"Forced Leave"

Captain Elaithin Jii
Commander Jerri Wolfson

A quiet rapping on the permanently-open door of her office drew Jerri Wolfson's attention from the screen in front of her. "The purpose of shore leave, you're aware, is to get the hell off the ship."

Looking up, she wasn't surprised to find her Captain standing there, grinning slightly. "I mean it Jerri. Take a break."

"Buuuuut Daaaaad," Jerri whined in a passable imitation of Toryl, Elaithin's teenaged son, before smiling brightly at the Captain, "Yeah, I know it is. And I'm planning on it. But there are a few more tweaks to the system here I want to do, and once that's done the Miranda'll be the envy of the entire fleet."

"No tweaks. You. Leave. Now."

She leaned against her desk and arched an eyebrow at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "Standard, you, speaka no?" Sure, it was probably stupid. Sure she should follow the Captain's orders and go on leave. But he was out of uniform, and, well, she was feeling a little on the mischievous side.

"Well, since my wife no longer makes certain you don't work yourself into a coma, I figure I should. I checked with Jack, he's going to some medical conference here on the station. Toryl's run off somewhere with his distressingly large group of friends, and Jordan is likely to be locked up in Intel briefings for days. So, you need to get out. You can go to your quarters and change - where I will wait on you, or I will pick you up and carry you off the ship. Clear?" Elaithin said, entirely serious.

That undid her. Jerri burst out laughing at the seemingly preposterous image of Jii carting her off the ship like so much baggage. Not that she doubted him, oh no, she knew the man after all. She just found it funny. "Well, who am I to argue with that?" As she slid her swiss army knife into her pocket, the Chief Engineer stood and cocked her head at the Captain, "I don't work myself into a coma, Jii. It's a stupor. There's a difference." With that, and yet another smile, she led the way towards the turbolift with little argument. The change in her relationship with Jii had come at quite the surprise to Jerri, especially given the situation between herself and Jordan. It was rather amusing, actually, and the engineer had found herself smiled a bit more lately. Though, the hurt and pain from her fight with Jordan was still with her it was buried.

He was relentless, though, in his role as peacemaker. They'd only barely entered the lift when he brought it up this time. "You should talk to her, you know."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Jerri asked with an audible sigh, "Jii, we've been through this. You know my reasons, and why I don't want to walk down that path again. Please, just drop it."

Elaithin sighed semi-theatrically at that. "I once negotiated a three-way treaty between the Federation, the Romulan Empire, and the Reman Ascendancy. But I can't talk my wife or her best friend into speaking with each other." "That's because no one's standing behind you with a large phaser cannon." "That's debatable."

"There's a debate involved? You allowed Jordan access to heavy weapons?" Jerri asked in mock horror, "For shame."

"No, but the Hazard Team is only a commbadge away. Trained special ops commandos at my beck and call. There are perks to command, after all." he replied with a wink as the 'lift doors open.

"That's a scary thought, you know that, don't you?" Jerri replied with an echoing wink, "You with access to all that firepower. It's amazing that we've survived this long." She chuckled softly as they reached her quarters. "Give me ten, and I'll be right out," she said, gesturing towards the couch as she headed into her bedroom and closed the door.

Leaning against the wall, Jii patiently complied. For any number of other Captains, crew passing by seeing him waiting, in civilian clothes, at the Chief Engineer's quarters would have gotten tongues a-wagging. The Bajoran was known to be an affable commander, however, preferring to also have personal relationships with much of his command staff over the stricter business relationship many other captains cultivated.

When Jerri emerged, she was in jeans and a comfortable blouse. Only the tell-tale slight bulge in her right pocket indicated that she still had her swiss army knife with her. She was a firm believer in the 'never leave home without it' philosophy.

Without a word, the pair proceeded towards the turbolift that would take them to the station's promenade. -------------------------------------- Starbase 212, Promenade

"So, I have news." he said without preamble, as they walked along 212's immense promenade, mostly just gazing at the shops, not looking for anything in particular.

"Oh? Good news or bad news?" Jerri asked curiously as she paused before an electronics store.

"In about six months, Toryl will be joined by a brother and sister." he said, watching as she looked at the specs on various devices being offered to the civilian market.

Jerri's mouth dropped as she spun to face Jii, "Damn! Congratulations!" she offered him as truthfully as possible. She gave him a quick hug before releasing him, "Six months, huh. Not much time to get yourself ready."

"Longer than a normal Bajoran pregnancy." he replied. "I was concerned at first, but then Doctor Brooke told me that you humans carry for nine. I always forget that."

"And how long is a typical Bajoran pregnancy? I'm sure many humans would consider having to carry for less than nine months a blessing, then again it might magnify matters," Jerri shook her head, amazed. Jordan was pregnant. For the first time in a while, she offered a mental prayer for Jordan and the safety of her children.

"Five months." came the quick reply, as though it was a perfectly obvious fact. To Jii, of course, it was.

"Damn," Jerri whistled, shaking her head, "Well congratulations again, Dad."

He gave a nod, signifying his acceptance. Looking at what she was observing, he tried to figure it out. "Something interesting there?"

"It's actually a civilian outtake of one of our military issue tricorders. Though the circuitry is inefficient, it should be a rather decent portable computing device," Jerri replied, gesturing at the inefficiencies and explaining them.

"Ah. Right." he replied, and chuckled to himself. Trust an engineer...

=/\= "The ensign’s new digs" =/\=

by Ens Oscar Lanzo

** Deck 14, Junior Officers’ Quarters **

The sleeping ensign rolled from his back to his left side, grunting as he did so. He was fully dressed in his uniform from the Philadelphia, atop the tightly-fitted thin blanket of his bunk mattress. As he turned his body, his rucksack and a handful of personal effects dropped to the deck beside the bunk. The PADD clattered against the bunk’s side, and suddenly began playing a video recording which for some reason included cymbals and snare drums.

Oscar awoke immediately at the clamor, and swung his arm out over the edge of the bunk to try to reach the source of the noise. His hand overshot the mark and the momentum of flinging his arm so forcefully carried his bodyweight over the side. Oscar fell to the deck, pinning his arm between his shoulder and his rucksack and digging his hipbone painfully into the defenseless though quite sturdy PADD.

“Ouch, dammit!” he shouted, still half asleep. Rolling into the center of the deck, Lanzo spread his limbs out and lay flat on his back, staring at the illumination panels above. He blinked twice. “Computer, what is the current time?”

In its flat, but feminine voice, the ship’s computer replied, “Current time is oh-seven-hundred hours, fourteen minutes, fifty-one seconds.”

*I guess it’s never too early to get out of bed,* he concluded. Bringing his limbs in close, he lifted his knees and began a few warm-up stretches before slipping into crunches. He rarely did a full exercise routine these days - serving on the USS Philadelphia he adopted some poor habits. He only did half his routine before rolling forward onto his feet and hopping to a standing position.

He looked at the empty bunk across the room from his own. It appeared that his roommate hadn’t arrived on the Miranda yet. Either that, or he was scrupulously neat. Just to be sure, Oscar slid open a few drawers to make sure no one was occupying the other half of the quarters. Another aspect of serving aboard the Philadelphia was the generous accommodations. Oscar and the other couple dozen Starfleet Academy personnel each had four-person quarters all to themselves. Even though the Philadelphia was a smaller ship with smaller accommodations, the space was easily more generous than sharing a double on the Miranda.

Oscar dumped his rucksack onto his bunk; A change of uniform, dirty and not even the correct style for the Miranda anyway, his paper notebook, some momentos, his old cadet pip, a USS Philadelphia mission patch, and a small case containing dozens of isolinear chips. There was really no reason to pack heavily - unless you carried with you a big helping of nostalgia. A replicator could make just about anything you need. Especially if you knew the devices inside-out like Oscar did.

Sorting his belongings into their appropriate storage places (which meant the recycler for the spare uniform), it soon appeared that the ensign had no belongings whatsoever. He considered “shopping” the LCARS for replacement clothing and personal items, but chose instead to take a quick jog around the deck. It would get his blood pumping and start his day off energetically. While he was at it, he could plan his off-duty wardrobe.

With that plan in mind, Oscar headed out the door in his USS Philadelphia uniform. It was a utilitarian-looking, mustard-yellow jumpsuit. The style was different than officers in the general fleet wore, since the suit was designed to be an insulator against static energy and low-powered fields. Aboard the Philadelphia, his fellow Academy students called the sparkly suits ‘Fertility Pants’ because it was widely believed that the outfit would prevent mutation of genetic material.

Oscar jogged for several minutes without seeing more than a handful of crew. Apparently much of the crew was taking advantage of a short break on Starbase 212. About halfway around the deck, he found himself headed straight for an attractive latin woman. She wore a security uniform and a scowl that could burn dilithium.

Her hair was pulled back, and her caramel brown eyes were narrow under dark brows. Her pips marked her as lieutenant commander. Oscar came to a full stop before her, without willfully deciding to do so. Her full lips parted.

“What the HELL are you doing running on my deck, dressed like that?” she demanded in a tone both laser-sharp and hammer-blunt.

Oscar was instantly smitten. He smiled. He didn’t know and didn’t care that smiling at the notorious Heather Sanchez would only worsen the situation.

(OOC: As my first post actually aboard the USS Miranda, I thought it was important to reconnect with Heather Sanchez, the NPC that used to ride Matthew Albrecht way back when I was on the GALAXY TOS. ::sigh::, I missed her, too! Thanks for keeping her alive, everybody!)

“Fare thee well….” Part 1 of 2

(Takes place starting immediately after ‘Permission Granted’)

Principal Characters:
Saladin Bolivar
Now first chair of the Presidium of the Nietzchean alliance

Mariko Del Judas

A whole mess of Khotani

****

OOC note: This is the official sign off of Saladin and Ahdjiia from the galaxy, It’s been a blast writing with you folks, and I’m sure I’ll see you all around.

OOC2: hints of sex, hints of suicidal thoughts…. But a good read nonetheless.

****

After leaving sickbay with Tammerlain in his arms, his son was strong, breathing on his own and surviving he would be damned if he would let some insipid Federation doctor, a butcher like that buffoon Malgin sink his fangs in to his son.

He would not raise his child on a starship, Not a Federation one where he would learn their values, their rules, where he would listen to their talk and then become one of them. His son had been denied his mother's heritage because of terrorists, and Krieghoff's stupid permission to die. He blamed Victor Krieghoff, he blamed Captain M'Kantu, he blamed Starfleet, he blamed the federation and their permissiveness, and he blamed himself for not demanding she stay on the ship.

He had contacted his father and not only was the flagship of the pride fleet arriving but a detachment of first Lancers Praetorian, who would be acting as an honor escort and pallbearers for Ahdjiia's journey home.

It had been relatively simple to lay down the law to the captain, well that and Jeb Hendershaw pulled more strings then he knew what to do with, a shipboard funeral had been cancelled immediately Saladin had been enraged when he heard of it, that was his first blowup at a junior counselor. She was his wife and he would not hear of her buried in a Federation torpedo tube covered with their flag. She would not lay in space and desiccate, she would go to her rest where she belonged, among her adopted family, those little ones that had survived, it was down to the Talarian hook spider and a Vulcan spinner, but the Vulcan spinner looked worse each day, would be placed in her coffin and buried alongside her.

The vessel arrived; sleek and silver sending a Federation Diplomatic priority one message and carrying special orders from high up command to have no starship interfere. A shuttle craft departed and landed, there Saladin waited as it descended. Stepping off were first 6 lancers in full ceremonial armor sabers on their hips They moved as if perfectly machined then came to crisp attention as an older man carrying a cane along with two guards stepped off.

Saladin strode forward, "I thank you father, for coming.

Charlemagne’s visage was long with grief, "I wish this was to mark the arrival of your son, though I understand Tammerlain still lives."

"He does. Tammerlain Bolivar, out of Ahdjiia by Saladin lives on, he has his mother's toughness and father's stubbornness."

"Good, I have brought a representative of the Khotan to witness the departure ceremony."

"They were her family, they are more then welcome."

Commander Axel Hendershaw, Jebediah's oldest son and fresh out of the Command school program from the Academy stood to be the one to represent his father and the K'Hotan. Jeb would have been there himself, but he'd pulled so many favors, he was stuck paying things back.

Axel was silent, not having the words to say in condolence, but his face showed the shared sorrow.

The guards moved down Saladin just nodded to Axel having no words himself, he understood the bond all of the Khotani shared and knew the funeral would be overloaded.

The silent procession moved through the ship. Crew got out of the way. Saladin wouldn't meet any of their eyes, the Federation showed what it was made of this day and he would never forgive them.

Charlemagne just sighed sadly, his son was angry, he had tried to speak to him, to get him to forgive and think of the alliance and what good it could do. But Saladin had heard none of it.

Finally they stopped and there sat the torpedo casing that contained his wife's remains. It was draped with the flag of the Federation.

As usual his requests had been ignored, he walked over to the casing and spoke to the soldiers who two went back to the shuttle and brought a simple oak coffin.

Saladin removed the flag and the only thing that kept him from tossing it on the ground was Axel standing there. So he laid it aside and opened the tube.

He knelt down next to it and looked in, "they haven't prepared her for her journey... she should have been prepared by both Chrysallian and Nietzchean standards." He was speaking woodenly, it was all he could do to avoid breaking down here, and that would not do.

Charlemagne removed the robes of his office and handed them to one of his guards, then he spoke to Axel, "It is tradition for family to prepare her for her journey. You are family."

"My father wishes he could've been here himself, but he's bound to paying back the strings he pulled for things to be possible.", Axel said.

Kneeling down, Saladin showed the rare tenderness only Ahdjiia ever saw. He gently washed her face then closed her eyes. Removing a bolt of the purest silk that he had he began to wrap her body. Over her face he gently placed her mantilla then before covering it he softly kissed her dead lips.

Charlemagne looked away in respect, his son would have his moment alone. The guards acting as one turned away.

Axel just looked down, finding his boots extremely interesting about now.

Eventually the small moment was over and Charlemagne removed his robe and handed it to a guard. There father and son picked up Ahdjiia's remains and placed her gently in the coffin. Saladin paused for a second then a sword was placed next to the shrouded form, it was the blade he had made for her that he presented to her when they came back from the homeworld. He then placed the shroud wrapped spiders and closed the box. He stepped back and two guards draped the flag of the alliance over her coffin then took positions.

Saladin walked over, "Do you wish to say goodbye?" He asked Axel.

"Thank you.", Axel said as he stepped to the coffin, head bowed respectfully, and very discreetly slipped in the personal farewell note from his father that the elder Hendershaw insisted be put with Ahdjiia who in days past had been a bit more than just a friend.

The guards marched in formation over to the coffin and picked her up, Then in machined formation they walked out of the cargo bay with her remains hoisted on her shoulder, Saladin walked beside his father with Axel on the other side. His face was a stony mask and he didn't change expression.

Aides had picked up his son earlier and now he was going to escort his wife home.

Once the procession was on the ship and had left the Galaxy, what appeared to be a very souped up Captain's yacht came tearing towards the ship, only to just barely slow to fly in pace with it.

They flew in formation, as they approached the homeworld more ships flew in formation beside them. Charlemagne just watched Saladin with concern, his son was internalizing it too much, he too mourned Ahdjiia, he too felt the anger that the Federation had not allowed him vengeance.

=On the homeworld=

Plans had been made for a burial with full honors. The guards approached and she would lay in state for four days which would allow her family from the Khotan to arrive when they could.

A small group of four females had pretty much stood coffin-side with an endurance to rival the Nietchzean guard present. All stood unmoving save for the shortest of the group, an engineer with glasses who wouldn't stop chain smoking or glowering in general

The guards stayed away from that one, she had already injured one and would more likely then not injure a second one. More Khotani came, Daniel Macgreggor came holding Rose Hendershaw's hand in his as they went up to the coffin. He had been through this himself and he bore his own grief.

Captain Dahmyen Ki'ia arrived with several of the K'Hotan's senior officers, he himself clad in the sterile white mourning robes of his people. He'd already had copies of the mementos from the bar on the ship that pertained to Ahdjiia handed over to one of the guards to ensure they'd be brought to Saladin.

Meskis, the idiot savant chief engineer kept sniffle sobbing despite he didn't have tear ducts to cry while Boone, the assistant chief of sciences manned alternating handkerchiefs with Marya, the robotoid chief of ops for when Meskis got too loud.

The ceremony started with a flurry of drums and bagpipes as the band marched behind her coffin pulled by a team of horses. Guards marched beside the bier as she was pulled through the streets. People stood on the streets and watched the ceremony. Saladin was silent.

Liam walked next to mar his hand in hers as they followed with the Khotani.

At the back of the procession, two dark robed figures joined in. The one was clearly a Thyan'atosii Necroyan, a travelling deathpriest who at times officiated at the preparations for the deceased, or assisted. The white-maned, alabaster skinned female carried her ceremonial scythe, while the one with her, an apprentice by the looks of his raiment simply carried a tome, his head bowed as he walked.

Stopping at the cryptside An ornately robed judge spoke some words, about Ahdjiia and how important she was to the pride the house and Saladin himself. Then they looked over at the Khotani and Charlemagne spoke, "If her friends wish to say something, now is the time." The K'Hotani assembled all turned to one who'd speak for them, and the short engineer with glasses stepped forward.

"I've been the one picked to speak for all of us on this.", Mariko said, then took a breath and spoke to the gathered as she lit up a cig.

"I think I can sum it up as Ahdjiia was one of a kind. Helpful to any, and never hesitated to throw down when things came to that. Fu...I always figured she'd be doing this at my last hoodehoo. We're all gonna miss her and the universe is all the poorer for it. Death sucks ass when it takes the ones who don't deserve it.", she said, then rejoined the others. Some were wincing that Mar was still Mar even in this somber moment.

Saladin just nodded, and he paused, Mariko had spoken from the heart, and her words meant more then any politicians, this is why he asked the Khotani to be there, because he knew they were her friends, and yes he also knew about her relationship with Jeb Hendershaw but he didn't care.

He strode down, "Ahdjiia was more then just my wife, she was my friend, my partner, and the person who truly completed me in all things...." He looked down trying to think of what to say, "I remember when we first met that day on the Galaxy and it was like I knew her forever. The more I found out about her the more I loved her...." Looking down he had to close his eyes and the struggle within him was noticeable. Usually the spouse was given time to collect themselves and he had done admirably being in seclusion for as long as he was, but he was struggling mightily with the control he was losing that battle. "...I wish she was here today, so she could see her friends all here, speaking from the heart. This is what she would have wanted." He couldn't get some of the words out his words had gotten softer but he pushed on, pausing liberally to control the emotions churning, he wanted to yell to scream to climb in a fighter and lead an attack squadron personally against those who hurt her... Eventually he stopped and exhaled, "I'll miss you Ahdjiia, love, I'll never forget you." He walked over to the coffin and kissed his palm and placed it on the wood over where her cheek would have been.

In the crowd Daniel and Viktor in two separate positions looked down, Dan had to wipe tears away this was hard on him and he took Rose's hand for support. Viktor was leaning more on the bond he shared with Kesh to keep his reserve but he too took her hand.

Some had silent tears trickling down their faces, others simply held hands in support. All were in need of a good stiff drink in private.

The coffin was lifted by the same guards who moved in formation to the tomb. Then the ceremony was over.

An after ceremony was held in Charlemagne’s official residence and Khotani mingled as best that they could with official members of the pride. The talking was subdued despite the amount of alcohol flowing. Some K'Hotani discreetly took their leave as the afterceremony went on.

There was one bit of ceremony that some noticed Saladin had, after the funeral left for a private room in the residence. At the door were two of the Praetorians who had carried Ahdjiia's coffin and they stood almost as if guarding.

Daniel noticed it first and tried to head over but his way was blocked, Charlemagne approached him, "He is not to be disturbed. It is tradition, when you suffer such a loss you are secluded for some time to grieve.

"Oh.. Why?"

"One does not grieve publicly, it shows a weakness."

"That's fucked up.", Mar grumbled behind Daniel, then glowered at the guards, "Duder here's been in the same boat so maybe he can help Salad."

Charlemagne just looked at her, "it is our way, fucked up or not. I do hope you understand."

"I can still bitch about it.", Mar said, looking up at Charlemagne.

"Yes you can." Charlemagne nodded to her and he still looked older then he should have, he was tired a lot easier and sometimes he'd have coughing jags that would go on until he was blue in the face. Literally.

"Hey, why don't you sit for a bit, this's been rough on all of us.", Mar said.

He moved to a chair and Danny moved over to assist him along with some guards that were always around. He managed to favor Mar with a smile and touched her cheek like she was his favored daughter, "Thank you for watching out for an old man..."

Mar actually smiled back, "I'm an old hand at this. With so much going on in the head, you forget that you do need to do some things like sit for a few or eat."

Charlamagne nodded and he sat for a second then wiped his brow, he was a bit pale but that was his normal color. "I just need a glass of water and your company if you wish it..."

"Sure.", Mar said as she got the water and pulled up a chair. Her wrist scars were visible as she handed the water over.

Charlamagne noted them and raised an eyebrow curiously then took the water. "thank you...your injuries.." He pointed to her wrists, "they were not serious?"

"I did them myself.", she said honestly, "I've been trying to off myself for years, just haven't managed to pull it off yet without someone stepping in."

"Well perhaps it is the fates way of telling you that your time is not here yet." Charlamagne sipped the water and sat back, still having some trouble breathing but it was acceptable.

"I'll pull it off eventually."

Charlamagne shook his head sadly, "There has been enough death, let us talk of other things."

"So you know, your guards can't take a decent hit to save their asses, and the cooks here are the only ones in the galaxy who cant' make decent Barbecue, Mexican, Italian or Chinese."

"Well I will speak to them, as for taking a decent hit, they have not met you before Mariko..." He chuckled and coughed a bit then stopped and leaned back, "Perhaps you would like a job training my soldiers..."

"You could send them to the family farm back on Earth. After my family's through with them, they could handle anything with one arm tied behind their backs.", Mar grinned.

He laughed, then put an arm around her shoulder, "Are you sure they would survive?" He heard the stories of Mariko and noted what a troublemaker she was and how she had survived so much, he admired that in anyone.

Then there was a click as a door opened, Saladin strode out, his uniform impeccable and his face a stone mask.

“Fare thee well….” Part 2 of 2

(Takes place starting immediately after ‘Permission Granted’)

Principal Characters:
Saladin Bolivar,
Now first chair of the Presidium of the Nietzchean alliance

Mariko Del Judas

A whole mess of Khotani

**********

The room turned as one once Saladin appeared, silently waiting if he said anything.

"I...thank you all for coming, friends, comrades, those who have made journeys to be here for this day."

Then he paused for a second, "It would have meant a lot to Ahdjiia to see you all here, though if she was here, this gathering would be a lot more festive."

After a pause he spoke again, "Thank you for coming." He walked over to where Mariko was sitting.

Some left quietly now that Saladin had spoken, and Mar looked up at him when he approached.

He looked at her for a second then spoke to Charlamagne, "father may I speak with Mariko for a moment?"

Charlamagne nodded, but did quip, "What you take away this beauty from me..."

"Don't let mother hear you say that..." It was the closest he'd get to a quip or joke. They walked off and he looked at her, "Ahdjiia spoke fondly of you."

"Hopefully more things than all the times she busted my nose or jaw when I'd be on a roll.", Mar said matter-of-factly.

"She spoke of that too." Saladin looked sad and tired. He wasn't crying though he tried to keep his mind firm, "I know she would want me to ask you this favor."

"Shoot."

"I would like you to be godmother to Tammerlain." He said, "I know Ahdjiia would want you to take this role and I think you'd be good at it.

"It's a done deal."

He nodded and actually turned away to control himself, There was a part of him that just wanted to end it and be with Ahdjiia for eternity. "Hey.", Mar said after a bit of silence, "You shouldn't be alone tonight."

He turned to her, "But Mariko I am alone now, I will be alone forever."

"Oh shut the fuck up and listen. Yes, you've just had one of the major kicks to the balls life can throw at you, and it's completely your call on being lonely for the rest of your days, BUT speaking as one who's been there, done that, sat down and had a brew, you can't be alone tonight. So, deal with it, you're stuck with me and my rumored snoring."

He looked at her and a small smile crossed his face, "I see Ahdjiia didn't lie about your stubborn streak."

Then he sighed, "Very well...you will stay."

"I'll be following you for when you decide to crash."

He nodded and said his goodbyes, to people that had come, friends, comrades, tomorrow they would declare vengeance against those who took Ahdjiia, god help those who stood in his way.

Eventually Saladin headed back to his room.

Mar was already there. By now just a hint of the Angry Face that she was infamous for was enough to keep folks silent. She'd already undressed for bed and was getting situated under the furs.

He noted her sleep and silently sat in a chair. Not moving from the seat he put his hands in his face and cried quietly. She wasn't really asleep, just closed her eyes and was about to drift off.

Silently Mar sat up in bed, keeping the furs around her and just waited while Saladin let it all out.

He sat there quietly as he sobbed then he moved next to her on the bed he still sat there crying for a bit longer then wiped his face, there was some shame on his face, "Y...you shouldn't have seen me like that." He said softly. "Big Whoo. Guys cry, I make them do that regularly.", Mar said matter-of-factly.

"But...I should not show such weakness." He looked at her, "I don't want people to see it..." He wanted to feel something besides pain, besides loneliness he wanted to feel like he did when he was with Ahdjiia. He was silent for a moment.

"I...I don't want to feel like this tonight...."

"Fine. Get in bed."

He paused, then looked at her, then he reached over and touched her cheek, his fingers traced her skin and he gently kissed her forehead.

It didn't matter to Mar if they just shared the bed or things went further. Either way, things just stayed here just because Saladin wasn't thinking straight and this would be the hardest of nights for him to get through.

He then lifted her chin and softly kissed her lips, tonight he wanted to feel good, alive, something, besides so miserable.

Saying nothing, Mar just followed the lead Saladin started.

The kiss stopped and he rested his head against hers, "I just want to feel good tonight...." He said softly.

"Sure.", she said softly as she rolled him on his back.

=Next morning=

Saladin awoke silently and looked over at a sleeping Mariko Del Judas and he put his feet on the ground. The sad part was even though that happened last night, he was still alone... Mar woke when she felt Saladin stir, and she rolled over. "Good, you're still alive."

"Why would I not be?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, "I am alive, and last night I wasn't alone, if I was...maybe I would not be."

"You're talking to the expert when it comes to ending it.", Mar said, "But you got through the first night, and you got a kid who's going to need you."

He nodded, then he paused, and exhaled. "Tammerlain needs his father. Thank you for staying." He gently kissed her lips softly.

"Hey, you need anything. Even just to glower at someone and say not a damn thing. You know where to find me."

He smiled and then laced his fingers with hers, "You are welcome any time Mariko..." "I might give your guards ulcers if I take you up on that.", Mar smirked.

Saladin smiled softly, for one of the first times after the incident he actually gave out a smile because he was happy. "They can face down rampaging Nausicans, they can handle a Del Judas woman." "Not sure on that. The one who said I couldn't smoke went down pretty fast."

"I will...discuss the smoking rules with my father. He does like you somewhat."

"He reminds me of my grandpa. They even got the same ramrod stiff posture."

"And you remind him of the daughter he never had."

"Scary thought.", Mar chuckled, "I think I out glowered that old prune with the foonch."

"You did most women do not out glower grandmother Freya, only two women have." "Who's my competition?"

"Ahdjiia and my mother."

"Was your ma the one who said my technique wasn't that bad when I crocked that one big fella when I got off the ship?"

"That would be her." He rose and headed off for the shower, "The gentleman you were with Liam I think his name was, will he be ok with what happened?" Mar shrugged. "We've come to an understanding more or less. What happened, happened and it stays here."

He nodded and then said, "As long as it was not disrespectful to Ahdjiia..."

"She'd rise up and break my nose again if I let you jip your son by not being there for him."

He nodded and walked over to her, "In all honesty Mariko, I didn't want to hurt, I wanted to feel anything but that." He sat next to her and gave her a sideways hug.

Mar hugged him back. "Remember, I'm just a commcall away if you need anything."

He smiled, "It is mutual....Mar..." First time he'd used her shortened name." "You go get cleaned up, I've got some ulcers to induce with the guards."

"Do not kill too many of them, I do need them to protect my father after all."

"Look at it as now you've got something else to threaten them with to keep them on thier toes.", Mar chuckled.

He laughed and then he disappeared for a bit before coming out dressed, "Tammerlain's christening will be tomorrow..."

Mar had dressed as well, even made the bed so there was no trace of her having been there. "I'll be up early for it.", she said.

He walked over to her and gently placed a hand on her cheek then kissed her forehead. With a smile he looked at her, "Good I have some business to take care of... "

=end of the week=

Charlemagne’s passing had not been much of a surprise. Saladin wore it well, still grieving for his wife he had buried his father next to her Then he was selected to take his father's slot as first chairman. Mariko stayed with him to help him but they did not share a bed again. He did not need it, but they would grab coffee and talk some times. He had just finished another conversation with Starfleet command where he hung up on Admiral Ross with a growl. "Proved himself a raging jackass again, didn't he?", Mar said as she leaned in the doorway.

"He says he doesn’t have the terrorist leader who ordered Ahdjiia's murder, so he can’t give him to us."

"There's ways around that shit. Had a feeling, made a call."

He looked at her, "Oh?"

"You round up the boys you need with you, and follow the co-ordinates here without making so much as a sniff, then bug out the same way when you're done. He might not be the one that ordered the strike, my sources weren’t certain, but he’s the best bet they had," Mar said as she handed over a PADD, "Jeb's making sure enough folks are looking the other way, but you blow this and there's a shitload of asses on the line."

He nodded, "I have a troop that can handle it, I wish more admirals were like Hendershaw maybe we'd have a stronger alliance."

"He's old school like my family. Sometimes the answer is blood for blood no matter how 'barbaric' it sounds."

"This is one of those times, Come your shuttle will be here in two hours, Servants have packed and we have time to say goodbye to Ahdjiia if you want."

Mar nodded and headed off.

Saladin did give her the time to say goodbye and then he walked over to her after she was finished. Stopping at the Crypt that held his wife, and his father he looked at the bodies, for some reason he was more upset about Ahdjiia but that was because Charlamagne had lived a long life, and had died like he wanted, surrounded by family and friends, his progeny many and powerful and his enemies all dead by unexplainable accidents. But he stayed for a second with Ahdjiia's remains and then he walked over to the scowling engineer, "I have another favor to ask of you."

"Shoot."

He walked over to her and put a hand on her face, "Live...for me, for Tamemerlain for Ahdjiia's memory, live on, live to a ripe old age and die with family surrounding you, children by your side, a line that stretches through the universe and all those who oppose you dead from accidents that can't be traced back to you. Live well and live good. If you died at your own hand, I don't know if I could take it, I care about you, you are someone I consider a dear friend, and that was before this week."

It sounded like something that'd be said in the days when the Del Judas' were gangsters during Prohibition and the years after. Mar sighed. "You're a right bastich ain't you.", she said with a glowery smile, "I'll play it by ear, see what happens."

"I am a bastard Mar, I am after all Nietzchean, and we learned real fast, don't play fair, play to win." He smiled then they walked some more. He paused, "I have one more thing to offer if you wish it."

"Spill."

"I know your genetic mixture makes the production of offspring difficult..." Before a word could come out of her mouth he held up his hand, "Ahdjiia told me when we talked, My people's genetcists could possibly rectify that, so you could have offspring with no treatments needed."

"She fucking told...", Mar growled softly. The old jokes about the Del Judas family truly having a little of everything within their bloodline, really wasn't a joke, and was a shining testament to the combined genetic sciences of Terra, Vulcan and Quo'nos. They literally did have a little of every race known to the Federation save for Q, Breen or Dominion flowing through their veins. But it carried a heavy price in that for the past several generations, no children could be born without assistance. The tendency towards all being crazy as a march hare, that was considered a character trait.

"I'll think about it.", she said after some thought.

He nodded, "And yes Mar she did tell, because we have no secrets in our marriage."

Then he looked at her, "Come on your shuttle awaits."

Mar nodded and they walked off.

As they walked Saladin looked at her, then they paused and he chuckled a bit, "Well... I will say this about father, if he was going to go he did go well."

"Oh?", Mar said with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a curious purr in her tone.

"Apparently he'd taken a bit of a shine on Medea." Saladin explained, "And she had taken a shine to him, or at least thought he was cute enough and they ended up...in bed when he died. Only the fact it was natural causes and my intervention made sure she wasn't arrested..." He shook his head, "Though mother will always insist he died in his sleep."

Mar winced. "I hope it was after."

"It was." They stopped at the shuttle bay and he looked at her, "I have instructed the patrols, if any Khotani wishes to come visit they simply have to let the approach control know and the only Starfleet vessel welcome is the Khotan."

Then he extended his hand to her, "Thank you for staying like you did, I don't know if I would have handled it well alone."

Mar just shrugged and smirked. She took his hand and on impulse pulled him close into a hug. "You're a stubborn muthafucka. Tam-tam's lucky to have you as a dad."

Saladin hugged her back then gave her forehead one more kiss, "and he's lucky to have you as a godmother and Liam as a godfather. Remember if you want to visit you are more then welcome." "Sure.", she smiled as she let him go, "Though that's guaranteed to set a rash of ulcers with your guards."

They walked to the shuttle and Liam stood at the door, he nodded to Saladin politely then smiled at Mar and disappeared back in.

Saladin smiled, "Live well Mariko Del Judas, Out of Carol by James."

Mar chuckled and smiled. "You too, Saladin Bolivar out of Boudicca by Charlemagne."

"lightning crashes, a new mother cries

her placenta falls to the floor

the angel opens her eyes

the confusion sets in

before the doctor can even close the door

lightning crashes, an old mother dies

her intentions fall to the floor

the angel closes her eyes

the confusion that was hers

belongs now, to the baby down the hall

oh now feel it comin' back again

like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind

forces pullin' from the center of the earth again

I can feel it.

lightning crashes, a new mother cries

this moment she's been waiting for

the angel opens her eyes

pale blue colored iris, presents the circle

and puts the glory out to hide, hide

oh now feel it comin' back again

like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind

forces pullin' from the center of the earth again

I can feel it.

I can feel it...."
-- "Lightning Crashes", Live

OOC: To recap, Samantha Widdlestein is a eleven year old friend of Arel's who send's her holoprograms from time to time, with a holographic representation of herself included. She is currently branching out from fairy tales to romance novels and Victor Krieghoff is the model for the lead male in her book :)

*Takes place during the three months before the break on Starbase 212 -----

"Deadly Kisses" The Savage Chronicles *lol*

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Samantha Widdlestein, holographic representation

and introducing Victor Savage, holographic hunk extraordinaire

*****

USS Miranda Holodeck Two

The USS Galaxy glided on blue-green waves into Port Charles on a sunny mid-afternoon.

It's sails billowing, it's dark wood gleaming, the ship was a sight to behold, a vessel of integrity and majesty.

Arel Smith was not impressed.

She looked at the ship with a scowl. "What kind of fairy tale is this?"

The holographic Samantha Widdlestein looked up at her happily. "Oh, this isn't a fairy tale. This is chapter's one through twelve of my new book."

Arel's scowl tappered to a frown as she looked at the boat. Usually, in Sam's stories, there was an atmosphere of enthusiasm and cheerfulness; this tale looked a little less innocent. She could have sworn that a woman was soliciting someone further down the dock. "What kind of story?"

Samantha blinked as if she had not expected Arel to ask this. She muttered something and then blushed when Arel told her to speak the hell up. "It's a romance novel."

Arel laughed, a short clipped noise. "See you later, Sam."

"Aw, common." Samantha whined. "I need to test out my ideas."

"There's no smegging way!" Arel had read a few romance novels before, during a period of exploring human hobbies. She knew what kind of crap went down in them. There was no way she'd be playing the type of half wit women she had read about.

Besides, she was feeling very pregnant. She was not feeling romantic, not that she supposed she ever had to begin with. Romance was something that just a concept that eluded her for some reason. About the most romantic thing she had ever done was not kill her ex boyfriend one morning for stealing all the covers the previous night.

"Puh-lease." Sam begged.

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaassseee."

"Hell no."

"AH-REL!" The little girl whined, holographic tears begining to form."PUH-LEASE!"

"Samantha Widdlestein." Arel began. "There is no way in this universe that I am going to stay here and act like some stupid twit that acts like a...oh my Kahless...."

Samantha turned to where Arel's attention had just been diverted and then smiled smugly. "You were saying?

Arel blinked and then continued to watch the man as he came down the plank.

Tall and dark-haired, with a slight scowl on his handsome, saturnine face, the man in the black captain's uniform walked down the plank like a great jungle cat prowling the trails of his home. An almost palpable sense of menace seemed to curl around him like a clinging mist, and caused sailors in his path to veer away, one even flinching as the officer passed by without ever having turned around to see who it was behind him.

"Wow." Arel managed.

Samantha clapped happily. "I knew he was perfect!"

The officer paused at the bottom of the gangway, looked around, and started towards Arel and Sam with a purposeful stride, sailors and dockworkers parting around him out to a distance of several meters. As he neared, the sense of menace that Arel had felt from a distance grew stronger, until at the three-meter mark, it was enough to send a prickle of fear up her spine, a whisper that there was something dangerous approaching.

The officer stopped a meter away and bowed. "Lady Widdlestein." His voice was a low, flat growl, like a tiger held in check might sound, and it sent a different kind of shiver up Arel's spine.

Arel stopped staring long enough to address Sam. "You *created* him?"

Samantha didn't hesitate, knowing that it was a crime to recreate people without their authorization, having done it many many times before. "Yup. Great, isn't he? Arel Smith, meet Victor Savage." She grinned and then nudged Arel. "Say hello."

"Hello." Arel said after a full minuted went by. For the first time in her life, she could understand why some people chose to go to the Holodeck for romance. This man was....damn.

"You'll have to excuse her, Victor." Samantha smirked. "The sight of you just erased all memory of her ex boyfriend and speach capacity apparently."

Arel would have to agree. It was the first time she found herself not thinking about James Mitchell and various ways to get even with him. It was actually a welcome event.

But it also wouldn't do to go walking around with her mouth hanging open. "So what now?"

"You're a scientist that's going to hire him to take you around to study killer sharks." Sam explained. "You have to ask him."

"Killer sharks?" Arel began with a *tone* but rolled her eyes when Sam's face darkened. "So, er, Victor. How much to rent the boat?"

Savage looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head once in dismissal. "It isn't for rent. Not to you."

Hot or not, Arel Smith bristled. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he repeated without inflectional change, "It isn't for rent to you. At any price."

The holographic Samantha watched, storing the information away in her memory banks.

Arel scowled. "Now, look here Sparky..."

"Savage. They did teach you English in whatever fancy girl's school you escaped from, didn't they?"

She'd heard enough. She had Victor Savage on his back in under five seconds, a knife to his throat. Arel turned her head to look at Samantha. "You need to work on his response time, Samantha. He should be faster than this."

Samantha nodded.

At that moment, Savage growled once, a sound more appropriate to an animal than anything human, and the sense of menace surrounding him magnified, pushing at Arel in an almost physical way, making a primitive part of her mind shriek and draw back in terror. One hand closed over hers, twisted and moved the knife out of line, and with a sudden slam she found their positions reversed, Savage looking down into her eyes, to growl with a voice that sounded like Death itself, "Never do that again."

She may have been scared but Arel had faced the Borg, the Hirogen, etc. This pthak wasn't going to get the better of her. Arel slammed her knee up into his stomach and managed to get away. "I'll do what I want."

Savage accepted the blow without a grunt, and took a step back to open up the distance between them to two meters. "Your privilege, schoolgirl." He looked down at the knife in his hand, shook his head, and tossed it over the side of the pier. "You just won't be doing it on my boat."

Arel gave Samantha a look of exasperation. It was lucky that this was a holodeck program; that was one of her favorite knives.

"You have to insult him." Samantha said, rolling her eyes at Arel's lack of understanding of the common day romance. Hadn't she read Burning Hearts of Qo'nos? Geez...

This she had no problem doing. Arel began to call him every name in the book, in both Federation Standard and Klingon, and then, when that didn't get any response, she started to insult his family.

The next thing she knew she was being slammed up against a wall somewhere, which she and the baby both didn't appreciate. Arel grunted and the baby kicked.

"Never talk about my family like that," Savage growled, his voice sending shivers through her. He leaned close, his presence pressing her against the wall as firmly as his hands. "Say what you want about me, but not them, understand?" He started to speak again, stopped, sniffed her hair like a wolf and growled, low and soft, "I 'm used to it, even deserve some of it, but they don't. Not them."

He looked at her oddly for a moment, still holding her in place, and then bent his head down in a single swift motion to claim her lips, slowly at first, and then hungrily, with hints of a terrible need.

Wide eyed, Arel actually gasped.

She tried to push him off for maybe half a second and then gave up. Truthfully, the kiss felt good and she'd been pretty pent up lately.

She had to knee him in the groin, though, when he began to pull her to the ground.

"Kahless on crutches, Sam." Arel gasped. "What *have* you been reading?"

Samantha smirked.

"Okay, first off." Arel said as she backed far away from the holographic Savage. "No sex in streets. That's just in bad taste."

Sam made a note. "Anything else?"

Arel took a deep breath and told herself that she was NOT blushing. "Er, a little less tongue action."

Samantha nodded. "And?"

"I am *not* having sex with him to further along your story. Got that, Kid?"

The girl looked a little dissapointed but nodded again. "Don't worry, Arel. We'll just skip chapters two, three, five, six...."

"SAMANTHA!!!" Arel interrupted.

"...seven, nine, and eleven, and just go to the part where he saves you from the killer sharks."

"Oh goodie." The security officer said dryly.

"Any other problems with Savage?"

Arel felt her cheeks redden a bit. She'd just blame the hormones from the baby. "No. No, he's passable."

Arel could of sworn that she heard Victor Savage snort.

"Green Goo and Stardrifters"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

And
Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy

<> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <>

Location: Starbase 212, Tech Shop

By tech shop's standards, the store on Starbase 212 was very sanitary.

Gone were the mechanic's smocks, concrete floors thick with dust and smattered with greasy petrochemicals, the shelves of disorganized hoses and unknown metal parts, and the questionable, lubricant smeared, chemical drenched, dirt coated redneck adding more dirt to his hands with a messy handkerchief.

This was the 24th century. People were much more sanitary... even if organization skills have not changed.

Somewhere in a bucket of crystal like forms was a literal diamond in the rough. Fishing through the clinking crystals and miscellaneous circuits, digging through junk unbefitting a senior officer, James was looking for a rare find.

Anything was possible in a junk shop. It was when his fingers closed in on a champange coloured, one centimetre squared cube, ringed by metal rings bristled with attachments that James realized he found his rare find.

The serial number even said so. HKMod59911. A Heckler and Koch phaser focusing crystal, model 59911. A high quality item Starfleet skipped over the Andorian Arms Industry 8811 due to the need for cheap parts during the Dominion War. It was easier to find the Arc of the Covenant than to get a post war model rifle or refitted type threes.

Why wait for BUPERS when James had the initiative to do it himself?

"Hey!" James yelled over to the man at the counter, a wild haired mechanically inclined man who lacked grease but fulfilled every other requirement, "Do you have any more HK Model 59911 focusing crystals?"

The storeowner shrugged, "I'll look in the back."

"Thanks." James grinned as the storeowner, watching him go into the back, ~"I'll get a seven percent improvement on accuracy with our type 3's with these babies! Shame i'll have to rebore the firing chamber."~

Harinordoquy had been rummaging through the shops less frequently accessed units. He'd lost his hand towel in a sloppy green goo some containers ago despite his desperate attempts to recover it. He had'nt intended on looking like a grease monkey engineer but he couldnt help it. Maybe if the inventory list made sense then he wouldnt have spent the best part of an hour with is arms stuck in some very strange places.

He eventually emerged from the depths of a large container with the FN Herstan dispersal node. Provided he could integrate it to thier rifles firing matrix he could use it to update the Hazard arsenal. Wiping the device with his shirt Imanol couldnt help but overhear a rather strange request at the counter.

The HK 59911 was some sort of an enigma to Imanol, it was almost phantom like in the way it disappeared from inventory lists overnight. Unfortunatley after several months of tracking them he'd never actually got his hands on one. The Hazard soldier walked to the counter and placed his own device down. Several moments passed as the two men waited for the attendant to return.

"The HK 59911??" Imanol inquired.

James glanced at Imanol. The man beside him was taller than he, bigger than he! A solid built caucasian man, his stance legionnaire straight, his voice a more relaxed, charming, terranborne variety James heard from the Starfleet staff that came from the Paris or Versailles centres (much different from his own sharp, clipped space boomer accent). Their hair shared a similar colour, though his was crewcut and James was parted down the middle.

The uniform on James' neighbor was unique, a variant of his own. James' terry soft, gray shouldered model contrasted with his neighbor's more 'synthetic plastic' gray shoulders, and the lines on Imanol's uniform were deeper and darker. His uniform also brought out more of his physique, in an artificial way, more like hardened, paper thin armour than a uniform.

There was also one pip on his collar. Surely he didn't look THAT young!

"That's right. And yours is a Fabrique National Herstan dispersal node. Great for the type three c's... though i'd go for a Colt model for anything else."

"Well we have an offshoot of the type three rifles. Its an industrial rifle, pretty robust for the average officer so not very popular with starships. Ive been working on making room inside the firing matrix to fit in a dispersal node. The FNH is the most powerful around so why not." Imanol could'nt help but gawk at the device which the attendant set infront of the stranger.

"Can I ?" he inquired.

James showed the 59911 to Imanol, "You know your stuff, that's for sure. Most security officers wouldn't give a sh*t as long as their phasers fired somewhat straight, and your uniform is rather odd. You're not a marine, you're not a security officer. Who are you? You're not Special Forces, aren't you?"

It was'nt the first time people had asked that. Seemingly Hazard had become a somewhat fashionable department. That its soldiers were rarely seen outside their starships added to its mystique. The Marines and Rangers were common enough but Hazard Team and Rogue Squadron were almost out of sight.

"Well, special forces maybe, Im a Hazard officer" Imanol replied with a smirk.

The feeling James felt when Imanol dropped that particular bomb was a sinking pitfall blended with a realized opportunity that was barely registering. "My god, you're a... yes!"

Imanol stood rather uncomfortabley. It was a little unusual that a Lieutenant Commander was marvelling over the French man. It was slightly creepy, like at mad scientist sizing up a transplant candidate. Well, sort of...

"Apologies for being a little freaked out here sir but..."

"Sorry." James blushed while apologizing profusely, "It's just that... well... what a coincidence! I was thinking of implimenting a Hazard Team on my ship as well. Oh my god, what an opportunity it is to meet you, sir." James then thrust out his hand, and shook Imanol's own vigorously, "I am Lieutenant Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security on the USS Galaxy. Pleased to meet you."

"Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy, Hazard Eight, USS Miranda." he nodded to the security chief.

"Well, i'm glad to meet you, Ensign." James retreated his hand, "I was going to talk to the Chief of Security and your Hazard Team leader about implimenting an elite force on my ship, but I would like to hear about your experiences as one of the soldiers. Come, after we pay for this junk, we'll go get a drink."

James then patted his shopping basket, left beside him on the counter. It rattled, creaked, grinded and clanged like rusty teeth, "Old chips to power tricorders on Jem'Hadar disruption fields, phase modulator addons... the list goes on and on. Can't wait to sort through all this crap."

"I Have'nt seen much 'action' as a Hazard so far. Ariss, my room mate, who happens to be in security thinks thats a good thing. Im bred for conflict, peace makes me restless.." Imanol passed a number of credits along the counter to the attendent. He signalled over his shoulder to the attendant, "You might want to have a look at that green sh*t over there, its growing a head".

"Oh... that?" Watching the growing 'head' bubble out of the green, snotlike glue, James slid a slim metal rod out of his basket, and prodded the slime. It effectively popped, the noise messier than the effect. "Air bubble. Lets pay for this crap and get a drink, shall we?"

***********

Starbase 212s bar was big, crowded and loud. Always bustling with business it was a welcome port of call for visiting officers and civilians. Todays atmosphere was no different, many of the USS Mirandas crew were taking rest bite from duties. Everyone was keen to get off the ship having spent the best part of the last three months twiddling their thumbs and running diagnostics. Imanol was even more claustrophobic then the rest of them. Acknowledging a number of nods and waves Imanol made his way towards the main lounge with his new acquaintance . All traces of the Felecium drug had cleared from Imanols system following the incident at Deep Space Nine. Today he could relax a little and take in a few bevies. Afterall he was in good company. He waited while James politely acknowledged his friends and colleagues around the bar.

Though it was not in James plans to talk seriously about their trade at a Starbase bar with an Ensign in an elite squad that Corgan had no chance of joining at that young man's age, it was still a fun diversion.

Youth was not determined by age. Imanol 'Hazard Eight' Harinordoquy hadn't seen that much combat, while James was himself a veteran of many conflicts.

Both could learn from each other, but it was increasingly difficult once James was introduced to a new friend... the stardrifter. They were drinking their third 'drifter, and it was much easier to impart wisdom at that point.

"I've seen quite a bit of action." James confessed to Imanol, "Sector 001 was my first action. Plenty of action during the Dominion War in one of the more disposable starship troop regiments. After the war, i've seen peacetime combat on Bajor, against Hirojen Hunters, more Borg, and lately with insurgents on Gryphon. So, how much have you seen?"

Imanol sighed. "I fought in the latter stages of the Dominion war and on Cardassia with the Rangers. Thats about the extent of it. With Hazard I hav'nt seen so much as a public order offense. It has been quite frustrating"

"Get out? You're still green?" James snickered, "I'm surprised. Exploration... brings about some unexpected and very strange encounters, and most of them tend to hate us. See this scar?" James traced a finger down his right eye, showing the barely visible scar, "It is mostly healed. I received that from a Hirogen hunter's blade. Bloody bastard cut vision in my eye, so that's why I wear glasses. I'd get the implant... but that would have disqualified me in marksmanship competitions. But since this was my good aiming eye... well..."

He tapped his glasses, "I can't do long distance shooting anymore. A real shame. I used to be good at it. I even won the competition at the Academy one year."

"I cant say that I have any notable battle scars myself. Its not that Im just a damn good soldier" he said with a smile. "The Starfleet aristrocrats have played more than small hand in it."

He sat up indicating his discomfort with the topic. "When I finished up at the Academy I was considered a bit of a loose canon. It was a ... difficult period in my life and I did'nt fear anything, not even death to be bruetally honest." He gazed into his stardrifter gathering his thoughts. "I guess my COs feared this trait. They sent me to train with the Marine core and then a year training with the Rangers and it was only after they'd exhausted all other avenues that they sent me to active duty. I got to see some action in the Dominion war and spent last year on Cardassia on covert ops but thats been it. I cant forgive those guys for f*cking up my career"

"Tell me about it." James muttered, "Damn Starfleet thought I was too flippin' insane to do active duty. During the war, I was put in because Starfleet was short on people. But it wasn't enough. I guess... they figured that putting me in a last chancers regiment, throwing me in the worse trenchfighting, the worse ship to ship meatgrinders they could find would sort the problem out. Shows what they know, eh?"

"Yes, not much it would seem! I guess I've been starved of action for so long that Im just chomping at the bit. No offense but I'd rather be stuck in Thermopyle now than drinking in this bar. I just hope my chance comes soon."

James commented, somewhat shocked, "Careful what you wish for, Ensign. You never know what you'll run into, or how it will affect you."

"Tell me about Sector 001." the Hazard officer asked bluntly.

Imanol caught James in the middle of a sip of his Stardrifter when he asked the question. James' whole body went rigid, his heart froze into an impenetrable block of ice, chilling its way up to his throat, clogging his breathing with icy chunks. The stardrifter gagged down his throat; the harsh alcohol searing through the lump.

Not that James was offended, but Imanol's innocent question jabbed harder than a Jem'Hadar's spearaxe.

"You don't want to ask me about Sector 001." James flatly stated, "But if you are wondering why, lets just say that it is also the reason why I was a last chancer, and why I still have nightmares. Please, never ask that question from me again."

He definatlley hit something with his inquiry but the Lieutenant Commanders reply only made the Ensign more curious. ~a last chancers regiment, what was that~.

"Im asking because i am interested in the tactics, Im very aware that battle hardened soldiers dont like recounting thier personal battles". If the truth be told though all he wanted to know was what had made James so defensive. He hoped James was'nt as tight lipped with his past as he was.

"Oh..." James trailed off. Not unaware of the Ensign's curiousity and his attempts to avoid a war of words, he decided to give the Ensign as short and brief of a discussion of 'tactics' as possible. "Well, remember Jane's Defense Weekly? Stardate 50008.6?"

"sure i do" replied the Hazard officer.

"I was quoted as a reference on the exact speed and effectiveness of the nanoprobe injection system. Do you also remember Anbo Jytsu Monthly, Stardate 50223.5?"

Imanol nodded.

"I wrote the article on possible moves to use when a Borg tries to implant you with nanoprobes. There was also... Soldier of Fortune, Stardate 50111.3. Remember that one?"

"not off the top of my head, no" Imanol replied.

"After action report of the USS Galaxy's security teams and their incursions inside a Borg Cube. I was there. To keep it brief Ensign, my experiences with the Borg and the close combat tactics have contributed to Starfleet's tactical awareness manual on the Borg. You can learn all you need to know from there. Oh... I also wrote a page in that book too, but most of the content was dominated by Picard, Hoth and Janeway."

"sounds like you've seen more than your fair share of the Borg"

James' body language was rigid and the last thing Imanol wanted was to make him uncomfortable. After all he was'nt one to pry. He never discussed his past, why would the Lieutenant Commander. He proceeded to change the topic.

"You know I was a big fan of the Ranger set up with Starfleet. Not being tied down was something I enjoyed more than anything. You see I get claustrophobic quite easily, In the sense that I dont like staying in the same place for too long. The Hazard program hasn't really set well with me as a result although I have realised its importance in the last few months."

"Interesting." James swallowed the last of his drink, "Me, I can't stand being outside a ship. The gravity's always off, and the wide open spaces are a bit intimidating. But I can see how a starship environment can be a bit trying. If you're not adjusting to the environment well, you could try for any of the elite starfleet ground regiments. Andorian Rangers, Speznas, SAS, TacOps, it's all there for you. Your experience on a Hazard Team would be valued there and you wouldn't have to sit idle on a starship."

Imanol gave two fingers to the Bolian waiter, not in a rude way but to signal his order for another round of Stardrifters. In his experience, Scotch was the preferred drink of choice on the Miranda, Imanol was quite partial to it but always welcomed a change.

"To be fair I thought about applying. I was just flattered when I was asked to join Hazard that I jumped at the chance. Of course I was aware Id be based on a starship and I was expecting it to be tough at first. I just felt that all the front line action would get me away often enough so I could tolerate living there. It has'nt worked out as I hoped it would."

"However." Warned James, in a serious, empathetic tone, "What about your friends on your ship."

"What about them?" replied Imanol " I've made some good friends, but thier not going to influence my destiny James. Ultimatley I want an equal balance between my personal life and my work. I dont think staying on Miranda solely on account of the friends I've made will make my life more balanced."

Nodding in halfhearted agreement, James said, "I see what you mean. I understand, I really do. But if I may, I want to tell you one important thing." He exhaled, breathed deeply, looking introspectively at his empty stardrifter,

"Community, loyalty to your ship, your crewmates, your department is very important. Your ass is theirs, their ass is yours, that never changes. After awhile, you grow as a unit, hear about each others lives, the joys and trials... and they hear about yours."

The glass escaped from Corgan's hands on purpose, bumping the table and vibrating, creating a wobbling sound, light and discordant. "The starship you work on becomes a community, and one grows loyal to that ship. One hears so much about their crewmates and shares in their lives so much that they almost become your family. The ship you serve on is not an assignment, it is a community. You become part of that community. It sometimes comes to a point where you can't take yourself away from that community."

"When you can't bear to be away from your ship and the people you serve with... that's loyalty, and with that everyone around you knows where you stand, they are in turn strengthened and more inclined to be loyal to you."

Harinordoquy stared into his new glass. The carbonated bubbles rose rapidly in single file, the various beads twisting around each other in a ritual dance, fizzing in satisfaction as they reached their destination on the surface. Imanol was'nt quite sure where he wanted to go with his life, at twenty seven years of age he was'nt a new blood yet he still had just the one pip on his collar.

"Ensign, I have to ask you. How loyal are you to your ship, your crewmates and the community you live in?" Raising a finger to halt Imanol from answering, he said, "Don't tell me your answer, think about it yourself, and then tell me whether or not you want to leave the Miranda. You seem like a good kid, so if you're not that attached to your ship I can refer you to a couple of people in the special forces, but if you are... then I suggest you stay."

Although it almost sounded like an ultimatum Imanol knew it was'nt. It was a good question but a lot of soul searching had to be done for Imanol to answer it with any great convicition. He could see James' concerns. If he didnt want to be on Miranda it was better he left sooner rather than later. Imanol had the potential of jeopordising his unit, a unit built on trust and loyalty no less. As the two men sat in silence, the sounds of their surroundings suddenly became obvious to the Hazard officer.

There were a group of Ferengi traders on the table next to them, getting drunk after a successful business deal or drowning sorrows after a failed one. They exchanged glances with a couple of Vulcans. Both groups feeling a similar amount of contempt towards the other. Towards the back of the lounge Imanol could see the blue figure of Ensign Stel Jonran, a friend he really had neglected to see since the incident at Deep Space Nine. He'd have to say hello. A large Bolian waitor passed behind James' back careful not to nudge the security chief. One never knew what reactions to expect in a multi cultured deep space bar. Better to be careful than to be sorry. Imanol returned his eyes to James.

"I've never been in the same place long enough to have any kind of life. Perhaps I have that opportunity now with Miranda. Its one of Starfleets finest ships and boasts one of Starfleets finest crews. Perhaps its time I started thinking of my future."

"It couldn't hurt, Ensign. Everyone needs something to ground them." His gaze took on a ghostly, ethereal quality, a look seen on a musician or a guitar player, "I wish I learned that lesson at your age."

"Anyway Chief enough about Ensign Harinordoquy, Im guessing you'll want to know about the Hazard operations. I wouldnt be the most qualified to explain them but I have been exposed to much of their protocols and activities, sorry OUR protocols and activities.".

"Yes, that would be great." James nodded, agreeing, "So tell me, what is a Hazard Team in your own terms?"

"Well Hazard is a rapid reaction force, consisting of medics, engineers and various generalists and specialists. Its a completely seperate department from security. In theory both should not conflict. The units are constantly in training when not in action so you can imagine the skill levels of the guys. Commander Darion leaves no stone unturned when it comes to her troops. All reports from Starfleet suggests that it has been incredibley successfull to date especially in the case of the USS Miranda" A smile errupted on Imanols face "although I have managed to miss most of it" he let out a laugh hoping to relieve a bit of tension that had settled.

James joined in on his chuckle, "Ahhh... that sounds like something we could use alright. I like your description. It's precise."

"Thanks, Its.. Well, I've had to explain it so often to people that I've come to memorise it."

The Ensign was distracted, slightly so (though not enough to derail the conversation) by something behind Corgan's back. The Galaxy's security chief decided to keep his peace during Imanol's description of the Hazard Team, but couldn't get away from the fact that Imanol's eyes shifted slightly, checking the status of whatever was bothering him. It was like an eerie feeling that wouldn't go away.

The Starbase's jukebox was a great reflector. James could see what was catching his attention. A humanoid, wearing a Starfleet Uniform, young, his species James couldn't recognize, was sitting alone at a table, looking deep into a shotglass of Algavian 'Shine. It was a pensive, deep sorrow look from Jonran to his glass of synthahol that James recognized too well.

Imanol, on the other hand, kept stealing minute glances at Jonran, ones that a person without an investigative background would miss.

Though his lie wasn't tailored well, it was well meaning and without the nastiness involved. "Look at the time." James said as he glanced at his wrist crono, "I should be going. Ensign, it has been nice to talk to you. I hope you'll have a good day."

James collected his basket of technological knick-knacks, slapped down credits for both officer's drinks, and included a generous tip.

"Friend of yours, is he?" James whispered discreetly before leaving.

James did'nt give Imanol time to reply. But something told him they'd be meeting again soon enough. Watching the Galaxys security chief leave the bar Imanol sat in comfortable silence. There was much food for thought there. Miranda seemed a whole lot better after that conversation.

"Thanks Lieutenant Commander" he said a loud as he grabbed his package and headed over to the Duke.

OC: This one's for Lori, since she's been harassing me of late about it. :P

"Focal Point"

By Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer,
USS Galaxy

***

Deck 17
Liaison Offices
USS Galaxy

***

In the darkened space of the dimmed Liaison offices on board the USS Galaxy, there sat a man, his head tilted back on a large mahogany chair. His arms had dropped loosely by his side, his chest moving up and down in a regular one-two breathing pattern, giving the sense he was asleep.

In fact, his eyes were wide open, bright and glittering. His left hand opened slightly, and a hypospray not of Galaxy's stores dropped to the floor with a dull impact, muffled by the fabric of carpet as it tittled away.

Kylar Curran's heart was pounding in his chest. Rapid surges of adrenaline elevated by the serotonin that had been released by the chemical he'd injected.

The image of drydock and the Pathfinder parked in the next docking clamp were replaced by an onset of memory that crashed to the forefront. Images passed in front of him like broken frames of a movie re-edited from old footage of several un-related films. Incoherent, bits unintelligible, dismembered. He saw - felt - terror. It assaulted him, threatened to overpower his senses, and did. Like a dive into cold water, the shock careemed into him, forced him to face the fear that now overwhelmed him.

This was not what he intended! The nightmares at night awoke him in cold sweats. The lack of sleep these frail human bodies required were a weakness. He'd needed a way to improve his efficiency so as to avoid protracted love-ins with the counseling manipulators!

Therefore, he'd acquired certain pharmaceuticals from a contact on Troyer shortly before the attacks. Until now, he'd been fearful of its effects, but now that they were in port, he'd rationalized this was the time to attempt a mental cohesion.

But something was wrong! He was trapped within a memory he did not know he had. There was a woman... "I will please you in all ways..." Her voice echoed with his mental anguish as he found himself helpless to the physical desires of this human body. His body reacted to this female without direction from his mind. He'd become caged to the primitive natures of this body. He'd been helpless to stop the outrages performed on him, even as he verbalized the attempt to end it.

For hours he endured the torture of this... android(!) as it relentlessly defaced and disgraced him. His mental faculties eventually shut themselves down as the shame became too great to bear. He smelt the blood, the sweat, the sexual scents. He'd become a failure! Gritting his teeth, he felt the emotions of depression and self-loathing as he contemplated suicide.

Then... Karyn Dallas was there. The pounding increased as he saw her mouth her words of pleading. He felt himself dip into primal instinct, de-evolutioned by her very presence. He would NOT give her the advantage! Her pitiful attempts to manipulate him at this stage would NOT be allowed.

His breath caught in his chest as he fell into a dark haze, the next sight being in his bedroom and a note from Dallas on his monitor, advising his being off duty for the next several days.

As the images filtered away into the relaxed state of his home waters, the loving caress of tentacles easing away his failings as he drifted in the undulating waves, focus returned to him. His heart relieved the thrum. He felt the cold grasp of logic formulate within him again. His breathing returned to normal levels.

He keyed the terminal to his left, a long series of messages awaited him. The death of Katrina Olegoski had complicated his duties by having to deal with sorts of mundane and irritable matters. A note from the Captain reminding him of his responsibilities with counseling sessions. Another from his superior, Ambassador-General Natasha Mol, advising him of the counseling departments records of his non-compliance with required sessions. His dark eyes contoured at the order of at least 3 sessions with the condition that he attend a formal session with 3 days to allow for re-instatement.

The Kelvan pursed his lips, sending a acknowledgement receipt CCing the counseling department with a request for an appointment within the next 72 hours.

Following this, a note from Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall. This caused a shift upwards of one eyebrow. Most people surmised that it was a trait only Vulcans carried. Such is the way of the uneducated.

He and the Legate, now on board the Miranda he noticed, went back a long way. She'd been in training for Legal Affairs, at which time he'd been working with the Department of Intergalactic Affairs and Judge Advocate General's office on Earth a decade ago.

Now she was attending to Federation affairs on board one of the largest military vessels of Starfleet. She must be brash, indeed.

----

To: Kylar Curran, USS Galaxy
Subject: Diplomatic Corps Current Events

As we arrived in dock I noticed that the Galaxy was also in port for a similar duration of time. While we are in dock, I would like to take this opportunity to meet with you and discuss current events. Perhaps, we can share experiences as we seem to be in a similar position around similar types of people. Please respond so we may set up a time and a place to meet.

Sincerely yours,
Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall

----

Excellent. It would be a pleasing time indeed to associate with someone of equal stature as himself. Not equal on the evolutionary stage, but intelligent enough to carry on a stimulating conversation. Such banter was lacking on this ship of infidels.

He keyed a response. The only one of the several listed as requiring immediate action. A meeting upon the promenade of Starbase 212. The 'Hanging Noose', at 2200 hours, Starbase local time. Approximately 1 hour away.

"Deliverance"

James Mitchell,
Chief Science Officer,
USS Miranda

******

Deck 23
Gymnasium
USS Miranda

James Mitchell ran for his life. His feet pedaled along the surface plating in a rapid blur. Sweat poured off his brow in rivulets as he pushed the limits of his body beyond what he had set as a goal for himself today.

The treadmill registered his distance as having run 9 kilometers this session, but no matter what he did, he couldn't outrun his emotions.

Arel was still insisting this child was his, through the grapevine, what little ear he had in it. Five months now and still she refused to give it up. She wasn't fit to be a mother! Carrying knives, threatening to physical harm to those that love or care for her. She'd end being an abusive mother, he knew it. If she ever lays a hand on that child.... he stopped, his legs finally giving out on him.

What did he care? That bastard freak of a child wasn't his. He'd thought at first she was playing a game of hearts, or some insane test females tend to place on their mates to see how much they care, but apparently not.

He knew the ship crew whispered about him in closed circles. Good. Less whiners to deal with. Goram gossipers.

"Ummm... excuse me, sir?" The Bajoran science chief wiped away a layer of sweat with his hand towel, wanting to belt this punk for interrupting him in his man sessions.

"What do you want, crewman? Can't you see I'm doing something you aren't wise enough to be doing? Get lost. "The punk kid had probably come by when he was drawn out from exertion just so he wouldn't get his ass kicked.

"Umm..." James dropped his towel and stared at the mental midget.

"You want to get the freakin' boot out of your mouth and back on the floor so you can get the hell out of my face?" He tossed the towel over a weight rung as he slipped under a military press lined with some exorbitant weight most stick figure cadet punks could never handle.

The crewman seemed about to make another 'Umm' but apparently thought against it. Instead, he proffered a PADD, cringing.

"What's that? A Christmas list?" He exhaled as he pushed up, feeling his shoulder muscles stain in protest. Damn, the pain was going to feel good.

"A..a..a...a pe..pet..petition, sir." The pygmy panzyass's hands shook as he leaned away from the Bajoran like he was on fire or something. James dropped the weights back onto their slot.

"If it's a petition for a brain transplant for you, I don't give a crap." He grinned as he snatched the PADD. "What, do I smell?' The crewman had stepped back a step when James took the padd. Just out of arm's reach.

The Bajoran scanned over the screen, scrolling it as he panned down. "What kind of joke is this?" He squinted his eyes at the crewman whose eyes now darted around everywhere but at the burly Bajoran. "Who put you up to this? I'll knock out a tooth for ya...?"

"N..no, sir. Got the shortest straw." He glanced across the room to his right where a half dozen other crewpeople stood.

"You mean to say you want me to..." He looked back to the PADD, "Fall down and at least pretend to hurt myself to stop Commander Smith from yelling at every crewmember that crosses her path?"

"If you wouldn't mind, sir."

James laughed. HARD. Any harder and he would hurt himself. Can't have that. There's no way in Hades he was stepping foot in sickbay. Navarre would have him in restraints in seconds with her paranoid delusions of parasitic infection in him.

He threw the PADD back at the shaking crewman. "I'll think about it." Until then, I'm in need of a shower and a drink. If Arel decides to yell at you again, tell her I can be found at the Hanging Noose on Starbase. If she can stop being a coward long enough to deal with her own fallacies."

The locker room was right beside the group of crew who'd accompanied wimp-boy to beg and plead with him to take the wanna-be Klingon away. Just as he was about to cross their path, he jumped out at them. "BOO"! The first one jumped into the one behind, and they all fell down in a domino effect.

James shook his head and laughed. "Stafleet's lowered their standards to allow candyasses, I see. Wonderful. Go change your diapers! I think someone pooped themselves."

The door to the locker room slammed behind him. One of the crewpeople inched their way along the wall, back never leaving it until they turned a corner and disappeared into a stall.

"the one with the brownies"

Commander Arel Smith
Chief of Security
USS Miranda

Commander Kit Jordan Elaithin
Intelligence Liaison
USS Miranda

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

Arel Smith's Quarters
USS Miranda

Jordan was probably the last person Arel Smith had expected when she opened the door of her quarters, but there she was, the Captain's wife, holding a plate of brownies and a gift bag, and smiling.

"Hi," Jordan said, smiling awkwardly. She knew Arel Smith from her time on the Galaxy; they'd been stranded in a tree with Lysander Vander-Plus-what's-his-face and a bunch of talking Newts, while a group of alien hunters tried to track them down. It was quite possibly, one of the worst experiences of her life, but... "I've literally been meaning to do this for years, and finally figured no time like the present, right? Well, ah... here, I made these for you... brownies. There's 42 different kinds of chocolate in these; they're indescribably rich, and fattening as hell, but guaranteed to get rid of the James-Mitchell-blues. And then, this..."

She raised the bag. "Something for the baby and, ah... non alcoholic cider, which is actually pretty good, and, oh! a James Mitchell voo-doo doll. I'm not sure if it works, but hey, it's worth a try. I, ah, take my aggression out on it after staff meetings. So far, he's not turned up missing an actual leg, but hell... you never know." Jordan laughed softly, feeling more than a little awkward. She offered a nervous smile. "So, how've you been, Arel?"

Arel, not one known for diplomacy or tact, had listened to the whole thing with her mouth hanging slightly open. She abruptly closed it and stepped aside to let Jordan enter. "Er, thank you. I've been alright."

"That's good." She glanced around Arel's quarters which were almost exactly what Jordan has expected.

Arel felt the compulsion to dive into the plate of brownies but restrained herself. She, instead, looked down at the voodoo doll and gave a faint smile. "What's this about Kit?"

Jordan cringed slightly. Few people called her Kit. But she supposed that Arel Smith could pretty much do whatever the hell she wanted. What was Jordan going to do? Fight her? The image was amusing, surely, but not exactly in Jordan's favour, especially with the extra aggression the raised-by-klingons woman had been carrying around lately. "Okay, it sounds really stupid, but I'm on a bit of a 'let's reexamine things' mode, and I just realised that... I keep to myself, I guess, and thought I would try to 'reach out' to other people." She smiled slightly. "You were the first on the list. Please don't make me list the reasons why, that'd be really embarrassing, even more embarrassing than doing this in the first place, I'm not very good at things like this. Olive branches and friendship pipes and all of that, maybe that's why I don't have--" Jordan cut herself off.

"I babble. Sorry. I just..." Jordan took a deep breath, steadying herself mentally, then spoke solidly, concisely, looking at Arel with a smiling seriousness. "Arel, I'd like to be friends. We have a lot in common. At the very least we can knit baby socks and devise ways to kill James Mitchell because... well, while you've promised you wouldn't, I have promised nothing."

Arel raised an eyebrow and looked down at the voodoo doll in her hands. She'd read about them, naturally, but this was the first one she'd ever owned. She took one of the pins and stuck it in the place that was most expected of her and then smiled.

She turned her attention back to Jordan. She'd known her for awhile, not that they were close or anything. Still, almost dying on a planet while having Hirogen hunt you and newts stare at your chest did tend to form some bonds. Arel had made an extra effort in breaking several bones in the mirror Captain's hand for beating Jordan up.

"I don't see why you should get to kill him when I can't." Arel said with a grin.

"I don't know, I hated him first," Jordan said, grinning as she sat down on Arel's sofa, clasping her hands. "But at any rate, it would be fun to plot how we'd do it. And I'm sure you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who thinks he doesn't deserve a little something. Besides. You promised you wouldn't kill him; not that you wouldn't come damn close. Or at least, scare the shit out of him, preferably, in public."

Arel's resolve broke and she grabbed the plate of brownies. "I don't know if you can scare James Mitchell. I've already told him I was pregnant; that's about as horrified as I've ever seen him." She bit into the brownie, groaned in appreciation, and then continued. "I mean... already threatened him...beat him up...he seems to like it... complained more about... lack of hostility before we split. And we weren't official... can I have this recipe?"

"Like 'em? Sorry, it's an old family recipe from my grandmother. Generations of Lakin women will be rolling over in their graves if I gave it out. But I make it all the time, just let me know." Jordan smiled. "I don't know, I'm sure we could figure something out. Maybe get everyone on the ship to be disgustingly nice to him. You know the old saying, kill him with kindness. I don't know. But we've got to do something, Arel, otherwise, he's just going to continue walking all over people and being a general ass. I believe in karma, surely, but sometimes you have to make your own karma because it's working pretty damn slowly right now. And who knows the next person who'll get hurt by him. Some other woman or, who knows, man... Did you hear that the mirror James is more than a little... well, effeminate? Of course you have... they do say that our mirror is just a repressed version of us, after all."

Jordan took a brownie for herself, breaking a small piece from the whole. "I mean, hell. It could be someone we care about. Maybe Jerri or maybe the baby." She glanced toward Arel's middle. "I mean, you get the tests done, prove it's James', he rejects the kid anyway... might be better just to tell him that his father's dead and have that be the truth." Jordan sighed. "Of course, if you don't still want him dead..."

Arel wanted to laugh at the woman's rapid speech and way of thinking. It almost came close to rivaling Samantha Widdlesteins. "I didn't test the baby."

"Well, of--"

"Unless I was impregnated by aliens while I was sleeping, the baby's his. *I* don't mess around when I'm with someone. And I'm going to tell the baby, when he's old enough to understand. For right now I'm just going to teach him Bajoran stuff."

"No, I didn't think that," Jordan said, shaking her head. "I meant, if you chose to, afterward, to prove to him he's an arrogant sonofabitch, then... yeah, well, never mind that." Jordan sighed.

Arel sighed and chomped on her third brownie. The truth was that she didn't want him dead anymore. But she still wanted to smack the shit out of him. Somehow, she didn't think the Captain would amend the oath to include that. "If you can think of someway to convince your husband that kicking in Mitchell's balls is actually a sign of reconciliation..."

"I don't know that I would consider the pact to have a 'I will not beat him up' clause. And if you were to do it off the ship, what could Jii do to you, really? Just make sure that station security of whatever... or if Mitchell were to consent to it. Or, at least, have witnesses that said he did... like on the holodeck or something... Hum... I wonder if we could trick him into something..." Jordan pressed and index finger to her lips in thought. She then shook her head and brushed her hair back. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to talk about it. I'd just really like him to get some sort of pay back. He seems to be able to just go around hurting people without anyone doing anything about it."

There was another pause, though really only one in comparison to Jordan's rapid-fire method of speech. While she'd long since managed to smooth of the Boston accent, the extreme speed at which she spoke made her just as difficult to understand sometimes; that combined with her thought processes, which weren't always punctuated, made holding a conversation a bit of a mental workout.

"You're looking good, Arel, you hardly show at all, that's amazing. When's your due date? I mean... you being human with a half Bajoran child and everything, I'm just trying to... I'm just curious." She and Jii hadn't told anyone yet, they wanted to wait a while before sparking off the rumour mills with yet another collection of material. "Bajoran incubation is five months. With hybrids, some people say six and a half, others no earlier than almost eight, others carry a full human nine, I'm just... are you worried at all? About complications and what-naught?"

"Brooke and Kincaid think I'm going to carry it the full nine." Arel said. "So that gives me another four months, I guess." She wasn't worried too much about the actual delivery, despite her doctor and nurse's concern. Pain she could deal with; it was the months of awkwardness and irritation that were going to drive her crazy. "As for complications, well, that's a different story."

"What kind of different story?"

"In a nutshell," Arel replied. "The longer I carry the baby, the harder it's going to become for me. My body will be working overtime to sustain both of us. Korvin's taking a bit more nutrients then is normal, I guess."

"Korvin's a wonderful name," Jordan said, smiling, looking at her hands. "It can't be good, you know, if he's taking more nutrients."

She shrugged. "I'm only really concerned about the baby. They're thinking of inducing him early to save my body the stress. I told them that I could handle it but you know doctors. Are you and Elaithin thinking of having one?"

"God, I thought everyone knew," Jordan said. "We've been trying for, I don't know... a while. About eight months or so. Why do you... ask?"

"I'm only asking because I don't want to scare you." Arel said biting into another, her fourth?, brownie. "We think it might the complications might be because of whatever's off with Mitchell. It wouldn't necessarily happen to you."

"Yeah, I know... I'm just curious." She raised a hand slightly. "Six weeks. But with the rate of growth they think I'll be about seven and a half months, but with all the issues, they're really not sure, we're just..." Jordan laughed softly. "We're just hoping to make it to viability, you know?" She brushed her hair away from her face. "Hope my body doesn't just..." She chuckled again, covering her mouth with a hand. "Yours gives too much, mine has a habit of taking away."

Arel looked her in the eye. "You'll make a good mother."

Jordan blushed. "We'll see, I guess. You will too, Arel. And if not, well... there's always counseling. For all three of them." Jordan sighed. "Anyway. I just wanted to stop by and touch base, I guess. Talk for a bit. So... I don't know, if you ever want to go shopping or experiment with a holodeck program, kick the shit out of something, give me a call, okay? Contrary to popular belief, I don't bite."

"It's a deal." Arel replied, sad that the plate of brownies was empty. "You just have to promise to bring more food.

"the one with the endless meeting"

Commander Kit Jordan Elaithin
Miranda Intelligence Liaison

Random Secure Room
Starbase 221

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

As the random admiral prattled on, Jordan was trying to figure out why, exactly, she had wanted this. Any of it, really. The commission. The intelligence position. The entire space thing. Oh. And the pregnancy. Oh, sure, she was still elated. Mostly. But the pancakes smelled like something not dissimilar from (dirty) cat litter and her stomach was doing flip-flops. She'd already run to the head three times in the past twenty minutes and it was looking like time four wasn't far around the corner. She'd had moments of so-called "morning sickness" before, but nothing near as bad as this. Up until two days ago, it had been mild moments of nausea, but two days ago it just hit. She went from throwing up two or three times in the four weeks since it first was known there was conception, to two or three times a day. But today took the cake. The past half an hour or so gave new definition to the phrase "violently ill".

"You're really looking green around the gills, Kick," Mason Ryan whispered, leaning in, resting a hand gently on her back. She and Mason had known each other since their intensive intelligence training, which wasn't as long ago as it seemed, but they had immediately hit it off and stayed in touch sense, bouncing ideas off one another through secure comm links and meeting up at every opportunity to discuss current events or life in general.

"I'm fine," Jordan managed, arms wrapped around her middle, an effort to calm her stomach, though she knew it was in vain. "Just... keep the pancakes away from me. Hell, keep all the food away from me."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced from her, to the brunch spread at the other end of the table, slowly making it ward toward them for a second time. "Kick?"

"I just... I can't deal with food right now, especially when it smells like that."

"Commander Elaithin, Commander Ryan, do you have something to share with the rest of us?" the Admiral asked, breaking his train of thought to look at them.

"Whoa, thirteen again," Jordan muttered, closing her eyes as she swallowed, fighting back the nausea as Mason took the reins and got the Admiral to go on with whatever he was saying. Frankly, Jordan has lost track. She'd tried to follow for the first hour and a half, even through the dull pounding, but when the first wave of nausea hit her around ten thirty, she just gave up on that and focused on not losing it in front of everyone else.

Mason, however considerate and useful he was under normal circumstance, was considerably less successful at getting rid of the brunch, which had stopped at the Vulcan woman next to him (the only other woman in the room). The wiff of the foul smelling pancakes hit her just as the wave of nausea did-- again-- and she was up in a flash, hurrying toward the head.

The Admiral stopped in mid sentence, watching her disappear, and then he turned to Mason. "That's the fourth time in twenty minutes! Is she hung over?"

"I don't... think so, sir," Mason said, frowning.

"Eric, you're just so boring she'd rather commune with the commode," the Bolian Captain Geraz said, laughing from the other end of the table. Geraz was the man in charge of ship-based intelligence within the First Fleet, which including ships such as the Miranda and the Galaxy. Kind and light hearted, the sixty-four year old Geraz was also big and intimidating, and when it came to his people, it was best not to mess with him. And like with any successful intelligence operative who had lived to his age despite decades of classified undercover and deep-submersion missions, people were scared shitless of him. They also tried to humour him, as the admiral was trying to do at that moment, his face adopting a look that said he was quite offended but would try to take it well.

"This is a briefing of matters of great importance, Commander Ryan," the admiral said, dismissing Geraz's comments to direct his frustration toward the human man.

"Why are you getting angry with me? I have nothing to do with it," Ryan defended, wondering, not for the first time, who the hell this man actually was. He wasn't in the intelligence community, but rather some honcho in normal Command who had decided he wanted to play 'spy' for a few hours. Contrary to popular belief, people in Intel were commonly very relaxed-- almost excessively so-- especially amongst their peers. Hence, why Ryan felt comfortable with being, well, not quite so respectful. This was his space, amongst his peers.

"Well. Whatever is going on, we cannot have her running in and out like this!" the Admiral exclaimed.

"Frellin'... I highly doubt she's slipping any great secrets to the shit demon in the commode, Eric," Geraz said. "Look. We're all antsy, none of us are used to stuff like this, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation behind Commander Jordan's behavious. You have to remember who you're dealing with here; you cannot come here and expect to have us sit and listen to you prattling on about stuff we already know about and probably knew about long before you did. All due respect, of course." But there was sarcasm in the Bolian's words as he grinned slightly at the Admiral, who was sputtering. But all fourteen people in the room, in their black uniforms or dark colored civvies depending upon the individual, were all staring at him, arms crossed, in solidarity. Even the Vulcan woman. "We're a very intelligent group of people, all the jokes aside here. We're very intelligent, and the only reason why people don't think so is because the only time our job is noticed is when we foul up, which, considering all we do, isn't very often. You cannot come here and treat us like idiots who haven't a clue."

The admiral puffed up his chest. "Meetings must be done," the admiral said. "It's a fact of Starfleet life."

"Hell, I became a spook to get away from bloody meetings," Lieutenant Commander Richard Sorensen, who was sitting across from Mason, said, head propped up on his raised hand. "Freaking tired of hearing people speak about nothing in particular."

"'Commander, remem--"

"I have a question," Geraz said, looking around. "Have we all read our briefings?"

There was a chorus of affirmatives around the table.

"Have we all understood our briefings?"

A similar chorus.

"Do we have any questions? Concerns? Comments about our briefings?"

Dead silence.

"Who would be better served by sharing concerns or experiences from our field assignments?"

A chorus of affirmatives.

The Admiral opened and closed his mouth several times, without a word, before turning his gaze to the Bolian captain, who offered a wide and sarcastic grin, his white teeth standing out from his dark blue-- darker than most Bolians -- skin. "In that case, Admiral, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Believe it or not, we have higher clearance than you do in this area of... well, intelligence."

The Admiral looked around at everyone else before 'hurumphing', and muttering cursing about the *#$% so-called intelligence department, why did he waste his time? He threw his padds in his case all the time shaking his head and continuing to mutter incoherently. He turned and ran squarely into Jordan as she was coming back into the room.

On her part, Jordan was already dizzy, and, suffice to say, not feeling well at all. In fact, she was almost wishing she was dead because she couldn't think of anything else she had to regurgitate into the toilet yet the nausea had not gone away in the least. Her hands were clammy, her face was cool and pale, and she was having a hard time focusing on anything.

She stumbled back from the impact of the much larger man, catching herself on the wall. The Admiral then preceded to yell at her. She frowned, not really understanding anything, only catching snippets about lack of respect, a few curse words, she was actually rather impressed by his cursing abilities, and how she and the rest of the intelligence community needed to learn that they were not above standard procedure and good-god woman put on a fucking uniform. She glanced over at Mason, who was half standing, visibly debating as to whether or not to come to her rescue. She then followed Mason's gaze to the Bolian Captain who was entirely on his feet, shouting back at the Admiral, who had turned and was losing his temper with Geraz.

"I'm just going to go sit down, while you all..." she began, moving toward the sofa to the side of the large observation lounge.

But she didn't make it.

Instead, she opened her eyes to find herself laying on the sofa she'd intended to sit upon, only vaguely aware of falling and being picked up and carried there. Several faces stared down at her. The Vulcan woman, T'arna, had a medical tricorder, they where she had pulled it from in her skin tight black catsuit, Jordan had no idea. T'arna also had a glass of carbonated water. "Drink this," she stated, "it will help with the nausea."

"Mmm," Jordan moaned, brushing it away. "What happened? Stop starring."

"You just passed out," Mason said, laughing slightly. "Admiral Merkowitz didn't look like he knew what to do."

"What?" she asked.

"The admiral that was yelling at you."

"The admiral was yelling at me?"

"Yeah. And you passed out."

"Oh," Jordan muttered, and moved to sit up, but moaned and laid back down. "Ugh. That's embarrassing."

"Commander Ryan, will you help Commander Jordan to sickbay?" Geraz asked, resting a hand on Mason's shoulder.

"I'm fine, sir," Jordan said.

"My fat blue ass, Commander," Geraz stated, offering a small and slightly worried smile. "Get to sickbay. Make sure everything's okay. May be hard to believe, but we'll survive without you. Just make sure you get whatever it is sorted out for tomorrow afternoon's briefing, alright? We'll be covering some new material that's of importance to you especially."

Jordan nodded as Mason helped her sit up, then helped her stand. "I got it, Mason," she said, snapping slightly. "I'm just dizzy." She staggered a bit but got her bearings and walked out the door, feeling ill for an entirely different reason.

off: fyi, Ella's starting to 'relearn' speaking on her own, just so that she will have the ability to in the future, should she chose to :)

"Brought to you by the letter O"

by
Lt. Ella Grey (USS Galaxy)

*****

USS Galaxy
Holodeck One

Ella sat at a table outside of a coffee house this time, her body guarded from the chill San Francisco air by the purple windbreaker she wore and her voice guarded from possible intruders in her holodeck program by the high concentration of background noise she had created.

It was slow going work, retraining herself to speak, and so far she had only managed to get through the vowels a, e, and i. Those themselves had taken a monumental amount of effort and Ella was getting anxious for what would happen when she hit the consonants.

She supposed that she could have had more fun on the station but she had just about spent all the credits that she dared and she had made herself a promise to practice speaking at least once a week. Ella had already skipped the last three.

She sighed and sat back in her chair, frustrated by her lack in progress. It just wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. All the time that she had taken to learn how not to speak, to rely on gesture or expression or technology for communication (excepting the occasional relapse when she was startled, which usually demonstrated her vowels just fine), would just *not* be undone in a day.

Ella frowned and then, because she was feeling slightly mean as well as annoyed, she startled several pigeons nearby with a fairly loud recital of an 'a' sound. It was a masterful 'a', Ella told herself dryly. If for some reason she should ever need to teach children the first letter of the alphabet, she would be all set.

Slightly disgusted, Ella sat up straight again and began to work on her 'o's.'

O.

O.

Oh.

No sound was coming out of her mouth. Ella smacked her hand on the table and was rewarded with a nice 'ow' sound instead, which wasn't really an 'o' but was close enough.

O.

O.

Oh.God.Make.This.Torment.End.

She kicked the table with her foot and made a noise that wasn't quite an 'o' again.

If she really wanted to be truthful with herself, Ella supposed that the first word that she wanted to say was 'Victor' and most likely to his face. But that word seemed like a mouthful at the moment, especially when she couldn't even get through her vowels, and she wasn't sure that it wouldn't be said in a slightly irritated tone anyway. Which wasn't how she wanted to say his name.

She loved the man, even if he was impossible, irritating, and a pain in the ass. She wanted to say his name with love, reverence, or, at the very least, in a sultry sexy tone. Something like...

Oh Victor...

Ella giggled and then told herself to concentrate on the task at hand. The man was being transferred soon anyway and the sooner she got over him (Ella purposefully brought up memories from her night with Colby which worked for the time being), the sooner she could get over this sudden interest in monogamy that had been plaguing her mind for the past few months.

But Oh Victor had *such* a nice ring to it, Ella thought with a smirk.

"the one with the ginger snaps"

Commander Kit Jordan Elaithin
Intelligence Liaison, USS Miranda

Medical Ward
Starbase 212

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

The small, red-haired Betazed nurse led them to an enclosed bio-bed in the back of the Starbase's massive medical ward. Unlike a sickbay, they were able to accommodate several dozen small, private rooms rather than having bio-beds scattered throughout one large, open room. There were some beds in the open, but they were used for minor cuts, scrapes and broken bones rather than work ups, surgeries, and examinations. It was much more like a hospital than a sickbay, and Jordan found she preferred it, even if they did have to wait in an admitting area.

Mason helped her lay down and then excused himself quickly, returning either to the Intelligence meeting (God she hoped so) or to the chairs (she'd feel guilty as hell if that were the case-- but Mason was the protective older brother type for sure).

"Okay, Commander," the nurse said.

"Just call me Jordan," she stated. "That's fine."

"Alright. Jordan. I'm just going to run a preliminary scan and then the doctor will be with your shortly. Are there any preexisting medical conditions I should know about before we continue with treatment?"

"I'm almost seven weeks pregnant," Jordan said.

"Ah," the nurse said, giving a knowing chuckle. "I understand then. Can you explain the problem?"

"Yeah, uhm... intense morning sickness and dizziness," Jordan said.

"How intense, on a scale from one to ten?"

"Violently ill, someone please kill me now, 12 scale intense," Jordan moaned.

The nurse looked concerned and she unfolded her medical tricorder. "How long has this been going on?"

"I've been having morning sickness the past week or so," Jordan said, "but it was fairly mild nausea until about two days ago. Since then, it's just progressively gotten worse. I haven't been able to keep anything down, the smell of food is revolting, I'm increasingly more dizzy. I fainted in my meeting."

"Okay," the nurse said. "Let's see what we can figure out, then I'm going to take a sonogram and make sure everything's okay with baby. Is there anything I need to know about that?" she asked, reading her tricorder as she coasted the small detachable monitor over Jordan's body.

"There's two. They're half Bajoran. And I have an over aggressive immune system."

The woman nodded. "Half Bajoran?"

"Yeah."

"So Commander Hotstuff out there isn't your husband?" She glanced at Jordan's wedding ring, then met her eyes with a small smile.

"Nope, just a pal," Jordan said, mimicing the woman's smile, "and completely single. AND he likes redheads."

"Mmm... good to know," the nurse said, laughing. "I might track him down after my shift."

"I'll give you his room number," Jordan said before cringing and covering her mouth.

"You okay there?"

"Yeah, just nauseous again," Jordan replied.

"Okay." She closed her tricorder and moved to the very small replicator, getting a large glass of water with a straw . "I need you to drink this, Jordan, it'll help you feel better. Let me give these readouts to the doctor on call. He'll look over them while we check on the babies, okay? It'll put your mind at ease. If you feel sick, there's a basin on the table here," she said, placing a small bowl on the table by the bio-bed. "Don't worry about it, it happens to a lot of us, especially with hybrid pregnancies. I'll be right back, hon. Just sit tight and relax."

Erana turned the lights down very low as Jordan nodded and sighed, staring up at the shadowed ceiling, closing her eyes. God, she was tired. She dozed slightly in the few minutes that the nurse was gone, and was slightly startled when the small woman reentered the room, the small sonogram machine in hand.

The nurse, named Erana, smiled as she helped Jordan arrange her clothing and then set up the small machine over her lower abdomen. She took a seat and turned it on. "Just relax, honey, this'll only take a minute, I'm very good at it." She was touching the keypad, working the machine, which was humming very softly. "I've had two babies," Erana said, "not at the same time. Their father died in the war. He was half Vulcan, we had the most difficult time conceiving. Our first, Joran, he was our little miracle baby. Did you have any problems?"

"Not with conceiving," Jordan said. "I had two miscarriages, but we were able to figure out what was going wrong."

"Your immune system."

"Yeah."

"Well, I have a feeling that the medication you're on is what is also making you miserable... ah, here you go honey." She moved the detachable monitor and handed it to Jordan, moving to the young Commander's shoulder. "Here is the little girl and here's the little boy, I think he may be a little camera shy." Jordan covered her mouth with her hand again, though this time from emotion. There was something about seeing them inside of her. "I think that Bajoran/Human babies are perhaps the most difficult hybrid," Erana said, "they're so demanding on the mother's system, and they grow so fast, but at the same time, so unpredictably, each pregnancy grows completely different. I mean, it's one think if you're a Bajoran woman, your body's built for that, but... a human baby is demanding enough of a human mother." She shook her head. "You probably won't carry more than seven months. If they were human babies, you'd be well into the 11 week, with this size. The growth'll slow down, and your doctor will probably stall the birth as long as possible, just to make sure that everything's okay, but I think 30 weeks'll probably be as much time as they'll get."

"Yeah, that's what my OBGYN said," Jordan whispered, nodding.

At that point, the doctor, an impressively tall human man, entered with a soft knock on the door frame. "Commander Elaithin, I'm Doctor Adam Fredricks, but just call me Adam."

"Just call me Jordan," she replied, smiling slightly. Jordan got the impression he was probably a OBGYN and/or pediatrician by training.

"Alright, Jordan, how are they doing in there?" he asked with a friendly smile. "May I?" he asked, and with Jordan's nod, he bent down to peer over Erana's shoulder. "Goodness. How far along?"

"Almost seven weeks."

"Well they're not wasting any time, are they?" he asked, laughing. "Bajoran/Human pregnancies are, I think, the worst a human woman could go through. Well. Ktarian is pretty bad, but for different reasons." He smiled. "You seem to be handling it reasonably okay, all considering. Would you rather Erana linger, or may I send her out to sort through the pile-up in admitting?"

"Oh, it's okay," Jordan said. "Thank you, Erana, for everything."

"No problem honey," the nurse said, turning off the machine and carefully removing it before she disappeared out the door.

"So you're having morning sickness issues," Adam said, sitting on a stool, looking a bit like a bird with his long, thin body and long thin legs tucked up.

"I just wasn't quite prepared for how... well, violent it would be," Jordan said. "I can't be passing out every morning."

"Did you actually lose consciousness?" he asked, frowning.

"For a moment or two, I'm not sure how long."

"How long have you been ill?" he asked, taking a padd from his lab coat and scrolling through it.

"A couple weeks. Very ill the past two days, give or take. Violently ill the past few hours."

"Okay. Well, Jordan, it's looking like the medications you are taking are doing a number on your immune system. On one level it's good, for the babies, but it certainly reeks havoc on you. I'm going to put you on a series of extra vitamins and other supplements, especially iron, though it may bother you and if it does, I want you to talk to your primary care doctor, alright? I'm just concerned that you're going to edge down into anemia, particularly with two of them. You're also terribly dehydrated, so I'm going to start you on some fluids through an iv, which means we're going to have to hold you here for a few hours, but you'll be feeling a lot better."

"How many are a few?" she asked.

"Three to five. We just want to make sure; it'll give us the opportunity to monitor you and the chance for you to rest. After this, you're going to need to stay away from dietetics: teas, coffees, anything with caffeine in it. I'm going to get you some saltine crackers and a few gingersnaps that I want you to eat."

"Gingersnaps?"

"Ginger usually helps with morning sickness," he said. "And after you finish that, you need to sleep. You need a lot of sleep, understand? I don't care what's going on. Anyone would be exhausted with twins or with a half-Bajoran fetus. You happen to have both. So at least ten hours a night."

Jordan shook her head. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"I need you to try, and so do the babies," he said. "You also know that you're probably going to have to take a lighter load and even go on maternity leave early, right?"

Jordan nodded. "My doctor said probably about five and a half, six months."

"The earlier you can, the better. I would almost say to lean toward five, Jordan. Alright?"

"Okay."

"Alright. It's a decision you'll have to make with your doctor, but that's my recommendation, and I've been treating pregnant women for 20 years, okay? So I'm going to set you up with an IV here, see if we can get some hydration back in you." He had already prepared it while he was talking to her and now, slid the needle in without so much as a pinch, his eyes holding hers the entire time before he taped it there and rested her hand across her stomach. "Okay. Done. Now, I'm going to get you the crackers we talked about, and you are going to eat them and get some sleep. I'll send your friend home for a few hours."

"He's still out there?" Jordan murmured.

"He's still out there. Is there anyone else who needs to know where you are?"

"Mm... just ask Mason to contact my husband," she whispered.

"Okay." He set the plate of crackers at her bedside, but Jordan was already drifting off to sleep. He shook his head slightly, covered her with a blanket against the chill of the medical ward, and turned the lights down even further before he stepped out.

"Ask Your Questions"

[Backpost: occurs just after Nong's arrival onboard at the beginning of 'Quid Pro Quo']

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

Lieutenant JG Ven'r Nong
Assistant Tactical Officer

Secondary Characters:
Ensign Cornel Bradley
Assistant Tactical Officer

****

Bridge
Deck 1
USS Galaxy

****

It took a few moments, surprising on such a large vessel, for Nong to find his way and get onto the deck before he stepped off onto the bridge. To his right he saw the Tactical station and the Romulan that would be his commanding officer. He?d long ago burned out the Klingon bigotries against Romulans though he understood why their species was held in such regard. However, to find one serving in Starfleet, highly placed and serving aboard a ship as dangerous as this, he was obviously worth somebody?s trust. Stepping to the Tactical station, he stood at attention waiting to be recognized.

Savar turned from the console, where Ensign Bradley stood, being overseen on a regular Gamma shift supervision session, used to test and train junior officers and to groom them into future bridge officers. The Rihana's expression flickered slightly, the only betrayal of surprise at Nong's arrival, and his otherworldly appearance. He had seen the man's Starfleet record, but no amount of holoimages could prepare one for the mild shock experienced upon meeting this tall, wild-eyed, white-haired mongrel of a being. The overall effect of his indeterminate genetic makeup was not entirely unintimidating.

"Lieutenant Nong," tr'Khellian nodded, with a polite smile. "Welcome to the Galaxy. We've been expecting you." He looked the unusual creature up and down.

"Reporting for duty, sir." Nong presented his credentials. Tr'Khellian thumbed the requisite part of the form to acknowledge his arrival onboard.

"At ease, Lieutenant," the Romulan said, in his clipped, pseudo-English accent. "I am Sub-Commander tr'Khellian, Acting Chief Tactical Officer. This is Ensign Bradley, one of my junior officers and your new colleague."

"I'm pleased to meet you both," Nong said, politely.

Savar glanced towards the viewscreen. The asteroids maintained their slow dance. In the centre chair, Karyn Dallas was signing off reports. As the deputy duty officer for Gamma Shift, tr'Khellian was on the Bridge as a matter of course, anyway.

"You have arrived in the middle of Ensign Bradley's supervisory, Lieutenant. We were just reviewing the last two months' shipping data for the region and I had asked for the salient points to be drawn out from it." He looked towards Nong. "The Ensign has just pointed out the increase in freight traffic, of three per cent. His hypothesis is that this is explained by the additional imports needed to supply the independence celebrations."

Tr'Khellian glanced slyly at Bradley, who looked rather smug and confident as his assertions were repeated. "Lieutenant, what do you make of this data?"

"Tactically, I would be suspicious of any non-projected traffic with consideration of the area's political instability," replied, glancing at the PADD with a mild look of contempt. "These people are known for high combatativeness and internal strife and initial intelligence reports show that they are extremely driven by resource competition. As a powerful outside force courting the Griffons for membership, we could be seen as a threat. So," he cocked his head and stared at the Romulan, "it would be logical as well as intuitive to be cautious."

Savar gave the new arrival an approving smile. "Quite right." A very good answer. The Romulan eyed the Lieutenant cautiously as Nong went through the data. He perceived no cunning on Nong's part, no desire to please the habitually-paranoid Romulan desire for caution. His analysis had been genuine. "A three per cent rise in the total freight tonnage being imported to the Gryphonites amounts to 78,000 tonnes. Given their total population, this is a significant rise which cannot be explained away by increased demand for consumables. As Lieutenant Nong has highlighted, the geopolitical information we already have indicates that this is an unstable area. Our arrival has been pre-empted. That alone is cause for concern." His gaze shifted briefly to the data, and then to the abashed Cornel Bradley. "Look at the data again, Ensign."

The Romulan looked towards Karyn Dallas, the duty officer for this shift. "Commander, by your leave?" He gestured towards the doors leading to the Observation Lounge.

"Of course, Sub-Commander," she nodded.

"With me, Lieutenant," tr'Khellian indicated, and the two men strode off the Bridge. "Have a seat, Lieutenant," the Romulan said. Both officers sat down at the large, glass-topped conference table. The asteroids danced their slow waltz beyond the transparent aluminium which separated this room from the vacuum beyond.

"Your record makes for interesting reading, Lieutenant," said Savar. "I do not usually remark on individuals' backgrounds, but yours is somewhat outstanding. You come highly recommended by previous commanders. Tell me, why did you apply for a transfer to USS Galaxy?"

"It is in me to improve and to be challenged. It could be part of my heritage or it could be being raised by Klingons- for whatever reason, I must be challenged or I grow bored." He paused and looked out the port for a moment, his forehead and scalp twitching and ridging with some type of muscular/bony flexing. "'Bored' is not a state I choose to entertain. So I chose a post which would be challenging."

Tr'Khellian's eyes could not but stray momentarily to Nong's twitching head. Again, he was reminded of the utterly alien nature of his new subordinate's physiology, despite his resemblance to a Klivam.

"The department has undergone some flux of late," tr'Khellian told the newcomer. "As Acting Chief I have been tasked with rebuilding the department. Your particular skills will come in useful. Commander Henderson, now the Executive Officer, used to head up this department before his promotion. I am not certain whether I will remain in-post. As you may be aware, I am an exchange officer, and this complicates my status."

He took a small PADD out of the pocket of his Galae tunic and handed it to Nong. "You'll find a full briefing and mission parameters on this PADD, as well as a full manifest and duty roster for the department. We are short on experienced, competent Bridge officers, so I would like you to take over the beta shift bridge duty as of next week. In addition, when you've settled in, I want us to discuss training and development regimes. We also need to become less reliant on the Intelligence department for our own intelligence," Savar remarked, the sardony in his tone making the unstated addendum to that sentence - 'as you just saw on the bridge' - unnecessary. As far as the hyper-sensitive, suspicious Rihana was concerned, the quality of data analysis coming out of Major Bolivar's weekly briefings was questionable, and had been for some time. Alright, Starfleet Intelligence was not the Tal Shiar, but tr'Khellian could point to a number of critical errors over the last two years which could have been avoided by better intelligence management. "Do you have any questions, Lieutenant?"

"The Klin are often disregarded for being too forward and lacking in the special skills needed for Intel. I have found that such assumptions can get you killed," Ven'r observed, glancing obliquely out the port for a moment. Then he took the PADD and thumbed it to confirm his ID. "I accept the assignment." He paused and cocked his head slightly, gazing at the Romulan thoughtfully, double eyelids flicking over his slit-pupilled eyes. "May I ask you a personal question sir?"

Savar's eyebrow rose fractionally. Ven'r Nong was not backwards about coming forwards. Normally he avoided personal inquiry by keeping things ultra-business-like; indeed, after a long time on the Galaxy, he could still not really point to anyone he would regard as a friend. The last thing he wanted was to pretend anything else, unlike some of the softer, more coddling department heads. But tr'Khellian himself had perhaps tempted this by inquiring about Nong's past beyond what was contained in his record.

"Very well."

"Why Starfleet?"

Tr'Khellian exhaled noisily, clearly not best impressed by the question. He eyed Nong for a moment, and fleetingly considered telling him his story, before rebuking himself internally at even thinking about stooping to such weakness. Too much time spent around humans and their endless, pitiful, confessional culture. There were still only a small handful of people who knew the exact reasons behind his posting on the Galaxy, and he preferred to keep it that way.

"An opportunity arose following the Treaty of Galvanis for the Star Empire and the Federation to exchange a small number of officers, as a token of mutual understanding and the new alliance," Savar said, truthfully, lacing his fingers together. "My past performance in the field, along with my family's good standing, allowed me to be selected. I am one of only two Rihannsu officers operating in Starfleet. Does that answer your question, Lieutenant?"

"It does sir," Ven'r replied, crest flaring slightly as he spoke, having watched the Romulan closely. His double-nictitating eyelids had flicked once during the speech, his heat pits had registered the changes in the Vulcanoids therographics and his chemical taste had been informative as well. He was hiding something, probably a great deal and that in itself had been revealing. "I regret if my question has created discomfort. I wished merely to gauge your reactions, if not the content of your reply." His crest twitched slightly and his eyelids flicked twice, an odd display, a subsonic thrum shivered through the room for a moment. "Is there anything else sir?"

Tr'Khellian managed to hide his distaste at the mysterious gyrations of Nong's mongrel face, and his annoyance at the assistant's impetuosity. "No, Lieutenant," the Romulan said coldly, his fingers steepled together. "Don't let me detain you."

Nong nodded, rose, and left the room. Savar watched him go. Nong was confident to the point of arrogance, ambitious, driven, with no respect for social conventions. He would be a useful asset, directed against troublesome individuals in his department and beyond. And he might just be able to smash Intel into some sort of shape. He asked questions other people were afraid to articulate. So long as he didn't make a habit of asking them of Savar, they would get along just fine.

"The Breakfast Club"

Captain Elaithin Jii (Pat Weber)
Captain Daren Runako M'Kantu (Ian Dickson and Robert Hudson)

Location: Arboretum Café, Starbase 212

Various ferns, plants and trees from a dozen different systems found a home in the arboretum of Starbase 212. In the center of the green house, resides an oasis from the steel and titanium of the massive space station. Separated from the heat and humidity of the hermetically sealed environment by only an invisible force field, the Arboretum Café provides a peaceful, tranquil place for Starfleet personnel to unwind. Here they can enjoy the beauty of the various plants and trees while they relax to a nice cup of coffee, or in this case enjoy a hearty breakfast.

Panning over the various officers enjoying their meals, we follow a waiter carrying a pitcher of coffee. He moves to a table and smiles at a pair of Starfleet's finest Captains dining together as he begins to top off their cups.

"How are you enjoying your meals gentlemen?" the waiter asks in a friendly tone as he finishes filling the cups.

Captain Elaithin Jii of the USS Miranda, glances at the waiter, making eye contact. "You were right about the omelet, Daren. It tastes rather remarkable."

Captain Daren Runako M'Kantu of the USS Galaxy, pats his mouth gently with the white linen napkin before he turns and speaks. He's looking at Elaithin, but something in his voice makes it obvious he's really speaking to the waiter. "I have to agree. Can't say that I've ever had replicated eggs that tasted this good on a Starbase before." He raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know better, I might think these omelets were made with real eggs."

Both Elaithin and M'Kantu gave slight grins as they turned their gaze to the waiter.

He smiled wryly. "A lot of Captains say that about the omelets, gentlemen. It must be the fresh air of the arboretum. Does wonders for the appetite."

Both officers looked at each other with a knowing chuckle. It was obvious these omelets had been made special from fresh ingredients. No doubt Captain Westmoreland, the CO of Starbase 212, had instructed his people to take good care of the visiting Captains during their stay. In fact, it was Westmoreland that had suggested to Elaithin and M'Kantu to try the food in the Arboretum Café. It was at times like this when rank really does have it's privileges, and that was what the two Starfleet veterans were chuckling about. Simple pleasures, and all that.

The waiter smiled warmly, "Let me know if I can get you anything gentlemen." He then dismissed himself from the Captain's company to attend to other patrons.

Elaithin finished another bite of his omelet, and then resumed his conversation with M'Kantu.

"I feel I must congratulate you on your command, Captain Elaithin. You must be the first Bajoran assigned to lead a Starfleet vessel, are you not?" M'Kantu, feeling the bask of the artificial sun on his brow, sipped at the Tanzanian tea that had been surprisingly available on Starbase.

"I am." Jii replied. "And she's certainly a hell of a ship. I always thought that once I left the Galaxy, my career would become more... sedate. That certainly hasn't been the case."

"She is a beautiful ship, Captain. I would be dishonest if I stated I wasn't a touch jealous."

The Bajoran smiled then. "She is indeed. I have to admit, though, I'm not crazy about the redesigned look for the Galaxy. I liked her the way she looked before."

"It's an adjustment, certainly," Daren agreed. "But she's a good ship. She'll be better once they get the last of the bugs out of her." He sipped at his tea. "If you don't mind my asking, what bothers you about her?"

"Something about the third nacelle." he said. "It just bugs me."

"It takes some getting used to, I admit," Daren nodded. "For the longest time I felt that we were in violation of some natural law of starship design every time I saw it." He smiled. "But it grows on you."

"So where has the Galaxy been lately? Anywhere interesting?" Elaithin asked with genuine interest, having still not caught up on the various status reports since Miranda had come back to port.

Daren made a face and set his tea down. "Too many places that were 'interesting' I'm afraid. Most recently the Gryphon system - you've read the reports on that?"

The Bajoran shook his head.

"There was a civil war while we were there on a diplomatic mission," Daren said quietly. "We couldn't stop it. I'm still not certain who started it, but it was short, ugly, and violent, like many are, and when the shooting stopped, we were asked to leave. The only consolation I could find in the situation was that it was so short, which kept the casualties lower than they would have been in a protracted war."

"Sounds like a lot of unanswered questions - and reminds me of some of the whispers I've heard coming out of Intel lately. That sort of thing is happening a lot more often these days." Jii noted with a slightly sad tone to his voice. The universe had been a different place since the end of the Dominion War. Shadows, it seemed, lurked in every corner. "Anything better before that?"

Daren shook his head. "No, nothing much better before that. Rescue an admiral that got trapped in the Neutral Zone and fight off the Romulans trying to capture him. Something wasn't right there, but at least we didn't fail utterly. Before that..." He sighed and his eyes took on a haunted look. "Before that was my first mission aboard as Captain. It was... bad. DTI has the whole mess sealed, but I... Never mind, it was just bad, that's all."

"Funny you should mention DTI." Jii noted. "I just had a debrief with them yesterday. Did you know that alternate universe events now fall under their jurisdiction?"

"No, I didn't. Natural enough that they'd wind up with it, I suppose," Daren replied thoughtfully. "But only one day?" He shook his head. "Try a month for mine. I had to send the Galaxy out with a stand-in while they went over things."

"Prophets." Jii muttered. "It was a whole involved thing - our counterparts in that reality used this device to try to replace us.. it's a long story. But they had a couple months to review it while we were on our way back from the Barrier."

"That would make the process a bit shorter, yes," Daren sighed. "I just wish I wasn't starting to feel like we'd been subjected to the old Terran curse, 'May you live in interesting times and come to the attention of interesting people.'"

"It's been an interesting year for us, as well, ever since terrorists blew up Starbase One. Seems like we've hit the ground running ever since then. The Xanthe rebellion, the Tribble infestation at Hedon, Bajor's admission to the Federation, we even did a tour in the Gamma Quadrant, which felt like a year all on it's own with everything we went through there. The two years since I got this fourth pip seem like many more."

"I'm glad they've built the new SB1 in it's place though, even bigger and better than before. I think that says a lot for the Federation's outlook on things. One of my officers was even involved heavily in their new security measures."

"I remember. My wi... my ex-wife works at the ASDB facility at Jupiter. She and I had some long talks about the rebuilding while that was going on." Daren took a sip of the tea. "There are things I like about what I see happening - like that - but there are others I'm not so happy about."

Thinking of the T'Kith'Kin Hive's involvement with the Alabama incident, and the still unresolved matter of the identity of the parties responsible for the Starbase One bombing - and a great myriad number of other things Jii had learned since taking over Victor Murdock's command, the Bajoran nodded. "You know, I know just what you mean. I - "

During their conversation, the waiter that had been serving them all morning approached. "Sorry for the intrusion gentlemen." He stated. Glancing at Elaithin, he continued, "Captain Elaithin, There is an incoming transmission for you from Rear Admiral Price."

"Heads Up, Mate"

Captain Elaithin Jii (Pat Weber)
Captain Daren Runako M'Kantu (Ian Dickson and Robert Hudson)

with special guest Rear Admiral Robert Edward Lee Price (Mark Williams)

Location: Arboretum Café, Starbase 212

Thinking of the T'Kith'Kin Hive's involvement with the Alabama incident, and the still unresolved matter of the identity of the parties responsible for the Starbase One bombing - and a great myriad number of other things Jii had learned since taking over Victor Murdock's command, the Bajoran nodded. "You know, I know just what you mean. I - "

During their conversation, the waiter that had been serving them all morning approached. "Sorry for the intrusion gentlemen." He stated. Glancing at Elaithin, he continued, "Captain Elaithin, There is an incoming transmission for you from Rear Admiral Price."

Elaithin's eyebrows rose slightly at hearing this.

Captain M'Kantu pressed his hands together, steepling his fingers reflectively. "You'd better take that, friend."

The waiter interjected before Elaithin had a chance to respond to M'Kantu. "Actually, when the Admiral heard you two were dining together, he asked to speak to the both of you, sir."

Now it was M'Kantu whose eyebrow rose slightly.

Again patting his mouth to make sure there was no egg caught in his beard, M'Kantu began to rise out of his seat. "Then we shouldn't keep the Admiral waiting."

When both Starship Captains were standing, the waiter led them to the nearest conference room. "This way gentlemen."

The waiter, Captain Elaithin and Captain M'Kantu walked out of the Arboretum Café. They followed the younger man to a nearby conference room.

"You can take the Admiral's hail in here." The waiter stated motioning with his hand for the two Captains to enter the small conference room without him.

"Thank you. Breakfast was great." Elaithin said with a courteous nod.

"Likewise. The chef must be complimented on his outstanding skills." Daren bowed his head slightly in deference.

The waiter then departed, allowing the conference room doors to swish shut.

"I wonder what this is about?" Elaithin said casually while moving towards the viewscreen. "Starfleet can't possibly be sending us back out already. We've only had a break for a few days."

"There is only one way to find out." M'Kantu stated taking a seat and again steepling his hands casually before him.

Elaithin activated the viewscreen. He noted that the transmission was using an encrypted channel, but it wasn't a frequency reserved for official Starfleet Command communications. The Starfleet logo was immediately replaced with the older, but still familiar face of The General.

"G'day 'mate." Lee greeted.

"Good morning, Admiral. This is an unexpected treat. It's good to hear from you, sir." Elaithin responded.

Daren nodded. It was obvious from the Bajoran's and Admiral's expressions that they knew each other outside of official circles. He knew Admiral Price had once commanded the USS Galaxy prior to John Brhode, but how does a Starfleet Captain obtain a rapport with an Admiral without direct intervention? Answered simply, they must have served together in the past. He would have to survey Elaithin's personnel files. He didn't like surprises, and this was one piece of information that could come in handy in the future.

Lee looked pretty much the same as he did when Elaithin served with him on the original USS Galaxy. The General was still was wearing a full beard, and it was as white as the hair on his head. The only thing that was different was that Price looked a lot darker then he did on board the Galaxy. No doubt being stationed at Starfleet Headquarters back on Earth, Lee had taken advantage of the natural sunshine to work on his tan. He always said his favorite thing in the world was afternoon barbeques on the beach. It looks like now he was finally able to really experience those things outside of the holodeck.

Admiral Price gave a nod, and shifted his head slightly in the direction of Captain M'Kantu. "You're letting Elaithin pick up the check I hope 'mate?"

M'Kantu smiled easily. "Of course. He invited me after all, Admiral."

Lee smiled on the viewscreen. "Let's drop the titles, Daren. Call me Lee." The General glanced back to Elaithin, "That goes for you too Jii. This is not an official communication."

Elaithin gave a nod. That explains why Price wasn't using an official Starfleet channel, but it still left a question of why the broadcast was encrypted.

"So Lee, how are things going with your Borg nanny?" Elaithin asked, raising an eyebrow as his face expanded into a small grin.

Daren felt a shock of derision flow through him. 'At Ease' still meant something where he came from. No matter what, you never talked to your superior officers in such the way Jii just did. Elaithin and price weren't just fellow officers, he was beginning to determine. They were friends as well.

The General rolled his yes. "Crikey! Three-of-Four won't let me alone. She's picking up a few more human traits in her time with me, but frankly I'll be happy when the ten-year treaty expires and I no longer have her chaperoning over me. I had to sneak away just to make this transmission."

Elaithin laughed. The General hadn't changed much. He was just as personable now as he was when thee Bajoran had served under him. Becoming paralyzed from the waist down might have taken his command away from the General, but it didn't take away any of his spirit. Elaithin was glad to see that.

"You say that now, but I bet you'll miss her once she's gone, Lee." Elaithin commented.

Lee gave a resigned sign. "Aye. You are probably right 'mate."

M'Kantu lowered his hands. "So Lee, to what do we owe the honor of this communication? You aren't getting married or anything, are you, sir?"

Lee rolled his eyes. "Afraid not 'mate. It's hard to find a Sheila that will put up with my idiosyncrasies. Actually, I just came out of a rather long and heated meeting here at Starfleet with the Top Brass. The politics are getting so thick here; you can literally cut them with a knife. I'd much rather be out there with you 'mates then deal with all this bureaucratic garbage. But that's another matter all together." The General explained.

Elaithin chimed in, "So then, what was the meeting about? if I may ask?"

Lee took in a breath and released it slowly. "It was about you. Well, both of you; or more properly, the Miranda and Galaxy. I'm afraid that your shore leave at Starbase 212 will be getting cut short 'mates. I just wanted to give you an unofficial 'heads-up' so you can prepare your ships for the upcoming assignment."

Both Captains exchange quick glances. M'Kantu finally asked, "Can you give us any details, Lee? Like how soon? Or what part of the galaxy the assignment will take us?"

Lee shook his head, "I can't really give you any details, Daren. As I said, this is all unofficial at this point while the bureaucrats pound on their chests and inflate their egos over how great they are. Eventually you'll be contacted with official orders. I'd expect that would happen sometime in the next 6 to 24 hours."

"My crew's not going to like this. We've been out on the Rim for quite some time - they deserve their leave." Elaithin noted, sighing a bit. "Thanks, Lee."

M'Kantu gave a nod. "Well, the heads-up is definitely appreciated, Lee."

"No worries 'mate. I know what it was like being out there and getting last minute orders. Hopefully this will help give you some more time."

Elaithin picked up on something in The General's voice. Something that years of serving with the man had taught him to recognize. Elaithin could tell that Lee was worried about something.

"Is everything okay Lee? Are you sure there isn't something else you could tell us about this assignment?" Elaithin asked.

The General leaned back in his hover chair. "I suppose I can tell you that the reason your two ships were picked for this assignment was because you are politically neutral and not a part of the Hawk faction in Starfleet."

Admiral Price's face grew more serious, confirming Elaithin's suspicions about the General's concerns. "There is also something about the suddenness of this request that just doesn't feel,... right to me 'mates. You should both be careful and on your guard."

Elaithin nodded. "We will keep that in mind, sir."

"Hopefully everything will go smoothly and before long you and Daren can be back on shore leave laughing about the whole cloak and dagger nature of this transmission 'mate." Admiral Price reassured.

M'Kantu gave a nod. "Probably. But in any event, we appreciate the forewarning and you taking the time to share your thoughts with us Lee."

"No worries 'mate. It's the least I can do. So far this has been the best part of my day." Lee smiled.

"Well, it was good speaking to you again, Lee." M'Kantu replied.

"Aye. And it was good speaking to you as well, Daren. Take care, and be careful."

The Admiral moved his hand as if he were about to close the channel when he paused and looked at Captain Elaithin.

"Oh, give Chris my regards when you see him 'mate. Admiral Price out."

The channel closed, replacing the Admiral's image with the Starfleet logo.

Elaithin was pondering over what Admiral Price had said just before he closed the channel. It seemed Lee was trying to tell him something about the mission in asking to 'give Chris' his regards. But what could it have meant?

"Something on your mind, Elaithin?" Captain M'Kantu asked, noticing Elaithin deep in thought.

"Oh yeah. I was just thinking about the General is all." Elaithin responded, still pondering Price' closing statement and how it related to the upcoming mission.

"Well, my friend, I think we should cut our morning visit short. I'm sure we each have much unofficial work to do on our respective ships before our official orders arrive."

Elaithin nodded at M'Kantu's suggestion. "I agree. I had a good time visiting this morning. I'm glad our ships will get to work together on this upcoming assignment. It'll be good to see the Galaxy in action again."

M'Kantu smiled as he rose out of his seat and extended his hand to Elaithin. "Oh sure you say that now, young man... but will you be singing the same tune after the mission is over?"

"Only time will tell I suppose, Captain. Only time will tell." Elaithin smiled as the two men shook hands and then exited the conference room and headed in the directions of their respective starships.

Walking through the corridors of Starbase 212, Captain Elaithin Jii continued to ponder what Admiral Price had said about giving Chris his regards. Somehow it was a clue to where their assignment was going to take them. Elaithin just needed to figure out what it was.

NRPG: So, where is the mission going to take the USS Galaxy and USS Miranda? Any original USS Galaxy writers care to guess? ;) - Mark

"Stop beating on that guy"

by
Ensign Jennai Angelique,
Miranda Helm Officer

Lt jg Claire Barnes,
Galaxy Security Officer

Walking down the main promenade of the Starbase, Claire sighed. She had spent enough time cooped up here now, and she really hope the Galaxy got underway soon.

Already, she had racked up too many hours on shift that she had been told to take a break.

Instead though, she had managed to convince the Starbase Sec Chief that one more 'loaned' security officer on patrol was a good thing.

Grinning, she was just passing a small shop when her combadge chirped, "Security Patrols, head to the Gannor Bar. Incident in progress."

Cracking her knuckles, she went from walking to sprinting, making her way down the large carpeted corridor.

Arriving as two Starbase Sec officers did, she let them go ahead, following behind.

Inside, she blinked in surprise as did the others. In the middle of the bar, a mostly nude woman was currently belting the hell out of a customer on top of a raised stage with poles as the rest of the bar was currently hitting each other.

Claire sighed when she suddenly realised that she knew the woman,

"Shit. Guys, I'll deal with the woman. I know her."

They nodded and waded into the brawl. She noticed other security personnel had arrived to.

Reaching the edge of stage, she jumped up onto it and walked over.

"Jennai Angelique?"

The brunette stopped and looked up, smiling with recognition, "Claire? Fancy meeting you here. How are things?"

"Good if you stop beating on that guy."

"Oh, okay."

Dropping the unconscious man to the stage, she stood up, not at all worried that most of her body was on show to whoever looked over, "I swear that it wasn't me who started it."

"Hmm.. The cams will prove that. We have to get out of here, and I am afraid I have you take you to the Security Office."

"That's okay. I guess that Jii isn't gonna be too cheery though."

Claire blinked, "Jii? Oh, you're on the USS Miranda, aren't you?"

"Yep. And it has a nice brig from personal experience."

Claire laughed, as they walked down the stage to some stairs at the end, "I remeber how you used to spend a lot of time there."

Getting down, they headed towards the main entrance where some junior security enlisted crewmen were stationed with orders to stop the brawl spilling out.

"Jennai, I think you forgot something."

Jennai thought before shrugging, "What?"

Claire grinned, "I see you haven't changed, although dancing here is obvious that you haven't. You will need some clothes before going outside."

"Oh."

Pointing over to a door nearby, she said, "My stuff is in a locker."

Claire nodded and followed her over. In the back rooms, it was a lot quieter and Claire sat on a couch as Jennai got her uniform out of the locker, changing into it.

Heading out of the change rooms, they went back to the door where the Starbase Security Chief had arrived.

He looked to Claire, who responded, "I found Ensign Angelique from the USS Galaxy here in the middle. I was going to take her to the Security Office for processing now she is dressed."

"Hmmm.."

Jennai smiled, "I was dancing on the stage."

Blinking, he said, "You know what this place is?"

"Yes, nude stripper bar."

Shaking his head, he said, "We can ignore that fact. The bar security cameras showed that the brawl was caused by a Klingon and a Narsicaan, so you are not under arrest, Ensign. However, I don't want to see you here again, got it? In fact, staying on your ship and off my starbase would be a very good move."

Saluting, she smiled, "Aye aye, sir."

Ignoring the sarcasm, he spoke to Claire, "Lt Barnes, take the Ensign back to her ship. I also found out from the Galaxy's security office that you have been pulling a lot of duty, so cut it on the moonlighting here too."

"Sorry, sir. Was going a bit stircrazy."

"Go beat up something in the holodeck then, and get out of here."

Nodding, they both headed out of the bar. As they walked down the corridor silently, Jennai turned to Claire, winking mischieviously, "Oh, and I saw you checking me out again."

"What? I was not."

"Yeah right."

"Jennai, do you ever think above the gutter?"

"Nah, your quarters or mine?"

Claire shrugged, taking Jennai's hand, "Whichever is closer."

Looking around, Jennai smiled, "Mine is."

"Dear Diary"

Cmdr Jaal Jaxom
SO/Ops Manager
USS Miranda

Having a few minutes to spare before a staff meeting, Jaal was making a personal log entry. He didn't do it often, but events as of late left him wondering about the crazy course life had taken these past few months.

"Computer, start log entry," he said.

When the computer indicated it was ready, Jaal began...

"What a long strange trip it's been. That's about all I can say as I start my third year aboard this vessel. It's really strange. All those people who said I'd never make it past lieutenent are feasting on chicken right now... if I got the Terran adage right. Whatever. Anyhow, I got a letter from Kostov yesterday. The big news on the Panther is Captain Drake is stepping down to retire. He's also still mad about the time we fixed rootbeer to come out of his sonic shower. A.J. will take over as commanding officer ... that was to be expected.

We've just put into Starbase 212 and man, I sure as hell couldn't wait to get off that bridge. After three months in the gamma quadrant, then almost five round trip to the edge of the galaxy and back, and everything that happened in between, we sure need this leave."

Jaal's hand still absent mindedly covered the scar on his abdomen where a Borg drone tried to shish-kabob him. "Taalis, Janeen, and I are suppose to go to Trill for a week or so ... provided nothing else comes up. I've never been particularly the religious type, but I'm praying nothing does. After everything that's happened since last time ..."

Once more Jaal's thoughts turned to all the recent events of the past few months. This time it was along more personal lines. The wedge that the mutiny had driven between Jaal and Taalis had finally healed... or at least it seemed to. Then Taalis' mirror universe counterpart ... During an urgent session with Shinta, there had been a real scary moment. It seemed there was a part of Taalis' mirror persona stuck in her mind.

"'That' was a different sort of bond experience," was all Jaal recorded on the subject.

"And finally," the Trill commander was almost done now and his voice showed his excitement regarding the subject matter, "I've gotten the last part of the Ducati. The secondary drive chain, you wouldn't believe how hard it was to get one of those made. I hope to have it assembled and tested so we can take it home and try out on a 'real' road.'"

Jaal ended the log entry and got ready for the impending staff meeting.

"Operations Department Staff Meeting Thang"

By
Commander Jaal Jaxom
Chief Of Operations/Second Officer

Lt. Commander Gwyin Narim'Malyki,
Assistant Chief of Operations

Lt. jg. Jonathon Diaz
Operations Officer

and Ensign Michael Fontaine
Operations Officer

& rest of the operations staff USS Miranda

**Operations Briefing Room, Operations Centre, DECK 13**

Gwyin arrived first into the briefing room, balancing a pile of PADD's in one arm and a cup of hot chocolate in her other hand. She let the PADD's topple onto the large conference desk and sighed as they skidded everywhere. She put down her mug and began to gather them up. She felt like a wreak, emotionally and physically but it did not show on the outside. Her uniform was regulation neat, her Lt. Commander pips were in a straight line and her hair was done up in a french braid. She looked competent and composed. Heaven forbid if Jaal saw through that. He would have her in Shinta's office so fast her head would spin.

Once the pile was neat she sat down in her chair to the right of the Chief's chair and picked up her mug. At least that last mission was over. Hopefully the next would be a trip to Risa for a vacation.

As Michael entered the briefing room, he felt somewhat uneasy. This was his first briefing and he didn't want to make a mess of things. He was almost sure the senior officers in the room had already noticed the tension building up inside him. As he sat down next to the table, the tension inside him dropped a little. Michael was now ready to be briefed on the situation at hand.

Gwyin looked up as the newcommer entered and absently her mind brought forth a couple of names that could match the face but she did not say anything out loud. Instead she nodded at the man and sipped her hot chocolate.

Michael arose from his chair, and aproached the Commander. He presented himself as being Ensign Michael Fontaine, a new operations officer assigned to USS Miranda. Sweat had begun to form on Michaels forehead, while he was telling the commander this.

Gwyin nodded. "Have a seat Ensign. And do not look like you are going to your death, we do not bite around here."

Jonathan Diaz entered and brushed a stray hair from his face with a sweep of his hand. He scanned the Briefing Room quickly, a slight inclination of his head expressing his approval of the layout of the room. From his vantage point by the door, Diaz saw a nervous looking man sporting ensign's pips on his yellow collar speaking with a neat looking woman, who Diaz noticed to be a Lieutenant Commander.

Diaz moved further into the room, and introduced himself to the woman. "Lieutenant Jonathan Diaz, reporting as ordered." he said, his voice, much to his own surprised, trembling ever so slightly with nerves. He mentally shook his nerves off.

Gwyin nodded. "You only report to me if JAAL is incapacitated Ltjg. He should be here soon. Both of you sit down and relax. That is an order." There would be plenty of time for them to get tense later.

A few of the departments NCO's filed in followed Jaal Jaxom. The tall Trill was carrying only one PADD as he made his way to the head of the table nodding greeting to those he was familiar with.

He didn't sit at the head of the table, but Commander Jaxom plopped the PADD down with a 'clankity clank.' "Hi folks," he said to the group, then to his assistant, "Hey Gwyin, what's up?"

"Nothing more than normal." She replied with a calm smile.

"Great," Jaal said with a smirk, "I see we have some new people for a change. You wanna tell us a bit about yourselves before we go on?"

"Freeeeesh meeeeat!" Someone hollered out jokingly.

Jaal gave Fauf, the joker Ferengi in the group, an evil looking stare, "You were fresh meat once too bub... in fact, you still are. Now zip it."

Fauf smiled showing all his crooked, yellowed teeth, but then shut it quickly as a remorseful look came upon him.

Jaal now turned his attention to the 'newbies'. "Just ignore him, he does that all the time 'wishing' he was funny."

Michael started to speak: "Well sir, I joined the academy to honor my family. My mother served valiantly on the USS Saratoga, during the first Borg attack. My father is a Lieutenant Commander still serving in starfleet. I enjoy a lot of rock climbing and most people believe I am real smart. During the time I spent at the academy, I did a lot of holo programming on my freetime. I exceled on my academic studies and many starfleet officers believed I would one day become a great starfleet captain, like Picard or Janeway."

'Rrrriiiiiiight,' Jaal thought silently to himself.

With a slight chuckle Diaz continued. "For those of you who haven't got any idea who I am, my name is Jonathan Diaz. I just transferred from the USS Endeavour with my good lady wife. This is one fine ship you have here...I hope I can help keep her running. Oh, and I specialise in Reverse Engineering" he added as an afterthought.

Jaal nodded approvingly. "Good. I'm sure you two will fit in fine. Any questions so far?"

Michael responded briefly: "None so far, sir."

Gwyin meanwhile typed up a slight message that appeared on Fauf's padd. [Circ has been asking about you.] Which made the Ferengi go pale. He took the message to heart though. She had nearly run his 'bookie' business to non-existance last time she was aboard.

"Okay," Jaal checked his PADD momentarily, "Next on the agenda are new shift assignments. Well, actually, there's just two changes. Diaz, you're on the main bridge for gamma shift. Fontaine, you got delta. Okay? Now, I need to know what you two know about multi-vector assult capable vessels. Sorry if it seems like I'm picking on you two today, but you 'are' the new guys and I need to know what you're capable of."

Fontaine responded with as much information as he knew: "While at the academy, we got to study some tech manuals on the MVAM function on the Prometheus Class. Basically it allows a ship to split into several smaller sections and being able to function independantly from the whole. Most commonly is that the ship is split up, and all sections are commanded from the bridge. This Multi-Vector Assault Mode is known by the name, that it allows a shp to attack an enemy vessel from multiple vectors. The most known incident involving MVAM, is when the USS Prometheus which had been hijacked by Romulans, separated into 3 sections and attacked a Nebula Class ship. The Prometheus was later recovered by the ships EMH and the EMH from the USS Voyager."

Diaz raised an eyebrow, impressed at his colleague's knowledge. "Yes Commander, I am familiar with the theory." he replied to Commander Jaxom with a nod, "When I was on the Starbase, I managed to get some time in the Holodeck, running some simulations of MVAM. I think I can handle a split. And, from what I've seen so far, most of the other systems aboard seem standard enough."

"Good," Jaal said, he glanced at Gwyin with a smirk. She already knew what he was thinking but didn't let anyone else know.

"It just so happens, next on the agenda is where the heck you're all supposed to be when we 'do' go MVAM." Commander Jaxom consulted his PADD for a second. "Gwyin here will man ops on the primary hull. Diaz, secondary hull. As second officer, I'll usually in command of the tertiary hull. Fontaine will man ops there. No other personel changes are being made at this time. Any questions?"

"No sir," Diaz replied with a slow nod of comprehension, "Sounds good to me."

Ensign Fontaine replied to the Commander proudly: "I have never experienced being on a ship outfitted with the MVAM system. It will be a real pleasure to being able to experience it first hand. I've only seen it in use, in holodeck simulations."

Jaal smirked. "Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it," he said looking to Fontaine while remembering the brush with the Borg in the gamma quadrant some weeks ago. His hand absent mindedly laid itself on his abdomen where the drone tried to shish-kabob him on the secondary bridge. "Anyway," he started again in a normal tone, "There will be simulations run for you benefit on the holodeck. All new officers aboard go through them."

He glaned at Gwyin now, "You have the schedules for them, right?"

"Yep," she said handing Jaal two PADDS.

Jaal tossed one to each of the new guys. "Here ya go. Think fast!"

Diaz caught the PADD with his right hand and secured his hold with his left. With a smile he looked down at the device and thumbed the controls several times. The information on the PADD shifted to reveal a Duty Roster, then a Procedural Manual, then Ship Specifications. He digested the information quickly then nodded curtly.

Fontaine caught the PADD with his left hand. The PADD contained basically the same information as his colleague. The Ensign quickly browsed through the pages in the PADD and nodded to the Commander.

Gwyin yawned and even though she tried to hide it, she failed miserably. "Sorry" She said sheepishly to Jaal. "Not much sleep of late.." She held up a PADD. "Need a volenteer to go through crew quarters assignments and deal with the problems.. Anyone? Volenteer or I pick."

Jaal quirked a slightly annoyed eyebrow at Gwyin. It didn't matter, he knew she didn't care. On the other hand, he figured she'd been up late renewing her relationship with the recently returned Haku.

Jaal turned his head to watch the two newcomers. This would surely say alot about them. He had a hunch about which one would take the lead.

Diaz held up a hand. "I'll take care of it." He extended a hand for the PADD.

Jaal tossed a second PADD his way which Diaz caught neatly. "Okay then, if there's no other questions or comments we'll adjourn."

No one else had anything to add or ask.

Jaal breathed a low sigh of relief. The meeting went surprisingly well considering there was usually more shenanigans going on amongst the NCO's. "Dismissed then. See you all later."

Now it was time for Jaal to get ready for shoreleave ...

Lt Cole Cantrell

USS Miranda Personal quarters

------

To sum up the life onboard the USS Miranda was easy. Childplay. It was nothing like the ISS Miranda. Sure enough these people knew how to handle themselves and judging by their files they had been successful so far.

But people didn't gut eachother to earn a promotion. They didn't torture people just because they felt like it. Nor did they fight amongst themselves. Not openly anyway. A shame really. Cantrell sort of missed it.

So far his rouse had been successful in that no one had noticed the switch, but to be on the safe side he kept to himself, exposing himself as little as possible to the rest of the crew. Mimicking the real Cantrell wasn't too hard. He had copied the full set of instructions into his own datacore as reference when interacting with people.

To his great dismay the datacore didn't differentiate the real and mirror Jii. That meant Jii had more influence over him than he would have liked. Jordan on the other hand no longer had any commandstatus over him. He would be able to ignore any order she would care to give him. He didn't foresee that as a problem. The interaction between the real Cantrell and Jordan had been kept to an absolute minimum. Cole had a feeling his counterpart had rubbed her the wrong way, causing her to ignore him. All the better.

It wasn't as if he missed anyone from the mirrorverse. He had been to infamous there for his own liking. A week without some pissant bountyhunter trying to kill him had been rare indeed. He had pissed off half the galaxy running Jii's errands and for what? Credits he would never been able to get his hands on? He had been a rich man a few weeks ago, now he he didn't have that option in case he needed to leave in a hurry.

If his counterpart had anything stashed it would remain that way since none of the files left behind contained any information about such things. That was one of the things that worried him. All he had to go on were the logs Cantrell had left behind, most of them just unstructured ramblings or furious outburst.

Cantrell had been taken by surprise there. He had always considered himself as an angry person, but compared to the real Cantrell he was downright friendly. The anger had pushed his counterpart well beyond the limits of the augmentations and he was fairly sure his counterpart had not even been aware of it. They would most likely meet again and unless he figured out a new approach he would get pummeled to death the next time.

The cyborg sat down behind the small desk in "his" quarters. He had a backup plan in case he needed to leave the Miranda in a hurry. The two boxes he had made when he had come to the Miranda the first time were still in place. Without them things he would probably would still be able to escape, but not without hurting himself and a lot of others in the process.

Sighing he cleared his mind and ordered the datacore to load and execute the programs and protocols he needed to access the background files of the crew. He had begun to weave an intricate pattern, but it would take a long time before the web would be finished. "Here we go.." he whispered to himself and let the datacore move him to a world of electrons and datastreams.

"Happy Anniversary"

Primary Character:
Sub-Commander Savar tr'Khellian
Acting Chief Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

****

Observation Lounge
Deck 1
USS Galaxy

****

Outside the long, transparent aluminium windows which lined one side of the observation lounge, traffic buzzed busily around Starbase 212. The Galaxy was again docked here, returning like a rubber ball as it did after every mission, without fail. But, somehow, tarnished, each time. The ship returned, but, each time, a few souls did not.

Brooding in the gloomy interior of the lounge sat Savar tr'Khellian, his lupine features barely lit by the distended glow from the Starbase's portholes, and the distant glimmer from those of the USS Miranda. One prominent cheekbone was supported by a clenched fist, propped up by an elbow, resting on a chair arm. Sub-Commander tr'Khellian was slumped back in his seat, sunken in his own thoughts.

It was three years to the day that he reported aboard this vessel, and he remembered it as though it were yesterday. He recalled the suspicious glares of the Starbase's security personnel, the way he was so brusquely and rudely treated by Captain M'Kantu - a snub he had never forgotten to this very day, and which, unresolved, would forever stand in the way of the African gaining his full respect.

Two years on - and what had changed? He was still no closer to rehabilitation in the Empire, no nearer to a return to his glittering career, so callously and cowardly dashed by crude, stupid young men too brash and weak to face the truth. From the few contacts he had managed to maintain within the hallowed halls of ch'Rihan, the new Praetor continued to steer a course between the rival factions: those who called for peace and reconciliation; those who called for a retreat into the isolationism which had served the Rihannsu for centurites; those who lusted after fresh conquests. The Tal Shiar's witch-hunts had never gotten fully off the ground - clearly the agency was itself divided as to which path was in its best interest. A few individuals had fallen from each faction, but this was just low-level, bloody-minded opportunism, the ebb and flow of Rihannsu politics. Until a decision was made one way or the other, Savar's future would be uncertain, the Damoclean sword forever trembling above his head. The tension and frustration tore away at his composure and pride every single day he spent on this alien vessel.

To be sure, during his time on the Galaxy, he had attained a measure of responsibility and grudging respect. For obvious reasons his most remarkable successes - in battle against warbirds from his own fleet - would never be known beyond the Galaxy, but it was this which had forced the Galaxy crew to acknowledge his brilliance, and, more grudgingly, his fealty. But even so, the post of Acting Chief Tactical Officer, albeit on the Federation's flagship, was as nothing compared with his earlier glories, commanding taskforces in battle and conquest. Elements, how he missed those days! There were a handful of times when the blood rang in his ears here on this ship, the pride and fulfilment of honourable combat and the near and present danger of death making him feel alive again.. but they were so few, and far between. In between these reminders of life, personnel reports, training regimens and endless paperwork formed the petty, hollow substitutes for power, authority and prestige.

Tr'Khellian launched himself suddenly out his chair and began to stalk angrily around the room, unable to contain his frustration any longer. He went days, weeks sometimes, without lapsing into these sorts of thoughts, almost able to convince himself that his dedication and scrupulous loyalty were being noted somewhere and that all this was some sort of nightmarish interlude until his real life could begin again.

It didn't take much, though, for some occurrence to trigger off a chain of thoughts which ultimately led him back here.

In this case it had been the untimely death of Lieutenant D'Tinya-Bolivar. During the last mission, Savar had used the opportunity to get off-ship and had gone climbing on a remote part of the main asteroid, in almost zero-gee conditions, a rare challenge. He had been cut off for a long time during the crisis, until the crippled USS Galaxy had been able to restore its communications array and mainframe systems and began to retrieve its scattered crew. Much to his rage, Savar had not been brought back onboard until the crisis was practically over. Added to this sence of impotent outrage was the news of Ahdijia's death.

He had not known her well. None had, from what he surmised. Nor did he particularly know Major Bolivar, her husband, very much beyond work. Why had her death affected him so much? Probably because, in two years - two years! - onboard this accursed vessel, she had been the only one to approach him - to approach *him* - and dare to show an interest. To be openly - but not intrusively - interested. And he had asked questions back - and learned something of her, and her people. For an hour, he had just scratched the surface of what it meant to serve on a ship of exploration, and though his conscious mind might not recognise it, reacting with bemusement at some of the things she told him, and mentally reaffirming the superiority of Rihannsu culture, he had been thoroughly intrigued. Though he would never admit it, he had felt the frisson of discover which serving on a multi-species assignment always brought to the curious of mind. And, she had even shown him kindness.

Savar had taken the last piece of wood he had gathered in the foothills of Risa, nearly two years ago now, a flat piece of dark, almost black oak, and carved it into a suitably arachnoid design, carved it with lines of grief and missed opportunities. He had wrapped it carefully, first in a sheet of gossamer grey silk, then in a coarse black sack-cloth, then in green cotton. The colours and fabric were the traditional wrappings of Rihannsu mourning: the white represented the tranquility of life before death, its fabric not entirely smooth, for no life was without its tumult; the central layer was black for unknowable grief, coarse like the pain which clawed at your soul with such poisonous strength that it seems one cannot go on; the final wrapping, grey and sheer, its texture to represent the final acceptance and calm of mourning, but its colour reflecting the fact that life would always be altered, that some vitality had been forever lost. Major Bolivar had not been accepting visitors, and so Savar had had the item delivered through intermediaries. By now, Saladin had left the Galaxy. The Nietzscheans, always with an eye for melodrama, had sent an honour guard to whisk away the Major, his premature child, and the corpse of his wife. Tr'Khellian would never clap eyes upon them again.

Her death had been so meaningless, so pointless, a petty squabble for a few lumps of pathetic rock floating in deep space, competition over mineral rights, the utterily peurile feud of peasants and rude mechanics. It brought home again, starkly, the ever-present possibility of his own death on this ship, hundreds and hundreds of lightyears from home. He had faced it once, and seen it, stared down the barrel of his own destiny and felt the fiery explosion rip through the Bridge, incinerating his body as the Galaxy met an ignominious end on the surface of the planet Quentin. He had looked death in the eye again, at the hands of his own people, and barely saved all their lives, at the cost of hundreds of Rihannsu. Thoughts of death had a way of clarifying priorities in life, Savar thought. He would rather die an ignoble death in the Empire which had disowned him than perish, unnoted and unloved, on this grey, cold, alien vessel.

Tr'Khellian looked at his own gloomy reflection, traced darkly in the window he now leaned against. He could perish any day, he thought, more wryly than morbidly. Atole Tekri, the 'aide to Ambassador Omar', otherwise known as the Tal Shiar assassin tasked with taking Savar's life, was still onboard, and according to all of tr'Khellian's sources, enjoying sexual intercourse with the Chief of Security on a basis that was very regular and very loud. Savar shook his head in disgust and sadness. Rarely had he felt so terribly alone.

He glanced at his chronometer. Time for his duty shift.

Sub-Commander tr'Khellian inhaled deeply, straightened his Galae tunic, and smiled mirthlessly in the darkness as he headed towards the Bridge.

"Happy Anniversary," Savar muttered to himself.

[Backpost - Occurs two days after the Galaxy departs the Gryphon System]

"Surprises"

Principal Characters:
Lt. Ella Grey
Lt. (JG) Victor Krieghoff

Secondary Characters:
Lt. Shelley O'Rourke
Lt. (JG) Walter Marsh
Ensign Indigo Renkert

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 05
Ella Grey's Quarters

She didn't believe it at first.

An ensign in Engineering had commented that she must be happy and Ella had looked at him blankly. Another ensign from security had said about the same thing. A couple of the guys she usually flirted with, and who flirted back with her, started avoiding her like the plague.

When men avoided her, it was because Victor Krieghoff was around.

True, she hadn't actually seen him leave (not that they'd been somewhere that he could) but she had just assumed...

Well, you know what you did when you assume, Ella had thought and had checked with the computer.

Sure enough, he was still on board.

Ella had sat down on her couch and hour ago and hadn't moved since. She wasn't sure what to do. Victor was still on Galaxy and that made her happier than she had been all week. But she had also been trying, not terribly successfully, to separate herself from him. And now that he was still here, should she continue to be aloof or welcome him back?

And why hadn't the bastard come to see her yet?

*****

USS Galaxy
Deck 12
Corridor B

"I can't believe it," O'Rourke said fiercely. "I can't. Why would he wait so long to make his call on this? Why leave us all hanging? I thought for certain when he got Ahdjiia killed that would be that, but no, it isn't. And now scuttlebutt says they're even going to give the bastard a frikking medal to boot!"

"Shelley..." Walter Marsh cautioned as his eyes looked past her and down the corridor.

"What?" she snapped. "Why are you... oh." She shuddered as the familiar sensation of Victor Krieghoff's presence washed over her, and clenched her hands into fists to prevent them from shaking.

"O'Rourke. Marsh." Krieghoff's voice was as neutral as it ever was these

days, almost Vulcanesque, as he greeted them when he drew abreast of their position.

"Morning," Walter nodded after a glance at Shelley. There were times that he wondered what it was really like being inside Krieghoff's head, seeing the world through those unreadable eyes. Not many, true, but this one of them. Had he heard O'Rourke? What did he think about the news after all this time left waiting for it? How had Ahdjiia's death really affected him? Was he sad? Angry? Neither?

Krieghoff paused and met Shelley's angry eyes. "Don't worry, O'Rourke," he said calmly. "The Captain will file that transfer eventually, and then you won't have to deal with me any more. I'll be someone else's problem."

Shelley blinked, eyes confused, but Krieghoff was already in motion before she'd opened her mouth to say anything. Instead, she just watched him depart, the crewmen in the corridor all finding reasons to move in different directions than the approaching security officer.

"He doesn't know," she finally whispered to Marsh. "He doesn't know that..."

Marsh, still looking in the direction Krieghoff had departed, nodded slowly. "He doesn't. One of us ought to tell him..."

"No." O'Rourke's voice was firm. "No. Let him find it out on his own."

"He's one of us, Shelley," Marsh said reproachfully. "I know you don't like the man, but he deserves to know."

"He isn't one of us," she retorted sharply. "He never was, and he never will be. He's a monster. He should have been the one to die, not Ahdjiia. Let him rot, waiting and not knowing." She met Marsh's eye. "I mean it Walter let him rot."

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 05
Ella Grey's Quarters

Indigo Renkert stood with her hands on her hips, watching Ella as she tinkered with one of her models. Her roommate had been silently moping for the past three weeks and Indy, who was raised with the beliefs that negative moods tended to infect others around her, had decided to finally intervene for her aura's sake.

"Go see him, Ella." Indigo ordered.

Ella flinched but didn't look up from her model. She had been trying to fit in this piece for over an hour, Indigo noted.

"You're miserable. Go see him." She repeated, moving her hands to tie back her newly dyed yellow hair, done in cornrows. The earrings that Ella had

bought her on the starbase glinted under the lights.

Her roommate shrugged and looked at another piece of plastic that even Indigo could tell wouldn't fit.

Indigo drew in a deep breath. "Ella Grey, if you don't go see him right now, I'm going to march over there and tell him that you're crazy about him, are dying to be with him, and want to have a gazillion of his children."

Ella looked up sharply, her eyes widening, as she dropped the piece of plastic she was holding. She made a quick gesture, her mouth slightly open.

"Oh, yes I would!" Indigo retorted. "My knees would be shaking the entire time and I might vomit later but I'd do it for you." She put her hands on her hips. "Besides, I want Bill to come over tonight."

Ella pouted out her bottom lip and her hands seemed on the verge of saying more.

"No excuses, Missy." Indigo said, shaking her head so the bangles in her

ears jingled.

Looking slightly confused, Ella pushed herself off the floor and went in her room to get her things. She emerged a minute later with a pink duffel bag. "But..." she mouthed to Indigo.

"You can't avoid him forever." Indigo said gently. And then she put on her mock general's face again. "Go. Now."

Ella smiled slightly and made the sign for 'thank you.'

******

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Ella rang the buzzer and then rolled her eyes and waved at the camera.

The sound of the buzzer drew Victor from his place at the viewport, watching the stars slip by, the activity that had occupied most of his time since

he'd returned to the ship from the Gryphon Colony. Counselor Dallas had put him on mandatory in-ship leave, and he'd finished up all of the remote learning courses he'd been taking, written all the reports he needed to about Ahdjiia's death and the rest of the things that had happened, and found that there was nothing left to do but sit and watch. He moved to the door checked the scanner - and blinked when he saw Grey there. His hand keyed the door open without conscious direction of his part.

She breezed in. ~~I'm spending the night.~~ Ella signed after dropping her bag. ~~Indy kicked me out for the night, so it looks like it's just you and me, Kid.~~

Victor stared at her without responding. It'd been two weeks since he'd last spoken to her, and months since he'd last seen her at the holosuite. Why was she here, now, acting like this? "Why?" he asked after a moment.

She looked at him as if he were dense. ~~I need a place to sleep, Victor.~~

Victor's blank expression didn't change, but his eyes shifted slightly, just enough to let Ella know that he truly didn't understand. "Why here?"

Ella fixed him with a glare. ~~Because I've decided that I'm going to be a real friend and not give up on you even if you do. I gave up too easily before. So - and this she signed with a grand gesture - if you happen to get transferred in the future, we're still going to be pals whether you like it or not. I'll come and visit you, you'll come and visit me, we'll write letters etc, etc. I need this friendship, damnit, and I'll be damned if you push me away again. SO you'll have to just live with it. Got anything to

eat? I'm starving.~~

He blinked once. "Transferred in the future?"

~~Well, yeah....didn't you check?~~

"No. I never bother to check. It's set to notify me when the transfer orders come through. After Gryphon, it shouldn't take long."

~~Victor,~~ Ella said after a heartbeat. ~~You're not being transferred at all.~~

"Of course I am," he responded instantly. "I'm always left behind."

~~You're not being transferred.~~ She repeated.

"Grey, I always get transferred. The only thing that's different this time, is that I haven't almost been court martialed first - I just got a better officer killed this time. Reason enough."

~~Victor,~~ Ella signed gently. ~Watch my hands. I don't know why but he

Captain isn't transferring you. You're not getting left behind.~~

He frowned for a second and then turned and called up the LCARS interface at his desk, fingers moving over the controls slowly, as if afraid he would be going too fast if he didn't restrain himself. The console beeped once, displayed a screen - and he froze, looking at it.

He stood there and stared for over a minute before he blanked the screen and turned back to her, his eyes for once readable in their utter lack of comprehension. "Why?" he asked with a shake of his head. "Why did he do that?"

~~I don't know, Sweetheart, he just did.~~ Ella replied, then blushed slightly at the endearment that sprang naturally to her hands. ~~I would

just go along with it. You're here to stay. So let's eat dinner. I really am hungry.~~

Victor continued to look at her for a moment. "I...," he finally asked in a voice that sounded a little more like the one Ella had grown used to before the threat of transfer had forced Victor's retreat into his older, harsher self. "I don't have to leave?"

She shook her head. ~~You don't have to leave.~~

He watched her fingers, and, as he did so, something shifted in his stance. His body language lost some its hard edge, and seemed closer to the Victor she'd grown used to, the one that held her simply because she needed it and asked for nothing in return. Not there yet, still a long way off, but just enough that she could tell there was a change. He leaned back against the desk and closed his eyes, his whisper almost too soft for Ella to hear. "I don't have to leave home."

Ella moved over to him and because she couldn't think of what else to do, she gave him a hug.

Victor stood there for a long moment before he awkwardly lifted his arms and clumsily reached around to hold her back. For several minutes he just stood there as she pressed her cheek against his chest, then finally opened his eyes and looked down at her. "You said something about food, didn't you?" he asked quietly.

~~It can wait.~~ Ella signed. ~~How have you been, Victor?~~

"The same." He frowned. "Except they hate me now for not being the one to die, for living when D'Tinya didn't."

~~It's not your fault, you know.~~ Ella replied and then held her finger up in a shushing motion when he opened his mouth to speak. ~~And if they're too stupid to realize that, then so be it.~~

"I know it wasn't my fault, Grey. Everyone dies. D'Tinya died doing what she chose to do. That's more than many people get."

~~And here I was trying to comfort you.~~ Her hands flicked dryly.

"I know what death is, Grey. I've lived with it all my life. I understand it better than almost everyone aboard this ship. If that understanding of death, and my unwillingness to grieve for someone that found it, makes me a monster in people's eyes, then that's what it does."

~~I missed you.~~

Victor blinked. "What?"

~~I missed your company.~~

"Why?"

~~Because I lo...lost my best friend when we weren't speaking.~~ Ella signed, quickly covering her mistake. ~~You don't mind that you're my best friend, do you?~~

"I'm not a good friend, Grey," Victor replied slowly. "Why me?"

~~I don't know why, Tiger.~~ Ella replied with a mixture of exasperation and happiness for the familiar. ~~I just know that you are.~~

"You're not going to stop if I tell you to, are you?" he asked quietly.

She grinned. ~~Have I ever?~~

"No, but it might work if I keep trying," he replied seriously.

She laughed and kissed him impulsively on the cheek. ~~Good luck with that. So, I really was serious about dinner. How about some of your Aunts dishes?~~

Victor frowned in surrender. "Not the fish. Something else, maybe. You were mad the last time we had the fish." He pulled away from her. "I'll find something."

"Surprise me," Ella laughed again.

"Almost Ex Number Three"

by
Emmett Bregman
Documentary Leader Extraordinaire
USS Galaxy

&
Cmdr. K. Jordan Elaithin
Intelligence Liaison
USS Miranda

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

Have you ever watched a mass of people - it doesn't even matter if they're all one species or not - in what amounts to a mall? It's insane. They push, they shove, they're rude, they smell...It's all of the worst parts of New York City concentrated into an itty bitty living space.

Throw in a few New Yorker accents and it's the Bronx. Sometimes I enjoy people watching, especially when there are so many examples of why I have never had children roaming through them. Then again, there are also plenty of examples of the future ex-Mrs. Bregman walking through them as well.

Tipping my glass in salute to all the future ex's looming in the crowd, I take a drink. That is, of course, when I spot the looker at two o'clock who looks vaguely familiar....

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

Once she was released from her four hour-long excuse for a nap, Jordan decided to take the time to do some shopping. She'd seen a few stores she wanted to step into, and after buying some new clothes (her pants were already wearing a little tight) including a few articles of early maternity wear she actually liked (she found that was rare when she was browsing through) she decided she needed to comply with Doctor's Orders and make sure she got something to drink.

Turning into the nearest cantina she slide onto a stool at the bar and ordered, to the bartender's chagrin it seemed, a glass of carbonated water, with lemon. The nausea had let up considerably, and since they didn't serve food at this particularly bar, she had the feeling she was safe for the time being. Jii would be a little put out with the fact that they would be eating bland, colorless, tasteless, smell-less food for a while (something not all too dissimilar from K rations), but well, he'd cope.

Emmett Bregman, documentary maker extraordinaire and all around lovable guy - no matter what the Alpha Centaurians tell you, eyed his new bar companion with a faintly confused expression on his face. He *knew* he recognized her, but how...it really wasn't sinking in. So, he did what any confused gentleman of his caliber would do, he introduced himself, "Ah carbonated water. A fine choice of drink for a lady such as yourself. Personally I find brandy a better drink for a bar, but water does do in a pinch." He pulled out one of his patented lady-killer grins and half bowed towards Jordan, "Permit me to introduce myself..." That was, of course, when she interrupted him and brought his future conquest plans to a screeching halt.

"Hello, Emmett," she stated, dryly, "nice to know our eleven months meant so much to you." She turned her head to give him a *look*.

Emmett found himself facing a look he knew all too well. Ex number one had it, ex two had it, and almost ex three definitely had it - she was, in fact, displaying it at that moment. It was the 'you're in deep shit, Emmett, really deep. So deep they'll need a excavation team to rescue you' look. "Ah, Kitty," he said, smiling, "I didn't recognize you from the side. You look well."

"You look old," she stated, frowning. "Were you this old when I almost married you?"

It was the almost that was important in that sentence. The last time she'd seen Emmett Bergman, she was throwing the four-point-five-karat pink diamond ring back in his face with a string of not so pleasant words, many of which she had not sense repeated. Memories of him weren't some that she visited often, at least, not toward the end of that relationship. She was young and new with a father complex, he was older and veteran and they'd met during the first year of the Dominion war. It was more an infatuation than anything, but one that had almost turned her into the third ex-Mrs. Bergman, though she was pretty sure that Emmett considered her as such anyway. There'd been a ring on her finger, it just didn't stay there long enough for the 'i do'.

"I prefer the 'Why Emmett, you're looking well. I missed you Emmett, how have you been?' rather than a comment about my appearance, but who am I to complain," he replied with yet another grin, completely untroubled by her question.

"Yes, well. How have you been, Emmett? Still skulking around starfleet ships, driving officers into homicidal rages with your wit and charm?"

"Hah!" he laughed, "Skulking! Very good term, my dear. Skulking. I'm producing and directing documentaries now. Perhaps you heard of, ahem, 'In the Eyes of the Enemy?'" Emmett deliberately named one of his most famous pieces, especially since it earned him both an Oscar and a Pulitzer, "That proved to be so profitable, I'm doing one for Starfleet now. An unsung heroes of the fleet. It's been an experience let me tell you. And, yourself? Still driving your COs and coworkers up the wall with your rants and raves?"

Jordan rolled her eyes with his title dropping. Yeah, she'd noticed his Academy Award nomination and win. She hadn't been able to may attention to the Oscars since; had lost all respect for them. It wasn't that Emmett was a bad reporter. IN fact, he was a good one, the awards were well won. The unfortunate thing was he was a cocky piece of shit bastard. And a bastard she'd spent far too much time on and was still angry with for his skirt chasing antics, personal bullshit, and otherwise intolerability. Though it was for the best. If it hadn't been for Emmett, she wouldn't know for sure how great Jii actually was.

Hell. Her husband had his water under the bridge, she certainly had hers.

"Oh, for sure," she said. "But I'm doing it for the great good now, pulling the Starfleet thing myself and all of that." She sipped her water. True, she still hated him. But it was really very hard to hate him when he was sitting right there, which was all the more infuriating.

It was amazing, really, his affect on women. Most of his ex's would either me on the verge of homicidal behavior or fleeing to their new beaus for protection by now. This one, however, did neither. He continued to smile amiably at his companion, "In Starfleet, are you? Huh. Who would've thought." Then again, he did think she might go the fleet route. Especially since she was such an idealistic woman. When he split up with her, he probably would have labeled her a b*tch, but that was water under the bridge and six ex's ago.

"Not I, that's for sure," she stated. "So what are you trolling for now? Another in your long line of Ex-Mrs.? Or what, exactly? I know you weren't waiting around on the off chance that I would be showing up." She smirked as she played with the straw in her glass. "Where are you doing this latest documentary and with whom?"

"I'm trolling for inspiration," Emmett corrected her, taking a sip of his drink, "I've several interviews with the officers and crew of the USS Galaxy that I've yet to compile into my next documentary. I'll be on the Galaxy for at least the next few months finishing up, and doing re-shoots where necessary."

"Ah. Interesting. I started off on the Galaxy. Under Admiral Price. Well, not really, but kinda. S'where I met my husband."

Figures. She was married. Not that he was interested, but it still figured. In the cosmic scheme of things Someone, somewhere was laughing hysterically at that moment. "Married, huh? Who's the, ahem, lucky bastard?"

"Elaithin Jii," she stated, realizing she was glowing with pride but not really caring. "Heard of him? You should have, if you haven't."

She glanced at Bergman. "What, Emmett, you look a little crest fallen. Are you jealous? Were you hoping for something to come of this chance meeting?"

He started laughing - laughing so hard that he had to put down his glass before he tipped the drink. She thought he was jealous. Oh how choice! Once he had calmed himself somewhat, the still chuckling Emmett replied, "Oh my dear you flatter yourself! You're firmly in the past, my dear Kitty, but I do believe that you're finding yourself wishing it all wasn't so. Not that I blame you, of course..." He continued chuckling to himself in between sips, "Jealous..." he repeated, and continued snickering.

Jordan did something at that moment she done perhaps a hundred time, to him at any rate. She tossed her drink in his face and then slapped him firmly, leveling a finger. "I know this'll mean nothing to you, so I'm not going to flatter myself in thinking it will, but I know how you remember all your ex's, thinking about them, comparing. I haven't thought of you in years, Emmett. I know you think of me every time you meet a new potential. So don't flatter *yourself*. That's the thing that I could never stand about you: your intense inflation of yourself. At least I keep my egoism in vague perspective."

He was still laughing, even after the slap and the water that was now dampening his new shirt. "You really *do* think that, don't you? That's great. That's really great. I knew you were egotistical when I first met you, but that really takes the cake. 'Oh yes, Kitty, you're the one ex that I hold up as the measure to all others,'" he mimicked, "Give me a break. Someone should warn that husband of yours of your penchant for dramaticism and ego. Somewhere, deep in that pretty head of yours, you've thought of me and wondered 'what if.' Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart." He downed his drink with a flick of his wrist, and gestured to the waiter, "Give this lady another water. She seems to have dropped hers."

"Yeah, what if I had jammed that ring down your throat and choked you with it," Jordan muttered, fuming slightly. Any pleasant nostalgia was gone from her mind as she remembered the hundreds of reasons why they no longer a couple, though it pretty much all boiled down to the fact that Emmett was still very much Emmett. And while it had worked for her for a while, particularly since he came at a time in her life when she was still quite superficial (if not more so; she'd just won her Pulitzer and was pretty content with herself). She accepted the water from the bartender and shook her head. "You're still wearing those ugly shirts, aren't you? Isn't that one that Number 2 gave you? Or is it just a stunningly good copy?"

"My my, resorting to comments about my shirts now? Ah, how quaint. Your husband must be a saintly man, I wish him the best of luck. What job *do* you perform on your ship, Kitty?"

"I'm the Intelligence Liaison. No comments or cliche jokes, Bergman," she stated, casting the *look* his way again. "I'm good at my job. Even better than you are at yours, so... And I've always made comments on your wardrobe. Or don't you remember?" She sighed deeply. "And my husband is a saintly man. You wouldn't like him. He has scruples."

"How sad is it when even intelligence needs a liaison. At least you still have that same cockiness that I remember. I'll have to look up your husband one of these days. I have a few questions to ask him...like if you still do that tongue thing." Emmett grinned.

Jordan grinned, offering a slight "ha" in response. "Oh. That and a few new tricks." She winked as she stood. "Emmett, it was... interesting to see you again. Warn me before you come aboard the Miranda, alright?"

"Now if I did that, it'd ruin the surprise," Emmett grinned in return. He would definitely have to look up this Elaithin Jii just for the hell of it...and to give the poor clueless man some pointers on Kitty-handling.

She smirked slightly and finished the water before sliding the empty glass down the bar and, shopping bags in hand, she sashayed out of the bar, feeling Emmett's eyes on her derriere.

"The Wake of Lieutenant D'Tinya"

By
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

And various Security NPC's

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 10
Ten Forward

Ten Forward closes for three reasons, and three reasons only.

One: an infestation of alien vermin, escaping from cargoes of foreign foodstuffs and other goods, made their home in Ten Forward's power conduits and food stores, chewing wires and ravaging anything edible, thereby quarantining the area whilst exterminators gassed the verminous hoarde out.

Two: Total destruction due to alien weapons.

Three: A wake.

The wake is a human tradition, dating to the medieval era. Mostly involving the consumption of alcohol, the wake was a party, an excuse to commiserate, celebrate, and get wasted for the sake of another person't memory.

Most of the security staff not on duty was at the wake, as well as other Galaxy crewmembers willing to raise a glass for a fallen mate. Ten Forward was now the mourning place of Lieutenant Ahdjiia D'Tinya, the Security Officer who had fallen in the line of duty at Gryphon.

Corgan, as D'Tinya's superior officer, took his place on a makeshift podium, raising his pint of synthale, hushing a room full of somber conversation.

"Thank you. Thank you." He lowered his mug, starting off the speech. "For those of you who have decided to attend the wake of Lieutenant Ahdjiia D'Tinya, I thank you. Thank you for coming by... to remember a dear comrade. Because her husband, Major Bolivar, had made other arrangements for her funeral, we could not arrange a proper service for Lieutenant D'Tinya. However, this will not stop us from honouring her memory."

Gesturing to Captain M'Kantu, James announced, "For our first speaker, may I introduce Captain M'Kantu. Captain."

Daren stepped up to the podium and looked around the room. "I told someone not that long ago that we are all born from the dust and, in the end, that we all return to it. Lieutenant D'Tinya has moved on ahead of us in that journey, but just because we can no longer serve beside her does not mean that we are bereft of her company. She's here in this room, inside each of us; her name, and face, and the manner in which she touched our lives a part of us. We have only to look at the people we are to see her, for she helped make everyone she knew into the person we - and they - are today. We have only to look into a mirror to see her, and know that she is not really gone at all."

With a slow look around the room, Daren added, "Lieutenant D'Tinya - Ahdjiia - has gone on ahead of us, and even though such things as decorations and medals mean nothing to her where she is, they help us remember her as she was, and help inspire those yet to come so that her memory might touch lives that are yet to be. Accordingly, I want to take this moment to announce that Starfleet Command has, upon review of the tricorder records and the individual reports of her final moments, accepted Commander Corgan's and my recommendation that she be awarded the Federation Star for her sacrifice. I have only been privileged to make such an award twice before, but never with the pride that I do now. I hope you will all join me now in recognizing one of our own, now gone on ahead, with a moment of silence and remembrance." Daren stood for a full minute in silence, before silently nodding once to the crowd and stepping back.

James waited for M'Kantu to leave the podium before he began again. M'Kantu's words were stirring, befitting a day of rememberance. There was no doubt, M'Kantu was a good choice for a speaker.

"For the next speaker..." James said, though his next guest was with some doubt. Unlike M'Kantu, James didn't know what would come out of the next speaker's mouth, and it was possible that he would somehow put a ruin on the day's event. It was quite possible that he could make a total ass out of himself, offend the guests, and care less about it.

But James knew he was with D'Tinya during her last minutes, witnessed her brave actions, and was therefore the most qualified. "...May I present to you Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff, who was with Lieutenant D'Tinya during her last moments. Lieutenant?"

Victor frowned in the sudden silence that followed Corgan's announcement. He looked at his superior for a moment from the empty corner of Ten Forward that was his usual spot, the 'Krieghoff Neutral Zone' in effect even, or perhaps especially, now that so many of those in Ten Forward were his peers, and then slowly walked forward, coffee in hand. He'd thought this was a bad idea when Corgan had approached him, had said so at the time, but had finally agreed when James insisted. Now that he could see the faces of his peers, he knew he'd been right.

"D'Tinya was good officer," he began without preamble. There was no point in saying things he didn't mean just to make the others feel better. Death was death, and if they didn't understand that by now, sugar coating it wasn't going to make it go down any easier. "She made good choices the entire time I knew her. One of those choices was to place herself between a child and danger. That was a good choice too, even though it killed her, because that's what we do: we stand between the sheep we're given and danger - and die if needs be - to protect them. She wouldn't have said it that way, but she understood it." He paused and looked at the crowd, seeing the anger, outrage, resentment, and one or two points of understanding that played out over their faces.

"She's dead now. Let it go and move on. She made her choice. When you make your choice, remember her. Choose well." He looked at the crowd again, nodded to Corgan, and moved away, back to his corner, ignoring the angry murmurs and glances sent his way.

There was a code of conduct that James expected, though not received by Victor. Though James was accounting the mistake of inviting Victor to speak on bad judgement and not truely emphasising his point, but he did distinctly remember telling Victor to keep the speech dignified. He even gave Victor a hint on how to deliver a funeral speech. Was it so difficult to note a few good points about a person, mention a good memory, and praise the deceased's character?

How hard could it possibly be? For Victor, much to James red faced embarrasment, it was impossible.

James was to be the last speaker of the group, therefore it was up to him to salvage Victor's latest disaster.

If James could pry his hand out of his flustered face and stop staring at the floor. When he regained his composure, he approached the podium, stared down by dissatisfied security officers.

~"Great. I ruined the damn wake by inviting Victor. Not good..."~

His insecurities swept aside, James started his speech. He kept the mood somber and dignified, speaking softly, deeply, while keeping his attention to his crewmates.

"Good evening, fellow officers, and once again thank you for attending the wake of Lieutenant D'Tinya."

"Lieutenant Ahdjiia D'Tinya was in all sense, alone in the universe. She came from Crystalia, a planet known for its spiritually deep devout people, its unique beauty, and its isolationism. From what I have learned, her people have social and religious reasons not to travel outside their system. Her people are a people that look inwards for their fulfillment, not outwards. They explore their spirituality, not the universe outside their world."

"Ahdjiia decided to defy the conventions of her people to explore the universe outside. A brave choice for a person who risked being ostracized by her peers and exiled by her people, to leave her life and planet behind for something unknown, possibly dangerous, yet alluring so. For one to step out of societal bounds for such a risk, it takes a special person with the internal fortitude to defy societal norms. For those who know Lieutenant D-Tinya, there is no doubt that she is that kind of person."

The room's mood started to ease. The tense mood caused by Victor Krieghoff's earlier gaffe melted away. "As a member of our Security detatchment, D'Tinya repeatedly showed these brave, inquisitive traits, while at the same time showing the deep awareness of self and spirit that the Crystalians are famous for. But of all these things that made her great, I believe the one defining part of her that stood out was her humanity. She was the kindest, gentlest person I knew, who put others before herself. It was second nature of her to offer a kind word, a shoulder to lean on, a gift or a gesture of good will. Her compassion was boundless. Why... I remember a time when we first contacted the Upanishads, when they showed us past life experiences. The life that was once mine was going through a tough time, and that night he decided to take his own life."

The Upanishad first contact was an interesting time. Past lives or not, James came away from that first contact with a better sense of self, and insight into the people he knew. He continued, "Ahdjiia was there, with her pet spiders, to stop me. Though my past life was a drunken, musket toting lout..." James chuckled nervously, "She had enough nerve and patience to help me. It may have been another life, but I still think it shows what kind of character she possessed in life."

The mood in Ten Forward was improving. Heads were bowed down, remembering with an introspective silence how Lieutenant D'Tinya touched their lives. Warmth flooded through James, as if her joy touched his heart as well. "She died doing what she did naturally. Her actions saved the life of a Gryphonite girl, under fire during their revolution. It was in that action she earned the Federation Star. She did not go into Gryphon with the intention of glory or medals. She did not anticipate having to protect a group of children during a firefight. No, she risked, and paid, her life as if it was a natural action, much like breathing. I believe it would have never occurred to her not to help. For this I was more than happy recommend the Federation Star. She deserved nothing less."

"She left behind a son, Tammerlain, born premature after the action that would eventually take her away from us, and a husband, Major Saladin Bolivar, a good man. She also left behind us, her crewmates, her department, those she called friends. Everyone she meet and influenced in her life will dearly miss her."

Raising his pint of synthale, he said, "Godspeed, Ahdjiia. May you find peace among the stars."

"Here here!" Everyone else cheered with a raised glass.

"Amen, everyone." Corgan concluded, "Now, everyone drink, reminise, enjoy the evening."

"Graveyard Duel"

ROGUES Major Wes Hammond, Rogue One
Flight Officer Pikarr Ekrayn, Rogue Two
Major Joral Anton, Rogue XO/ Rogue Five
Flight Officer Jeffrey Clemons, Rogue Six
Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Rogue Seven
Major Rena Starburst, Three Flight Lead/ Rogue Nine
Major Veronique (Deuce) St Melisande, Flight Instructor - Rogue 10

VANGUARDS: Lieutenant Corran Rex, Vanguard One
Pilot Kell Tainer, Vanguard Two
Flight Officer T'Shani "Forgehammer" A'Akledorian, Vanguard Three
Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi, Vanguard XO/Vanguard Six
Pilot Heather Lewis, Vanguard Seven
Pilot Jackson Stone, Vanguard Eight
Lieutenant Kettch, Vanguard Ten
Flight Officer Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven
Pilot Voss Ferris, Vanguard Thirteen

Hammond's Office, USS Miranda The arrival at SB 212 brought about a change of pace that Wes Hammond was allowing himself to enjoy. Having set up a training schedule for the squadron, he let them go about their leaves, with orders to report to the squadron briefing room at the pre-appointed time each day for maneuvers in 'The Graveyard', the field of destroyed, junked, and otherwise mostly useless starships. So far, the squadron seemed to be coming together, and Wes was overall pleased. But what he was enjoying the most was getting to see old friends. Shortly after running into Pilot Lewis, an old trainee from the Greencastle, he'd been called by Corran Rex, who he'd met during the big war, back when Corran had been flying for the Rogues and Wes had been with the Defenders on the Concorde. After arranging a meeting, he'd gone back to his office to wait for the Lieutenant.

Rex was there in relatively short order, having diverted Vanguard One to dock with the Miranda instead of the Galaxy. The Trill pilot, commander of Galaxy's Vanguard Squadron, was still in his flight suit, though he'd left the rest of his gear in his ship. Walking through Wes' open door, since the Rogues section was directly next to the shuttlebay, the Trill smiled as he leaned against the door. "'Major' Hammond. What happened? Not enough pilots who actually knew how to fly?"

"Nope. Some sort of new Rogue Squadron curse. Seems commanders here have a tendency to disappear. I'm watching my back," Wes replied, walking over to clasp the taller Corran into a bear hug, "How are you, you big nutball? Still listening to the voices in your head?"

"Only when I forget my medication." he replied returning the hug. "The rest of the time I just ignore them."

~You wish, kid.~ came Vorrin's sarcastic mental remark.

~Can it, old man.~

"So I hear you have the Vanguards on the Galaxy. I guess you're right. We really are strapped for good flyers," Wes grinned, offering Rex a seat.

Corran took in with a smile, and then sat down. "So. I have a proposition for you...."

******

Vanguard One streaked into position at the edges of the Graveyard, the rest of his squadron of Bonzai-Class space superiority starfighters close behind.

It was an intimidating site. The local, not far from Starbase 212, had a parts depot at it's center, and was a home for decommissioned and wrecked vessels of all shapes, makes and sizes. Even here, from near the edge of the field, Corran could make out the burnt saucer of an old Constitution-Class starship as it pirouetted around a nacelle looking like it belonged to a three-hundred year old Klingon Raptor-Class battle cruiser.

Feeling more than a little excitement, the Lieutenant kept his eyes on the manmade asteroid field, and toggled his comm switch for the Squadron frequency. ["All right, Vanguards. It's time to go hunting. Somewhere in the Graveyard are a dozen of the Starfighter Corps finest - none other than Rogue Squadron. Objective today is find 'em, and take 'em out. Simple hunt and kill. Power your shields t full, and keep an eye out for debris. Now the Rogues, once found, will switch to active mode and then be hunting you. Their commander is a very old friend of mine, and I promised him that we could show them up. Let's not disappoint the man."

Wes Hammond listened in on the Vanguard comm with interest, listening to the pilots chattering. He'd been surprised to find that Pikarr Ekrayn had some small skill at communications encryptions. Listening to the idle chatter of Pilot Heather Lewis and her wingman, Tex, he grinned. They were young, and they'd learn.

Wes wasn't about to underestimate the Vanguard pilots' flying abilities. Especially those with a few missions under their belts. Even some of the inexperienced pilots would pull off a good, or better yet, unexpected move. And he knew that Jasmine Heloi would be gunning for him, and would expect nothing less from him. That would be a duel he would look forward to. After meeting the young woman in the bar the previous night and helping her to escape the bar brawl they'd accidentally sparked in fending off a drunken fan, he had a good feeling about her.

Rogue Five contained one of the more experienced pilots in Starfleet, and Joral Anton was used to fighting in close quarters. His consistently low opinion of the Rogue-class didn't help his mood in the slightest, and his unsought position of the very authority, which he so despised, had further increased his already notorious surliness.

Arrayed in a basic diamond formation behind him were Clemons, Sinistrari, and McGuire. Activating his squadron frequency, he let a message out to his flight. "Two Flight, wedge formation, myself and six to port, seven and eight to starboard. We're going to use that Ambassador for cover, push right through the middle of the Vanguards' formation, and try to break them apart for the rest of the Rogues. Dea, on my cue, take McGuire and we'll do a scissor break, loop back, and try to get in their tailpipes."

Quick confirmations came from all three pilots, and his flight broke clear of Rogue Squadron to make a dive through the debris straight into the unsuspecting Vanguards.

Rogue 10, Veronique (Deuce) St Melisande watched as computer-generated shapes appeared in the 'air' of her cockpit. She smiled as the line of fighters slowly entered into the 'Zone.' She watched as computer generated vector lines and position 'ribbons' appeared. They were moving into the 'Zone' as a flight.

Even as she watched, burn indicators flared on the fighters, vector plots suddenly diverged, the flight was on break. The hunt had begun!

'Forgehammer' watched as the Rogues broke from hiding, once the bait had been set by the Vanguards. "Young..." was all she said, watching the firefight, below. No...she knew exactly what she had to do...

Blipping her dorsal thrusters, she slowly approached the wide expanse of the old heavy cruiser primary hull, laying close, using the huge hull as camouflage, her fighter lost in it's huge sensor return. She watched as one of the Vanguard thrusted, his vector would put him right past her. He'd have to slow down, or his coast vector would have him hitting an old Ambassador saucer.

She felt the surge of adrenaline as she reached forward and powered the phasers. Setting the gravity controls on logarithmic, so she could feel the acceleration of the fighter and not get squashed flat by it. This was almost as good as the real thing! This was man and machine. The only difference was, the flight computers were in continual communication to simulation control on the Station. If you got hit, by a low powered phaser, it would instruct your fighter to simulate the lame duck that it had become. Well, she wasn't going to let her wings get clipped here!

She watched as the Vanguard pilot came closer. Hitting the 'inertial' control on the flight stick, she spun the Rogue fighter around the jagged edge that was where the secondary saucer hull connected to the primary hull. Flicking back to 'normal', she accelerated toward the Vanguard pilot, one who was about to become one of the 'vanquished!'

Meanwhile, Two Flight was making their run, and, in the midst of the ensuing battle, no one in Vanguard Squadron seemed to have had the time to count and realize that Rogue Squadron were missing four of their number. The mathematical error was about to be rather spectacularly corrected, as Joral led his flight over the lip of the Ambassador, diving into the unprepared Vanguard Squadron.

The Rogue comm burst to life. "Two Flight, cut now. Clemons, hard to port." He and Six tilted on their wings, looping clear of the formation that they had just begun to scatter, as Medea and McGuire did the same maneuver to starboard.

Hammond grinned as Joral executed their plan. It was a simple one, but they'd agreed to go easy on the Vanguards for the first one, and then ratchet it up later. Not that he had any intention becoming a statistic in this fight, and he had no doubt that his fiery XO wasn't either.

"Rogues, this is Hammond. Split by pairs and engage," he said quickly over the comm, then dove out of formation, down into the graveyard, Pikarr tight on his tail. Glancing at his sensors, he noted as two of the Vanguards followed him into the dive. The computer had them tagged as Vanguards 7 and 8.. That would be the second half of Two Flight. Heloi's flight.

Cutting left, Wes took his fighter along the length of an old oil tanker, and a long barrel shaped ship. Spiraling around the tanker as he went, he presented an odd target to the Bonzais following him.

Heather Lewis watched as the opposing force swing around and around the oil tanker, trying to lead her target for a microtorp lock. Unfortunately, his course kept taking him below the freighter, causing her to lock onto the battered hulk rather than her intended target.

Tex followed her along the length of the freighter. "Heather," the slightly more experienced pilot told her, "Get your computer to calculate his spiral time and aim for a place on the spiral."

She groaned, "I already tried it. He's using his port and starboard thrusters to keep his time uneven. It'd be a waste of torpedoes."

"Well don't you worry yourself, Cowgirl," Tex grinned. He'd quickly learned that to get Heather Lewis' blood up, all he had to do was imply that she was from a farm. It was definitely a southwestern thing. Being from Texas, he played that role to the hilt, while she tried to escape the stereotype, "Let me show you how it's done." Diving under the freighter, Tex tried to match Hammond's path.

Which was exactly what Pikarr Ekrayn was waiting for. Flying backwards and using the freighter's sensor echo to mask her own. Rogue Two unleashed a brace of 'micro torpedoes' into Vanguard Eight's face, causing Simulation control to shut down his fighter.

"Oops," Tex said before his comm shut down.

"Right," Lewis said, already reacting. Sweeping under the freighter from the side, she drew a bead on Rogue Two with her phasers.

Pikarr, trapped in position by the debris around her, reversed her thrusters to try to fly forward, effectively canceling her motion for a moment, which Lewis took complete advantage of, eliminating Rogue Two from the game.

Unfortunately, while she'd been vaporizing his wingman, Wes had brought his fighter around and under the freighter, popping out from under Ekrayn and firing. She saw him coming and snapped instinctively to the side, feeling the craft move under her, and his shot went just wide, but crippled one of Lewis' wings, causing her craft to pull to the left.

Heather pulled around, sighting two Bonzais above her. If she could make it to them, she could keep the Rogue off of her. "Lewis to Nine. I'm right below you and have..."

And her craft shut down, but not before Major Hammond's voice came over her comm, "Good flying, Seven." He'd rotated his craft and used the repulsors to bounce him off the flat nacelle strut of a Defender-Class Frigate, allowing his a quick pursuit and take down.

Tish chuckled...'cowboys'...

Now where was Heloi?

"Graveyard Duel, Part 2 "

ROGUES Major Wes Hammond, Rogue One
Flight Officer Pikarr Ekrayn, Rogue Two
Major Joral Anton, Rogue XO/ Rogue Five
Flight Officer Jeffrey Clemons, Rogue Six
Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Rogue Seven
Major Rena Starburst, Three Flight Lead/ Rogue Nine
Major Veronique (Deuce) St Melisande, Flight Instructor - Rogue 10

VANGUARDS: Lieutenant Corran Rex, Vanguard One
Pilot Kell Tainer, Vanguard Two
Flight Officer T'Shani "Forgehammer" A'Akledorian, Vanguard Three
Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi, Vanguard XO/Vanguard Six
Pilot Heather Lewis, Vanguard Seven
Pilot Jackson Stone, Vanguard Eight
Lieutenant Kettch, Vanguard Ten
Flight Officer Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven
Pilot Voss Ferris, Vanguard Thirteen

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

Corran had thrown himself into the thick of things as soon as possible.

He'd been surprised to review the Rogues Roster and find a number of familiar names from the old days, we'd heed been with that unit. While the rest of the two squadrons busied themselves in dogfights and hunt-and-seek tactics, the Trill used his knowledge of Solranth, Clemons, and Kehoe to take those three Rogues out of the fight. He scored two of the kills, much to his former compatriots chagrin, and Vanguard Two, Pilot Kell Tainer, actually scored the third.

It was on the fourth target than things got interesting.

Somewhere in the furball, Rena Starburst had found herself separated from her wingmate, St. Melisande. Was allright though - Deuce could take care of herself. Red liked flying solo better anyways. Her current target was one Vanguard Ten, knocked as Lieutenant Kettch. Kettch had served with the Rogues before as well, at the same time Corran had.

The little furball had this coming, she thought as she triggered her phasers.

The low-power pulses flashed in the dark, catching the Kowe's craft, who immediately chimed a comm over to his killer..

["Yub yub, Major."] he said, chuckling. ["I lost track of you. Good kill."]

"Thank you, Kettch." she replied. "Now I think I'm going to go find your boss."

There was a distinctive snort of laughter then. ["Good luck. He's a slippery bugger."]

Corran and Kell were, in fact, pulling up on Starburst's rear then. Unfortunately, Tainer had scraped alongside the hull of one of the many floating wrecks, the ion wash from his impulse drive spoiling their slow and steady approach.

Rogue Nine's starfighter flipped around as nimbly as possible, and Corran swore that Starburst had to have been firing blind.

And true enough, she was. She got a lucky hit though, and Vanguard Two was out of the fight.

Like to cowboys in the ancient west, Rogue Nine and Vanguard One faced each other down.

"Your move, cowboy." Starburst said to herself, as the two pilots started powering up their engines. This was a game both had played many times before, and had never settled on a clear victor.

Chicken.

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

Jasmine's lips were curled into a smile as she played cat and mouse. One of the benefits of her training was knowing how to bluff, and she drifted on low power - mimicking the hulls and debris that were scattered through the field.

Inertia alone was her propulsion, and she kept herself silent - the only way she had of keeping tabs on the others (and her prey) was through a combination of low grade sensor 'pings' and her own mental abilities. Spying a rather likely hull -specifically one that could both shield her and prove to be a good jumping ground, Heloi risked a small burst of thrust to nudge her drifting craft towards the hull. Sure, it was sneaky, but that was but one way to hunt. There were times for the all out rush to find a kill, or for a nice slow talk of one's prey. She found the latter far more entertaining.

Her current choice of a victim was Major Hammond. From her experience with him, he struck her as more of an out and out run down one's prey type of man. She was counting on that fact. When she drifted close enough to the hull she risked another ping from her sensors and smiled when she caught one of the tagged 'enemy' fighters just on the other side of the ship.

She was just another part of the hull - inertia was doing the rest. Just before the other ship came into view, she completely powered up her vessel and gunned it for an attack run. This should be fun.

Fate had other ideas, however, as 'Starbuck' West, who Vanguard Seven had called too before being eliminated, had come around and took off after Rogue One, as Wes Hammond lead him on a wild goose chase through the graveyard.

"Some other time, Jazz," Wes sent over an open comm before taking off into the thick of the graveyard, the Bonzai in hot pursuit.

Veronique's instincts took over as her board yelled out that she was under targeting lock. "What the fuck! Where to fuck did you come from?" she yelled out, to no one in particular. She was already juggling speed rates and thruster burns. She dumped chaff and started 'playing music' as she went to break the target sensor lock from a Vanguard that appeared behind her. Swinging around the primary hull that she was about to 'leap out' from, she hugged the hull.

She spent a split second in noticing the Vanguard ID: Six. Damn sneaky, Veronique had been done by her own tactic. But not quite, she had a mission now - Vanguard Six. Nobody gave a scare to Deuce like that and 'lived' to tell that tale.

Burning forward thrusters, she stopped under a very old Nelson Scout secondary hull. Vanguard Six was not on her sensors. Hide and go sneak was the game now! Deciding that a little psychology would be good here, she bounced a message off the station, so as not to give her position. "Hey Vanquished Six - nice ambush. Too bad follow through sucked!"

Heloi chuckled softly to herself when she heard the taunt. Did this one think she was a kid, newly joined the fighter corps? Far too often that was the easiest way to urge them into an ambush - anger them, and cause them to make a fatal mistake. It was rather lucky that she was very much a product of her people.

Jasmine grinned as she drifted once more in the vastness of the debris field. Inertia was a good friend of hers, and she intended to make full use of it. The half burned saucer section of a Constellation class starship provided her cover as she sent out another ping. She knew that the other fighter - Rogue Ten -would be after her now, and that suited her to no end.

There, she caught a shadow under nearby wreck - one that could only be another fighter. "Clever," she whispered, smiling. This one was learning. Jasmine nudged her thrusters, causing inertia to bring her towards the other wreck. The angle should send her on the top of the other hull, or rather opposite from where the shadow lay at wait. However, she thought of yet another way to trick the other fighter into revealing themselves. Sometimes, the best way to hunt was to be a target.

She set an alarm to alert her when she reached the other hull and began tinkering with her sensor emitters. Ghost signals were always a problem among wreckage, she was just going to try to enhance the ghosting affect to place her fighter somewhere other than where it was. It could work, and it might not, but she figured she could try-provided she fixed her sensor emitters in time.

Medea kept humming 'Up in the Air Junior Birdmen' as she flew her fighter with ease. She knew she'd very likely hear about that later when parts of it came through the comm channels, but after all, this was still just fun and a game. Of course, she wasn't sure whom to pick for a special target yet. They all looked so tempting.

Joral, meanwhile, was leading Clemons on a rapid-pace course through the maze of derelicts in the field. There were times for lying still. This was not one of them. Vanguard knew now exactly where they were, and the best way to stay alive was to keep moving. He flipped his fighter on edge, skimming between the nacelle struts of the Defender-class, and looping around the wing of an old D7. Clemons followed the maneuver, albeit sloppily. "Stay with me, Six."

That was the last message that Clemons heard. One of the Vanguards took advantage of his loss of a wingman, and leapt out from their hiding place behind the D7's command module. The simulation had shut Clemons' fighter down within seconds.

Joral pulled clear, slamming his afterburners into full thrust. "Dammit. That's two down Rogues. Don't get sloppy. One, I'm sending Eight to link up with you and replace Pikarr. Medea, cover my wing."

"On it." Medea said over the commlink, almost saying she'd cover more than that, but for once, she was going to behave. Hitting her own afterburners and doing a little bit of a spin for flair, she moved into place to cover Joral's fighter.

~Interesting...~ Tish smiled, almost ferally as the fighter (she checked the ID on her HUD), Rogue Seven, gave itself away with a little too much attitude-flair. Unlatching her Bonzai from the hollowed-out shell of an old Connie's deflector dish, the 'Forgehammer' moved to follow 'Seven'. She checked the ID again: Sinistrari.

Veronique watched as the furball drifted farther out, away from the heavier debris field. Most pilots like space to maneuver in. More space, less likely to make your mark - a scorch mark! She watched the 'picture' on her HUD. Vanquished Six was nowhere on her sensors, 'Hiding, eh?'

Coming around, Veronique saw the cavernous interior of a Constellation shuttle bay in an old primary hull. Shutting down most of the emitting system, range finders and proximity sensors and the like, tapping the thruster control, she accelerated at a couple of Gs and spun the ship lateral to kill her inertial vector. Most people always assumed that space borne combat was like the old war movies. With the wide expanse of space and the distances involved, sometimes, like in old sub-surface engagements, you had to hear your opponent, because if you used an active sensor, you gave him the advantage.

With the cat and mouse with Vanquished Six, Deuce was looking for those small things that gave the fighter away. She flicked through the sensor returns, with out real success. That left her with active sensors - dangerous, but that was it. She had to find Vanquished Six! Using the scrapped hulls and the fighter's computer, she bounced the pulses, like the old Jindalee OTH System, and hoped to get a return to give her some idea of where the other fighter was.

Angelienia smiled predatorily in the cold of her cockpit. She knew she wasn't the only one who had powered down and hidden in the debris field to make the game more enjoyable - she'd seen a fighter that she'd thought was Jazz's drifting on minimal, and she doubted that all of the Rogue Squadron pilots were out there flying around. In fact, she knew it, since she'd just watched one of them deftly maneuver their fighter into the remains of a Constitution-class shuttlebay and power down to lurk in wait for some prey. That was bad for them, but good for her.

With a flip of the switches on her console, she programmed a pair of minitorps to home in on the fighter, one from the front of the bay and one from the rear and launched them away as an opening appeared in the small debris cluster around her. With the torps launched, she goosed herself away on maneuvering thrusters, sliding between a pair of old-style round warp nacelles and the remains of a Galor-class ship that had been sliced up for salvage.

T'Shani watched as 'Seven' and 'Five' (Joral) met up, while skimming over a badly cut-up Pakled freighter, headed straight for the main recycler facility. No doubt, they were going to form-up, and head back into the fray. Gunning her after-thrusters, she followed both of them. However, she kept all sensors off, relying on her sight and the minimally-powered enhancement-scope built into her helmet's HUD.

That was one major downfall of the older Rogue-class starfighters: the logic-control computers weren't as finessed as those on the Bonzai's....sure, a Rogue was faster - and a bit more durable - in the long-run. But, who cared, when all one had to do was overload their sensor net, confusing the logic-processors. It took *a lot* of sensor output to overload a Rogue's systems...but it worked. It was a last-ditch tactic, however, as it would short-out the Bonzai's *delicate* avionics.

~They should have used the Ukthar-Nijek Avionics from Andor on these Bonzai's,~ Tish thought, with a chuckle. ~Not this frellin' Tellarite *crap*.~ Maybe she could order a Mark XVII from U-N, and sweet-talk St. Valentine to install it? That made her grin...

Vanguard 13, or rather it's pilot Voss Ferris, watched impassively as the two Rogues' flew by, and followed closely by Forgehammer's Bonzai. He sighed as the data scrolled across his HUD, added to the info from the rest of the battle...

Voss had switched all power off early in the battle, relying only on his flight suit's life support systems and his thrusters. What power he was using came from his battery back-ups, which were getting close to the 50% mark. Like some of his fellow Vanguards, Voss had taken the sneaky approach and had gone as far as to physically attach himself to the interior of an old nacelle housing. It was a familiar tactic to the Bajoran, one he had used before countless times during his battles against the Cardassians.

But he wouldn't be able to stay hidden much longer, not relying only on battery power. He may as well join in the fun...with a flick of a switch, he deactivated the magnetic clamps of his landing gear and retracted them.

A moment later he had maneuvered himself out of the long tube-like nacelle and had swept up through the debris into a wing position next to Vanguard 3. The Bajoran glanced over at the Andorian and gave her a thumb's up.

Joral smiled as he activated his aft camera. He had never liked the Rogue-class, and didn't trust their sensor systems much - hence the retrofitted camera. He'd already seen the Bonzai attached to the nacelle that they had just passed, considering that he had been looking for it. There had to be another Bajoran doing that. What he hadn't quite been prepared for was the second Bonzai. He diverted weapons power to the engines and gave Medea a hand-signal to do the same. They were going to have to do this the old fashioned way and simply run for it.

Medea saw his gesture, and tapped her helmet to let him know she'd seen it and prepared to follow his lead.

Switching to their private ship-to-ship, Joral hailed his unofficial room-mate. "Dea, there's an old bulk freighter three clicks away at mark five. Dive in and shut down. I'm going to drop my throttle back and lead them around the outer edge. You should be able to fly through the freighter and come out the other side. See if you can't waste one of them. If not, my ass is going to get royally fried."

The two fighters blazed towards the freighter, the pair of Bonzai's trailing badly. However, at those speeds, they would make up the distance pretty fast. Joral and Medea were only going to get one shot at this trick.

This was no real difference than the one party she'd observed as a child when she was still with her mother that involved a greased up member of the First Federation and a sort of spin them around and see who they slid towards and landed on. "I can do.", she said, her smile unseen as she headed for the freighter.

Veronique comms gave her the familiar warble of the tracking of a mini-torp. "Amateur," she commented, especially they were on the same side. Being the SATOPs and instructor for the Miranda, she adjusted the emitters on her fighter at the same freq as the tracking head and boosted it to high. She was going to glow like a beacon, but the old hull would stop most of that.

The first mini-torp fell to the trick, the sensor return told it that it was in blast proximity of the target and it did it's job and exploded, far from it's intended target. The second torp wasn't going to have a bar of this trick. For the split second of indecision that it moved closer to it's target.

A bounce return from another hull, gave it two targets, it diverged, but only slightly.

Veronique watched as the flashing indicator turned to red around the missile, it was getting in too close. Reinforcing the forward shields, she watched as the mini-torp impacted against the inside of the hull, not far from the entrance.

Rogue 10 shields took most of the blast, well that was what the computers on the station said and her flight computer was given orders. Proximity to blast, had brought her avionics down. She was blinder than the proverbial bat. Thrusting out, using just her skills, she was going to use the speed as a defense, until her avionics had time to re-boot.

She thrusted out in a spiral and headed out away. She only needed a couple of seconds, but those seconds took along time in combat.

While the action was happening around her, Jasmine stopped her tinkering with her sensor emitter to take a quick glance at the Multi-function display unit that was displaying her fighter's stats. Fuel levels, engine efficiency, thrust ratio, cabin pressure, temperature, flight plan and status were generally all displayed for the pilot to see in a moment. The purpose was to reduce crew workload and increase efficiency in flight. However, what she saw instead of the green lines that she was expecting was the dreaded 'NO DATA' indicator on the display.

"Sonofa..." she cursed as she pulled herself fully into her seat. All around her, indicators were either flashing 'NO DATA' or were in red. Every one of which was definitely not good. She had no way of knowing if it was a avionics failure - and the new system installed on the Bonzai fighters were not the most reliable of avionics upgrades. While they looked sleek and new, they were not as functional or versatile as the Rogue fighter's. Different companies supplied the military with each upgrade, and she truly wished the other one had won the contract - especially when she was heading towards the hull of another starship without sight or sound.

It was dangerous trying to reboot the complete avionics suite in the midst of 'combat' - especially when on the Bonzai the system was highly integrated with critical systems. Ideally she would never see a 'NO DATA' indicator in flight - but this was not an ideal situation. She dared not completely power up her system since she did not know if it was an electrical failure or something far more insidious.

She had a few backup systems of the vital systems for any fighter craft, but thanks to the avionics bug she was out of the fight. She could get home, but that was it.

Keying in the communications array - local area only, which thankfully hadn't died with the rest of her system, Jasmine spoke, "This is Vanguard Six, declaring an emergency.. My avionics system has crashed, am flying on minimal power and systems. My long range comms are out -I cannot signal the Starbase for a tow. Can someone relay this message to the base? I repeat, this is Vanguard Six, declaring an emergency."

"Mudslinging"

Captain Elaithin Jii,
Commanding Officer,
USS Miranda

Commander Arel Smith,
Chief of Security & Tactical,
USS Miranda

OOC: Takes place prior to 'The Breakfast Club/Heads Up'

---------------------------- Captain's Ready Room Deck One, USS Miranda ----------------------------

The morning bright - relatively speaking, as such matters were rather subjective aboard a starship - Captain Elaithin Jii settled into his ready room. It had become routine now for him to catch up on as much paperwork as possible the first few days of leave, so that he could properly enjoy a little time off.

There was, first, a letter from Toryl's teacher about something - Jii decided that one could wait. The daily Quadrant Situation Update, a brief on current hot spots across the galaxy, various and sundry mundane details from crewmembers of the Miranda....

And a rather sizable selection of messages pertaining to the Chief of Security, Arel Smith. There was one from Captain Westmoreland and the station security chief regarding the incident with Arel on the Promenade yesterday, though Jim had already told him about that.

There were several, though, from junior security officers. Leaning forward with a slight frown on his face - more of curiosity than anything at this point - Jii started reading the first one.

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

Fifteen minutes later...

-It's not that we don't like Commander Smith- The letter concluded -It's just that she's been scaring the hell out of us lately. She really is a likeable woman when not threatening to cut your balls off.-

That was the twelfth such message. With not a small amount of trepidation, the Bajoran Captain moved on down the list..

-Is it possible to get a transfer, Captain?- The next letter read. -The Chief threatened to scalp me yesterday. She showed me the knife so I know she's serious. I realize I was a bit late for work but this seems a bit excessive.-

-Please, please (!) either transfer Cmr. Mitchell of the ship or arrange to have him executed- The next letter read.

Pushing the terminal away, Elaithin leaned back in his chair for a moment, rubbing the ridges on his nose. Sighing, he tapped his commbadge. ["Elaithin to Smith. Report to my ready room immediately, Commander."]

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

Very soon thereafter....

Arel entered the office and sat down across from the Captain. "If this is about yesterday on the Starbase I can explain."

"That's one of the many reasons you're here." he replied, scowling. "But please do. I'd love to hear this."

"He cut in front of me in line." Arel said seriously.

There was a pause.

"Arel, you can't jus beat a man up because he stole your place in line!" the Captain replied in exasperation. "The only reason you're not in the bridge is because the man refused to press charges."

"That's because he's a worthless pthak that couldn't take a one legged, one armed Klingon warrior." Arel snorted.

"Most men *are* uncomfortable with the idea of having been beat up by a pregnant woman." the Bajoran countered. "I'm much more concerned with the fact that I have no less than forty-two complaints, questions, concerns, or requests to transfer from your Security department."

"That's cause they're a bunch of idiots." Arel said.

For a moment, the Captain wanted to just bury his face in his hands. He should have been an actor, however, because he didn't even so much as roll his eyes. Prophets, though, did he ever want to. "You're exaggerating, Arel."

"No, I'm not exaggerating!" Arel snapped. "Thomas, Rickson, and Biondi couldn't distinguish the end of their phasers from their assholes. Weir and Kozowski are chicken shits. Most of the ensigns are complete morons. The whole lot of them could use a good ritual painsticking, excluding Sanchez and O'Grady, who are not entirely without fault and that guy on the starbase called me fat!" Arel glared across the table at the Captain. "Do *you* think I look fat?"

Elaithin fixed her with a stare then, though the effect was somewhat ruined by his low chuckle. "You don't really think I'm going to answer a question that no male of any species has ever gotten correct since the dawn of time, do you? Give me some credit here."

She crossed her arms in a huff. True, picking a fight with the Captain probably wasn't the smartest move but, honestly, did the man have to be so calm and collected? "Whatever."

The Captain blinked a moment. "What was that, Commander?"

"I said 'whatever.'" Arel replied. "Take their side. You took *his* side, so why should I expect anything less?"

"Arel, I know you well enough to know that you would never take that tone with your Commanding Officer. Just as I know that James Mitchell is not the issue here, I also believe that I know you well enough to know that you're better than acting like a fourteen-year old child, something I have some small amount of experience with."

She replied in Klingon but there was no mistaking the tone.

"Get over yourself." Elaithin replied firmly, laying both hands face down on the desk and leaning forward slightly. There was no joviality in his tone now. "I'm not kidding, Arel. You're behaving more immaturely than my son does. He has an reason, at least. He doesn't know better. What's yours?"

"I'm pregnant and irrational." Arel scowled.

"That's an excuse, Arel, not a reason. You're better than that."

"And how the hell would you know? Youre no great judge of character, Captain." She snapped.

"Better than you, it would seem." he said carefully, gauging her response.

Arel's face flushed and her eyes widened. When she found her voice again it was a little shaky. "That was...harsh, Sir. "

"You want to sling mud, Arel, I can do it too." Jii replied. "But I really do have better ways I'd prefer to spend my time. Don't you?"

She looked away. He was right, of course, but it was still annoying. "I'll be....nicer."

"Good." the Captain replied, that acquiesence having been his goal all along. "You're the Chief of Security on this Starship, and a Commander in Starfleet. As long as you continue to act like one, we're not going to develop any problems, Arel."

"Permission to leave, Captain?" Arel replied after a curt nod.

"Dismissed."

"Dear Diary"

Lt. Ella Grey (USS Galaxy)

Cmdr. Arel Smith (USS Miranda)

*****

Written Personal Log: Ella Grey, entry 124

Victor and I are friends again :)

Indy was right when she said that I had been miserable without him. It's not just that I love him, and you'll notice, Dear Diary, that I almost got through that phrase without choking, but that he has become my best friend as well. I missed him when we weren't speaking to each other.

I haven't let anyone this close to me in a long time, maybe even never. It feels good to know that there is someone who knows what I've done and who hasn't run away, even though there still is a wary part of me that is still concerned about him knowing so much. Curtis accepted the truth but our relationship has been different since, I feel. Victor, on the other hand, took the news without even batting an eye. I didn't scare him away.

But then again, I can't really imagine Victor, the Boogeyman of the Galaxy, running from anyone.

It might be fun, however, to test this theory by seeing his reaction to the new bathing suit that I picked up on the Starbase 212. If he thought the red bikini was bad...

Today, I think I'm going to go watch the war games between the Miranda and the Galaxy. I hope, with the exception of a certain Catian bitch, may she fly her ship into something and be blown into ittty bitty bits, that we will do well.

I've been toying with the idea of brushing up on my piloting skills, not that I want to join our squad but I do remember having a lot of fun at the Academy flying shuttlecraft. And they did ask me to be on Red Squadron at one point in time. Maybe I'll ask Rex about it.

Besides, *anything* is better than trying to get that stupid linguistic program to work. Who knew learning to talk again would end up being such a pain in the ass.

*****

Personal Log: Arel Smith, entry 7

All the people that I have ever cared about have left me in one way or another, some by accident and some by choice.

Both my mother and B'rec died on me, which I had to ultimately forgive them for. It's not as if they wanted to die and arguing with a dead person, especially when the way you tend to argue is with fists and/or weapons, would have been an exercise in futility.

Aunt Leah disowned me for a time and my Father played dead for a few years, both of them eventually coming back but the pain of their leaving still sits with me. It goes without saying that it took a long time for Leah to work her way back into my good graces and my Father is still on my shit list, although considerably lower now that Mitchell has skyrocketed to number one.

Mitchell....

I suppose I am angriest with myself. I *knew* what kind of man he was, from day one, and yet I still fell for the taHqeq. I should have known better. I *did* know better. And I fell for him anyway.

So, I shouldn't have been disappointed at his reaction, even when he acted like a BiHnuch and said those things of me, but I was.

Klingons don't take disappointment well.

I have been acting like a child, the Captain's right about that. Even though there were some people onboard and especially on the starbase, that who ko'tal who called me fat comes to mind, who deserved my wrath, I have been unreasonable lately.

I'll have to think of some way to make it up to them. I wonder if a plate of brownies would work.

I'm going to visit Samantha Widdlestein later on, after she gets out of school. If there's anyone that can cheer me up, or at least let me transfer my irritation, it's Sam.

I hope she doesn't have another installment of her romance novel to explore. I could use a break from all this angsty dramatic crap.

=/\= "Downtime / First Contact" =/\=

by Ens Oscar Lanzo
USS Miranda

Oscar stepped out of the sonic shower and took a quick look in the mirror. Yes, as suspected, his chin needed some clean-up. He lifted his hair-removal tool and played its red beam across his cheeks, neck, chin, and lip. He took another look to be sure he hadn't missed a spot, moving his lips left and right and pulling his skin tight with his free hand. Everything checked out. His hair, he decided, could use a trim soon. Perhaps he would have it done on the starbase if there was time before the Miranda left. Otherwise, a ship this large should have several barbers, he reasoned.

After completing his hygienic routine, Oscar stuck his head out of the head. After confirming that he was still alone in his quarters, he stepped out and contemplated his pile of freshly-replicated uniforms. All identical and standard Starfleet issue. Black jumpsuit with gray shoulders, with an undertunic in his department's color. Call it gold or yellow or mustard, the color of engineering, security and operations. Strangely, since joining starfleet he had never actually worn this uniform. He remembered for a moment the withering look he had received from 'commander Sanchez earlier; she had not appreciated his out-of-place attire, nor his decision to go for a jog on a residential level.

*Well,* he thought, *Here goes nothing.* He donned the uniform and tugged on the collar to straighten it. He then fastened his single pip on the exposed portion of the tunic. It fit pretty well, but it should since he downloaded his exact dimensions into the ship's computer.

Oscar wondered when he'd meet his roommate. Heck, somebody had to fill the other bunk. Junior officers on a starship simply didn't get private rooms. Of course, with a layover at starbase came personnel changes and you couldn't expect them to be complete within a day or two of arrival.

The young ensign left his quarters and headed for the nearest access to the turbolifts. Waiting only a moment, he was soon standing inside the 'lift. "Main engineering," he commanded. He heard the muted woosh-woosh sound of the 'lift passing decks as it dropped toward the requested deck. Oscar realized he didn't know which of the engineering areas was considered main engineering on a ship that split in three whenever it pleased the captain.

The turbolift doors opened an instant later. He stepped out onto deck 41, and took a step into the wide area just to port of the main reactor. The place was nearly deserted. He didn't actually see another person until he walked into the center of engineering and could see the catwalks above. There was an officer up there monitoring a reactor coolant injection port. Oscar continued his short tour until he came across a bajoran woman who appeared to be the duty officer. She was a pretty redheaded woman with a long earring hanging from her right ear.

"Pardon me, lieutenant," Oscar preambled. "Ensign Oscar Lanzo reporting for duty."

She smiled at him, instantly making her the friendliest person he had met so far on the renowned USS Miranda. "Welcome aboard," she said and offered her hand for a human-style handshake. Oscar took it gratefully and gave her two firm pumps. "I'm lieutenant Jemel Aria. I didn't think we would have any new faces so soon." She looked at her console and tapped a few controls. Soon a departmental manifest was displayed, and she scrolled down the list until she found his name.

Aria lifted her hands palm-up. "We weren't expecting you for another two days. Well, as you know we are currently docked and I don't have any officers to spare showing you around. You may as well take the next two days off."

Oscar's enthusiasm dropped a notch at the idea of waiting two more days before assuming his duties. "Oh, okay," he replied. He looked left and right, as if hoping to see something in need of fixing. It was subconscious, but the lieutenant picked up on it right away. She followed his gaze and then suggested, "You could shadow me for the rest of my shift, though you might not find it that interesting. After that, I'm planning to catch a meal on starbase."

The ensign grinned. "Yes, sir!" he enthused.

By the end of the shift, he had been all over main engineering and learned a lot about the way the department was run. Aria described the senior engineers, and hinted that compared to other departments on the Miranda, their own chief and assistant chief were God's gift to junior officers.

He didn't know if he was actually invited to dine at Starbase 212 with lieutenant Jemel, but as she headed for the main docking port they continued their conversation. So, he was soon walking with her toward a bistro named Le Cafe de Salle des Réacteur. "Lieutenant, I should probably go now. I'm sure you want to eat your meal in peace."

As he hoped, she shook her head negatively. "I wasn't planning to eat alone, ensign. Do you like French food?"

Actually, he did. "Yes, of course. Have you eaten here before?"

"No," Aria replied. "But I've heard very good things. For example, the chef is known for importing the freshest vegetables and seafood."

The Maitre'd led them to a table with a view of the cavernous hangar. Oscar enjoyed a clear dorsal view of the USS Galaxy. "Now that's a beautiful ship," he opined. His tablemate nodded agreement. A moment later, their waiter arrived.

"Messieur, mademoiselle, welcome to Le Cafe de Salle des Réacteur." He was holding two menus and had a cloth draped over one arm. "Our special today is médaillons de crevette avec coeurs d'artichaut. That is prawns served over artichoke hearts with a hollandaise sauce. We also have some fresh steamed clams and I believe we have a few lobster remaining."

The lieutenant didn't hesitate. "I would like some of the clams as a starter. Do you have any bajoran seafood?"

The waiter replied, "But of course. We have a fresh beinofoir blackened with Recanthan truffles. The fish was farm-raised only a light-year away."

Aria smiled. "That sounds perfect. Please bring a glass of spring water."

Oscar ordered the prawn medallions. Prawns sounded good, but mostly his mouth was watering at the thought of fresh artichokes. The replicated artichokes never tasted quite right. Oscar could coax a replicator to make just about anything but when it came to food, he simply didn't understand the chemical combinations well enough to even mess with it.

"... so there I was with my arms elbow-deep in the waste-recycling bath," Oscar was saying, "when one of these egghead scientists says 'excuse me, cadet, but could you take a moment and fix the light in my food replicator? The constant flickering is most distracting!'"

Aria laughed. "They don't think past the tips of their noses, do they?" He had several brief anecdotes about life aboard a decommissioned starship. Eventually she became more curious about the work done on the USS Philadelphia.

"Ah," he said, shaking his head, "I can't tell much because admiral Voss keeps a tight lid on the research done there, but I can tell you that the applications of some of that work will be tested aboard actual starships soon. I'm hoping that the admiral arranged for my posting on the Miranda in advance of placing one of the projects aboard her."

The meal ended and it was every bit as good as Jemel Aria's contacts had suggested. All in all, Oscar considered it a good "first contact."

(Backpost - In Transit from Great Barrier, a week or so out from SB 212)

"...And Introducing"

Commander Felicia Khatroweena
Chief Medical Officer

Ensign Ariss Edon
Security/Tactical Officer

USS Miranda - Sickbay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walking into sickbay, Ariss looked smug and pleased. The last couple of months may well have been boring, but it had given him a little time to put some finishing touches on the mobile EMH idea. The CMO hadn't exactly sounded overjoyed at the thought of another EMH, but at least she'd agreed to listen to Ariss, and have a look, see whether there would be a place for it here for testing. Looking around, he spied the CMO's office and walked over. Pausing, he took a couple of deep breaths, juggled his load of FEMH, PADDs and toolkit, and managed to raise an arm far enough, then tapped on the door and waited.

Cat looked up from her desk and nodded for Ariss to come in. She stood up and went around the desk to help Ariss with the jumble of PADDs in his arms. Taking a handful, she placed them on her desk. "Hello Ensign. Please take a seat."

"Thank you Sir, I appreciate you taking the time to see me." Putting the remaining PADDs on the desk, he sat down, and put the device and his toolkit on the floor.

Cat went back behind her desk, "So tell me about what is so new about this EMH?"

"Well Sir. Before I transferred to Security, my speciality was Engineering. I read a lot, journals, articles, and reports, still do actually. One report that caught my eye was from Project Pathfinder. USS Voyager. It seems they had a temporal incident, the details were classified, but one thing was mentioned. They came into possession of a mobile holo emitter for their EMH. Now, the level of technology that could allow an EMH to operate independently of a matrix core, power supply, emitters and the like, was, at that time way beyond us. Even now, duplicating it is difficult. But, what I have managed to do, is create a Mobile holo emitter, that should allow an EMH, only a Mark One I'm afraid, to operate independently for as long a four days. Possibly a little longer."

Picking up the FEMH device, he placed it on the desk. "What I've got here, is a backup holo matrix core unit, two small bio-neural gel packs, power supply, anti grav units, holo projectors, along with a few other things. It's larger than the one Voyager came across obviously," tapping the ovoid, he activated the anti gravs and let it float. "But the whole unit will be encased in the hologram, so it won't be seen. And it's shielded, so it can withstand radiation and energy levels far beyond what a protected humanoid could tolerate."

"I had to use a Mark One, because of processing limitations, but the medical database is almost as complete as a Mark Five. And the advantage to this guy. Well, after reading the reports from Pathfinder, it occurred to me, the Doctor there was able to perform duties or go places where a normal doctor, even one protected in a suit, would normally be unable to go. He's not limited to the sickbay, or even the ship, he can be beamed down to a biohazard site, and remain completely unaffected."

"He could also be useful on missions where space is a premium. I was tinkering with this guy when I test installed an EMH on the runabout Avalanche," sorting through the PADDs, he pulled out the installation report, and passed it to Cat, "This is the report on the installation on the Avalanche. The test went fine, which was a good thing, as we had to leave without a Medic. So the Doc here was able to act in that capacity. But say a team had to take a type 15 shuttle pod, only 4 seats. This guy can be tucked in a storage bay, and they have medical support if needed."

Pulling out another PADD, Ariss handed this over to Cat, "Here's the spec's for the Field EMH device Sir," and followed by another PADD, "and this one is the report on what happened when the unit was used in the GQ."

Shutting up, Ariss looked at Cat and waited.

Cat looked back at Ariss, "Interesting. Ensign, and what about reliability of operation? Can you guarantee me one hundred percent operation in any thirty six hour period?"

Picking up another PADD, Ariss checked it before putting it before Cat. "All components have been bench tested to one hundred and twenty percent capacity, sir. If something fails, it will probably be due to external circumstances. The unit has only been tested five times over a full four day period, and only once did the unit mechanically malfunction. That error has been rectified. But obviously further testing is recommended. For now though, the unit appears stable and ready for use."

Looking at the ovoid for a few moments, Cat looked back at the engineer turned security officer. "What about stability of the personality matrix? Every EMH that I have had the unfortunate pleasure to work with has had some problem, what's to say this one won't have one?"

"This unit sir is a basic Mark I installation. Every EMH starts out as a standard, but their matrices are based on a heuristic algorithm, a learning matrix. They are designed to adapt to circumstances, react when needed. Unfortunately, that leaves room for, idiosyncrasies to crop up. I can't promise that this EMH won't develop, quirks, but based on the Mark I on Voyager, he developed his quirks, but they're nowhere near as bad as those our primary EMH here sees to have!"

"Sir, I've spent over a year designing and building this. I've been in situations without a medic, and I'd have killed for something like this. I can't promise you perfection, but it's as close as I can make it. I'd certainly recommend you getting a more senior engineer to inspect it, and look over my notes. But at the end of the day sir, his job is the same as any other EMH, to fill in when a full time physician is unable, or incapable of doing so. He's just a little more versatile."

"To be utterly honest Ensign, I am not that confidant in any EMH. Secondarily, any away team that you have gone on without at least a qualified paramedic has been against StarFleet regs. Who ever considered that team endangered those under his command. But I know enough about computer systems to know that I am dangerous and don't know enough. Before there is any implementation, I want you to speak to Operations. I'm sure that you've done your best Ensign, but before anything else talk to them. I suggest you contact Commander Jaxom, and discuss it with him. If he is happy, you can..." Cat paused, "test your project, but I want Operations in on the whole loop, every step of the way. Also, if I see a single glitch that could endanger my patients - I will stop this project until it is rectified. Understood?"

"Understood Sir" Ariss said, his enthusiasm evaporating slightly, he'd heard the CMO wasn't that fond of EMH's but.

"Don't look so downtrodden Ensign, if you can convince me to the viability of the FEMH, the rest of StarFleet will be easy." Cat stopped, "FEMH? hmmmm, I gather as a standard Mk 1, it has the standard holographic representation?"

"For now, yes sir. I'm not an expert holo programmer, so I altered the basic EMH matrix as little as possible. He's still got the standard physical parameters."

Cat nodded, "Then I seriously suggest you change the acronym or adjust the holographic representation to female. Fem - H?"

"Ah! Good point sir." Ariss said, chuckling, despite his best attempts not to. "I'll adjust the image & matrix a little later." Still smiling, Ariss picked up one final PADD. "This is a formal proposal Sir. I understand your reservations about turning loose an untested piece of kit on patients, so I'll speak to Commander Jaxom as you've recommended."

"Is there anything else you'd like to know about it?"

"I believe all of the bases have been covered, Ensign. Take the PADD to Commander Jaxom," Cat handed back the PADD to Ariss, "He'd understand the technical issues a lot better than I. When he is happy to put it in operation, come back to me and we'll go from there."

"Understood Sir. Thank you for your time." Collecting his equipment, Ariss left the office, slightly less exuberant than when he had entered. "Well," he muttered, "On the upside, at least she didn't say no." he said to himself.

"Breaking Point"

Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy
Hazard Eight

Commander Rayna O'Grady

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

It was rare, very rare, to find the gymnasium free of the Miranda fitness fanatics. Today it would seem was one of those rare days. It was great that the crew were dedicated to their health but it made life difficult for Imanol. Rarely did he get moments to himself anymore, perhaps it was better that he couldn't depress himself recalling the events of the last few months. Not much had gone his way since arriving but for the moment at least, his life was getting back to normal. Felecium? What Felecium?!

Jumping off the treadmill after its final beep Imanol detached the cardio and respiratory sensors. Throwing a towel over his shoulder he headed for the showers. He was hot and tired and the gym had been empty all morning with the exception of a few stragglers. Just the way he liked it.

Inside the locker room Imanol could here a quiet sobbing. Walking along the long row of lockers the sobbing got louder and louder. At the very far end a women crouched on the ground below an open locker. Her hands were held tight to her face.

Imanol quietly made his presence known so not to startle her, Imanol kneeled beside her placing his towel around her shoulders.

"Is there something I can do?" inquired Imanol.

Rayna usually wasn't one to cry much but with everything going on like loosing the baby and Mike's disappearance, it made her soft and vulnerable. She always came to the gym to work out her frustrations and this was one of those times. Mike and her used to work out together. This last workout made her think of Mike.

Rayna had no idea that there was anyone there besides her. She was more than startled, she was embarrassed. She hated for others to see her in such a state of distress and she didn't know this person at all. There was some hesitation in answering him. Instead, she shook her head no. Trying to gain a little composure, "I'm okay now. You can go back to what you were doing."

"I can't now what with you having my towel." Perhaps this wasn't the best moment to be coy but Imanol couldn't help it. Kneeling there he wondered what could have driven this women to such a state. She hadn't even gotten as far as changing out of her gym gear. It was rare enough for high ranking Starfleet officers to show any emotion at all outside their quarters. Something was tormenting this beautiful woman and Imanol wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to know what it was.

She reached into her locker and pulled out her clean, Starfleet issued towel and handed it to him, "Now you can" she said coldly, "go do what you need to do." She wasn't intentionally trying to be rude but she didn't want a friend, she wanted to bathe in her own misery.

Imanol took the towel from her hand and threw it back into her locker. Slightly annoyed at the women's attitude Imanol turned to leave but plain curiosity held him back. He turned again to face the woman.

"You cant get rid of me the easy. What's going on?" As her watery brown eyes met his. Imanols stomach sank half expecting a verbal assault, but it never came."Please, what's going on?" Imanol wouldn't leave without an answer.

Rayna, since he had no idea who she was, she felt she could talk to him. Because he didn't know her, he wouldn't have a preconception of her, "I'm sorry. Things are a bit rocky right now. You might have heard about a search that was going on? Well, that missing person is my husband." She was very matter of fact.

The penny began to drop. ~of course~ He'd only been talking to Ariss about it the other day. He had been part of a search team, one which had come up empty.

"Rayna? I am sorry" he paused a moment in thought. "Try to remember who your friends are, its times like these that they show their true colours. You and your family shouldn't have to deal with this on your own."

"Friends? What friends? No one on this ship likes me and those that I considered my friends hasn't given me the time of day...not since I stepped down from the XO position. I guess you're only important if you are the senior staff. Once you screw up and get kicked down a few pegs, then you are just another crewman."

"Those damn starfleet aristocrats!" Imanol groaned. "You don't have to tell me about them. Wrapped me in cotton wool when my career should have taken off." He trailled off slightly before returning to Rayna, "I can't believe there's no one that has stuck by you. What happened?"

"I was asked to step down and after all I've done for him, staying loyal to him. The only person that I could count on was my husband. No matter how much I screwed up, he never wandered."

The Hazard officer didnt especially like what he was hearing, no one had offered her their support even at this critical time. He'd be damned if he denied Rayna his. Of course he couldn't judge Miranda's senior staff because his own experiences of them were good ones.

"Rayna O'Grady, this is one friend that will not go away, you might not like it but you don't have a choice, not until Michael gets back here at least."

Her voice reflected defeat, "Who am I kidding? He's gone and he's never coming back."

"You dont know that for sure, theres ALWAYS hope" He put his arm gentley around the Commander to try and console her. It wasn't often Imanol found himself in this position, trying to reach out to a complete stranger. Rayna's body language suggested he was helping her alright.

"I was never really good at waiting. I don't think I can do it now either. My kids look up to me for strength but I can't be, I just can't."

"You have to stay strong for your own sanity and for your kids, you seem like a strong person, feed off that and you'll get through this I assure you. Michael may not be coming back but at least all is not lost. You have your kids and your career and.. one friend at least" he ventured.

Rayna looked at her hands, "Thanks for your kind words. I need all the friends I can get right now and I appreciate that you want to be one of them."

Imanol could hear movement down the bottom of the locker room. The change of shifts was coming and the gymnasium would quickly fill up. Standing with Rayna he was carefull not to overpower her. Having spent the last two hours ripping his muscles, Imanol was quite unaware of his strength at that point.

"I could use a coffee, will you join me?"

Rayna thought for a moment, then nodded, "Okay, I guess that will be fine. It's not like I have to get back to anywhere special."

"I'll meet you in ten, outside ." he motioned towards the door at the far end of the room. "dont give up" he said softly before he turned and left.

As the steam rolled off his powerful back in the shower Imanol couldnt help but feel how much of a hippocrat he had become. For a decade he heeded to no ones advice, running only on instinct and unchannelled aggression. It was only in the last month that he was coming to realise that there was a proper life for him out there. The anger and pain would never go away but there was more to life than just that. Imanol Harinordoquy was in no position to give advise, but support, that much he could muster.

"The Apology "

Cmdr. Arel Smith
Samantha Widdlestein

*****

A couple of security officers peeked into her throughout the day, both curious at the absence of yelling from their Chief and cautious, wondering if she was biding her time before the next big blow out.

Arel ignored them and continued to stare at the pen and parchment before her.

Not one for long, drawn out confessions, Arel had managed to obtain a box of brownies from Jordan for her staff and had left it out in the break room this morning with a short message.

-Sorry- it read.

Of course, there were some officers who thought it was a trick of some kind (poisoned chocolate, they had exclaimed) but most had smiled at the apology and said thank you.

Arel, true to form, had grunted at each one and waved them away.

She was now attempting to write a more profound apology for Rayna O'Grady, her assistant security chief. The woman had been through hell lately and Arel, she was angry to realize, had not made her life any easier.

She frowned down at the paper, which so far only had a slight smudge from the ink in the pen which might have been profound to an artist or philosopher but was just plain annoying to Arel Smith.

"I hope you're not trying to add up numbers past ten again." A voice said cheerfully from the doorway.

Arel looked up and scowled at the girl. A couple of years of being scowled at had made Samantha Widdlestein very indifferent towards this. She smirked back at Arel with her arms crossed. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit, thick heeled boots, and had little braids in her hair like Arel often wore. She also was sporting several bangles on her wrists and a few red spots all over her face.

"If only." Arel said. "What are you doing here, Sam? I'm supposed to meet you in an hour." She narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"I got out early." The eleven year old said. "Well, get up and give me a hug, Stupid."

Arel, glad to be given a breather from her little project, stood up and went over to give her friend a hug. She had forgotten how much she had missed the younger girl and wondered why it was that they fought so often.

"You're not really showing much but your butt does look a bit wider." Sam pointed out a second and Arel remembered.

"What's with the zits on your face, Kid?" Arel snarled. "Looking to map out the next star system we pass?"

Samantha made an outraged noise, turned red, and then began swearing in Klingon which made Arel laugh. The kid was getting better as time went on, although she still tended to spit when she spoke it. "So what should we do today?"

Sam, still a bit pink, sat down grumpily. "I don't know. The stores on the Starbase are all boring and the restaurants I sat at today didn't have any good food."

"I thought you said you were at school?"

"I lied." Samantha said flippantly and then continued over Arel's lecture. "I've got the next four lesson plans done already and I wanted to get some research in for my novel."

Arel winced, hoping that they wouldn't have to go into that. The Victor Savage program was interesting, and the main hero was hot, but she had a feeling that Sam would be pushing her soon to try out those missing chapters. "Any luck?"

Samantha shrugged. "Not much. I saw a few potentials for characters but mainly a bunch of sad and lonely looking people." She sighed dramatically. "And I thought you were the only lost cause out there."

Arel rolled her eyes.

"What are *you* working on?" Sam asked.

"An apology."

Sam paused. "No really."

"An apology."

Samantha put her hands on her hips. "If you don't want to tell me..."

"Its a smegging apology, Sam!" Arel snapped. "Only it's not going so well because the only thing I can think of is 'sorry for being a bitch.'"

"Oh." And then she laughed. "*You* are apologizing to someone. I think the baby has messed with your brain."

"It's not an unreasonable assumption." Arel muttered, looking down at the paper again.

"Ooooh...let's go baby shopping!" Samantha squealed. "I can pick out some clothes...oh, I just know that *you'll* pick out something dreadful for the kid...don't you ever wear anything but that uniform or brown? He'll need a summer and winter wardrobe, complete with shoes and hats and...

Despite herself, Arel thought that baby shopping was a good idea. She didn't have to tell Sam that she already had everything that the girl had mentioned, and even in colors other than brown. But there was one problem.

"I still have to finish this, Sam." Arel said.

Samantha gave her a look. "You mean to tell me a five word apology isn't enough. I killed a Hirogen for you and you *still* haven't said thank you."

Arel gave the parchment a look and then wrote the note. "Let's find something reasonable for Korvin, shall we?"

"Korvin? What kind of name is Korvin?" Samantha was heard to say as the pair walked out of Security.

-You're a good officer.- The note to Rayna read. -Sorry for being a bitch.-

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