Art and Norra as they talked. "So, he took you in?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say that he became my foster parent. Until I returned to Andoria - almost a year later - he took care of me, protected me, taught me the honor and courage of being a marine..." she trailed-off quietly, while listening as the booted footsteps of the Rihannsu soldiers crossed on the overhead deck plating.

"That explains where you are now," he nodded understandingly. "It must have been only natural for you to follow his example." Young, impressionable, aggressive, and with a tragic hatred of the Rihannsu. She had been the perfect candidate for Red Division. Cassius could only wonder if Blackar had been saving her or recruiting her that day on Seltax Seven.

"Yes, I suppose. That's why I enrolled at the combat schools," she said slowly, head-bowed at the memory of Korman. "I wanted to *be* what he is...*was*," she corrected herself, while holding back the emotions that laced her voice.

Cassius just nodded. Whatever the reasons of Korman Blackar, the end result would have been the same. T'Shani had developed a deep attachment to the Caitan marine, and now he was dead. Dead at the hands of the hated Rihannsu... *greenbloods* as the Andorian referred to them.

She waved his concerns away, while noticing AMIE flashing the 'ALL-CLEAR' over the IM screen. As she began moving forward again, she continued. "I kept in touch with Korman, over the years. Then, when the ADL had stumbled upon the Tholian's plot to retrieve the Deep Shadow crystal - during the battle of Hel'mis' Retreat - his Red Devision platoon, the 'Red Dogs', and my ADL command-section were tasked with 'retrieving' it before the <f'theking> *crystals* got their spiny tails on it," she said, bitterly.

"But you did get it, of course," he said. He frowned. Dimension traveling technology. It had been the same switching through dimensions that had brought the old Constitution-Class USS Defiant through the hell-plane, and granted it the disturbed sentience that his predecessor had left notes on.

"Well, obviously, Cass. Though, it took alot of work. And alot of lives," she quieted at the memory of those lost...Sanchez, Koonan, Met'tari...

"The important missions usually do," he replied, following close behind her. He'd lost quite a few in his own time. Ovrali, Browning, and of course Celias sh'Veltarran. He still had their images scattered around his quarters, reminding him of his past, and also reminding him to mind his 'Ps-and-Qs', and to not make the same mistakes that had cost each of them their lives.

They came to a juncture, marked on their TEDDs as a a critical junction, right above the detention cells. Quickly, she motioned for Cass to insert his spy-bugs into the ventilation system. Self-propelled with their own anti-gravs, yet almost microscopic in size, they could scout the area ahead, with minimal risk of detection.

Cassius nodded and retrieved the bugs from his TEDD, a canister the size of a standard pop can. Placing it, he pressed the release button and sent roughly half the bugs scurrying into the ventilation shaft. He flashed her a quick affirmative hand gesture, informing her that he'd planted the micro-spys.

As the micro-bugs transversed the ducting, Tish continued. She didn't know why, but for some reason, she didn't mind confiding in Cassius. Even if he *was* such a 'goody-two-shoes'.

"Tanner 'recruited' me into Red Division, after the Chryonix Five incident. I became his assistant, and have been on inactive-duty with Second Division, ever since." She let out a tired sigh, "I just didn't figure I'd be recalled, so early..." she trailed-off.

"Neither did I," he admitted. Though after Dalson Center, he'd thought that he'd *never* be recalled. "But that still doesn't explain why you're flying fighters off the Galaxy." The bugs traveled down the ventilation shaft and into the brig. On the monitor built into the TEDD, Cassius watched as they moved from the brig guard office back into the detention block, confirming the number of Tal Shiar guards at five.

Tish answered softly, as the picture from the bugs came into view. "Thank Al'indal for *that*, Cass," she replied, wryly. "It wasn't my..." she trailed off as she saw *them*...The Deltan female - San'X - wasn't moving, at all. The Tellarite seemed knocked-out. And the human - Worthman - ~traitor~ was doing sit-ups...

Cassius watched as T'Shani viewed the detention block footage, noticing her expression sour slightly when bugs came to Worthman. Good old Brenna, still doing her workouts. He wondered what T'Shani would say if she knew that as much as she thought Worthman a traitor, he considered Blackar in the same light. Looking back over to her, he mouthed, "Stun-grenade, wide arc, down the ventilation shaft." That would dump it out on top of the surprised guards.

Tish nodded, while selecting a grenade from her arsenal. Setting it's controls to 'WIDE', she looked over to Cass, pulled the pin, and mouthed 'one...two...three!'...

------------ Meanwhile... ------------

"Muh-my, yah gettin' a li'l close there, Ahthu'," Norra cooed sweetly as his hand errantly caressed the top of her buttocks. Granted, being squeezed into a service-junction built for only *one* to occupy called for close quarters, but not *that* close. Though, Norra didn't mind...*too* much.

Art chuckled. Quite the predicament. "Sorry, Norra. It slipped. It's got a mind of it's own when it comes to women. I just can't do a thing with it." He returned to patching his PADD into the the Rihannsu technology, which was incompatible at best, dangerous at worst.

She sighed, while surveying the current situation, again. They had both ducked into here, after an armed guard had entered the computer control room. And he hadn't left yet, either.

So instead, Blackwelder was trying to access the Rihannsu starbase's network via a secure terminal interface, with the help of AMIE and his PADD. To do so involved reaching *around* Norra's waist, as they faced each other. It was awkward, at best, but neither could move into a more suitable position in the cramped space.

She sighed, again, feeling his hot breath on her neck, as he peered over her shoulder past her honey-blonde hair, accessing the control panel near her waist.

"If I can make this connection, we'll be through," he said, acutely aware of how close together they were. Norra Ridgeway was definitely *something*, and the first thought that came to Art's mind was 'all woman'.

"Well, jus' dahn't get so *excited*, Mistuh'," she said, indicating toward their hips, which were both pressed close together in the close confines.

He pressed tighter against her and continued working as she giggled girlishly. It was amazing what happened to some women when they were exposed to a *real* man. "There, we're in. I'm searching for the best route to the Hellfire..."

A few minutes passed as they stood there, locked in an embrace. Finally, Art reported, "I have it. I'm going to try to open the secure access hatch behind you. Hold still."

She suppressed a giggle as he knelt down, in front of her at hip-height. She couldn't resist teasing him, "My, good sir. Dahn't get to close to my 'personahls'."

He grinned, slapping his codebreaker onto the door, working it, and popping the hatch. "Now spread your legs."

She choked for a second...

"What did you jus' say, Mistuh?"

"Ah *sayed*: spread yah laygs," he said, mimicking her accent, "I need you to spread your stance so that I can crawl through, out the hatch. Then you can duck down and follow me." he explained, placing his hands on her thighs and lightly applying pressure to indicate how far.

She felt an unexpected, yet pleasant, tingle as Art pushed on her inner-thighs with his hands. ~Oh....C'mon girl! Get your mind out of the gutter!~ she chided, while acquiescing to Art's *request*.

He laughed. "Take a woman on a secret mission and all of a sudden she's pressing against you in a service junction and spreading her legs. Must be 'spy appeal'." Reaching up, he made sure to brush his hand on her rear as he steadied himself on the hatchframe, peaking out. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he crawled out into the access tunnel.

Norra only rolled her eyes (though his hand *did* feel nice on her butt), while quickly swinging herself around, down, and behind Art, into the access tunnel.

"Ah jus' hope ya know where we're goin', hun," she smiled as she got a good view of his cute butt. ~At least he knows how to work out...~ she sighed to herself, as they made their way to the Hellfire...

***TBC***


off: Well, it had to happen sometime....the Victor and Samantha post :) Markie

"Days of Our Lives"

Primary Characters:
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Samantha Widdlestein, romance novelist and ship pest

*****

USS Galaxy
Secondary Hull
Deck 11
Main Biology Labs

Samantha Widdlestein crept quietly in the biology labs. True, she wasn't supposed to be in here, especially during her lunch hour, unattended but she needed some description for her heroine's lab.

"Cold and uncluttered." Samantha muttered into her old fashioned tape recorder. "The perfect match for her frosty and unyielding heart. Ooh, I like that."

"This area is off-limits to non-Fleet personnel," Victor said quietly from the doorway behind her. He'd considered a different approach after the unauthorized access signal from the lab's monitors, but discarded it when he'd realized that the intruder was a child with a string of unauthorized entries longer than she was tall in her file. He'd never met her, but every Security personnel on the ship knew her on sight - Commander Corgan had made certain about that.

Sam, not unlike most of the USS Galaxy's crew, turned, took one look at Victor, and screamed bloody murder.

Expecting the reaction, Victor avoided wincing, although he did spend a second wondering if the LCARS panel nearest Samantha was shivering prior to cracking from the shrill tone.

She stopped abruptly and looked at him with wide eyes. "You're...you're..."

Victor debated closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the change in the girl's expression, the same way he'd seen so many other children's faces change. In the end, though, he chose to face it as he had all the times before. It wasn't as if it would hurt more than the first time had... or any of the others, since then.

"You're perfect!"

Victor blinked. That was most definitely *not* the response he was waiting on.

"Oh, wow! You're just the person I've been looking for my project. You look exactly like my main character Giovanni Savage. Well, maybe a little more, er, intense but still, wow!" Samantha gushed.

"Excuse me?" he asked quietly, still somewhat confused that she was not using one of the more normal phrases like 'Monster,' 'Bad Man,' or the apparently always popular "Ahhhhhh!'

"Can you scuba dive?" Samantha asked. "Giovanni can scuba dive but I'm beginning to think that's not the right direction to take for him. What do *you* like to do in your spare time? I'm betting that you're a Paresisi Squares player, right? I thought about making Giovanni a universally known Paresisi Squares player but I don't know, it seemed a bit much."

Without thinking, Victor answered, "I hunt," and then frowned. "Miss Widdlestein, I have to ask you to leave - this area is off-limits."

"Hunting. Hmmmm..." Sam mused. "That could work. Savage could be some big game expert. Oooh, shark expert. What were you saying? Oh, I just had to come in here for some research. They never let us in here except on field trips and those are so *juvenille.* I'm not a two year old, for Kahless sake. I need hard data for my book. Which reminds me, do you have a girlfriend?"

Victor frowned, trying to decide at what point the child in front of him had taken over the conversation - and why. "Have you finished your research?" Whatever it was that she was doing, the sooner it was done, the sooner he could get her out of here without one of the scenes she was famous for.

"Well, not really." Sam said. "I still need to catalog th equipment and computer programs the biologists use. And get a feal for the atmosphere. And I asked you a question."

"I know," he replied to her question without losing his frown. "I just didn't answer you."

"Dark and mysterious." Sam said into her recorder. "Frown that would have frozen hell over. Well, spit it out Big Guy. I won't make her the villain if that's what you're worried about. But she can't be the heroine. Arel's already too perfect for that. Maybe the best friend? Is she a sidekick like? Bookish and shy?"

What was this child talking about? "No."

"What's her name? I may be able to incorporate it into the book."

"No girlfriend." Grey was a friend, but not the kind Widdlestein meant. No one was.

"Hmmmm..." Sam thought out loud. "Well, we can't have that. Only the heroines are supposed to be untouched and pure. Ooh, I'll bet some girl broke your heart and now you feel you can never love again. That would be *perfect* for the story! Ex runs off with Savage's playboy scuba diving brother. Now he sails the sea in agony because he will forever be alone.

This is good stuff. What did you say your name was again?"

Victor stared at the child, trying to figure out what on earth she was talking about. Maybe the screams were preferable to this - at least he understood them. "I didn't."

"Well," Sam said with the tone of "I'm waiting."

"Krieghoff. Victor Krieghoff."

"Like Bond, James Bond?" Sam said. "No, that won't work. Maybe Victor Savage? I always thought Giovanni was a bit much anyway."

"You need to leave the laboratory," Victor repeated, retreating back to something he at least understood.

"Alright, Victor," Sam complied. He still was a bit creepy even if he fitted her hero perfectly. "Do you think I might be able to interview you later for a more in-depth background?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you leave with me now." Bargaining with a child was a tactic he remembered from the psych class he'd had at the Academy - he'd made poor marks in it, but that was more because no one could be near enough to talk to him than because he'd not understood what to do.

"Sure, we can go." Samantha said grandly, almost as if it was her idea. "So, tell me more about Security. Arel's in Security too but she never talks about it much."

"I'm not the person you should ask." This was familiar ground at least.

"Why not?" Sam pressed. "You're in Security, aren't you?"

"Because I'm not like the rest of them."

Out came the recorder again. "Deeply rooted isolation." Sam said into it. "Childhood trauma perhaps or maybe deep fear of rejection."

Victor frowned. "No."

"No what?"

"No, that isn't what I'm afraid of."

"Of course not." Samantha replied soothingly, her tone implying that she didn't believe him for one moment. "I'm just saying possibilities for Savage." She paused and the continued into the tape recorder "Relies heavily on denial."

Victor's frown deepened. "Where are you supposed to be now? School?"

"Advanced Calculas but I already know it all."

"You should go, even if you already know everything."

"Why?"

"Because people don't scream when you're near them," he answered, as if that made perfect sense.

"I wish they would." Sam said sulkily. "No one takes me seriously, not even when I pull out these." She whipped out one of her Hirogen stilletos. "Arel says its cause I don't use them right."

Victor frowned down at her. "No, you don't," he said with conviction. "And she's correct."

"You're just as humorless as she is." Sam grumbled. "Well, show me how then."

He looked at her penetratingly for a moment, and then said, "You don't want people to scream when you're near them, what you want is for them to treat you like an adult. And you're not using them correctly because waving a weapon around like that makes you look like an idiot. Either use it or put it away."

Samantha looked at him darkly. "It's a memento. I saved Arel's life when the Hirogen caught us and let us loose on that smegging planet. And I'm telling the truth before you ask."

"I know." Victor replied, having apparently dismissed the stiletto as inconsequential.

"How's that?"

"I read your file."

Sam brightened. She'd always wanted to get into her file. "What's it say?"

Victor doubted she wanted - or needed - to hear the material added to the file by previous Security officers that had been forced to deal with her. "You're smart. You're bored. You're trying to get someone to treat you like an adult."

"Does it really say that?"

"Yes. It also says that if you're not out of the Biology labs in thirty seconds I get to take your stilettos away."

Samantha grinned. "I like you, Victor. Even if you're kinda spooky. You should really work on that."

Victor frowned and pointed towards the door.

"All right, all right, I'm going!"

He followed her outside and stood, waiting, until she moved a little way down the corridor. "Stop trying so hard," he said suddenly, still with a frown, "You'll be an adult soon enough."

"Yeah, yeah." Samantha grumbled.


"Relationship Woes"

Colby Elliott
Ella Grey

*****

Colby looked with over to the woman standing in his room with a muddled mix of defeat and annoyance.

“I mean what the hell is wrong with you?” She shouted, her hands on her hips as she paced around Colby’s quarters. Her lips were twisted down in a look of total disgust.

She was clearly angry, Colby got that without needing a dictionary. Despite the fact that she thought he was an idiot he wasn’t that slow. Colby wasn’t happy to see her go but he was relieved.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” She asked, her tone raising a little.

Colby just shrugged, taking his black baseball cap from the nightstand and putting it on.

She let out a little shrieking scream and stomped her feet, “This is how it is with you,” she shouted, “If you cared about anything you wouldn’t,” she broke off, “You are a slob Colby, a dirty slob."

Colby gave a little admitting smirk and nodded but said nothing.

The woman in the room shook her head as she gathered the rest of her things from Colby’s floor and stuffed them into her bag then moved for the door. She turned back, “And how hard is it to put the seat down on the toilet after you use it?”

Elliot’s eyebrows raised and he shrugged, “Um, I guess as hard as it is for you to put it down before you use it?” he offered then broke out into laughter. He watched her leave still laughing but when the door shut he stopped laughing and sighed looking at the floor. He liked her even though she had the habit of nagging him about everything and being too positive. He was, still, both sad and relieved to see her go. “I need a drink,” Colby said to the empty room, with her gone and all her stuff gone it was a really empty room. He pushed himself up from the bed and headed for the door, as the door wooshed open he looked back into the room, shaking his headas he regarded everything he saw and everything she had said.

****

Ella was on a mission.

Dressed in a very obvious blue dress (short, sparkly, and just a tad on the slutty side), she had decided that she would forget about her problems in a familiar way.

But it wasn't working.

Oh, it wasn't that the dress wasn't having its appeal, she'd had a number of offers so far this evening, its just that every offer made her stomach lurch and her heart cry out one very special, if not utterly annoying name.

Ella wondered when she had lost her edge and her brain had switched on to stupid.

Slinking up to the bar, she ordered a refill on her drink and then sat down in defeat.

Colby stepped into the bar on the Galaxy and looked around with a careful gaze. He was watchful, like a hunter looking for prey only instead of looking for something he was looking for the lack of something. After his look over the room he found that the room did indeed lack the someone who had stormed out of his room. He doubted that she would have been down here but it never hurt to check did it.

“Fuck no,” he said to himself as he stepped from the doorway and into the lounge area. It did not hurt to be careful, the last thing he wanted was to bump into her here and get yelled at again.

Colby smiled as he looked around and toward the bar. Things like that were why he would always believe in the beauty of luck. He straightened his shirt slightly and re-adjusted his cap as he walked up to the bar, stopping and looking over the engineer, “Where do you keep your PADD in that?” he asked with a smile, wondering if she would remember him from their last conversation.

Ella grinned at Colby and then opened up her purse to grab her computer PADD. *I HADN'T REALLY EXPECTED TO BE TALKING ANYONE, IF YOU GET MY MEANING. THINK ITS TOO MUCH?*

“Yes,” Colby said with an adamant little nod, “Too much, talk it all off,” he looked around, “Though maybe not here.”

*HOW ARE YOU THIS EVENING?*

Colby shrugged, “I’m alright aside from the usual crap that seems to spring up. How about you? I’m not interrupting any occasion am I?” he asked looking to her dress again.

*NO* She typed with a smile. *THIS IS ME TRYING TO BOOST MY EGO A BIT.* Ella stretched out her leg, admiring the strappy shoes. Her dress hiked up a bit more. *I THINK I SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT THE BLUE ONES.*

Colby looked at the shoes then followed the soft line of her leg up to where it disappeared beneath the dress she wore. Fidelity was one of Colby’s few virtues and had the night not begun the way it had he would not have allowed himself such a long gaze at the engineer’s legs, but it had so he had. Shrugging Colby interjected, “I’m a guy, I have two pairs of shoes, so…” he trailed off then shrugged again, “I’m certainly not the right person to ask about shoes.”

She smiled again.*SO TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TROUBLES AND I'LL BORE YOU WITH MINE*

“My girlfriend left me,” Colby said as he took a long swig from the bottle the barkeep had brought him. He rolled his eyes then looked back to Ella, “That happens to me a lot.”

*ANY PARTICULAR REASON?*

“I’m lazy, I have annoying habits, I don’t work hard enough if I did she thinks I’d be first officer,” he shook his head and muttered, "Clearly she’s nuts.” Then he added, “Oh, and I leave the seat up.”

*SHAME ON YOU :) I HAVEN'T BEEN IN A NORMAL RELATIONSHIP IN A LONG TIME.* Ella mused. *I DONT REALLY THINK IM CUT OUT FOR ONE THOUGH.*

“Yeah, my relationships never last.” He looked off into the distance as if searching for something then found it, remembering their previous conversation, “What about that guy?” Colby knew she had said, typed, more but all he could remember about him now was that he was that guy.

Ella did her best not to scowl. *WHY DO YOU THINK I'M DRESSED LIKE THIS? I'M GOING TO GET OVER HIM IF IT KILLS ME.*

Colby gave Ella’s dress another glance, “In that I’m sure a lot of people will be happy to get you over anything and everything.” He smiled, “Guys are always happy to help.”

She laughed. *I LIKE YOU COLBY. YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS NUTS TO DITCH YOU OVER A TOILET.*

“Maybe some people just aren’t cut out for real relationships,” he said with an oddly distant note in his voice, the note was his memory of his longest relationship, that had been the one to break the two month marker. He moved out of his thought and back into the situation, he looked at Ella and smiled, “Thanks, I always thought the toilet argument was retarded.” Colby closed his eyes, shit, he shouldn’t have said that, you never knew who got offended when you say retarded because they had some dumbstruck cousin or brother or something. Fuck it, Colby thought to himself, to late to not say it.

Ella looked amused if anything. *IT'S ANNOYING TO FIND YOURSELF FALLING INTO THE TOILET AT TWO IN THE MORNING SINCE SOMEONE LEFT THE SEAT UP BUT I WOULDNT LEAVE SOMEONE OVER IT.*

Elliot laughed, the fact that a drowsy person falling ass first into a cold bowl of toilet water was funny to him was probably not a good thing but that didn’t stop him from finding it funny as hell.

*GIVE HER A FEW DAYS TO THINK ABOUT IT. SHE'LL PROBABLY COME BACK TO HER SENSES.*

Colby sighed and shook his head, “I hope not,” he said honestly. “I got the feeling she didn’t want to be alone, if she didn’t mind it our, ‘relationship’ would have ended the morning after.” He rolled his eyes and gave an odd note to the word relationship. “You know, the I don’t like coming home to an empty apartment so I’ll mold this guy into my dream husband.” Colby set down his drink then laughed, “Or maybe I’ll bump into her again and we’ll get married and have a bunch of kids.”

Ella never molded her conquests, she just used. But it wasn't like they didn't use right back, she figured. He probably would run into the woman again and get married with 2.5 kids.

“Maybe yours will come to his senses,” Colby offered.

Ella snorted and then took another sip of her drink. Then she looked at him. Well, no use in being shy about it. *DO YOU WANT COMPANY TONIGHT, COLBY?*

Colby smiled, “Couldn’t say no even if you weren’t in that dress.”


(OOC: I assume this is a bit of a backpost, taking place a couple days after the Galaxy docks at Starbase 212. Part 2 to come later this afternoon.)

"Transition, Part 1: Getting There"

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Operations Officer,
USS Galaxy

and a nameless crewman

Location: endless hallways of Starbase 212 and the USS Galaxy

The last few days had been decently interesting. For someone whose daily life consisted of making sure Intergalactic Service Station and 24-Hour Roadside Café Number 23 ran smoothly all day, every day, it didn't take much.

After packing up her few possessions, meeting with her department head one last time and then arranging passage aboard the first available ship she could find, Ensign Tarin had once more found herself shooting through the blackness of space toward her new home. Well, in that general direction at least. But first, a few delays were in order: a quick stop at another Intergalactic Service Station, then a short ride with the oh so interesting denizens of a Nameless Eighteen Wheeled Freighter Without the Wheels (it had a name, it just wasn't all that memorable), another hop here, a slide to there, and finally onto the inevitable runabout, the Volkswagen Beetle of the skies.

Several ships and a couple days later, she had finally arrived at Starbase 212, where the Galaxy was docked for the time being. So it hadn't been the quickest trip ever, but it hadn't been boring. She checked the first terminal she came to, using it to locate the position of the Galaxy and the easiest way to get there from her current location. Once she had the required information she headed off, barely pausing to take a breath or examine her surroundings.

After only a couple wrong turns, Iniara finally found herself in the corridor she had been trying to locate. ~Okay, turn left here, then another left, then straight down...right.~ Quickening her pace a bit, she popped out of the bland, beige-and-blue hallway into a somewhat larger, though no less bland, atrium of sorts.

Only two features marked this almost-room: the airlock door, and the small desk situated exactly opposite it. Iniara turned toward the desk and the young crewman sitting behind it. "Ensign Tarin Iniara," she began as she stepped up to the desk, "reporting for duty aboard the USS Galaxy NCC-70637-A."

"One moment please." The crewman turned his attention from her to his console, tapping a few buttons. A few seconds later it displayed the information he needed. He scanned the screen, one hand reaching down to pull open a desk drawer stacked with PADDs. He looked down, selected the one he needed, and pushed the drawer shut.

Standing, he handed the PADD to Iniara. "You're all set, ma'am," he said before coming around the side of the desk. Iniara followed him the few feet across the room and waited as he punched in the access code for the airlock door.

Almost instantaneously the doors began to slide open. "Welcome to the Galaxy, ma'am."

Iniara nodded to the crewman before proceeding through the airlock, the second set of doors automatically opening as she approached. She unconsciously tugged on the strap across her chest as she stepped through the doors, hitching her single bag up a little on her back. ~Well, here goes nothing.~

For all the mental building-up she had done within the past few days (especially in the past few seconds), stepping onto the Galaxy seemed almost like a let-down. Sure, it was her new assignment, her new home, the ship that would take her on wild adventures and maybe even get her moving back up the totem pole of promotion. But right now, where she stood looked like any other Starfleet-run piece of hallway she had ever been in: beige on top, blue on bottom, reassuringly bland.

Sighing just a little, Iniara turned her attention to the PADD she had recently been handed. Activating its screen, she flipped through the information it contained. Location of her quarters, the Ops office, meeting scheduled with the Chief of Ops, temporary duty schedule, and a couple other useful bits of information. She scanned the information, noting that she had nothing on her plate until tomorrow.

~Nothing to do for the rest of today, I see. No time like the present to learn my way around the ship, then.~ And with that resolution in mind, Iniara used the PADD to call up the location of her quarters, figuring that would be the best place to start.


"Permission Granted" Part 1 of 2Markie

(Takes place immediately after 'No One Has Permission To Die')

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

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

****

Gryphon Colony
Asteroid Moving to Diplomatic Reception Area

Victor hated patrolling en mass.

It was like asking for the enemy to attack. All those targets lined up like that, most of them poorly-trained in even the simplest woodcraft, sounding more like a herd of Terran water buffalo on a wooden floor than someone trying to be quiet and approach a potential enemy. He would have rather come alone, just himself and the terrorists out there. That would have at least made it more of a challenge, would have allowed him to do what he was good at in the manner that suited him best.

But instead he was here, with over a dozen others on the ground and two in the sky, their wings beating in rhythm as they spiraled out from the main body in search of potential hostiles and injured needing assistance. His pulse pounded inside his head with the need to get away, to leave these sheep behind and do what he was born to do, to be what he was meant to be - to find those that had killed in his territory, taken lives that were his, and kill them in return.

His frown long since descended into a scowl, he fought with himself, fought the need to just step to the side and vanish into the rubble and buildings that comprised the inner surface of the asteroid colony and become the hunter he was. He fought, but it was a losing battle and he knew it. Sooner or later, no matter what he wanted, the hunter would win and he would leave. Sooner or later....

Cora was running on adrenaline. Search and rescue duty with active terrorists still around wasn't exactly relaxing. To top it all off she had to admit the same thing applied to being around Krieghoff. As such her attention remained focused on finding answers. While she wouldn't feel at ease until they were safely aboard the Galaxy, Dobryin also knew that distinct feeling of failure if they didn't find those responsible.

Cutter watched Zan fly some distance away. She was responsible, very together, much more than Arkedi probably would be, but she was still Fruna'lin. She wasn't used to this, nothing like this happened in recent history in their home system. And, of course, she didn't have any military training like Cutter had; she didn't have a preprogrammed behavior mode to switch to in a crisis situation. She was holding up really well, however, amazingly well, but Zan was always one of the strongest people he had known.

He glanced back down, first locating the away team he was following, then surveying the area around them. About fifty yards away, he noticed a tall man waving in the dark, surrounded by seven or eight others, it was hard to see. Cutter flew down and stopped his momentum, floating above them.

"Hey, you're on the Galaxy, right? Was that a shuttle I saw earlier?" he asked. He was holding onto a handrail with his foot to keep himself from floating away from the walkway.

"Yes, they landed in a park, in that direction," Cutter pointed, "about a quarter kilometer. You'll be able to see it once you get closer, it's obstructed by that building, but you can see the glow of the lights they've erected."

"Great," the man smiled. He pulled himself back down and spoke softly to his group. Cutter couldn't hear what he was saying, but he noticed one of them was holding their eye, another gripping his forearm against his chest. The other seemed to be helping.

"You should only take in the injured and report in yourself and, of course, any other ship personnel with you. The rest, the uninjured should move away and find shelter elsewhere, prevent crowding."

"Got it, thanks." Cutter flew off as the group moved away. Victor was moving the team fast; they were almost out of sight in the still dark asteroid.

****

Gryphon Colony
Asteroid Moving to the Diplomatic Reception Area
Five Minutes Later

Victor continued his fast pace at the head of the column, reaching a vertical turn in the path. Without warning, he jumped up as his foot bounced off the metal grating rather than landing and staying like it was supposed to. His right hand whipped out to grab hold of the railing as his feet started to shoot out parallel to the ground and turned back to the following away team. "Gravity's out. Pull yourself along the railing; watch out for it to kick back on. Watch for an ambush."

Ahdjiia had been moving as silently as one of her Little Ones as she made her way with the group, eyes watching and wary. She nodded when Krieghoff gave his warning about the gravity, and she was grateful for having excelled at her zero G classes back at the Academy.

As she continued on, she could feel the eddies of the gravity fluctuations. They made it a bit of a slower go, but after the first few, the rest were easier to adjust to in her opinion.

Hating the delay, Victor had the next man in line pass him a small piece of rubble, and, after he'd hooked one leg on the rail, threw it sidearm in their direction of travel, watching to see where the gravity came back on. The rock flew straight for six meters, and then abruptly dipped as it passed into a gravity-positive area. "Six meters of null-g, people," he reported. "One man at a time in the zone, the rest watch for an ambush."

He waited until everyone had the message, then tapped his combadge and repeated the warning to the Lieutenant and his companion as they circled overhead.

There was a pause over the channel before Lieutenant Kara'nin responded, "Um, all right, but you don't have to worry about us. We're already floating; it's easy for us to adjust." He sounded much more comfortable over the comm, Victor noticed, than when they were physically talking.

Ahdjiia took note of how the rock had traveled, and she propelled herself with a good hop to make it through the gravity void. While her hop didn't provide enough momentum for her to come through solidly on the gravity end, it did allow her to progress slowly enough to react if something happened suddenly. With a bit of twisting, she was able to get a leg over on the gravity side to make things easier for her to 'land' without injuring herself.

Ahead, something was moving. Something trying not to be heard. Victor smiled as he waved the column down and slipped ahead. Something that didn't want to be heard meant something that might be dangerous, and the pounding in his head drove him to find out if that were true - and show them that no matter what they thought, there was nothing more dangerous here than he, himself, was.

A few steps took him out of sight of the column, around a mostly intact group of shops and stores, some with still-intact glass in their windows and silently back around behind the source of the sound he'd heard. He slowed his approach, ghosted around a planter that had lost it's contents when the gravity fluxed, and took a careful look.

Civilians. Not civilians with guns, or even looters, but civilians of the worst type: women and children, four of the first and almost a dozen of the second. They were scared, huddled behind some ruined stands for some kind of ethnic human fried food. As he watched, a child, older than the others - making her about twelve Victor supposed - slipped back up and whispered to a thirtyish woman with Terran Asian ancestry, "Mrs. Wanatabe, I can't see anyone now, but I'm sure there was someone there with a gun."

There was nothing for it, despite the pounding in his head. He couldn't leave these people here, fair game for the lesser predators that were running amok. Victor dropped the muzzle of his rifle and stepped out. "There was."

Several of the children and at least one of the women screamed, and Victor frowned despite knowing that it wouldn't help the moment. "Stop screaming or someone will hear you," he ordered.

That had the expected result of making two more children shriek and start to cry, and the Asian woman - Mrs. Wanatabe - place herself between the others and Victor. ""W-what do you..."

"I want them to stop screaming," he repeated quietly. "Before someone that will start shooting at you and my men hears them."

"You... you're not... your men?" She looked closer. "Oh. You're Starfleet... You're here to...."

"There's an evacuation and aid station in the Memorial Park," Victor replied as the other women started to calm the children. "I'll send some men back with you to make certain you get there."

The woman relaxed as Victor summoned the rest of the column forward, warning them there were survivors to evacuate. "I... I'm sorry the children screamed," she apologized nervously. "They're just so scared, and..."

"Good," Victor interrupted her. "They should be. If they're scared, they're alive. Keep them that way." He turned to the side as the column approached, the frightened children eyeing the men and women nervously, until one spotted Zan in the air and pointed, distracting all of them as they watched the Fruna'lin pair fly overhead. "D'Tinya," he said, still frowning, once she'd approached. "They have to go back. Detail two men to..."

The first incoming round sparked off one of the carts. The next three struck the road next to them. The fifth clipped a lock from Mrs. Wanatabe's hair, sending it skipping up to fall and separate into a cloud of separate falling strands. Before the sixth struck, Victor snapped out "Incoming!" and reached out to drag the Asian woman to cover.

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Twenty meters above the ambush

"What was that?" Zan asked as she flew up beside Cutter.

"Shots." On the ground, at least, the two of them were concealed by the darkness a good fifty or sixty feet above the away team. No telling how long that would last with his reflective white wings. He wished momentarily that he had inherited all of his mother's blue, rather than just on the wing tips. He scanned the ground and walkways below and to his right, searching for the source of the shooting with his avian eyes.

"Victor," he said, tapping his combadge, "I see two men on a walkway extending out of the third floor of the building near you. You should be able to spot the blue glow of their sensor scopes, and maybe one or two down on--"

"AAHH! Ka ist thekh!"

"Zan?" Cutter asked at her cry. She had coiled up her wings, the movement sent her higher but she was remaining airborne only through the zero gravity; she was clutching one of them.

"They shot me! Thekhikal chanit!" she cursed. Cutter heard one more whistle by his ear, causing him to reflexively spin in the air. He heard Zan curse once more then fly off.

"Zan? Where are you going?"

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Ambush Site

Ahdjiia kept the civilians covered once the firing started, and motioned to them carefully to follow her. She did keep an eye out for where the shots were coming from, as well as where the other crewmen were and began to formulate a way to get the civilians out so the Security team wouldn't have them to worry about in addition to themselves.

Across from D'Tinya, Victor snarled as he pushed the women he'd pulled from the line of fire into the cover provided by the planter. He'd known this was coming, felt it, and now it was here - and he couldn't do what he needed to in order to stop it. He couldn't move out and kill the people shooting because he had to protect the civilians and his people. The pounding in his head grew louder and his snarl more feral as he searched the area for a target besides the ones the Lieutenant and his woman were diving on, attacking like striking birds of prey.

Someone managed to plant a small concussion grenade far too close to Cora's current location for comfort. No one else could actually see it but the Intelligence officer. Their options were severely limited and there was only one right thing she could do to save innocent lives. Ensign Dobryin put herself between the low wall which was the only thing standing between some innocent children and that grenade. "We have to get out of here now..." unsure if her warning could be heard over the chaos or not. Cora only hoped someone had heard.

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Twenty meters above the ambush

"Kyle, look out!" one of the men on the third story walkway shouted. He ducked the speeding green object careening towards them but his friend was not so quick. He heard the loud knock of his jaw smashing shut, teeth slamming into one another as the figure struck. The man, Kyle, was knocked backwards by the blow, tumbling over the railing and fell three stories in one of the few working gravity wells. The other one spun in his crouched position and fired his weapon wildly into the air. After a moment, he paused and searched through the darkness with his sensor scope. It was one the birds that attacked them, he realized. Where was the other?

"Ka!" Cutter swore as he heard another bullet whiz by over head. He pushed downwards, bringing himself below the walkway. What was Zan doing? She could have gotten herself killed, but worse, she might have killed that man who fell. Another shot rang off the metal walkway, a shot from below. The man above rolled and started to run, Cutter followed. He caught up quickly; moving must faster through the air than the man could on the ground, and tackled the man. He fell, his gun bouncing on the ground out of his reach. The man tried to push himself up, Cutter was light, only a hundred pounds, he could easily be thrown off, so he grabbed the attacker's hair and shoved his hand down, forcing the head into the metal grating.

The man screamed, but was still struggling, so Cutter slammed his other arm into the back of the man's neck, pinning it to the ground. But it wasn't enough, Cutter was pushed off and he fell backwards. The attacker stumbled to his feet and reached for his gun, but he was knocked again. Zan! She was attacking again, swooping by the catwalk thwacking the man with her shoulder. He toppled over the edge like his friend earlier, but he was able to grab on.

"Help!" he cried, hanging onto the edge of the walkway with one hand. Cutter looked, Zan was circling back, she might attack again. He'd never seen her this angry, this out of control, but he'd never seen her physically attacked before, he'd never seen her life be threatened. He crawled over and reached out his hand, the terrorist grabbed it and Cutter helped pull him up. The man began to scramble again, once he had been lifted back up, Cutter couldn't tell if it was panic, or if he was going for his gun.

"Stop!" It was Zan. She had picked up the gun and stood on the walkway. It was aimed at the terrorist.

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Ambush Site

Ahdjiia was very aware of Victor's struggle because of his affect on her. She knew she had to move fast so he could unleash the Beast Within.

Her eyes darted and found a bit of protecting wall that was left from a building's fall and from the other debris in the area, the terrorists would have a hard time with visibility and firing. There was a chance to get the civilians to better cover for the officers to do their job.

"Strike!" she yelled out to Victor as she made her move to get the civilians to safety.

Shots fired around her, one almost clipping her leg, but Ahdjiia kept her calm as she hurried them along. One of the children stumbled and she wasted not a nanosecond as she scooped him up and felt the first blast to her hip.

Ahdjiia bit her lip rather than cry out. As it was, the acrid stench of burning flesh was enough. She forced herself to run, and another shot clipped her shoulder.

There was only a little further to go, but she kept on despite the agony.

Just as she felt her legs about to give out, she sent the child off with a shove as a shot struck home, hitting her in the chest near her heart.

Ahdjiia fell to the ground; her last sight was of the civilians taking safe shelter.

Cora had been thrown clear of the blast by the grenade's shock wave when it finally blew. By default she landed closest to Ahdjiia's location. It had been a rather rough but short flight and she was incredibly lucky. A few scrapes and scratches along with a jammed shoulder. Making sure the kids were ok was her first task. Adrenaline blocked her own pain and it would be some time before the after effects of being airborne truly sunk in.


"Permission Granted" Part 2 of 2Markie

(Takes place immediately after 'No One Has Permission To Die')

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

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

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Twenty meters above the ambush

All three sat frozen, the two Fruna'lin and the human, two on their backs, one standing over them with a gun, waiting for one of them to move. It was Cutter. "Zan. Stop, don't shoot him." She gave no reply, and the man began to scurry backwards, trying to flee.

"Stop!" she said again, and she fired, a round ringing off the walkway. He did.

"Zan," Cutter said again. There was another eternal pause before she spoke again.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Hold," Cutter said, "Let me tie him up. He can't do anything then."

She stood, her jaw starting to quiver, her hand beginning to shake. "Okay."

Cutter sighed, pushing out his stress with his breaths. He removed one of the bands around his arm, untying it and using its long length as rope. The terrorist cooperated, afraid for his life, and in another moment, his hands and feet were bound. Only then did Zan lower the gun.

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Ambush Site

"We need to med evac her ASAP," Cora yelled to Victor as she carefully made her way over to check on the injured security officer. "She doesn't look good."

Victor shook his head, trying to get the pounding that had risen to a roar to clear enough to let him think. This was different than he fought alone; this was why he couldn't command a ship - because he saw nothing but the targets and himself, the others were forced away, out of sight as the thing that lived inside him started to claw its way out.

With a growl that made the woman he'd saved draw back in shock, he stepped out into the open, knowing the location of the last shooter from the way D'Tinya had spun back from the impact. As he rose, he thumbed up the setting on the rifle, the meter reading '11' when he fired his first shot.

The beam struck the wall the sniper had fired from, played across it for only an instant - and then the energy transference blew the stone and duracrete apart, shattering the wall and sending the pieces back into the building like thousands of stone knives and hammers. The building shuddered as close to ten cubic meters of it vanished under the shot, and them started to collapse in slow motion.

Without moving, Victor swiveled and brought the rifle to his shoulder to trigger another shot that blew out the side of a shop where another volley of shots had come from, and then a third into the interior of the store, almost erasing it from the foundations and ending the incoming fire. He turned, rifle seeking another target, the pounding in his head slowed but not vanished, and his presence still filling the small square so completely that it almost shoved the refugees and other crewmen out.

The whine of a single shot cut through the sudden silence with a 'skikkt' and a line of red sprang up along Victor's left cheek as it cut him, drawing a new snarl and a quick, pantherish turn in the direction of the shooter. His rifle fired once more, taking out a balcony and part of the wall under it, the blast throwing the sniper clear of the building and into a perpendicular standard gravity zone. Victor watched the man's abrupt positional transition and fall expressionlessly, his head tilted to the side to see better, and only turned back to the others after his target had crashed to the street forty meters ahead of them and one level up.

"How..." He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. "D'Tinya. How bad?"

"She was hit more than once it appears.. Hip and shoulder are the least of my worries. It's the chest wound that could be fatal. I'm not a Doctor but that's too darn close to her heart for comfort. We certainly don't have the proper facilities while we are here or aboard the shuttle. Right now I'd say time is against us," Cora responded still unaware of her own pain. "My expertise is Intelligence not medical." The last was repeated so quietly and more for her own reassurance than anything else.

Victor took three steps and knelt next to D'Tinya, his fingertips at her throat. "Pulse is bad," he agreed. He checked the chest wound and frowned, the sound of his pulse that had echoed in his head gone for a moment. "Call the Lieutenant and his lady, Dobryin. See if they need help, and get them down here. I need them to transport her back to the runabouts ASAP - or at least to the runabout's transporter range." He looked down at D'Tinya's still form again and waved Hanley over, taking the field medical kit from him. "I'll do what I can. Hanley, you and So'ka get those kids away from her. Get everyone away from her."

"Aye, sir," the pair agreed and started herding the children and their keepers back across the small square.

Victor spilled the kit out on the ground and grabbed up a compress and one of the emergency regenerators even though he knew it couldn't heal the wound, and would only delay the inevitable. He hesitated, and then simply tore her jacket and tunic open to gain access to the injury. "You're not going to die, D'Tinya," he growled as he applied pressure and set the regenerator for maximum depth and laid it atop the compress. "Weren't you listening? No one has permission to die."

Ahdjiia felt the blackness around her ebb and she was vaguely aware of the feel of air on her skin and someone chewing her out. Her eyes flickered open, and she managed to mouth 'sorry'.

"Don't be sorry, D'Tinya," Victor said as he ran the small scanner from the kit over her and frowned. "Be alive. The children are." He looked at a reading and his frown deepened. "Your child is. You should have told me, D'Tinya. I'd have left you on the ship."

"Wh.. won't... be.. codd...lld.", she managed to force out, "S... ssstill...securit...ee."

Ahdjiia focused all she had into keeping herself going to at least be able to see Saladin one last time, but she wasn't sure she was going to pull it off.

Victor looked at her for a moment, checked the readings again, and made a frustrated, angry noise in the back of his throat. "You should have stayed," he repeated as he set the scanner aside and checked the dermal regenerator. "It's bad. There's damage to the heart, and there will be more by the time we get you to Malgin. Too much damage."

She closed her eyes, understanding what he wasn't saying. "Save... m... son... Saladin..." she struggled out.

Victor leaned closer, his voice a low growl, like a tiger's. "You can't go, D'Tinya. I have to give you permission to go, and I won't. Not until the boy is safe. Do you understand? You don't have permission to die."

A faint smile crossed her lips and Ahdjiia reached out to take Victor's hand as if to hold on longer and gain strength from him.

Victor frowned, looked at her hand, and slowly closed his fingers over hers. "Tell me you understand, D'Tinya. I need to hear you say it."

Rather than force the speech, and to conserve her strength for at least her son to live, Ahdjiia mouthed 'yes'.

Victor nodded once, looked down at her for a moment in silence, and then said quietly, "You make good choices, D'Tinya. I promise you, your son will be with his father."

She managed a smile, and seemed to fade, but her grip on Victor's hand was strong.

The beat of his pulse in his head returned abruptly and Victor growled in frustration, his presence pushing out to surround them. "Stay here, D'Tinya. You can't go yet, not until I say you can."

The Beast Within that sent so many scurrying in fear was oddly comforting to Ahdjiia. But then, considering it had a different reaction on her, that was understandable. Rather than answer and use up more of her strength, she squeezed Victor's hand firmly.

He frowned again and squeezed her hand back awkwardly. Death he understood intimately, but this he didn't. Victor looked up at the children across the plaza, huddled around the women that had guided them to safety. They might not see their parents again, but at least they'd known them. D'Tinya's son wouldn't even have that.

He growled again and looked down at the woman on the ground; regret that her killer's passing had been as quick as it had been filling his thoughts. He should have killed the man slower, should have made him suffer the way D'Tinya's mate and son would at her loss, should have... With an effort, he pushed the thoughts back. He had no time for them now. D'Tinya had no time for them. Not anymore.

"Wait," he told her. "The lieutenant and his woman will carry you back to Malgin. He squeezed her hand again, the gesture still alien to him as he started to stand. "I'll be back."

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
Ambush Site
Five Minutes Earlier

"Dobryin to Cutter we need you down here ASAP," Cora radioed for assistance.

A man fell at the edge of the cleared people, smacking the ground with a loud 'thwack,' causing the children to scream again. They were quickly silenced by the sight of two winged Fruna'lin landing immediately afterwards.

"What happened to her?' she asked quickly, noticing a red ooze on the female Fruna'lin's wing.

"She was shot in the wing," Cutter said, gesturing to Zan.

Cora nodded then asked, "Can you fly?"

"My plumage is *robelau*," she spat, the tone of her voice causing the one brave child to withdraw his hand before touching her.

"Its just skin, anchors the feathers," Cutter explained quickly. "She can fly."

He looked down at the fallen security officer then, really noticing for the first time what had occurred. Though it was painfully obvious, all he could bring himself to say was, "What happened?"

"Ambush," was all Cora managed to say in the chaotic aftermath of recent events.

"Lieutenant." It was Victor, his presence pushing at Cutter and the others seconds before his voice did. "I need your help."

Zan seemed to frown harder as Victor approached, Cutter visibly tensed up. "Um...all right. What?"

"D'Tinya. She has to go back to Malgin."

"Can she be moved?"

"Yes." Victor's voice was flat and emotionless.

Cutter sighed and then had to try a few times before he could speak, "It's not that easy. My wings can lift a lot of weight, it's hard, but I can do it. My arms can't. I'm not as -- *we're* not as strong as humans," he explained, his wings flashing open as he stressed his species. "If I try to carry her, I...I could make it worse."

"She's already dead, Lieutenant," Victor said with the quiet certainty of Death itself. "But the child inside her isn't. She can't leave until it's safe. That's why she has to go back. For the son she'll never see."

Cutter nodded, reluctantly accepting his duty. He took a deep breath, his large chest puffing out and back in, and then stepped over to the fallen officer. He raised her shoulders and placed an arm around her back, then put the other arm under her knees and lifted. A sound slipped from his lips as he lifted more than his body weight; he struggled, almost dropping her back down before he caught a better grip.

Victor watched as the Lieutenant took several quick steps forward, concerned that he was losing control, that he was going to fall, but then his wings whipped open and lifted D'Tinya and himself into the air.

Victor turned to Zan, but she was already gone, taking flight to catch Cutter and take some of D'Tinya's weight. The two Fruna'lin together managed her weight well enough that they began to pick up speed as they departed.

Without looking away, Victor tapped his combadge. =/\= "Krieghoff to Medical Team. One wounded officer in transit. ETA... five minutes maximum. Wounds are kinetic impact and fatal, but officer is pregnant. They request the child be saved." =/\=

A nervous woman's voice answered, =/\= "Ahhh... roger, Landing Party. You say the wound is fatal?" =/\=

=/\= Yes. Damage to the heart and lung. Severed blood vessels bleeding into lungs. One kinetic projectile has shattered the left hip, endangering child." =/\=

After a moment, a different voice answered. =/\= "Understood, Lieutenant. Will advise Dr. Malgin." =/\=

Victor nodded. =/\= "Contact me when child is secure." =/\=

=/\= "Dr. Malgin says he will do so," =/\= the second voice reported. =/\= Medical Team out." =/\=

Victor turned back to the silent people watching him. "Dobryin, you're in charge of returning these people to the Medical Team. Take three men and set out after you get yourself looked at. I'll take the rest and keep going to the Reception Area."

Cora simply nodded, "Understood." Training and experience ruled her actions because that required the least effort. None of them would forget what happened here. The medical team's response still hung in the air as she moved to carry out her duties.

****

Gryphon Colony Asteroid
En Route to Reception Area
Thirty-Seven Minutes Later

=/\= "Medical Team to Lieutenant Krieghoff." =/\=

Victor stopped the now-reduced column and tapped his combadge. "=/\= "Krieghoff here." =/\=

=/\= "You wanted to be contacted when Dr. Malgin was done with Lieutenant D'Tinya-Bolivar. The Doctor reports the transfer to a temporary stasis womb was a success. The child is returning to the Galaxy with the first load of wounded in approximately three minutes." =/\=

Victor frowned. =/\= "D'Tinya?" =/\=

=/\= "She's holding on, Lieutenant. She shouldn't be, but she is. It's like she can't... like she can't go, like something is keeping her here." =/\=

=/\= "Let me speak to her." =/\=

=/\= "Sir?" =/\=

=/\= "Let me speak to her." =/\= He hadn't raised his voice, but suddenly it was the same one he'd used to quell the com traffic earlier.

There was silence on the other end of the com for a minute, and then yet a third voice spoke. =/\= "We've put her combadge next to her ear, sir." =/\=

=/\= "D'Tinya, can you hear me?" =/\= Victor's voice hadn't changed, but its inflection had, making it less overtly menacing but no less disturbing.

After a second, the voice of the nurse responded, =/\= "She can, sir. She just can't speak." =/\=

=/\= "Listen carefully, D'Tinya," =/\= Victor said, each word distinct and sharp as broken glass. =/\= "Permission granted." =/\=

There was a gasp from the other end of the com, as if someone had received a sudden relief from something terrible, and the voice of the nurse whispered in an oddly frightened, subdued voice, "=/\= "She's gone, sir." =/\=

=/\= "Krieghoff out." =/\=

Victor turned without a word and started moving again. After a moment, the other members of the team followed him hesitantly.


"Transition, Part 2: Touring Mode"Markie

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Operations Officer,
USS Galaxy

Location: USS Galaxy, Decks 19-39

Finding her quarters had been easy enough. Ensign Tarin had been surprised to see that her quarters on the Galaxy were almost a mirror image of her old ones on Starbase 23. Except for the minor size differences and the slanted walls with the giant picture windows, it looked like someone had merely taken her starbase quarters, flipped them over, and plopped them down on the Galaxy. It would take a little getting used to.

After depositing her bag in the corner of the room and resolving to unpack later, Iniara decided to begin her self-guided tour, starting at the bottom. She dropped the one PADD on her desk and retrieved another one from her bag, the one she had been using to study the Galaxy's layout.

Stepping out of her quarters, she quickly made her way down the hallway to the first turbolift she could find. After a moment the lift's doors whooshed open and she stepped inside, calling up a ship schematic on the PADD. "Deck 39," she stated, giving the number of the bottom-most deck that contained anything she might have to know about while on duty.

The turbolift doors opened at her destination, revealing still more hallways to be traversed. Iniara accessed the detailed specs for Deck 39 and began walking. "Bulk Cargo...Shuttle Bays..." she began to tick off as she made her way around the hallways. Not a whole lot on this deck, time to move up.

The next deck was similarly uneventful, as was the next, and the next. Only a skeleton crew appeared to be running the ship at the time; the majority of the crew was probably off on the starbase, she figured. Even Main Engineering had been mostly empty; apparently there wasn't much to do with the ship docked, aside from making sure nothing blew up, that is.

~Having a ship full of empty hallways is probably better,~ she mused, once more burying herself in the PADD's data and not really paying attention to every step along her way. ~Fewer people to bump into.~

Fewer people on board also mean fewer minds to feel, she stopped to remind herself. She hadn't realized until she left Starbase 23 how accustomed she'd become to the people who lived there, both physically and mentally. But during the first few hours off the starbase she'd started to develop a serious headache, a consequence of actually having to maintain and reinforce mental shields to keep out all the new minds she was around. She had admonished herself for becoming complacent, getting so used to everyone that she let her shields relax, sometimes even deliberately dropping them and just letting the waves of telepathic energy push against her until she couldn't take it anymore.

It was exactly this which Iniara felt herself beginning to do as she completed her tour of Deck 19. Figuring this was as good a place as any to test the mental waters, she ducked into the arboretum. She poked around for a second, making sure the area was empty. Satisfied, she leaned against a wall, closing her eyes and slowing her breathing. A few moments later she tentatively began to drop her shields, opening her mind to the ship and its crew all around her.

~*...see what Rachel was wearing last night, I mean damn! What a...*~

~*...useless piece of junk! Dad, you can't...*~

~*...believe they burned her at the stake. Earth's Middle Ages...*~

~*...trashed this plasma injector, it seems. Guess we'll have to get a...Milkshake. Chocolate. You want anything while I'm...sweaty and disgusting. I don't think his mother ever taught him to kill targs with his bare hands! Oh oh, and they say he can report to Sickbay, please take care of that filthy socks when will he ever learn to have a Class Five pilot's holodeck seems to bedon'tpointthatflamingdrinktryityou'llprobablydiewithinthenextfiveyearsiftheshipcant'seemtopullhisheadoutofhotdogsandfrenchfrieswereagrEATBRIDGEHASNEVERSEEMEDTHIS--*~

A loud, hollow clatter brought Iniara back to her senses. Immediately her default shields went back up, and she took a few moments to reinforce those as she almost always had to do. She then turned her attention to the source of the noise, realizing that the PADD she had been holding was now on the ground, propped up awkwardly against one of her feet. She reached down and picked it up, sliding it under one arm, unconsciously running her free hand through her hair.

~How long...? Couldn't have been more than a minute, if that.~ Iniara sighed, realizing that her headache had come back in full force after her little "experiment". It was going to take some time to adjust, especially when the full crew compliment was back on board.

"Well, I've done it before, I can do it again," she said to herself, voice echoing slightly in the empty room. She pushed herself away from the wall, turning and exiting the arboretum. Once outside, she pulled the PADD from under her arm. ~Only eighteen more decks to go...~


Dr. Janelle Reynolds
CMO
USS Galaxy

Things had been quiet for Dr. Reynolds. Sickbay was slow and now that they were on the starbase, things got even slower as everyone prepared to get off the ship for a little R and R.

Dr. Reynolds had no desire to go off the ship until she heard that the Miranda was docking there too. She wondered who she knew on that ship. Looking at the crew manifest, she recognized a few names. One name stood out in her mind, Rayna O'Grady. She remembered her from a party for one of the big wigs.

She would have to visit her sometime. It would be nice to talk to someone than stay there and read up on her medical journals.


"Like Sands Through An Hourglass"Markie

(Set one day after 'Days of Our Lives')

Principle Characters:
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Samantha Widdlestein

*****

USS Galaxy
Deck 38
Security Main
Victor Krieghoff's Office

Samantha Widdlestein sat down and folded her hands in front of her professionally. At least that's what she told herself. The man across from her frowned and his presence gloomily stretched across the room, filling it with terror, dread, and other unpleasant feelings.

"Could you turn it down a bit?" Sam snapped at Victor.

"Turn what down?" It really was a silly question, but Victor supposed that there was always the possibility that she'd meant something besides the obvious.

"The heebie jeebie vibe."

"I can't," he said quietly. It had been a futile hope after all. Maybe it would speed up the process of the interview he'd agreed to in order to get Widdlestein out of the Biology labs without a fight.

"Ooh, that's a good place to start then." She cooed and turned on her recorder. "Let's talk about that."

"Not much to say."

"Did you pick it up from some creepy alien?" Sam asked, her imagination coming up with a thousand dramatic scenarios all at once.

"No, it's always been there. Even when I was an infant - the other newborns wouldn't stop screaming until I was taken to a private room."

Samantha's eyes widened with sadness. It didn't stop her from making her character Savage have a similar incident happen to him in her notes though.

"That's so horrible. You must have been really unhappy as a kid."

"Not always. Once I understood that I was different, that I wasn't ever going to be like the rest of them, I learned to find things that I could do to fill the time. Things that took the place of what I couldn't have.

"Such as?" Sam asked in a professional tone.

"I study a lot. Remote learning classes, self-paced holo-courses, things like that. I learned the family's traditional trade." He smiled slightly.

"And I learned to hunt."

She didn't really care for the smile, it looked mean and vicious but it was also perfect for the final showdown battle between Savage and the yet-unnamed-bad guy. "Tell me about hunting. Why do you like it?"

"Because when I hunt, I don't have to hide what I am. There are no rules beyond the ones that I was born knowing. There's just me and my prey, hunting each other. It's simpler, cleaner. One lives, one dies. No predator can ask for more than that."

Sam frowned and decided to switch the subject. Thoughts of hunting gave her the creeps. "So, I've done some research on you and you lied to me."

"About what?"

"You've got two girlfriends!" Sam announced, proud of her investigation skills.

"No, I don't." Victor supposed that it was too much to ask that a child might not have heard about his supposed social life.

"Yeah you do. Everyone says so."

"They aren't my girlfriends," he repeated. "No matter what everyone says."

"Says here that you have one named Ella, a real bitch most people say, and Angelina, a deaf mute." Samantha said, deliberately messing up her facts to see his reaction.

Victor reflected that her misinterpretation was at least better than swapping him with Leo Streeley and saying that he'd been Princess DeV'oraH's love-slave. "Lt. Grey is mute. Flight Officer Angelienia is a bitch. Neither of them are my girlfriend," he replied tonelessly.

"But if one were your girlfriend, which would you choose?"

"I wouldn't. There isn't any reason to."

"That's why I used 'if' Victor." Sam said primly. "Surely you can pick one."

"No. There isn't any point to it. Neither of them are for me."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Tell me about your family. Did your parents tie you up as a child?" Savage would work out better if he were abused, she thought.

"No. They were the only people that I didn't do... whatever it is that I do... to when I was a child."

Well, that was disappointing, Samantha thought. "If you didn't have the heebie jeebie vibe, what's the first thing you would do?"

"Nothing. I'd be dead."

Sam sighed in exhasperation. "I said "if"."

Victor frowned slightly. "I don't do 'what if's' there's no point to them. There's only what is."

The girl pouted out her lower lip. "You promised to cooperate if I left the bio lab. Its not that hard of a question. If *I* for instance were older, I would join the Academy. If you didn't have the heebie jeebie vibe you would...."

With a sigh, Victor forced himself to try and consider what he might do in that situation. "I would..." His voice trailed off as he tried to find something, anything that he would do if that were true. "I would...I don't know."

"Awww, common!"

"I don't know anything else other than what I am," he said quietly. "I can't see myself any other way."

Sam narrowed her eyes and then nodded firmly as if making some internal decision. "You definitely don't have much of an imagination, do you? Well, okay, since you can't tell me now, you're going to have to think about it and tell me next time."

"Next time?" Victor's frown deepened.

"Why of course." Sam said with a smile. "You're much too complicated for just one interview."

"What, exactly, are you doing this for again?" he asked quietly.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Deaf as well. I *told* you I'm doing research for my book. I think you're an excellent model for my lead role. Which reminds me, what do you think would be the ultimate prey for a hunter to catch? Sharks (she asked a bit hopefully)? Tigers? Bigfoot?"

"Alive or dead?" Victor asked, relieved to have a question that made sense.

"Alive of course. Our readers like to relate to things."

"Terran or non-Terran?"

"Ooooh, non Terran." Sam said happily.

"Francosian Land Kraken," Victor replied without hesitation.

"What's that?"

"The largest predator native to Francos IX in the Gallican Cluster. Only hunted successfully with less than vehicle-mounted weaponry six times in recorded history, and never successfully without military-grade energy weapons."

"What's it look like?" She asked eagerly.

"Easier to show you." Victor stood and moved to the LCARS panel in the desk by Samantha. He worked the controls for a moment, and then nodded towards the holographic display set in the front of the desk as an image materialized in it. "There. Three meters tall, four wide. Mass approximately six tons. Armored skin proof against phasers and disruptors up to setting seven, reduced effects after that due to the crystalline structure of the armor plates. Sixteen tentacles with organic steel grasping tips. Distributed circulatory and nervous system make it immune to stun effects. Carnivorous. Beaked maw capable of taking the nose off a shuttlepod."

"Holy smegging Kahless." Sam said in awe. "That's perfect." She looked at it for a few minutes, trying to think of descriptive words for it. "How would you go about killing one of those things? HAVE you ever killed one?"

"No." He frowned. "I fought one on the Defiant - it was someone's nightmare the ship brought to life. I put out an eye, but it would have killed me if I hadn't run." He stared at the image. "The six successful hunts all used man-portable anti-armor weapons like isomagnetic disintegrators and occurred at distances of greater than fifty meters to allow for the multiple shot necessary to bring one down. Under that distance, no tactic except flight has ever worked."

"Er, can you say that in Federation Standard, Victor?" Sam asked.

He blinked. "You can't hunt them with anything designed primarily to kill people," he tried again. "You have to treat them like a shuttlecraft or a grav tank and kill them like you would one of those - with big guns from far away."

"Oh." She studied it further. "Were you scared by it?"

"No. I knew it was going to kill me, so there was no point in it." He shrugged. "I've only ever been scared of one thing, and this isn't it."

Sam looked expectantly at him.

"Becoming what people think I am."

"You need a life, Victor." Samantha said firmly as she wrote down brooding on her notes and underlined it twice. "Or, at least, a vacation."

"I don't take vacations."

"Everyone takes vacations." She informed him. "Ok, well, why not?"

"Because the Galaxy always stops at places where people go, where they do things that people want to do."

"So?"

"Because I'm not like them. I can't be in large crowds, someone will get hurt. Risa and the other resort planets don't offer anything I want to do."

"Probably not." She couldn't imagine Victor trying to suntan.

Victor looked at the girl for a moment. "I hunt things that are hunting me. I kill them or they kill me. No phasers, no stun settings, no live captures. Just one predator dueling with another. No resort world will accommodate that."

"You should vacation on Qo'nos." Samantha told him. "I bet the Klingons do stuff like that." She shook her head. "The more I think about it, the more perfect you and Arel are for each other."

"Not a good idea," Victor said expressionlessly. "The effect that I have on people is worse when they come from a race with a predatory background. The closer the predator is to the surface, the more likely I am to trigger a 'fight' reflex instead of a 'flight' one."

She wrote down stubborn and impossible in her notes in capital letters and then underlined them. "I can see what she means." Samantha muttered.

"What 'who' means?" he frowned.

"Oh, I interviewed your gir....er, friend too." Sam said. "Ella Grey"

Victor's frown darkened perceptibly. "You... interviewed... Grey."

"She was very discreet and didn't say anything about you other than your stubborn and impossible at times."

He didn't respond for a moment, and then finally nodded, "She's usually right."

Samantha raised an eyebrow but let it pass. Of the two women, she liked Ella Grey better but not by all that much. The woman had threatened to throw a computer PADD at her if she didn't leave Engineering. The Ktarian woman however... "Your other non-girlfriend is mean. She said mean things about Lt. Grey, me, and my mummy. Mummy says nasty ho's always get what they deserve and Arel says don't let them walk all over you..."

With a frown - the fifteenth different one Sam had catalogued to date - Victor said, "Your friend is right, you shouldn't let people walk all over you. But..."

"So," Samantha said with an amused look. "I kicked her hard in the shins."

"...violence isn't always the right way to solve a problem," Victor continued. "It's *one* way, but not always the right one."

"I probably shouldn't have stomped on her toe then, huh?"

"Probably not," he agreed. "She didn't try to hurt you, did she?"

"Nah." Sam said. "When I said you were my friend she got all quiet." Sam smirked as she remembered the woman's look of disappointment. "Well, I think that concludes this interview. I'll let you know if I need you again in the future, which I probably will once I send Arel the preliminary holoprogram."

Victor frowned and started to speak, but Sam has already scooted her chair back and dashed out of the room a smoothly as sand slipping through an hourglass before he could speak.


OOC: Backpost! Another post follows...Markie

"Rescue Me"

(Occurs immediately after "Stepping Over The Cracks")

Principle Characters:
Commander Karyn Dallas, RN
Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. j/g Victor Krieghoff
Security Officer
USS Galaxy - A

****

Gryphon Colony
Diplomatic Reception Area
Pinned Under Rubble

Unconsciousness was not uneventful or merciful for Karyn Dallas. Were she in a position to appreciate it, she might have given Dr. Freud some kind of credit for that little discovery, but then again, considering the kind of crap she was being confronted with, giving the father of psychoanalysis a thumbs up was like congratulating the inventor of the guillotine on the weapon's efficiency.

Images, hazy and distorted, flashed through her mind, all violent and all in living color. One didn't have to review the ship's logs to know that Karyn Dallas had very little to celebrate, and for missions like the one classified on Romulus years ago, her unconscious was the only place she allowed herself to work anything out. But there was more to deal with, not the least of which was lanjep or this "thing" with Victor.

Her closed eyes twitching rapidly in REM sleep, a moan followed by a gasp escaped her lips. Victor, covered in blood was coming toward her, the same damn leer on his face. Just as she was about to scream, she heard a loud crash, and just like that, Victor was being sucked through the Gryphon dome. She felt her lips turn upward into a smile (for in her dreams she did not have to be sorry or guilty for having fantasies about his death or of killing him with her own hands), until belatedly she realized she too was being pulled upward toward the vacuum of space.

Her eyes widened and her heart raced. Dying was one thing, but dying and then spending eternity with Victor was quite another. As in reality, Karyn's attempts to stop herself from entering the void were futile, and as she felt the panic closing around her, she began to scream.

With a start, Karyn awoke screaming.

****

Gryphon Colony
Asteroid Diplomatic Reception Area
Outside the entrance

The sound of his pulse beat louder and louder in Victor's ears as the two judges - one man and one woman - hurled accusations and invective at each other. Shrill voices and angry murmurs ran through the crowd as the two polarized the feelings of the survivors of the diplomatic attack, raising the tensions in the room higher with every word.

"...your damned Troyer assassins!"

"...Drayson murderers..."

"...child-killing bastards..."

"...terrorist scum..."

The pulse in Victor's head beat one final time, and the pressure reached the point where it could no longer be contained. The survivors had been too frightened and panicked to understand what was loose among them before, but they all, to a man, understood as his voice roared out "Enough!" and his presence slammed into them like a hammer.

Both the judges recoiled, actually seeing the man standing there for the first time in his blood-stained Federation uniform. Eyes wide, they stared as the other survivors all drew back from them as Victor reached out and took the two leaders by the throat. "Enough!" he repeated as he drew them closer, hands scrabbling at his arms frantically as they sought to escape.

Behind him, So'ka flinched and half-lifted his rifle, praying that he wasn't going to have to shoot his superior officer down to save the two.

When Victor spoke again, the words were his - but the voice wasn't. The judges and the other survivors knew whose it was: they'd been brushed by him only hours ago, felt his cold hand slide across them and choose to pass them by... and now he was back, speaking to them through the man in front of them, his words edged with the cries of the damned. Death was here.

"No talking," Victor said to the judges quietly, his voice carrying across the suddenly still room. "You do what you're told, nothing more. If you talk again without permission, I'll kill you to keep the others from rioting. Understand?"

The judges both nodded.

"Galaxy crewmen. Where are they?" Victor looked at the two, and then nodded to the female judge. "You answer."

"They're... gone. Your Captain and some of the others evacuated out the other side of the banquet hall," she said slowly, voice trembling. "I don't know. what happened to them. Commander... Corgan, left with the Ambassador to try and get the communications relays working." She looked around. "I... I think that's all."

Victor nodded, still not releasing her. "You," he turned to the other judge. "Anything to add?"

"Ahhh... no... wait!" He pointed wildly towards the piles of rubble blocking part of the room. "There was another one - the woman in the float-chair. She was... over there."

Victor turned and looked at the piles of rubble. "Dallas." He turned back and frowned at the pair. "You left her there?"

"She," the man gasped frantically, "she has to be dead. No one could have survived that collapse."

"No." The word was flat and definite. "She's alive." Without releasing the two, Victor looked up. "So'ka. Hanley. You're in charge. Take the others and evacuate these... people to the staging area. If they give you trouble, stun them and drag them the rest of the way." He eyed the still crowd. "Understood?"

"Aye, sir," So'ka said slowly, still keeping his weapon up, just in case. "What about you?"

"I'm going after Dallas."

The ensign eyed the rubble-choked half of the room and the corridor that led to the rest of the reception area. "Are you sure she's... I mean, is it wise to risk someone else, sir?"

Victor dropped the two judges casually, and turned his back on them. "She's alive, So'ka," he repeated quietly, the words carrying no further than the ensign. "She doesn't have permission to die yet. I gave it to D'Tinya, but that was it. No more."

"Ummm... yes, sir."

"Get them out of here before I do something you'll have to shoot me for, So'ka," Victor said softly. "I'll get Dallas and follow you. Once you get them to safety, get a team out after the Captain."

The ensign nodded and turned to the crowd, barking orders to form them up. When he looked back a moment later, Victor was gone.

****

Gryphon Colony
Diplomatic Reception Area
Pinned Under Rubble

Gasping for breath and shivering, Karyn tried desperately to get her heart and mind under control, to fight past the sheer panic crashing over her in waves. As she had so many times in recent months, Dallas felt as if the the walls were closing in on her. The irony was she had been fighting so hard emotionally to keep the world from crashing down around her, all the while knowing it was futile, and now she had tangible proof of that, quite literally.

She struggled mightily to move, straining against the grav-chair that had once again proved to be a hinderance, and perhaps her very own death trap. Her head continued to pound as blood from yet another gash on her forehead trickled into her eyes. It was all too perfect, really. Were she a religious person, she might have said God was playing another joke on her, perhaps punishing her for something.

But for what? Hadn't she done everything she could to protect the values and people she cared about? And for what? So she could live out the last months of her life miserable and keeping other people's secrets?

This was not how she wanted to die, not trapped in this clausterphobic hell hole where she could measure the last minutes of her life in breaths she had left. Hell no, she decided, if she was going to die, she was going to die kicking and screaming.

Karyn continued to call for help, screaming not in her normal determination, but in desperation and frustation, not just because of her current predicament, but because if this was to be the end of her life, it had turned out to be pretty shitty.

Frustration turned into anger, and anger eventually turned into tears. They started slowly at first, for she knew crying would not accomplish anything except make her feel weaker than she already did. Why was she even crying? She was an officer for God's sake. If she had to die, then she would die. Death didn't bother her.

But the manner in which it occured sure as hell did. God, she hated feeling helpless. The world had never been predictable for her, not even accommodating really. But she had fought all of her life to be accepted, to find direction, because no matter what happened, she was a person capable of making a valuable contribution. She used to feel self-assured, a sense of purpose...and personal safety.

The tears came harder and faster, and Karyn felt an overwhelming sense of loss, although for what she wasn't exactly sure. She was afraid she might not ever stop. Wave after wave overcame her, her sobs echoing from her man-made cave.

She cried for the Gryphonites who had lost their lives, she cried for Kent Peterson and the woman she might have become were it not for Jarol and the secrets on Romulus, she cried for Michael, who had loved her so much and had now moved on without her... She cried for Lee and for lanjep, and she cried for Victor, for as much as she wanted to forgive him for what had happened between them, she wasn't sure she could ever face him again without facing the demons of her childhood.

She could kill for a drink.

****

Gryphon Colony
Diplomatic Reception Area
Collapsed Waiting Area

Victor checked the setting on his rifle, noted the power levels were down 38%, and triggered it, the beam lancing out and evaporating a section of the rubble blocking his path. He released the trigger to prevent over-penetrating and possibly striking something - or someone - he didn't want to, and watched as the surrounding stone started to cool.

He'd been working his way back through the collapsed portions of the reception area for the last twenty minutes, climbing over things he couldn't move, and simply removing the ones he could do neither to with carefully-placed shots from his rifle. He had to be close to the Counselor's last position now - the piles of rubble he'd investigated previously had contained a few sets of remains, but none of them were accompanied by the remains of her float chair.

He stopped and tried his tricorder again, but his nearness to the surface of the asteroid and the open dome and the failure of the colony's shielding rendered it useless. With a frown, he put it away. His own senses were better for this anyway.

The smell of the rooms was almost swallowed by the choking dust that had started to settle, and the burnt odor of charred insulation and circuitry that had accompanied the collapse, but he closed his eyes and concentrated. No one got left behind, even if they hated him. They were still his to protect, and he'd do that until M'Kantu transferred him and he was given a new herd of sheep to guard.

There. Blood, still fresh. Sweat. Fear. Dallas.

He slung the rifle and started forward slowly, following the scent as best he could until he rounded a collapsed column and saw her. She was trapped in her chair, like she'd been the night Mudd's female android and her pheromones and his illicit Klingon painkillers had made him into the thing he'd always feared himself to be. The night he'd beaten her in preparation for a rape that had never happened. The night she'd stopped her fruitless efforts to help him and found it was easier to just fear and hate him like the rest. He approached silently, and crouched down next to her as he reflected that she, at least, had more reason than many.

"Counselor." He said the word once as he brushed her hair back to check the cuts on her head and see if he could reach the release past her. "" Counselor," he repeated, as he caught at her head and supported it.

And eventually swollen and reddened eyes met his... Immediately she recoiled from his touch as if it contained deadly poison, not exactly recognizing him, but knowing instinctually that something was wrong. She opened her mouth to say something and felt as if all breath had been stolen from her. He was covered in blood, and he was reaching for her, just like in her nightmare. She fought to find the sound to scream, but she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his...


Flashback: "The Truth Hurts"Markie

(Takes place two weeks after 'The Morning After The Night Before')

Commander Karyn Dallas, RN
Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. j/g Victor Krieghoff
Security Officer
USS Galaxy - A

***

USS Galaxy
Deck 19
Arboretum

If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe she was at home. Here amongst the the Betazed flowers and herbs, the sounds of the stream trickling in the background, she had managed to find some semblance of peace.

Karyn had come here a lot over the past couple of weeks, mostly to get away from Julia's concerned and disapproving gaze. An occasional glass of wine now and again and Dallas might as well have been getting plastered every night for the looks that came her way.

And then there was her hair. What the hell was wrong with deciding to go with a shorter and more manageable style? So she'd cut it herself on a whim with a laser scalpel, an admittedly crazy move, but hadn't she gotten it fixed at the beauty shop? Jules couldn't exactly complain about the fact that Karyn's hair was now *easier* to style, could she? It was ludicrous. One moment she was a stick in the mud for sticking to a routine and the next she was being accused of losing her mind for living a little.

If her experiences over the last few months had taught her anything it was that life was too short to waste it working, always worrying about other people. So what if she liked to sit and think in the Arboretum? Wasn't personal time something they'd encouraged her to take? Ludicrous. The hell with them, this was not about pleasing other people, and it was hardly what anyone would call a crisis.

In here she could breathe.

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

The third time that he looked up after having felt the walls start to move closer, Victor surrendered.

He couldn't stay in his quarters any longer. They were too small, too confined, and what he carried inside him, the anger at himself and the loathing at what he'd done and almost done to Karyn Dallas was too great to contain. It pressed against his skin from inside, pushing at it, seeking a way out, wanting to be free - and here, in his quarters, with the walls still smelling of blood and the whispered echoes of Dallas' cries of pain still carried on the air, he couldn't let it out.

He had to leave.

There was only one choice, really, only one place to go, one place where he would feel free enough to let the anger and pain out, to bleed off enough of it so that he could deal with what was left. There wouldn't be anyone there, now, not this late. There never was. In all the time he'd been aboard the Galaxy, the only person he'd ever seen there this late was Chief Westwall, and she'd been looking for him.

It took only a moment to slip on the uniform jacket that he wore to make himself look like everyone else, pitiful disguise that it was, and leave.

He needed to smell the trees.

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 19
Arboretum

There was someone else here. He knew it as soon as he stepped through the door, feet silent as night. He could smell them. and he knew that scent.

Dallas.

All the anger and frustration and shame roared back up like a fire just fed an accelerant. She was here, too. No just in his head and his quarters, but here, the last place he'd found on the ship that was his. The last place he could be alone. The one place he *needed* to be alone.

What was she here for? To deny him his chance to find some peace? To remind him of what he'd done? He'd already cancelled any future appointments with her, was that why? Or was it something else? Something he hadn't thought of?

It didn't matter. Why she was here, what she wanted - it didn't matter. He'd find out, and then he'd leave. There was no peace for him here, not tonight.

****

Karyn was so lost in her own thoughts that at first she didn't hear the doors swish open. However, the sounds of the doors closing and someone's footsteps startled here, causing her to jump and whip her neck around to look at the offending door.

The sight that greeted her was almost too much for her brain to process, and in fact she saw him exactly as he'd appeared then... a predator... a monster... poised to strike. It was as if time had simply stopped. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, her skin suddenly prickly and warm. She felt queasy and faint, but couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze from his. She could feel her breath become ragged and shallow, the adrenaline coursing through her. Karyn could not think a single, coherent thought, but instead was assaulted by memories of the night he'd attacked her.

She knew she should scream or do something to get away, but as before her mouth and body refused to cooperate. As the emotions welled within her, she could only hope that they showed on her face. Anger. Disgust. Pain. Humiliation. And hatred. If she was going to die, she would not die in fear as she had almost done, but hating him.

"Counselor." The single word was flat and even, scrubbed clean of any emotional content or context, just a distant word and nothing more. Victor regarded her for a moment, approaching no closer than two meters, his eyes expressionless in the shadows of the arboretum's night cycle. If he recognized the emotions playing across her face, there was no sign of it, no sign that they reached him with any kind of an impact. After a moment, he tilted his head to the side in the wolfish way that he did when examining things. "Well?" he said, voice still even and flat.

At first his response didn't register. Her first instinct was to check for a way out in case things turned violent. Her heart sank when she realized she would have to move past him if she needed to escape. Instinctively she moved away from him, and that's when his words hit her. For the life of her, she couldn't understand how he could continue to look at her so wolfishly. He was a true predator, reverting back to what he was...but why? Why now? Had he gotten what he wanted from her... was that it? Her anger helped her find her voice. "'Well?' That's all you're going to say to me after what happened?"

"What am I supposed to say?" The words were still flat, neutral. "You don't want me to say anything, not really. You just want me to leave."

Karyn was incredulous. "So now you're reading my mind?? My God, Victor, is this how it's going to be every time you and I have to face each other, you're just going to ignore me?"

"I wasn't looking for you. You were just here, waiting for me. If you don't have something to say, then there's no point to this, is there?"

Karyn began to tremble, although in anger or grief she wasn't sure. "You want *me* to say something? What do you want me to say, Victor? Thank you? Thank you for not killing me? Thank you for beating me within an inch of my life, but for not banging my head on the floor enough times to put me in a coma, for not punching me severely enough to shatter the bones in my face, but for just breaking my nose, damaging my vision and giving me a concussion?"

Angry tears streamed down her cheeks and this only served to enrage her more. Her words came out in a blinding rush, half the time spent looking away from him, willing him to have some sort of emotional reaction to what she was saying. All this time she had believed she had protected someone who was truly sorry and just as much the victim. Seeing him like this, however, it was the ultimate slap in the face. It meant there was no logical explanation for what he had done to her, that she had been fooled from the moment he arrived. That there was a predator in her midst and she had protected another man who had never given a damn about her.

"Oh, I know, thank you so much for dragging me out of my chair and beating me into unconsciousness so if you decided to rape me I wouldn't recall it. Thank you for not giving me many conscious memories of your...hands all over my body as you scratched and clawed your way to do whatever and...and...and...however it is you wanted. Thank you for leaving me with bruises and nightmares of all the things you might have done to me and the uncertainty of never knowing what you actually did in those moments. Thank you for the birth control and the antibiotics for three months, and for now looking at me like I'm crazy because I was stupid enough to protect your sorry ass!"

Victor stood there as she fired her words at him like bullets from an automatic slugthrower, their propellant hate and fear and anger instead of chemicals or electromagnetic force. They struck him every time, trying to dig in, but failed, falling to the ground, spent, as new ones took their place. When it was over, when the last word had fallen to his feet, he frowned once, the only sign acknowledging them he'd made. "If you'd asked, I could have told you that nothing happened you needed birth control for, Counselor. You stopped things before that. You just didn't do what you should have."

For a long time Karyn couldn't speak, her world suddenly drastically out of tilt. She was light headed, and had she been able to stand, she was sure her knees would have buckled underneath her. "Wh...what? I...I need to, I need to hear you ss.. Please, just answer me. Did...did you rape me?"

For a long time Karyn couldn't speak, her world suddenly drastically out of tilt. She was light headed, and had she been able to stand, she was sure her knees would have buckled underneath her. "Wh...what? I...I need to, I need to hear you ss.. Please, just answer me. Did...did you rape me?"

"No."

"Bu..but...you tried?"

"Not really, Counselor." He regarded her oddly - at least for Victor - for a moment and then added, "I think... I think all of that, the fight, what I did to you, that it was just... foreplay. We never got past that."

"Foreplay?" Karyn didn't know whether to be relieved overall or merely scared witless. For the moment she settled on relief. She took a deep breath to clear her head and focus on his words. "I... I don't know what I'm supposed to say or do here, I... You were so messed up, Victor, it was like, it was like... like you didn't even see me." She shuddered.

There was a pause that stretched out longer than Karyn thought comfortable, and then he said simply. "You didn't kill me like I told you to, Counselor. Everything would have been easier if you'd done that. Easier for you, easier for me, easier for everyone."

She stared at him for a very long time, her mouth agape, her brain struggling to find the words. They both knew she had wanted to kill him afterward, and even now her anger threatened to overtake her, but the thought of actually killing him? "No! Not easier for everyone! Easier for you!" she practically spat. "You wanted me to kill you so you wouldn't have to face what you did, but you know what Krieghoff? I don't particularly give a damn about what you want right now. All I *know* is that I can't pretend it didn't happen, not with you."

Victor frowned as she snapped at him. "I didn't think you understood," he said quietly. "I was right." He continued to frown at her a moment longer in silence, and then said, "If you remember, Counselor, I never asked you to pretend that nothing happened. I know something happened."

Karyn sighed, tired of beating a dead horse. It was clear she wasn't going to get what she wanted from him, although if she were honest with herself, she would admit she wasn't exactly sure what that was...

Perhaps it was nothing more than a simple apology, an acknowledgement not only that he had hurt her, but that he was sorry for it. She'd wanted him to tell her it was no one's fault, that the damn pheromones were to blame, but instead all she got was quiet acceptance, a clinical stare, and an admonishment for not killing him when she had the chance. Was he truly this soul-less?

"Is there anything else, Counselor?" His voice never wavered in the remote, detached tone it had maintained since the conversation started. "You can scream at me if it will help. Or hit me again if that will help. It isn't like you don't have the right."

When Karyn could look him in the eye again, it was a look full of regret and sadness. Her anger spent for the moment, she wondered if she would look back on this moment with a sense of finality or emptiness. She had a suspicion it would be the latter. What could beating a soul-less man bloody accomplish except to leave her with unclean hands? Twin tears traveled down her cheeks, but when she spoke, her voice was hollow, mechanical. "You need help, Victor. I... I can't give it to you, but I'll find someone who can." She looked past him at the door, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "What I want from you, you can't give me."

After a moment he nodded once. "All right, Counselor." He hadn't expected that she'd take him up on the offer, but he'd had to make it. He owed her the chance to release the demons left inside her after what he'd done. "If you change your mind, you know where I am."

She nodded silently. She knew exactly where he was. In her dreams, every time she turned around, and in her memory. She reached the door without looking at him, but as the doors swished open, she turned.

He did not look back.



Wasteland

"Wasteland" Markie

Captain Elaithin Jii,
USS Miranda

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard CO,
USS Galaxy

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

Deck One,
Main Bridge
USS Miranda

Captain Elaithin Jii quietly bounced his head against it's rest on the rather nicely padded Captain's Chair. It was, perhaps, not the most dignified of acts for a starship Captain, but after the nearly three months it had taken them to get back from the Galactic Barrier - three months of nothing but updating star charts and the like - the entire crew was bored out of their ever-loving minds.

Jaal had even go so far as to suggest they detour to Risa on their way back to home port. It was on the way - if you didn't consider three whole sectors out of the way.

The Bajoran had almost even agreed to the idea, and he'd never even been much of a fan of Risa. He preferred Wrigley's Pleasure Planet. Well. Before he'd gotten married, at least. With the insanity that had happened on his and Jordan's honeymoon.....

Well, he'd never look at a Rigellian midget the same way again. That was for certain.

Trying to take his mind off the now-monotonous view of the stars being stretched out at warp speeds, the Captain turned his head to observe his crew in action.

Or inaction, more like. But that was semantics, really.

The husband-wife pair of Commander Jaal Jaxom, Operations Manager as well as Second Officer, and his significant other, Lieutenant Commander Taalis, Chief of Flight Control, were manning the forward stations. He still found the idea of their telepathic bond, which the Trill had only told him about after the mutiny incident with Admiral Ramsey, a little odd. But useful, as the pair worked extremely well together. He hadn't told Jaxom, but he'd run a stat analysis, and their effectiveness was over thirty percent higher than a normal conn/ops pair.

James was actually at his bridge station today, instead of doing Prophets only knew what down in his lab. James Mitchell wa s a man Elaithin had known an extremely long time, and he thought with certainty - and often - that something had significantly changed the man since he'd gone missing after Price's shooting. The Chief Science Officer had a neutral expression suggesting he was reading something.

Idly, the Bajoran wondered if it was that Klingon 'romance' novel that seemed to have made it's way around the entire ship in the last three months. 'Burning Hearts of QonoS', he thought he remembered it being called. Irony, given his (currently rocky) relationship with the Klingon-bred Security Chief.

Arel Smith, now five months pregnant, still wasn't particularly showing any signs of it. She was standing at the Tactical board with Major Wes Hammond, the commander of Rogue Squadron. The two were speaking slightly animatedly, though quietly - no doubt conscious of the quiet on the bridge. Both were leaning on the oaken railing, so Jii had to wonder if they were discussing tactics, or Major Rena Starburst - Arel's sister, and Hammond's fellow Rogue. Who, scuttlebutt, had it, was currently romantically linked to Hammond.

Cat - Doctor Felicia Khatroweena, that was - and Counselor Navarre were also standing off at a corner of the bridge. Jii had had a brief meeting with Cat not too long ago, and it looked as though the Counselor had caught the Doctor coming out of the office. The two of them always had something to talk about, though Elaithin had the sneaking suspicion that the two women enjoyed gossiping as much as their professional discussions. He'd never have admitted that - or pointed it out to either of them, of course.

The Captain chuckled as he saw the Chief shaking his finger at a young Crewman, one Jii recognized as one Unger M. Poortant. Nearly curious about whatever the young man had done to draw the attention of Master Chief Gabriel Mahler, former Master Chief Petty Officer of Starfleet.

Whatever it was, Poortant wouldn't likely ever do it again.

Jerri was back working on the Engineering station, having taken advantage of much of the long flight to have Engineering catch up on some long put-off projects. She and Jordan still weren't talking, an event that oddly drawn him closer to the Engineer. They spoke much more often now than they had, really, when she'd been his wife's best friend. He'd tried to play peacemaker between the two of them a couple times now... But to no avail. The frown on her face suggested she was sorting out some engineering problem... Or perhaps just a particularly difficult crossword puzzle.

Jordan, Abigail, and T'Chani were the only members of the senior staff not present on the Bridge, but then, the Intelligence Officer, Diplomatic Liaison, and Hazard Team Commander very rarely were. Generally the only times they came up were to head to the Ready Room, Observation Lounge, or when something interesting was going on.

Something that certainly wasn't now.

Finally, to his right, Commander Brex was reviewing personnel reports on the board next to his seat. Now was as good a time to clear paperwork as any, Jii thought, eyeing the gregarious Bolian. Since he'd joined the crew nearly five months ago, Brex had done his best to unite the crew, and had brought a much needed uplifting attitude to the Miranda's senior staff. He was a good man, Jii had decided, and a first-rate Exec. The Bajoran was glad he'd taken Peterson's recommendation.

For what seemed like the dozenth time, Captain Elaithin tried to return to his own PADD. It was a ridiculously dry inventory parts report, the kind of thing that put even a Zakdorn to sleep. He attempted to draw his attention back to it repeatedly (and unsuccessfully), until Taalis' strong voice broke the silence.

"Captain, we're coming up on Starbase 212." the helm officer reported, a note of relief in her voice.

"Thank the Prophets." the Bajoran muttered. "Drop us out of warp, 'Commander."

"Aye sir." the Vulcanoid replied, and the massive Pathfinder Class starship slowed to sublight speeds. At just over eight hundred meters in length, the Miranda was one of the largest vessels in the 'Fleet - a fact that became obvious as they entered the enormous bay door of the ever-busy Starbase 212.

"Control says to make for our usual dock." Jaxom noted, reading commands from Base Operations on the Ops board.

"Noted." came Taalis' reply as she started negotiating the crowded docking bay.

Captain Elaithin smiled slightly as the ship moved on thrusters, something that caught the attention of his Number One.

"Something amusing, Captain?" the Bolian asked, hairless eyebrow slightly raised.

"Not amusing, Commander. Just a small pleasure. That ship over there," he said, pointing to a refitted Galaxy-Class Starship taking up another dock position, "that's the Galaxy herself. She was home for a very long time before I came to the Miranda. I'm always glad to see her safe and sound back here home port."

"I understand." Brex quietly replied. "I imagine I feel much the same in regards to the Sakharov."

"I don't doubt that you do." Jii said with a small smile as he drew his eyes back to his former home. She might look a little different, and there might be a lot of new faces aboard her.. But there was still no ship in the 'Fleet like her.

After the ship docked, the standard orders were issued, and Miranda's much-deserving crew began her shore leave, as Captain Elaithin and Commander Brex headed to their debriefing. Starfleet had a great deal of questions about this latest encounter with what had been codenamed the 'Mirror Universe'.

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

Vanguard One,
Starbase 212
Space

Lieutenant Corran Rex and his wingmate, Pilot Kell Tainer, whipped their fighters speedily out of the massive field of decommissioned vessels simply known as 'The Graveyard'. The pair had been involved in a training sessions, Vanguard's Commander showing their most rookie pilot the kind of complicated flying that was required if he was ever in a major fleet wide engagement.

Sure, the Federation was at peace right now. The Trill had been around for five centuries, though - he knew enough to know that War was inevitable. Someone, somewhere, would get their panties in a twist over something, and that would be it. He constantly hoped for better - he was in Starfleet, after all - but he was also something of a realist. Certainly he acknowledged that the 'verse as it currently existed wasn't the haven of peace, love, and harmony many wanted it to be.

Keeping an eye on Tainer, Rex sighed and his hand hit the comm. ["Two, bring up your starboard wing. There's some debris that you're going to hit if you don't."]

["Roger that."] the rookie replied, and complied. ["Thanks Lieutenant."]

["All part of the service, Pilot."] Rex replied good naturedly as the broke to light cruising speed, entering the high-traffic zones of space around the Starbase. ["Let's back it in and return to Galaxy, Wraith. We've had enough training today. Besides," he smiled, spotting a familiar ship's sensor signature entering local space. "I want to show you something. Kick it up and get to the space doors."]

Breaking only a few regulations, the two starfighters sped up more than a tad, until they'd assumed a holding position over docking bay door two. ["Invert your ship and look up."] Rex instructed, and smiled as he heard the kid's response.

Below them (or above, from their perspective), the Starship Miranda was entering Starbase 212's immense bay doors. From this perspective the ship seemed to go on forever. Of course, from this perspective, so did the Galaxy. Still, it was... Quite a site. ["Oh wow. That's a big ship."] Kell breathed, probably unaware his comm was still on.

["I concur, Two. I served on her back in the War, under Admiral Murdock. Talk about your living legends. Don't know much about the new guy that's her Captain now, other than he used to serve on the Galaxy, I heard."] Corran said with a chuckle. Galaxy was well known as one of a very short list of ships in the 'Fleet that had spawned many command officers after the Dominion War. Enterprise, Voyager, Prometheus, Prospero and Miranda were among the some of the others. ["Come on. Let's get back to the ship."]

["Roger that."]


"the one with the scrubbin' bubbles"

Captain Elaithin Jii
Commander K. Jordan Elaithin

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

The first thing that hit Jii when he stepped into their quarters was the smell of glass cleaner. It was be Saturday because Jordan had been cleaning again. When he'd first met her, he never would have thought of her as a "clean freak", and especially never would have thought of her as fitting the domestic housewife role in anyway. But she'd surprised him. In many ways, of course, but this one especially. Hell, he could literally see his face in the table tops. The carpet was clean. Everything had its place. She'd relaxed a little as Toryl made... shall we say, impressions... in their day-to-day lives, but she was still not beyond throwing a bit of a tantrum if things weren't done right. The messy bathroom incident still took the cake.

Jordan was standing in the bedroom, before the mirror, her shirt raised slightly, studying her stomach. She bloated it out as far as she could, poking it a few times before she let it return to normal. She then turned the other way, examining it closer before she frowned and, letting her shirt fall back into place, she took the cloth and wiped at a spot in the mirror. That was when she heard her husband enter. She practically leapt to the door of the bedroom.

"Hey, darling dear, dear husband, darling husband of mine, how was your meeting?" she asked, grinning. Jii frowned. He knew she got a 'thrill' out of cleaning, but this elation was weird, even for her.

What further amazed him was how she insisted on using a primitive chemical solution to clean things. Then he remembered how old fashioned her mother was, and decided it made sense. Not for the first time, he thought of pointing out that there were many sorts of technological doodads that made cleaning a bit easier.

As he eyed the strangeness that was his wife, he decided - once again - that now was not the time. "It was fine." he finally replied. "Am I missing part of something here? Because I am the Captain, you know, I really should be informed of things." the Bajoran said teasingly.

"It's nothing, I just had an absolutely fabulous day," Jordan said, grinning. "I made more of those brownies you liked, if you want some." She moved and kissed him before moving past, toward the 'kitchen' area.

Elaithin blinked.

"Right then." he said, laying a hand on Jordan's upper arm. "Sickbay it is."

"Hey," she said, shifting her weight. "Can't i just be happy without being 'sick'?" She pouted at him. "You take things way too seriously. Have a brownie, Jii, sit down, relax a little bit." She handed him a brownie she'd just cut before shrugging from his grasp and moving to sit on the sofa, patting at the empty space beside her with a Stepford Wife-like smile. "Relax a little. You're too tense, all the time. Tension's not good for a person. Tell me about your day."

"You're not happy. You're docile." Jii noted semi-mockingly. "It's creepy."

Her nose wrinkled. "Sit down, bucko," she stated. "*NOW*." Then she resumed the grin. "Is that better?"

A thought occurred to him then, a bit farfetched, but, given recent events, not so much. "How do I know you're my Jordan? You could be some evil alternate reality double with a fascination for brownies, cooking, and some kind of toe fetish."

She resumed the wrinkled nose expression. "But you already know I have all those things," she said, "so maybe I was an evil alternative reality double all along, but have only now just been replaced by the real me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Now I think *I* need to go to sickbay."

"Jiiiiiiiiii...." she said. "Seriously. Sit *down*."

"Right then." came the reply. "What's up?

"You are no fun at all, you know that?" Jordan asked, grasping the fabric of his shirt and leaning her head against his shoulder, cuddling up to him. "Don't even play along..." She sighed dramatically and reached to the coffee table beside her to collect the padd, taping the key with her thumb before she set it in her husband's hands, the blurry photograph on display.

"What's this?"

She leaned closer to him, wrapping her right arm around his waist as she used her left pinky to point. "This is Connor. And this is Aria," she whispered, head on his shoulder.

Puzzled, Jii's eyes knitted together. Connor and Aria were names they had decided on for their first son and their first daughter.

After a moment, the connection was made.

And, as many men have done through the ages, Elaithin Jii turned to face his wife, and said, "Wha?"

"Wha?" she mimicked, brushing her right hand up his back and into his hair, smiling, her head still on his shoulder, eyes on the screen. "He says 'wha'."

"You're..." he started to say, trying to wrap his head around it. "You're pregnant?"

"It's sure looking that way, isn't it?"

"Wow."

"So do you see why I was happy? It's about six weeks. We had to wait, and see... the first month is always uncertain, with the, ah... treatments I'm on. You Bajorans grow really fast, it's amazing. I'm already starting to show a little bit."

"I.." he started, shaking his head momentarily. Finally, after a moment, he chuckled. "All this time, and now twins."

"Well, they told us to be prepared for the possibility," Jordan said, standing, moving to the replicator for a glass of water.

"I didn't think they meant so soon." Jii replied, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry. I'm a little surprised."

"I wonder if it is something in the water, like Jaal was saying last year at this time." he muttered to himself somewhat absently.

Her face seemed to fall. "Are you not happy?" she asked. "I--" She felt her throat tighten. "Jii."

"No, no." he said, smiling and kissing her on the forehead. "I really am, baby. Just surprised is all."

"Yeah. I know," she said, "but something in the water?" She took a deep breath, steadying her emotions. "We've been trying, Jii, it's not like it's some, sudden thing. Besides. The difficulty wasn't getting pregnant, you're fine, I mean, if you're not happy, if I'm forcing you into this, I can always just stop getting the injections and let my body take care of it. Easy as that."

"You can just can that line of talk right there." he replied, and smiled expansively. " Believe me, I'm excited. What about you?"

She moved and hugged him tightly. "I cried when Doctor Brooke told me, I'm so happy," she said softly. "I just can't wait for these next seven months to be over so we can meet them."

Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Jii felt a lot happier than he had in awhile. They had Toryl, true, but his son had been found at fourteen - Jii hadn't even known about him, as he'd been orphaned most of his life. Getting a fourteen year old wasn't anything like starting with a new life at the beginning - let alone two new lives.

She clasped the material of his uniform jacket in her fists. "I just hope nothing goes wrong," she whispered. "I've been walking around on pins and needles hoping that nothing would, that it would not be like the other times." She moved and rested her hands on the sides of his face. "Jii, we're going to have babies. I'm going to be someone's 'mummie'." She kissed him softly, then rested her head on his chest. "What were you doing at the starbase?" she asked, suddenly shifting the subject.

"Standard debrief." the Captain replied, his tone shifting slightly as they discussed this little bit of business. "Brex and I actually had to be questioned by Temporal Investigations. Seems alternate universe incidents fall under their jurisdiction now."

"Oi," was Jordan's response. "Sounds like fun. Temporal relations makes my head hurt." She moved away from him and reseated herself, laying across the couch, her head on one arm, her feet on the other. "I say just move on and forget that ever happened."

"I think I concur." he said quietly. "This is a much nice place."


"a nice surprise for a change"

by
Koen as James A. Brooke

Finally they were back at the starbase. Brooke had not that much trouble with the mirror universe thing, and he was glad he hadn't. He also didn't want to go back there if possible. Right now he was compiling a list of equipment and supplies they needed, so it was easier for the starbase people to give it to them. And the easier the starbase people had it, the faster and the more accurate they would process your order, so that's why he was doing it.

Cat was on the bridge at the moment, something she didn't do all that often. Brooke had kept an eye on her for the trip back, and while she seemed okay, he knew that there were still traces of emotional pain that were not fully healed yet, and somehow he doubted that they all would. She had come a long way, but he felt like there was still a while to go.

The chirp of the comm interupted his thoughts. He opened the channel on his desktop monitor to see one of the security people, petty officer. Behind the NCO he could see the entrance to the starbase, so cleary they had already docked. "Lieutenant, we have here two Vulcans who want to speak to you," the NCO said, "doctors S'Tak and Ranil, both from the Vulcan Medical Academy." "Have them send to my office, will you," Brooke said. He remembered the name S'Tak from that conference he had attended what seemed like ages ago.

It took ten minutes before the two Vulcans stepped into his office. "Goodmorning," Brooke said, "Please, sit down. Nice to see you again, Dr. S'Tak. What brings you here?" "You do, Dr. Brooke," the eldest of the two Vulcans said, "we have come to deliver you the Vulcan Medical Academy Award of Excellence. The ceremony where we invite all the people who have gotten the medal during the past year was two months ago, a ceremony you were unable to attend."

"That's right," Brooke said, "we were on a mission at the moment. I haven't even recieved the invitation, so clearly there's also a problem with communications. But why did I get this medal?" "For your work with the P'Ton t'mac," the younger, Dr. Ranil, said, "after your article, both Dr. S'Tak and myself started using your method, and while it has taken a while, the results have shown other Vulcan doctors that the method has it's merits, and it was only logical that they started using it too."

"And we've discovered that when we use your method together with a mindmeld, we even get better results," S'Tak said. "Very nice," Brooke said, "but you didn't have to come all the way from Vulcan just to deliver a medal. You could have had it sent over." "We had to come here anyway," S'Tak said, "there's a medical conference on the starbase starting tomorrow, and we wanted to attend. Your ship's arrival here was planned during this congress, so it was decided to visit you here." "Thank you," Brooke said, "and I'll look up the program of the congres. I didn't know there was going to be one."

Ranil took out a black box and put it on the table. "Here it is, Dr. Brooke," he said, "it is not much, but it is our appreciation for your work." "It's enough," Brooke said, "if it saves lifes, or makes them better." He took the box and opened it, to find a small datapad and a medal. On the datapad was the citation for it. "Thank you," Brooke said, "if you would like, I can give you a tour of the facility here. I presume you have much more to work with, but space is always at a premium on a starship." "I'm sorry," Dr. S'Tak said, "but we have arranged a teleconference in an hour, so we should be going back."

"I'll bring you to the docking port," Brooke said, standing up, "and perhaps I see you on the conference. Depending on the program, both of the congres and the ship, I'll try ot visit some lectures." He also made a note to all the other doctors that there was a congres, so they could go too. Then he took his Vulcan guests to the docking port, before heading to his quarters.


"Reinstated"Markie

Lieutenant Corran Rex
Vanguard One

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian
Vanguard Three

----------

** USS Galaxy, Docked at Starbase 212 **

=^= Deck 39: T'Shani's Quarters =^=

The Andorian woman sat cross-legged on her meditation mat as the mighty blade of her chaka rested on her lap, a small ruby beam of laser etching it's mark on the once-empty spot she had shown Cassius, almost three months ago.

Thumbing the beam off, she removed the protective goggles from her eyes, while gently brushing the slag from the new inscription, telling the tale of her blade's final wield during the mission to reclaim the USS Hellfire. Now, it had only to be wrapped, and be presented to its *new* owner...

*****

Tish placed the blade and laser-etcher to the side, while getting up from her mat. Carefully, she picked up the blade from the floor and held it in her hands. Slowly, respectfully, she turned it once more in her hands, while reading all of the inscriptions of all of the battles the mighty blade had won, in the name of the Great Clan of A'Akledor.

She placed it on the royal-purple wrapping cloth - inscribed with her Clan's crest - and solemnly wrapped it from blade to hilt, covering it in neat half-folds, while offering an incantation to Umarin, to watch over the blade and the fate of her clan.

tying the package off with a golden-corded rope at the hilt, she placed

the finished package on the shelf, next to her bed. Sighing, Tish undid the knot of her Grandmaster's robe, shucking it off and down her back to catch it, and hang it on a hook next to her nightstand.

As she stood there, naked, she caught her reflection in the holo-mirror. It was...not her...was it? The same thoughts that she had when arriving on the transport to Lammergier, and seeing her haggard reflection, surfaced again. ~What has happened to me?~ she queried her mind, but it did not return an answer.

She sighed, while snatching some clothing from off her bed. As she pulled the top over her head, she spoke aloud to the computer. "Begin recording personal log, insert stardate."

The distinctive three-chord chirp emanated from the computer, indicating that her log was now being recorded.

"Well," she sighed, while flopping onto her bed, "I'm back. On the Galaxy, that is. After all that we went through, Al'indal *suggested* that I remain on board the Galaxy, as a member of Vanguard Squadron, since I *enjoy* flying so much. As our wing got back from the Battle of Lammergier, I wasn't looking forward to seeing Rex again. No doubt, he would be more than happy to rub-in the fact that I was back..."

-------------------------------------------------- Two Weeks Prior: After the Battle of Lammergier... --------------------------------------------------

=^= Deck 39: Tactical Shuttlebay Flight Deck =^=

[Forgehammer, you are now locked-down and secured. Shut-down your drive systems and disembark at your leisure. Flight Control, out.]

T'Shani sighed, and shut down her Banzai fighter. She'd have to talk to the Sargent about getting her 'new' fighter re-calibrated for her tastes. Or maybe, she'd do it herself.

After making sure everything was locked-down, shut-off, and secure, she popped the canopy, and removed her flight-helmet.

"Welcome back, Ma'am!" someone called from below her fighter.

Unfastening her crash harness, she leaned out the left side of her cockpit to see a ruddy-looking man in an NCO's flight deck jumpsuit wheel a ladder to her fighter.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, as she removed her 'start' card from Vanguard Three's panel.

"I'm your new Flight Mechanic, Ma'am," he replied, while securing the ladder to the receptacle on her fighter.

Tish looked the man over, cocked an antenna, shrugged, then wheeled her leg out of the cockpit, climbing down the ladder.

As she made deck fall, she looked him over, once again: Terran, mid-thirties. Husky build - yet not overweight. A little under two meters tall with sandy-brown hair, brown eyes, and fair complexion. She glanced at his rank...three chevrons ~Technical Sargent~

"And you would be Technical Sargent...?

He paused, started to stutter, then composed himself, standing at attention. "T-Technical Sargent Peter St. Valentine, Lead Flight Mechanic - First Class, ma'am."

A thin smile crossed Tish's lips, but suddenly vanished again, as she started walking out of Vanguard Three's hangar stall. "Quite the patronage of Saints in your lineage, Mister St. Valentine," she said evenly.

Pete broke from attention to trail behind her. "Um...yes, ma'am," he gulped as he couldn't help but give a quick glance to Flight Officer A'Akledorian's features, accentuated by the form-fitting flight suit. ~Not too...~

"OW! Watch where you're going, Mister!" Tish yelped as she abruptly stopped, causing Pete to run straight into her backside. "What in the name of Umarin do you think you're doing, Mister?!" she yelled at him, her face turning purple and antenna flexing.

"M-my apologies, Flight Officer. I should just get to your fighter, then, ma'am," Pete said, while trying not to blush.

Normally, she would have ripped this *asshole* a new one, but she was worn-out from the fight, and just wanted a nice, hot shower. *If* she had quarters, that was.

"Alright. Get out of here, Mister St. Valentine. The Number Two inertial damper went offline in the battle. Fix it. Also, clean up the hull, would you?" she turned smartly on her heel.

He was just about to respond, when she turned back.

"Oh, and get my damned call sign on the side! I'll be back down here in three hours, and want to go through some other adjustments. I expect you to have the other items taken care of, by then. Understood?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she beat him to it. "Good." Tish whirled away from him, toward the women's locker room. Hopefully, she could undress and shower in peace, *without* Angelienia or Nani bugging her.

Peter just shrugged, rolled his eyes, and saluted her, behind her back.

He then turned back to his flight crew. He *knew* he should have stayed on the Arizona...

*****

Lieutenant Corran Rex pulled off his helmet and sat in the cockpit of Vanguard One for a few moments, observing his squadron winding down from the furball that had occurred not too very long ago. They were wound tight, but they had done him proud - not a single loss.

And somehow, T'Shani was flying back with the Squadron. He hadn't been on the Asteroid that long.. But then, as any fighter pilot knew, one's whole universe could change in an instant.

Watching the Andorian pilot chew out St. Valentine, the Trill chuckled to himself. Wherever she'd gone, whatever she'd done, obviously it hadn't changed her too much.

~Maybe you should find out exactly how much.~ Vorrin commented.

~A comment from you Vorrin, that's neither sarcastic nor puerile? I'm shocked and awed.~ Corran returned with a mental smirk.

~Can it, kid. You and I both know you're concerned about her. So go ask.~

~Alright, fair. Don't go making a habit of being right, though.~

~I'll see what I can do.~

The Lieutenant decided to wait until she was done in the locker room, to give her some cool down time. Besides, he needed a shower - and the chance to shake off the hangover that was brewing.

*****

The two pilots finished about the same time, oddly enough, and Rex locked eyes with T'Shani as she exited, tilting his head towards his office.

"<Rhooz>," she swore, under her breath. She knew she'd have to report to Lieutenant Rex some time, or another, but she had been hoping she could at least avoid him for the time being.

~No such luck.~

Instead, she quelled her anxiety, and fell in line behind Rex, who walked out of the fighter bay, into his office.

The Trill sat down behind his desk - still awed a little at times that he was now the Squadron Commander. Leadership was nothing new to the Rex symbiont, but the least several months aside, it was certainly new to Corran. In the past, he'd been content just to be a pilot. Sometime rather recently, he'd come to the idea that he'd rather be the one giving the orders.

Funny old 'verse, wasn't it?

Tish nearly smirked. ~No, he hasn't changed, one bit,~ she thought to herself, as he propped his booted feet onto his desk, as usual. ~But then, why *would* he, Tish?~ she questioned herself. ~Just because you've...~ NO.....she shook the thought away. She *did not* want to relive that, again.

Instead of saying anything, she merely stood there, awaiting whatever *wise words* Lieutenant Corran Rex had to say to her.

"So are you going to talk about it?" he asked, without preamble after studying the Andorian woman for a moment.

She arched her antennas, in surprise. She certainly wasn't expecting a question like *that* from her once-former-now-again CO. "Wh-what, sir?" she stammered out, quietly.

"You, T'Shani. Whatever you just went through, it's had an effect. Your body language is different, you look like you might have lost some weight,and you're a slightly paler shade of blue. This is not to mention that you've acquired a thousand-yard stare that wasn't there before." Corran noted, in a tone that acknowledged the fact that both pilots knew he was right.

"How did you...?" she trailed off as Rex waved his hand at her.

"Well, five centuries tends to rack up the observational skills." he noted wryly. "The big tell was your piloting out there. You were far more...conservative than I'd have believed you capable of. You didn't take the risks you would have before your...'leave'."

Tish sighed as she pulled up a chair opposite Rex. For the first time, she actually sat down in his office. "It's complicated, and...mostly classified, sir." leaning back into the chair, "I...I can't...I can't talk about it, Rex..." she paused, as if she wanted to say more, but quickly shrugged the thought away.

He snorted. "Classified just means that somewhere, somebody is embarrassed about it. It also means that the bartender at Starfleet Command finds out about it before anyone below the rank of Admiral does."

Tish actually almost laughed, in return...*almost*. ~Try telling Tanner Houghton that.~ she thought silently, while eying Rex.

"Look," he said, pulling his feet down from the desk and leaning forward. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, T'Shani. But if you do, I'm here. That door's always open. And I am someone who's been there."

"Hmmph..." she ungraciously snorted. "*You've* been *there*, huh? I don't think so," she started to get up from her seat to leave. ~The nerve of this guy! He hasn't even...~ she quelled her thoughts, before they made her do something she'd regret.

"You didn't think all my missions during the War were completely above the table, did you?" he said with a small laugh. "I was with Rogue Squadron on the Miranda, which was flagship of the Second Fleet at the time. Believe me, I saw plenty of things I'd rather not have. That's not counting the admittedly sporadic memories I've got from past hosts."

That last statement made her pause, however. Sitting back down, she crossed her legs, while studying her CO, again. There was just something in the way he had said *it*...it clicked in her mind. "You have Trex's, don't you?" she asked plaintively.

"I do," he admitted with a nod. "I'm surprised this is news - scuttlebutt's had it all over the ship since I came aboard last year."

Tish sighed, "You forget...I haven't *been* on board for a while, sir," she growled, annoyed that she had missed that detail. ~Well, that explains alot.~ Especially what she'd heard about the 'Vorrin' character. Glad the subject was off her, for the moment, "So, how many?"

~Oops,~ she cringed, ~Not too tactful...~

"How many what?"

She shook her head, realizing that it was none of her business, in the first place, and that she was out of line, for asking. "Never mind, sir."

Chewing on her lip, she curled her antennas and looked around, before pulling a data chip from her pocket. "Here, sir. My reinstatement orders...if you'll have them," she said softly, while passing the chip to Rex.

Sensing her return to a professional attitude, Rex accepted the chip. "Welcome back to the Vanguards, Flight Officer." he said, a genuine warmth in his voice. He was a loss to explain why, since he still didn't trust her, but the Trill was genuinely glad to have T'Shani back.

She stood. "Thank you, sir," she formed herself to attention, saluting crisply.

"Anytime."

She turned, as if to go, and paused...

"Something else, T'Shani?" Corran raised an eyebrow, wondering if she'd break that silence now.

"Sir...maybe...maybe someday....I can tell you. In the meantime, just trust that I've got your back," she turned back, slowly, tiredly, and made her way out of Rex's office.

"That's what a squadron-mate does, T'Shani." he said quietly as she left.


"Docking Manuevers"

Lieutenant JG Mack Turner
Engineer at Large (USS Miranda)

-----------

The last three months, after the 'Mirror Universe' incident, had been (put mildly)...*BORING*.

Not that there wasn't always *something* to do, on a starship: relays that needed relaying, coils that needed recoiling, wires that needed wiring...

~It's all so *routine*~ he thought, as he felt the slightest of vibrations through the deck plating of Main Engineering. A vibration only an engineer knew: the Miranda had fallen out of warp.

Looking around from his post at the Master Situation Monitor (or 'Pooltable' as it was more-commonly called), he watched his fellow crewmates as they went about their work. Commander Dawson and the pretty Trill, Lieutenant JG Devan, were near the reactor, going over a PADD of some sort of data...Walsh and Relgiez were joking with each other near the coolant feeds...Master Chief McBlades was chewing out some hapless ratings who'd dropped a hyperspanner from the deck overhang, above.

Alot had happened to them, in the last six months, than anything he'd ever experienced, before. He considered each one of them 'family'... even Jerri, though she could be a bit parsnickity about *her* engines.

It seemed in Engineering, at least, they had been through alot. From Tribbles to mindswaps, Arkedians to insurrection and the Mirror Universe. He had never dreamed he'd have such experiences, only a year ago, when he was stationed at the ASDB.

~My god...~ Mack realized that it *had*, indeed, been a full year that he had been onboard the USS Miranda. How time flew...

Mack's head shot up, as the automated Bos'n's whistle sounded, followed by the voice of the 'Exec', Commander Brex.

[All hands, prepare for docking manuevers.]

Dawson turned and starting shouting out general orders to the engineering staff, since the Queen Bee was up on the Bridge.

Mack's job was pretty simple: engage the auxiliary engineering support feeds from the starbase, as they connected their umbilicals to the Miranda's superstructure hardpoints. While he finished, he listened to the organized commotion around him...

"Impulse deck, prepare to switch primary reactors to cold-standby..."

"Warp core is locked-down and secure, sir..."

"Warp field grilles and focus-rectifiers have been flushed..."

"RCS thrusters at maximum output..."

"Standby for umbilical interface..."

...and so-on.

Mack sighed again, as the last of the mighty Pathfinder's core systems were either shut down, or put on standby cycle. As the shift wound down, Mack found himself looking forward to a nice, hot, *long* shower...then some sleep. He had pulled a double, and needed to get some sleep.

That, and he needed to talk to the Quartermaster about getting reassigned quarters...although Ensign Jonran was a pretty good man, he *did* have some...*strange*...habits.

~Oh, well...~ he thought tiredly, as he exited Main Engineering for a turbolift. Getting in, he wished - once again - that Brellan was still aboard...


"Shop Till You Drop"

Cmdr. Arel Smith (USS Miranda)
Lt. Ella Grey (USS Galaxy)

*****

Arel Smith hated to shop.

Shopping made her tense, irritable, and hostile, nothing that the crew of the USS Miranda was unused to admittedly.

The stores usually had nothing that she wanted and the things she did want were usually in the wrong colors, like puke-y baby pink, or were outrageously priced. And the salesmen were pushy. Or they were Ferengi. Both of which got on her nerves.

But her stomach was slowly expanding, not that it was noticeable yet, and Arel's wardrobe was pretty limited. It wouldn't be long before she'd wake up one morning and not be able to wear anything she owned.

And so, Arel Smith found herself scowling as she walked by the stores of starbase, wondering what it would be like when she got so incredibly fat that she would have to waddle throughout the decks of the Miranda in her maternity clothes.

This line of thinking, naturally, didn't help improve her mood any. But then nothing really improved her mood lately, which Arel had to admit had been less than pleasant.

Not that it was entirely her fault though. If Starfleet hadn't decided to recruit every idiot, moron, and asshole that applied to it, making her have to interact with these pthaks on a daily basis, then she was sure her mood would have been at its normal level of likable surliness.

And if James Mitchell would suddenly fall down a empty turbolift shaft, with sharp spikes waiting to impale him at the bottom, Arel was sure that she would be the most sweet tempered Terran in the universe.

In fact, his persistent refusal to simply drop dead, since Arel had sworn an oath that she couldn't kill him herself, was more at fault then her temper. So when the officers in her department began to complain about her mood swings lately, Arel had told them to blame James Mitchell for not being more cooperative.

Several officers were seriously thinking about petitioning Commander Mitchell to at least *pretend* to fall down and seriously injure himself so that Arel would stop snapping at them.

Wimps, she thought.

Arel walked around inside the first shop that caught her eye and then picked several items without trying them on. In essence, they were six pairs of shirts and pants, all increasing in size, and all in brown, black, or green. She also bought a little red pajama set for Korvin, which she assured herself was not cute, and scruffy looking teddy bear that reminded her of her toy cat, Fecklar.This was for her cat to have fun shredding to pieces.

And then, ignoring the awesome red knee-high boots that were on display in the corner, she selected a pair of fuzzy black slippers, telling herself that it was an acceptable purchase as long as no one ever saw her in them.

The security officer towed all this up to the front of the store and was about to get in line when she was cut off by a big burly Terran man who literally shoved her out of the way. Her items fell to the floor and Arel glared back at the man.

He smirked back in a 'whatcha going to do about it' fashion that reminded her of Mitchell.

Arel's eyes narrowed.

*****

Ella Grey loved to shop.

Shopping was a way to relieve tension and irritation (both caused by Victor Krieghoff) and general boredom. It was also a slightly childish way to get back at her parents for years of misery by spending their credits.

Of course, in the spirit of her father's birthday, Ella was trying to be more sensible with her purchases. That was why she only had eight bags with her so far when she normally would have had about ten. She just had to have the strappy blue shoes she saw a few stores back.

And the red backless dress.

And the purple two-piece bathing suit.

And the purse for Laura.

And those earrings for Indigo.

And so on.

Ella's mouth almost twitched into a smile but then she remembered that she was supposed to be 'Poor Mute Ella' for the shopkeeper. The first couple of shops had been disappointing. There no playing upon the sympathies of Ferengi or Klingon merchants; they just didn't give a shit. But this salesman was human and Ella estimated it would take about five minutes tops for her to get him to lower the price of the Andorian silk dress she just had to own.

She pantomimed that she couldn't speak for the man, her blue eyes wide and innocent. It also didn't hurt that a couple of the buttons on her shirt had come undone.

I'm just a poor mute girl, Ella thought. Life's dealt me out a shitty hand, mister, so why don't you sell me that dress for 50% off?

She even pouted out her lip a bit.

Three minutes and twenty seconds later, they had made a deal for 40% off and Ella tried not to gloat too much over her victory as the salesman wrapped the dress for her. Which was when a loud voice from a few checkstands over caught her attention.

"I was here first, you bloody pthak." A pretty woman was saying.

"No, you weren't." The man replied in a rather unwitty parry.

Ella watched the pair with interest, as people watching was her favorite hobby next to shopping. The man towered over the woman, not that she was short, and looked like a character from the bars of one of Victor's training holoprograms. Tattoo's rounded his upper arms and neck and he had muscles the size of small boulders. His hair was long, black, and oily and he had a large scar running unattractively across his face.

The woman appeared unafraid. In fact, if anything, she looked about ready to start a fight. Her fists were closed and there was a definite gleam in her eye. Ella had seen that look before. This was a woman not to be messed with, even if she looked like a model.

"And, even if I did, what do you think you could do about it?" The man said to her with a sneer.

Another man suddenly appeared a bit behind the woman and began waving his arms and shaking his head in a universal sign for 'No, dude, baaaaaad idea. Don't even go there.' He was in a security uniform and, since Ella knew a lot of the security officers onboard the Galaxy, she assumed he was from the USS Miranda.

The badass in the line either didn't see him or didn't care.

"You think I couldn't take you?" The woman asked with steel in her voice. The man who had been trying to warn the badass groaned and shook his head. He came to stand beside Ella. The engineer raised her eyebrow and pointed at the pair.

"That's Arel Smith, Chief of Security for the Miranda." The officer told her. "I don't know him but he's about to be crying for his mother."

The badass looked down at Arel Smith and laughed. To be fair, Arel, at first glance, didn't look like a challenge. She had long brown hair and blue-green eyes. She looked like a woman, not a security officer and definitely not a threat. But there was also something in those blue-green eyes, Ella thought. And she definitely was not in a submissive stance.

Ella decided that this Arel Smith could indeed 'take him'.

"What you?" The badass said. "You're a little...curvy ain't you?"

The man was referring to the fact that she had breasts (even though Ella couldn't help but compare herself to Arel and decide that her breasts were bigger and therefore better) and was a woman and therefore couldn't possibly beat him.

Arel Smith decided to take it another way. She blinked at the man and then said in a cool tone, her eyes are hard as ice, "So...you're saying I'm fat?"

Since the beginning of time, in the long history of the universe(s), there had never, to Ella's knowledge, been one male who had been able to answer that question to the satisfaction of a woman.

Ella's eyebrow shot up, the officer beside her groaned audibly, and the badass looked like he had just realized that he may have been in big trouble. He blinked and then chose one of the safest and time honored ways of answering the question.

"Huh?"

It all went downhill from there. The Chief of Security proved to be very capable and outright vicious fighter and before three minutes and twenty seconds were up, the badass lay on the floor, his nose and other parts bleeding or broken. He was, indeed, crying softly for his mother.

Arel Smith glared at the crowd around her. "Anyone else wanna cut if front of me?" The crowd backed away quickly and Arel's eyes met Ella's.

Ella gave her a thumbs up.

Arel smiled faintly and grabbed her items off the floor and took them to the counter.


"Unexpected, Part I"

ON USS MIRANDA

Lieutenant JG Mack Turner

-----------

=^= Deck 6: Mack and Stel's Quarters =^=

*BEEP...BEEP...BEEP*

"Computer, Time?"

[The time is nineteen-hundred fourteen]

Four hours...only four hours. That's all the sleep he'd gotten. For some reason, he just couldn't get to sleep. Something had woken him...

*BEEP...BEEP...BEEP*

He rolled over, reaching for his VISOR, on the nightstand. Snapping it into place, he looked over to the computer terminal on his desk...

*BEEP...BEEP...BEEP*

Throwing his sheets off, Mack padded over to the terminal, noting that Stel - wherever he had gone to - was still not back. As soon as the Miranda had docked, the Kless'ine had informed Mack that he had 'business' to attend to; whatever *that* meant.

Thumbing the blinking button on the screen, Mack noted that he had a new unread message in his Inbox...

>SENDER SUBJECT STARDATE SIZE >
Samuel Turner Stop by for a Visit! 50406.8 2 KB

~Huh?~ Mack wondered, half-awake. He opened the message...

>Hey Mack! >

>I see your ship is in town. We're over at Docking Berth Thirteen. Why >don't you get your sorry ass over here, and come and visit me! Plus, >San'X says she'll make some of that Rigellian Cream Fudge that you >(and I) like! So, do it for your big brother, at least, okay?

> >Your Bro,
> >Sam (aka, The More Handsome One)

Mack 'blinked' once, trying to make sense of Sam's message. 'I see your ship is...'

Suddenly, it *clicked*. Mack closed his Inbox, while accessing Starbase 212's Berthing Manifest. Quickly, he scrolled through the list:

>SHIP NAME REGISTRY CLASS BERTH
>Challenger, USS NCC-71099 Galaxy 07-B
>Discovery, USS NCC-89504 Nova (II) 12-A
>Galaxy, USS NCC-70637-A Galaxy (II) 14-A
>Miranda, USS NCC-77000-B Pathfinder 03-C
>Republic, USS NCC-95097 Excalibur (II) 13-A
>Tomahawk, USS NCC-60013 Cheyenne 14-C
>Yorktown, USS NCC-1717-C Sovereign 09-B

Mack paused, then did a double take...~The Republic is *here*?~ Now it made sense! His brother's ship was in port, here! Rushing over to closet, he pulled on a new pair of undergarments, uniform, socks and boots, before quickly walking out of the room...

***TBC***


"Dogs of War"Markie

By
Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy

***

Captain's Quarters
Deck 8
USS Galaxy
Docked at Starbase 212

Beta shift settled into the evening hours morosely. The environmental lighting turned down for the artificial sunset automatically. This was fine for Daren. It reflected his exhaustion in the previous mission; the Gryphon project had failed mightily. The Galaxy, appointed safety guardian of the settlement in its recent history of volatile activity, had failed in its designated duties of protector.

Oddly enough, and for this, Daren brought his fingers together while easing back upon his leather-backed slim recliner, Starfleet and the Federation had dismissed the Galaxy's inactive involvement in the matter as any sense of failure. The inquiry report had arrived this morning, a fair three days after the initial investigation. It was too speedy. Far too expeditious. Politics in itself took weeks to even find a point of entry in any committee. It exuded a rushed sense of being swept under a rug.

Such was the apparent nature of these 'Hawks' now in unbalanced power of the Federation. Uncaring of these outer rim territories. They weren't a threat enough to take serious. Lieutenant Ka'ranin's geological report had stated a rather fortuitous supply of an array of minerals in large quantities. Enough to have fueled the Federation's Starfleet for quite a while. The Hawk faction wont be able to continue ramping up their shipyarding without the materials to build them, and this incident will not go un-noticed. Costs will rise, and this independent will likely not be the first to sever ties with the Federation.

M'Kantu was not a diplomat, though. Not one of consequence anyhow. He would have to wait.

Leaning forward, he lifted the ceramic mug that had resided on the low-cut coffee table, a faint ring of light tan left behind on the glass coaster. Sipping at the now luke-warm Tanzania tea, he reviewed the duty manifest.

Cassius Henderson would normally perform these rather mundane duties as XO, but he was on leave for another 6 days retrieving Rima Pennington, who'd gone AWOL previous to the Gryphon mission.

The XO had a lot of growing up to do. This would most likely be his last chance after the seriousness of the reprimands on his file.

Curtis Geluf had requested and been granted personal leave for the next 2 months. Apparently a situation had arisen on Kerelia of great import. Geluf's father was fairly high-seated in government, and requested through official Federation diplomatic channels for his son to be present. This gave Daren the odd feeling the ramifications of Gryphon extended farther than first thought. Colby Elliott, the foul-mouthed Assistant Chief, would be Acting Chief upon Geluf's return. Daren silently hoped they didn't encounter any touchy races in the meantime.

Janelle Reynolds, the quiet Chief Medical Officer he hadn't interacted much with, had requested leave shortly after Dr. Giardini's transfer off the Galaxy.

Sub-Commander Savar tr'Khellian, Acting Chief Tactical Officer, was an enigma. Brooding, snappish, not well-liked amongst the crew for his obvious Romulan - Rihannsu, to be politically correct - heritage. Romulan is a derogatory term, apparently.

At the behest of the Diplomatic Corps, the Cultural Exchange Program (Starfleet Intelligence. No one said they were bright in deflecting their grasp on various branches of government), the sub-Commander would stay on-board. His close ties with the Tal Shiar operative Atole Tekri on the Galaxy is a source of information that has Intelligence chomping at the bit.

Commander Corgan, Galaxy's Chief Security Officer, had been relentlessly submitting requests for an 'emergency response' team. Seeing as the situations in both retrieving Admiral Valerian earlier this year, and the less than efficient response time at Gryphon, Daren was inclined to permit this request, even if it went against his very nature of going against the mandate of an exploration vessel in theory. He keyed in a request from the Security Chief for a more in-depth analysis of the unit and what it would entail.

Jeremy Savoie and Elijah Faraal both had departed the ranks of the Galaxy, which left the navigation department without a senior staff member to represent them. Cameron Bartlett would replace them in the meantime. He had an exemplary record, and more than enough experience until a replacement could be found. If push came to shove, Lieutenant Rex and his Vanguard Squadron could provide temporary relief.

Counselor Dallas had submitted a request for Legate Curran to be ordered to counseling since he had not voluntarily submitted himself over the last three days. Sighing, M"Kantu penned a reminder to the Legate of his promise to visit Lieutenant Lywhyn of his situation else he not be re-instated, CCing the Commander in the process.

Curran himself had barricaded himself away in his quarters for the last three days. Not a soul had seen or heard from him in that timespan, and only the sensors reporting his lifesigns within proved he was still with the living. Records how he was receiving his messages, but not returning them. He made a mental note to visit him personally as soon as all this paperwork was complete.

Commander Suder, the Betazoid Chief Engineer, was suspiciously quiet. His reports on ship repairs were succinct, terse, and efficient. Something was not par for the course with the engineer, but there was not enough to investigate.

Finally, Cora Dobryin would be replacing Saladin Bolivar as Chief Intelligence Officer. Ahdjiia D'Tinya had been killed in the line of duty at Gryphon, of which she was awarded the Federation Star posthumously. Major Bolivar had then departed the Galaxy with their child, born prematurely due to her early death, and the body of his wife for parts unknown.

"Computer, enter the following personnel changes into the duty roster."

[Working]

"Dobryin, Cora, promoted to Lieutenant, Junior Grade and Chief Intelligence Officer of the USS Galaxy. Assign Beta Two Security Access and Level 3 Data Access levels to her immediately. Command Authorization M'Kantu-quatro-theta-four."

[Authorization accepted. Duty Roster updated]

"Manifest update. Delete D'Tinya, Ahdjiia. Bolivar, Saladin. Savoie, Jeremy. Giardini, William. Faraal, Elijah. Dhar, Ban. Biessman, Robert."

[Updated]

"Manifest update. Add Iniara, Tarin. Operations Officer. Level Two Data Access, Delta Two security access until Curtis Geluf is reactivated."

[Updated]

"Computer, the following personnel are to have their personnel files updated and their department heads informed."

[Working]

"Krieghoff, Victor. Awarded the Starfleet Cross for actions performed at Gryphon." Daren scrolled to his personal agenda on the padd and entered a note for interview with Krieghoff. This medal threw the proverbial wrench into his transfer.

"Ka'ranin, Cutter. So'ka. Hanley, Paul. Dobryin, Cora. Awarded the Nebula Star for same reasons."

[Updated]

"Computer, end changes." The computer whistled, signifying closure. Perfectly fine with Daren. Lightly pitching the padd into the remaining piles as he passed the kitchen table that housed them, he poured the remainder of his tea down the sink in the kitchen.

These last few missions had exhausted him. He sincerely hoped his request for extended shore leave would be accepted, followed by a nice boring exploration mission. He never thought he'd miss the boredom of mapping anomalies.

With the monstrous Pathfinder class Miranda hanging off to port inside Starbase 212 with Galaxy, M'Kantu didn't feel the ominous chant of action and adventure calling him next.

Yes, a nice long survey of a nebula would be sweet indeed...


(takes place sometime after 'Permission Granted')Markie

"Immortal Movie Stars"

By
T'Pol (8-ball) Hunter

8-ball sat on her floor and stared at the wall. She did this for a long time.

Eventually, she she stood up and stared down at the floor. It didn't tell her any secrets that the wall didn't reveal.

Everything was silent.

She found herself standing over next to the replicator with a cup of tea in her hands. She didn't really remember walking over to the replicator and asking for the tea but since the evidence was steaming away while grasped between her fingers, 8-ball figured that was what she must have done. That was logical, after all.

8-ball smiled dully. She had thought the 'L' word and not even shuddered at all. Logical. Hmmm.

Things must have been pretty bad.

She drank a sip of the tea, remembered that she couldn't stand tea and had never understood what people saw in it that was comforting and fulfilling, threw out the tea, and went back to sitting on the floor.

8-ball knew this shouldn't be affecting her like this. She had only met the woman once. Sure, she'd been nice, friendly, an interesting, prospective date if she hadn't been married and with children, but it wasn't like 8-ball and Ahdjiia D'Tinya were best buddies or anything. 8-ball hadn't seen the woman after she had met up with her in a bar and talked about various serious things liked borg sexuality. 8-ball had barely even thought about her. . .until Ahdjiia was killed in the line of the duty and 8-ball knew there would never be a conversation with the woman again because she wasn't just gone; she was dead. Just like that.

It wasn't like a person dying was a new experience for 8-ball. Her father had died in a shuttle accident when she was twelve and 8-ball had been devestated, which felt stupid to even think to herself. What child wouldn't have been devestated to lose the only parent they'd ever really known? But 8-ball had managed to pick up the pieces somehow, probably through pure fury at the idea of having to living with her mother back on the Vulcan homeworld. Then she ran away and lived with Big Man at the bar and learned poker and pool and how to drink any interstellar trucker under the table and Big Man became like a second father to her. 8-ball smiled bitterly at the thought. The second 8-ball had come to think of Big Man as a father, she should have known what was to happen next. Certainly anyone watching the movie that was her life would have. But 8-ball hadn't been prepared for the big fight that emerged that night and she hadn't been prepared to watch Big Man die, a shard from a beer bottle sticking out of his throat.

Death wasn't new. But 8-ball picked up the pieces and moved on again and never really connected the idea that what happened to her father and what happened to Big Man would someday happen to her. Someday, death wasn't going to be something she was going to have to live through. Someday, death was going to steal that life from her.

Because the truth was that 8-ball often thought of her life as a movie. Usually, in comical terms, with a title that would inevitably have to be something like, "The Illogical Adventures of 8-ball Hunter" or "The Half-Vulcan Bitch is Back: Run Away, Run Away!" and a soundtrack that was full of strange, offbeat music like that ancient album "Dark Side of the Moon" by an old group called Pink Floyd. In the movies, death wasn't real. Death was a vague idea for the future, sort of like graduating from high school. Everyone knows it's gonna happen someday and they think and plan about what's going to happen afterwards, but until it's happening to you, it's not real. People you know die and sure, that sucks a lot, but they're just OTHER people. Death is something that happens to OTHER people. Not to you.

But sometimes people died, even people you didn't know that well, just met and talked to and liked for a few minutes and then passed out of your life, and you got to remember that life wasn't a movie, there was no nifty soundtrack, and death was real. Even for you.

8-ball shook her head. She didn't want to be thinking about this right now. She couldn't be thinking about this right now. It was one of those necessary fictions you needed in your life: you are immortal. 8-ball remembered older people always complaining that kids acted stupid because they thought they were immortal, that death could never touch them. 8-ball figured they were probably right, except it wasn't just young people. Everyone thought they were immortal. They needed to. Otherwise, what was the point in living? It would just stop someday.

And it did for Ahdjiia D'Tinya. She proved the movie wrong. Immortality wasn't apparantly all it was cracked up to be.

8-ball stared back at the wall. It stared at her blankly the way walls do and there was nothing comforting about the silence of her quarters where everything suddenly seemed far too quiet and too real.

"I can't do this right now," 8-ball said to herself and stood up. She didn't want to be sitting in her room and thinking about Ahdjiia and Big Man and her dad and death. She didn't want to know that immortality was as real as a Ferengi's promise. She wanted a diversion, a distraction, anything to slip back into the movie where she was the heroine who never died and got the strapping, young man in the end.

8-ball threw on her shoes and thought of the Holodeck. If anything could divert her from reality, it was the Holodeck.

A tiny voice in her mind told her that she shouldn't seek to avoid what was real, she should contemplate, she should learn from truth.

8-ball hit that tiny voice with an invisible sledgehammer and headed over to the Holodeck to play pool and remember her immortality.


"The Art of Shopping"

By
Ensign T'Pol (8-ball) Hunter

She had found it.

She had spent years looking. Earth had a few good places, especially in New York and San Francisco. Risa was sadly short, but it made up for that with more booze and hot men than could ever be imagined. Other planets had tried but none had exactly what she was looking for.

Until now.

8-ball had found it.

Shoe Heaven.

Now that they were on Starbase 212, the crew of the Galaxy finally got some time off and 8-ball was damn sure she was going to get some shopping done. She hadn't been able to go shopping in some time and she missed the experience. Shopping was something that 8-ball felt should be recognized as more than a mere activity or hobby of bored women. Shopping was an art. Any idiot could just run around with some credits and buy the world down, but to truly work at it, hunt for the good bargains and fight the good fight. . .there was just a beauty to it, especially for shoe shopping. . . and lingerie shopping. The best bra shop in the world could be found on Risa, any everytime she got back there, 8-ball made a note to stop and buy herself a cute couple of numbers to be seen and shortly afterwards torn off by the local, handsome men. But 8-ball had not been able to find the perfect shoe store. Until Starbase 212.

8-ball hadn't really been expecting to find much. Every now and then you could find a good gem or two on these Starbases but usually there wasn't much in the way of God-sent stores for your shopping pleasure. But this one really was. The One. The Ultimate. The Holy Grail of the Manic-Shoe-Lovers-And-Compulsive-Buyers cult.

Shoe Heaven.

8-ball thought about falling on her knees and weeping in happiness and adoration of whatever god had finally let her find the perfect shoe store. She decided against it and immediately browsed the aisles of shoes, sneakers, boots, sandals. . .any and all footware that one could imagine, and at prices that actually were semi-reasonable. 8-ball wondered if she was dreaming this again and looked around for the bare chested sales clerk that always came about this time to offer her a little more than a cute pair of clogs. But he didn't emerge and 8-ball knew that she wasn't dreaming this time.

"Oh, baby, this is what I like," 8-ball said to herself and got hard to work at her artistry.


ooc: this is a major, major backpost, back to that whole issue between Ammanalyn and Counselor Dallas. Sorry about that...Markie

*********

"So, what exactly is a Daemon?"

Principal Characters:
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Ensign Ammanalyn Lywhyn

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

Still trembling with a bit of anger, frustration and hurt, Ammanalyn pressed the call at the Captain's ready room door. Tampatiaen was curled sheepishly on her shoulder; after the talking to she'd given him in her quarters, he hadn't said a word, and his own emotions were all too readable to the small Daedryn girl.

At the Captain's bidding, she stepped through the door, standing at attention briefly.

"At ease, Counselor," Daren said, setting down a cup of coffee and nodding to her. "This isn't an inquisition, just a meeting."

"Captain, I must file a grievance with Counselor Dallas," Ammanalyn said, voice quivering. "She.... has treated me unfairly because of my race... in ways including, but not limited to, relieving me from duty. And I must... I must protest it. I have done nothing but my job in the manner in which I was trained to do that job and it's... it's not fair. She has no grounds for her decision... none. And I -- I have a spotless record, Captain, I have... high recommendations. I've never had a problem before. Never. Ever."

Daren waited for her to finish. "Protest duly noted, Counselor," he replied calmly and then indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit down. This isn't a formal session, there are no notations being made on your record. We're just going to talk." He stood and moved to the replicator with his coffee cup. "Can I get you something to drink? Something for your companion, perhaps?"

"Tam doesn't require sustenance. He'd have nowhere to put it; he's only Dust, really," Ammanalyn said. "Tea would be lovely. Earl Grey, please. Hot."

"Aren't we all dust, Counselor?" Daren asked as he ordered her tea, and then another cup of coffee for himself. "We come from it, and, in the end, we return to it." He offered her the tea, and then returned to his seat.

"What... what're we going to talk about?" Ammanalyn questioned, fidgeting as she watched the captain. She accepted the tea cup in both hands, smiling in thanks, watching him move behind his desk.

"That depends, Counselor," Daren offered. "I have some questions about the nature of your relationship with your companion that I'd like to ask, but that's not all we have to talk about if you have questions you'd like to ask." He took a sip of his coffee. "That's one of the prices that you pay when you gain a command position, you know - you spend a lot of time on questions; yours and other people's. I just happen to prefer asking, and answering, them like this, as opposed to turning recorders on and making a big production over it."

"I'm a counselor, Captain," Ammanalyn said, smiling slightly, "I understand about the questions. I don't think there's any reasons for recorders, either, you've said yourself that this isn't an inquisition..." She let her voice trail off and she sipped her tea as Tampatiaen snaked down her body and into her lap, where he curled. "What do you want to know about Tampatiaen?" she questioned. "I'll answer all that I can."

"I've read the entries in your file about him, and how your relationship works, but that's not really all that informative, since it spends a great deal of time using words like 'symbiote' and 'externalized subconscious mind' - none of which really describe the relationship the way that you see it." He sipped at his coffee. "A problem that occurs quite often when one attempts to describe the metaphysical with scientific terms. What I need to understand is how *you* understand and describe your relationship."

Ammanalyn took a deep breath, then smiled slightly. "Well, Captain... how much time do you have?"

"All the time it takes, Counselor."

She nodded. "Tampatiaen is... what we call a Daemon," she said. The word was pronounced distinctly like the English word 'demon', but with a slight accent on the last syllable. "It is, to put it in human terms, a bit like..." She hesitated, searching for the word. "A soul. I suppose. A soul, a conscience, a representation of our life and essence, in a way. When a Daedryn child is born, the Daemon raises from its chest, taking a physical shape within the first breath." Tampatiaen snuggled against Ammanalyn's neck. She could feel his embarrassment through their bond; any discussion as to his nature or their nature together was uncomfortable at best, and while he always weathered it as best he could, he could never disguise his feelings.

"Daemons also reflect the growth of their person. They choose a colour by a certain age, and then a shape. Each is a rite of passage. When a colour is chosen, it demonstrates the child's ability to be a rational creature: she understands the difference of right a wrong, is able to learn the culture and rules of society, is responsible for her actions. And she is able to understand the significance of the Dust. The Dust is the basis of our being. We are all made of it, and when we die, our souls become that Dust to be reborn into a new being." She absently moved and closed Tampatiaen in her hands. He was the shape of a quivering door mouse, and she easily folded him up, away from sight. He began to relax slowly, knowing the man could not see him, study him as she spoke.

"We consider ourselves to be a blessed race, you see," she continued. "We are able to have close, personal relationships with parts of ourselves that every other being must struggle to understand. And through that, there are no mysteries. No Daedryn fears death, because we know what happens to us when we die. We know that our bodies feed the soil, and our souls feed others." Her forehead was knit as she stared down into her lap. "The colour also determines the path we will take in life; the interest and ability of the person is reflected in the Daemon, and it is always accurate. Some colours are rarer than others. Tampatiaen's, for instance, is the rarest of all, and should never belong to a female person." She swallowed. "We're feared on our home world..."

"Because you're... different?" Daren asked quietly.

"Yes. We're very different. And some people think we are a sign of bad things to come... we have challenged a lot of old beliefs and traditions. From the colours, to the fact that Tam hasn't settled. See... the choosing of a shape notes maturity, or so we had always thought. Tam hasn't chosen a shape yet. No one knows why, not even us. That causes more fear..."

She cleared her throat, then looked up at the Captain. "Sir, I assure you. Tampatiaen is harmless," she said. "The touch of another being causes great personal pain, unless initiated through great trust and affect by the Daemon. Tampatiaen rarely ever speaks to Andeaons. What happened with Counselor Dallas was a shock. He knows better than that, but only spoke because a large part of me needed another voice on my side of things. It was the first time, while I was in this uniform, that he has forgotten his role.

"It is difficult for us, sometimes. Being so far away from home, so far away from those like us. Few Daedryn leave our home planet. We need the support of others like us, and we need the Dust around us. Sometimes, a lack of understanding can become too much. We get tired of being pressured, being questioned, of not being understood. We get tired of part of us being seen as an animal, a dirty, lesser being, rather than what it truly is: something so much more than any Andeaon could possibly understand. People like you, look and see Tam as a burden. You tell me to leave him my quarters. That 'pets'," she spit the word out, venom hanging on her otherwise soft, broken voice, "are not allowed to freely roam a starship. But... I cannot leave Tam in another room." She wiped a tear away. "The thought of it is heartbreaking, and the action of it would literally be next to deadly. Daedryn have gone mad under those circumstances"

She fell silent.

Daren nodded. "I thought there was a critical misinterpretation at work in the file." He sipped at his coffee for a moment. "Let me go on and ask the only question I have left to ask since you've answered most of them for me, and then we'll be done with that. All right?"

"Okay."

"What I need to know is this, Counselor: is it possible that Tampatiaen would feel the need to defend you in a non-verbal fashion? Not necessarily by physically attacking someone, but perhaps by assuming a larger and more threatening form than his normal ones, or something of that nature?"

Am frowned, opening her hands slightly to look at her Daemon who sat within them, looking up at her in turn. "His most frequent form is his largest," she said, "he doesn't get much larger than what humans would call a snow leopard. It varies a few inches, but that's as big as he becomes. Sometimes, when he gets agitated, he flips shapes rapidly, but he's getting better at that. We're still young, really; we have a lot to learn. But isn't that all part of it?"

"Learning is part of life," Daren agreed. "The secret to it that one discovers as one gets older is to try and avoid having to learn the same lessons over and over again."

Tampatiaen began to crawl up her arm, slowly increasing in size, shifting to ermine shape by the time he was at her shoulder. He leaned close to her ear and whispered to her in ancient Daedrae, a language even the Federation translators had been unable to full dissect; they struggled so much with the modern incantation which was several permeations from the language of the Daemon.

"Are you sure?" she questioned him. With a soft sound on his part, she looked to the Captain. "Tam would like to address if you, if you would permit."

"Of course," Daren agreed with a smile. This would be interesting. He hadn't seen anything change shape so smoothly since that encounter with a Chamelioid fifteen years ago in the Beta Thermopylae system.

Tampatiaen jumped from Ammanlyn's shoulder, shifting on his way down into leopard form. He moved to the side of the desk so he could make better eye contact with the Captain. "Thank you, sir," he said to Captain M'Kantu. "I appreciate the permission... what happened, with Counselor Dallas, will not happen again. I assure you. And it has not happened for several years. Have you ever been unable to bite back something, even though you know you should not say it? That was what happened. When one addresses Ammanalyn, one addresses me as well, we are inseparable, two parts of the same whole, and while we have learned to exist in the environment of the... Single Formed, and we have tried to come to terms with that. It has been difficult for us to learn to communicate, as on our planet, it is done on two levels: first between people and second between Daemons. I forgot myself, and I voiced to Counselor Dallas what I would otherwise have to her Daemon. It will not happen again, and particularly not in session where I do my best to be as scarce as possible and unobtrusive unless I feel my presence would be of assistance."

Daren nodded. "I understand. I hope you will likewise understand that I need to ask again if there is a possibility that you will feel the need to change shape in response to the emotional level of a conversation or situation? I've seen you assume several forms that reflected your emotional mood - either yours and the Counselor's shared reaction or yours alone, I'm not precisely sure which - and I have some level of concern that your largest form, the one you're using now, might be perceived as a threat by some of the crew and unintentionally provoke a violent response."

"I am most often in this form," he stated, "it will likely be the one to which I settle. But I think that is a long time in coming still. I would not worry, Captain; this is how we introduce ourselves, often in this shape, this size. People will react as they will. We cannot help that. When going into a situation that may be tense, or one that Ammanalyn is concerned about in the beginning, I will always take this form and stay there. It would serve neither of us any good to surprise someone that concerns us."

Daren paused, reflecting that the Daemon had avoided actually providing a direct answer with almost Vulcanesque precision. "Very well," he nodded.

"Let me offer you this piece of advice then: your current form, intentionally or not, is going to be perceived as dangerous and a potential threat, at least by a fair number of the adult human crewmen aboard ship, and possibly by a number of the non-human adult crewmen as well. Most will simply be nervous, but there is at least one human crewman aboard that I strongly suggest that you avoid contact with, Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, and there are several alien crewmen that you should also exercise caution with, especially the ones from a racial predatory ancestry. You'll want to talk to Commander Dallas about any other potential interaction issues."

"We appreciate your concern and will take it under advisement," Tampatiaen stated, nodding, then glanced back at Ammanalyn, who sat straighter in her chair.

"Yes. Thank you," Am said, nodding. "We have taken care of ourselves in difficult circumstances before, we will be fine, Captain, I assure you. We appreciate your concern but I think we will be okay." She smiled slightly and stood slowly, cautiously, not entirely sure it was okay for her to make a move to leave. "Will... will there be, ah, anything else, captain?" She questioned, studying him as she chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Can I... can I resume my responsibilities, or is that, ah... up to Counselor Dallas?" She crinkled her nose and continued chewing. Tampatiaen, who has returned to her side, nipped her hand and she stopped abruptly, covering her mouth with a hand and blushing.

Daren smiled. "No, nothing more from me, Counselor. You will need to speak to Commander Dallas before resuming your duties, but I doubt you'll find that to be a daunting task. Just remember that she might be just as embarrassed and uneasy about the meeting as you may be and everything ought to be fine. She's a good officer and a good counselor, and despite the bump here, I think you'll find that she's a good friend as well."

"I'll keep that in mind, Captain," she said softly, nodding. "Thank you."

Tampatiaen rubbed his head under her hand and together, Daedryn and Daemon left the Captain's ready room.


((OOC: As a bit of background for the Galaxy folks, when Jerri was a child the starship her parents ran (and that she was on) was pulled into an anomaly. While she was there, normal time had them missing for two weeks, inside the void two years passed. Jerri spent that time afraid for her life and fleeing something she called 'the Other.' Jerri was the only survivor of the USS Chisholm. Only four people know the full story of her time in the void, though she has dreamed about it. In a mission a short while ago, Jerri found out what had happened to the Chisholm and that her parents were still alive. Daniel Fraiser is someone who has been searching for Jerri to speak with her about her experiences in the anomaly and is a temporal astrophysicist from the Vulcan Science Academy. Jerri has refused to speak with Daniel for the past five years, now Daniel has taken things into his own hands and has arranged to come aboard the Miranda for a time to help the science department. -Laurel))Markie

"Perchance to Dream"

by
Cmdr. Jerri Wolfson
Chief Engineer,
USS Miranda

& Daniel Fraiser (PCC)
Temporal Astrophysicist,
Civilian assigned to the USS Miranda

-----------

Cmdr. Jerri Wolfson's Quarters
USS Miranda

The first thing that she remembered in the dark recesses of her mind was the fear. All consuming, ever beating, it was a living thing that coiled and hissed after her soul with all the will of the deadliest serpent. It was death on wings, the stuff that nightmares were made of. Not those childhood terrors that would send one screaming for their parents, nor those adulthood fears of loss and despair. No, this was far more elemental than that.

This was fear itself. Pure, unaltered fear. Her heart beat in a staccato beat within her chest as she fought it's grip. She knew, oh she knew, that if she did not wake it would find her. The Other was in her mind once again after fourteen years of absence. It wanted her back after being deprived of her presence all those years ago. It needed her back now it had none left from the Chisholm to satisfy it's unearthly greed.

A gasp.

A breath.

A scream.

Then, the light. Light of the purest kind banished the darkness, it fought against the onslaught of the Other, and it survived. The being known as Jerri Wolfson smiled at the brightness before it turned towards her and revealed...

Jordan.

Jordan smiled at Jerri before that smile was twisted into one of pure hatred.

The light gained a reddish hue.

"There is no truth now, all is lost..."

----

Jerri Wolfson sat upright in bed with a gasp as she was wrenched from the dream by the force of will alone. Her still sleep befuddled mind fought against unseen bonds before she recognized their feel as those of the sheets that had become wrapped around her body during the course of the night. Stilling her struggles, Jerri stared blankly into the darkness of her room as she attempted to organize her thoughts.

It had been years since she had last suffered from night terrors, years before she had found some measure of peace and before she had found what had happened to her parents. What had brought them on now was all too apparent to the Chief Engineer - it was a combination of stress and the ongoing fight between herself and Jordan. She still had friends on the Miranda, in fact there were quite a few, but she still missed her best friend the most. In the darkest hours of the night she would find herself wishing she could speak to her again, but that was always before the onslaught of memories of their fight regained control. Perhaps someday forgiveness could be reached between the two women, but until that time there was an uneasy truce.

Giving up on the chance for sleep for the remainder of the night, Jerri gently disengaged herself from the sheets without waking Jack - the man could sleep through Armageddon and not awake - and stole into the living room. The darkness of the room was abated by the starlight and the glow of the starbase. She ventured close to the transparent aluminum panes and pressed her palm against their vacuum induced coolness.

It was such an amazing marvel of technology to note that only a piece of plastic held at bay a massive pressure differential between the interior and exterior of a starship. Transparent aluminum surely changed the course of history, but marveling at technology did little to banish the memory of the dream. It seemed foretelling somehow, and that bothered her more than she could say. Was it possible that out there, somewhere in the darkness, the Other was still searching for her?

She shied away from the thought quickly. It was impossible, it had been fourteen years...but only half a year since she had found the Chisholm again. She shook her head and returned to her contemplation of the scenery outside. There was nothing to fear here, safely enclosed by the hull of her starship.

Nothing at all.

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

Observation Lounge
Starbase 212

In another observation lounge, brown eyes watched the USS Miranda. The ship was at repose now at it's docking position with the Starbase, shore leave had commenced for it's officers and crew and only a few returned to the ship each night for their sleep. Daniel Fraiser knew of one such officer who rarely failed to return to her home berth for the night. Starbase 212, while close to several planetary centers, held means of entertainment on it's own. On the shorter stints of shore leave, most tended to stay close to their ships as a sort of 'just in case.'

His theory on the matter was that they could not bare to be left behind should something summon their starship on a mission while they were on leave. Daniel Fraiser tended to find that to be quite truthful, especially when it came to a certain subject he had been attempting to find for quite some while. So many times he had attempted to speak with Jerri Wolfson about her experiences in the temporal void that she had been in during her childhood. So many times she had turned him down. Now, with the transfer orders firmly in his grip, she would not be able to hide from him much longer.

There were facets of his quest to speak with Jerri that had little to do with her experiences in the anomaly and more to do with her heritage. Daniel Fraiser had a secret, a secret that would probably tear down the finely crafted foundation held by Jerri Wolfson of family. He smiled slightly at the vision of the starship, knowing that somewhere aboard her the Chief Engineer lay, "Soon, we shall meet Jerri. And you will not be able to avoid me anymore..."

TBC...