"Chance Encounter"

by
Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Control,
USS Galaxy
Ensign Aristi Ferguson,
Flight Control,
USS Galaxy (APC/PCC)

Location: Starbase 212

Aristi never seemed to get a moment's peace. First, she had been transferred off the Prokofiev and onto the Galaxy, which had been exciting and stressful all at once. Then she had met her roommate, who while not openly hostile had definitely not taken well to the idea of a Cardassian sharing her living quarters. And now she had spent all day back on Starbase 212, running around like a headless chicken until she didn't know which way to turn.

It had been a long day, that's for sure. Shopping was hard.

Deftly balancing two boxes in her left hand with two heavy bags cutting into her left forearm, Aristi made her way through one of the many bustling hallways of the starbase. She received more th! an her fair share of stares and dirty looks from the starbase's denizens, who obviously weren't very happy about having a Cardassian around, even one as unassuming as her. Almost equal in number though were the appreciative whistles; today Aristi had worn a clingy Terran-looking dress that best accentuated her body and extensive tattooing. Apparently she wasn't the only one who liked the way it looked on her.

Turning the corner, Aristi attempted to make her way into the next hallway of traffic. But, she realized too late that it wasn't going to work: the throng of bodies was too thick and moving in all different directions. A passing Andorian bumped Aristi, causing her parcels to unbalance. She tried in vain to recover, but a second bump from another passerby was all she needed. Crying out in alarm she fell sideways out of the crowd and onto the neighboring ground.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, trying to right her! self. After a moment she realized that she had taken someone out in her fall.

"My apologies," she began, twisting herself off the unfamiliar pair of legs beneath her. "I'm not usually this clumsy."

Miramon had been headed towards the docking port where his new assignment, the USS Galaxy was currently parked. He was a bit nervous about going aboard - it was, after all, a Galaxy class starship, first of her class and lineage. Quite a move for a second assignment. He had a light grey duffel bag thrown over his left shoulder, but wasn't carrying any other luggage. Though he was trying to watch where he was going, it was difficult to see over the number of people on the deck. Must have been time for food or something.

Moments later, he felt something hit him at some speed, not overly quickly, even though he hadn't expected it - it was more the momentum of the impact that sent him flying.

He hit the floor slight! ly harder than he'd have thought for such a light bump, even if it had pushed him over. He'd taken the hit and fallen to the floor, but had used the flat of his lower arm to break his fall, minimising the impact. His duffel bag fell off his shoulder and flew a little bit away from him, landing with a soft thud, lighter than the Bajoran himself had done. Unfortunately, he was also trapped by the person that had fallen on top of him.

He waited for the slightest amount of pressure to be released on his legs, then rolled out from under whoever had fallen on top of him, before standing and brushing himself off. So much for a clean uniform. Twisting his head tightly to remove some slight tenseness in his neck, the Bajoran reached down and grabbed the other person on the floor by the wrist, pulling her to her feet.

"No broken bones, no problem. Just watch where you're goi...”

The Bajoran broke off. He was staring directly into the face ! of a Cardassian.

Aristi barely noticed the man's discomfort, having long ago grown accustomed to the reaction she provoked in most anyone, especially Bajorans. She smiled warmly, hoping it came across as that and not some 'evil Cardassian' sneer.

"I'm really sorry," she continued, taking a moment to re-balance her packages and push her wavy reddish hair back from her face. "You're sure you're okay?"

Miramon blinked. Not quite the reaction he'd expected, but as this particular Cardassian didn't seem inclined to sneer at Bajoran weakness or make some particular racial jibe, he figured courtesy would probably be the best approach. Some of that fleet training got through after all.

"I'm fine, thank you. No harm done, like I said."

"Well, I'd best be off. Long days and pleasant nights to you, sir." She inclined her head towards him, then smiled once more before disappearing into the crowd.

The Baj! oran had little time to respond to that particular point, though he let the Cardassian go without a fuss, though he was headed in the same direction anyway - the Galaxy's docking port entrance was not that far off. Shrugging, Miramon picked up his duffel bag and replaced it on his shoulder, before setting off to the docking bay.

Not more than a minute or two later, Aristi thought she spied a familiar head moving in the same general direction as her. The crowd was much thinner in this area, so she took the opportunity to squeeze between a few people and over towards her target.

"You wouldn't happen to be following me, would you?" Her voice was light, even a bit flirtatious, as she sidled up to Miramon and began to match his pace. "I could maybe use a little light stalking."

That was an audacious piece of affrontery, especially from a Cardassian, but for some reason, Miramon found it amusing, and chuckled lightly, ! though didn't have time to say anything in reply as the Cardassian interrupted him.

"Or no, wait." She trailed off, her mind processing the various clues. Starfleet uniform, luggage, heading in the general direction of the docking port... "You're headed to the Galaxy, aren't you!"

Miramon nodded. That ought to have figured. It hadn't clicked right away because the Cardassian was not wearing a Starfleet Uniform, but she was, after all, headed in the general direction of the ship, so it was a good conclusion, he supposed.

"Yeah, I'm the new Flight Control Officer, just recently transferred from the Valdemar. I'm Ensign Terrik. Miramon Terrik, actually. I take it you're one of the crew, too?"

Aristi nodded. "Yep. Ensign Aristi Ferguson, also newly transferred from the Prokofiev, also in Flight Control. Looks like we'll be working together!"

Miramon held the reflexive expression of surprise. He! was really going to need to quell the problem he had with Cardassians. ~Long time ago, bud. Get over it.~

"Yeah, sure, I guess we will. If we're heading back, maybe I can help you carry some of those boxes. Might help if you could see where you were going in the future, right?"

"Thank you, that would be a great help!" She handed one of the boxes to Miramon, then turned the second box and slid it under her arm, letting the two bags slide from her wrist into her hand. She was still carrying a good deal, but at least now nothing could get knocked over again. "I guess I did go a little overboard on the spending...but I just had to get something neat for my mum back home, and my roomie doesn't seem to have much in the way of fun stuff..."

Aristi trailed off, suddenly aware that she was rambling. She immediately changed directions. "So, you said you were on the Valdemar, right? How do those Ambassador ships ! handle, anyway?"

Miramon, for some reason even he couldn't consciously work out was happy to oblige the conversational attitude. "Better than I suspect the Galaxy will. She's got a smaller warp engine - intermix chamber is about two-thirds the size, but then, she's by far the smaller ship. A little faster and a lot more maneuverable, but according to specs, not as fast. Should be interesting trying out a larger ship, I think."

He paused a second, trying to scroll through what he knew about other Federation ships. Ah, that was it.

"Prokofiev was an Andromeda class ship, right? Heavy scout cruiser. I betcha those things are easier to fly than Ambassador class ships. Have you ever flown anything like the Galaxy before?"

"I've spent more time than I can remember doing simulations and even got a couple hours at the helm of a real Galaxy class ship a few years back. This will be my first time piloting one for any extended t! ime, though. I'm qualified to pilot anything up to a Sovereign class, though I really prefer piloting the smaller classes. They're much more maneuverable, even if they don't go as fast or get as much respect as the 'big boys'..."

Aristi stopped in mid-sentence as a short beep from somewhere inside her clothing caught her attention. Frowning slightly, she reached inside the neckline of her dress, pulling a communicator pin from within. The communicator beeped again.

"Now what could this be," she mused, depressing the pin in her palm. A split second later the incoming message was relayed.

Miramon's commbadge had gone off at the same time, though he didn't take as long to activate his own one, given that it was pinned directly to the breast of his uniform jacket, though somehow they still went off together.

[All crew members of the USS Galaxy are hereby ordered to return to ship immediately. Re! peat, all Galaxy crew are to report back immediately.] Then the channel closed.

"Interesting..." Aristi looked up at Miramon to judge his reaction.

"Now what the heck is going on? We're not supposed to be leaving yet. Still, if we are, they might have problems if we're not aboard. After you..."

Aristi wasted no time, picking up the pace as she began to weave through the crowd, using her overloaded left arm to carve a passage. As the two made their way down the halls and passageways of the starbase the crowd began to streamline and homogenize, becoming composed more and more of Starfleet types rushing back to their ship, many talking excitedly about the sudden personnel recall.

"...what if it's the Borg..."

"...no, the Klingons are coming..."

Aristi looked sideways, trying to determine the source of some of the silly rumors bouncing through the crowd. Near her two young crewmen, Petty Officers by! their rank insignia, were tossing ideas back and forth as they hurried along.

"...hear it's a Cardassian invasion..."

"...bring their damn Vorta friends..."

"Cardassians, eh?" She raised her voice, grinning at the two crewmen. The pair blanched and veered away as they realized who-- more importantly what-- was addressing them.

Miramon looked at the two crewmen with a raised eyebrow, glaring at them sternly. "That'll be enough gossip from the both of you. We'll find out what is going on when we're aboard our ships. Until that point, keep your conjecture to yourselves. Now, move!"

The Bajoran shook his head as both him and Aristi watched the two shuffle away from them towards the docking bay, obviously trying to put some distance between them and their senior officers.

"Right, that's sorted. You know, I wonder if the transporters are working. We're both bridge officers, so I'm sure we could create an auth! orised transport from here. What'ya think?"

Aristi shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to try." She made her way to the side of the crowd, backing into a small alcove to keep out of the way. She tapped her commbadge, now fastened to the outside of her dress. "Ensign Ferguson to Galaxy. Request immediate beam-over of myself and Ensign Miramon Terrik."

After a slight pause, they received a reply. [This is Transporter Room 4. We're a bit busy down here but will get to you momentarily. Stand by.]

"Excellent." Aristi shifted her packages slightly, waiting patiently for the beam-over. "A Bajoran taking sides with a Cardassian," she mused, replaying in her head the verbal lashing Miramon had given the two gossiping crewmen. "The times they are a’changin..." She chuckled lightly; being around someone who hadn't yet become antagonistic because of her heritage was definitely keepi! ng her in a good mood.

Miramon rolled his eyes as he listened to the commlink reply. Didn't these people know that Bridge officers took priority when requesting beam-up during emergency recall? The standard recall was not scheduled yet, so something was going on, and the Bajoran and Cardassian were the only two flight control officers assigned to the Galaxy. Great if all you're looking for is a drill test, but otherwise, they needed to get aboard.

The Bajoran turned to Aristi and shrugged. "Isn't it amazing how even standard protocols get broken at dock? Stupid way to run this place."

"With the sudden recall, I’m betting the only crew left on board to operate the transporters are inexperienced, probably Petty Officers or..." Her voice stopped as the transporter beam energized.

"...or lower," she finished, catching sight of the very young crewman standing at the transporter controls. ~Good Lord, I must be getting! old.~

"Well, Mister Terrik, welcome to the Galaxy!" Aristi stepped off the transporter pad and headed for the door. She briefly considered reminding the crewman of ship’s protocols, but reporting for duty seemed more important right now.

Miramon nodded, taking a quick look around the Transporter room before following Aristi outside the room, only to be greeted by other officers running around, likely answering a ship-wide station call. His eyes darted around for a moment, then he turned to Aristi.

"Right, I think one of us best go to the Bridge, and as I'm carrying less than you, it's probably best for me to get up there. I'll see you later?"

"You're also the only one in uniform," she stated, taking her last package back from Miramon and stuffing it under her right arm. "Flight officers get no respect in frilly sundresses, I'm betting. Well, once the insanity is over and we're underway, give me a buzz ! if you feel like it. It was really nice to meet you...see you around!" And with that Aristi pushed her way out of the transporter room and disappeared into the hallway.

Miramon watched as Aristi disappeared, muttering a quiet 'goodbye' before turning and heading to the Bridge.

[Backpost]

"Koala Monday"

(Takes place just prior to the Galaxy’s arrival at SB 212)

by Captain M'Kantu,

Lt JG Claire Barnes,

Ensign Kira Murphy (ex-PC)

****

USS Galaxy

Deck 1

Outside Captain's Ready Room

Looking up from as she was leaving the captain's ready room, Kira stopped & grinned when she saw a blond woman walk out of the lift and head over towards her.

Smiling, she grinned, "Hi, I'm Kira. You here to see the cap too? What did you do wrong?"

Blinking, Claire shook her head, "Claire Barnes. I just transferred here, and was reporting in."

"Oh, okay. I'm just reporting so I can leave. Just got a message from my homeworld that they want me back. For all that is holy, I am not sure why, but I am pretty sure your new boss will probably want to celebrate. I wasn't very popular, especially after the rampaging rhino hologram in a portable emitter."

Claire laughed, "You would have cheered things up then."

Pointing back to the closed door, "Oh yeah. Pity I won't be around to get to know you though. He should be in a good mood at least."

Turning, Kira left the bridge as Claire tapped the door buzzer, entering when told to.

Snapping to attention, she saluted, "Lt Junior Grade Claire Barnes, reporting for duty, Sir."

Daren nodded and returned the salute from his position by the window. "At ease, Lieutenant, and welcome to the Galaxy." He moved behind the desk as he talked and nodded to the chairs in front of his desk as he settled into his own chair. "Please, have a seat."

Claire smiled and walked over to the seat, spinning it around before straddling it, "Yes, captain."

"According to your record, you've done the whole 'first meeting' thing before, so I don't know that there's much point in repeating it -," he looked at her, "unless you simply want to go through that again?"

"Sounds good to me.. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"I thought not," he nodded. "Let's just assume that it's over and done with, then." He looked at a PADD on his desk. "You've also gotten good marks from your treatment program, so I don't see any need to go over that ground either. I'll just say that we've got a very good Counseling staff here on the Galaxy, and if you have a problem of any kind, you'd do well to talk to one of them."

"Sure. I was going to put in for regular sessions when I have had time to settle in."

Daren nodded, set the PADD aside, and looked at Claire for a moment. "Tell me, Lieutenant, what do you see yourself doing here on the Galaxy? Who do you see yourself being in a year?"

Claire smiled with a mischievous Aussie grin. "Replacing you as Captain, Sir. After having replaced Lt Cmdr

Corgan, Sir."

Daren smiled. "You might want to wait a few more years for that, Lieutenant. Command isn't all it's made out to be sometimes. You might find another path that calls to you more."

"Hmm.. Maybe, but I believe in aiming high."

"Just remember to not pay so much attention to the goal that you stumble on the path that takes you there," Daren offered. "Now tell me, have you met Commander Corgan yet? Any of the other members of the department?"

"Yes, sir. I checked in at the office, but he wasn't there. I met a few of the others though."

"What did you think of the ones that you've met? Were they people that you feel you can work with?"

"They seem pretty good. Although, a bit distant at the moment due to the officer who died recently. I do believe I can work with them."

Daren nodded. "That's only to be expected; Lieutenant D'Tinya-Bolivar was a good officer, and well-liked in the department. There are a few... difficult... personnel, but by and large, Commander Corgan runs as good a Security department as any I've seen. I think you'll fit in well there after the initial settling-in period." He regarded her for a moment, and then added, "Do you mind a more personal question, Lieutenant?"

"Sure, Captain."

"Why a koala?"

Grinning, she smiled, "I grew up in Sydney, Australia. It is kinda of a big place now, but during holidays, Dad took me camping in the Blue Mountains. I grew up liking animals, and I just picked a well known Australian animal as a pet. The counselors on the Victorious suggested it."

"If I recall correctly, they have a somewhat restrictive

diet. Is that correct?"

"Oh yeah... Three types of eucalyptus leaves is the limit of their diet. They don't even drink water unless desperate. I have some replicated versions that work.

Daren nodded. "You might want to talk to our Chief Botanist, Ensign Miguel Sandoval, about having some non-replicated plants grown. He's got a touch with plants that borders on the magical."

"That's a great idea. I do have a chip with some seeds on it somewhere."

"If needed, you might also talk to Lt. Curtis Geluf, the Ops Chief, about changing the environmental settings around in your quarters for the animal." Daren smiled. "I've always had a soft spot for the creatures after my daughter..." his eyes saddened for a moment, but his voice remained firm, "fell in love with them and demanded one - loudly and frequently - for her sixth birthday."

Claire smiled,

"He'll be fine. I have a small portable holo-projector that is separate from the ship's power systems. I just recharge it when it is needed, so it isn't a drain during low-power or combat modes. Saves on replicating branches and sticking them to the roof, Sir."

"I can see where that would get to be a bit of a chore, yes," he nodded with a faint smile. "All right then, Lieutenant, let me ask you this: Do *you* have any questions? Any concerns? Anything you'd like to ask?"

"Nope. I'm fine, Captain."

"All right then, Lieutenant." He stood and offered her his hand. "If you have any questions, my door is open. And again, welcome to the Galaxy."

The Frustrated Botanist

Ens. Miguel Antonio Sandoval
Jan

Designed initially during the Golden age of Exploration, the USS Galaxy was the first of a series of ships dedicated to the principles of unrestrained scientific thought and discovery. Now almost 20 years since her initial launch from Utopia Planatia, the staff of scientists who bid her bon voyage would have barely recognized her.

Gone were the lovingly graceful lines of the ships original neo-organic streamlining. Gone were the original science-intensive sensor pallets and computer cores. gone was the ship inspired by Pallas Athena the Goddess of Wisdom. Instead the monstrosity that prowled the starlanes was more like one of the demonic servants of old Ares, the God of War.

The hull was scarred and broken by haphazard arrays of heavy weapons blisters, and delicate scientific pallets were replaced by brutish tactical combat sensors. Heavy Shielding and new warp control fins broke the once clean lines leaving the impression of an ancient gladiator studded with metal spikes and armor.

It was an ugly ship on the outside, but what truly broke the heart of Ensign Miguel Antonio Sandoval was the ugliness in the ship's interior.

Contrary to popular belief, and somewhat sadly disappointing to those that cared, the huge plant-filled interior was not as well equipped or supplied as other areas of the Starship's area.

The Botany and Ecology Departments over which Miguel held sway was one of the most understaffed and resource-poor groups on the vessel.

Starfleet had recently spent untold millions refitting the Galaxy's Combat Fighter wing with new spiffy space-helmets, while poor Miguel was forced to carefully ration his soil analyzing reagents lest he exceed his rather meager budget of resources.

Tactical Department had recently been treated to a 3-day conference at the Federations new 359-Tactical School complete with battle simulation exercises and celebrity guest speakers.

Miguel's last staff meeting came out of his own pocket as he struggled with a flimsy overhead projector in a stuffy crew lounge.

Captain M'Kantu held staff meetings galore expounding on the various focuses on Security and Tactics, while Miguels own Botanical Scientific report on the last mission had probably found its way into the Captains recycle bin without even being read.

Unfortunately for Miguel, his pitiful staff was half the problem.

The USS Galaxy was famous for being top-heavy with rank. At one time during her history no less than THREE full-fledged Commanders were among her senior staff, along with a plethora of Lt. Commanders and the like.

(OOC: CMDR's Hawksley, Dallas, von Ernst--last year)

With all this raw talent and expertise available, it was a sheer joke and insult that poor Miguel, barely an newly graduated Ensign and shipping out on his first assignment ever suddenly found himself as the head of the entire Botany and Ecology Departments.

Obviously the Powers that Be had a rather poor opinion of the Department and could care less about plants.

For Miguel that was the greatest tragedy. For plants and green-growing things were central to his life.

Central to EVERYBODY's life as far as he was concerned.

If one did not take time to smell the roses as it were, then what was the point of any of this?

The bizarre unfiltered blur of starlight as seen through a warp bubble trickled eerily into the half lit interiors of the USS Galaxy's main Arboretum.

The poor lighting had less to do with some sort of sceintific principle than the fact that Engineering had stolen the power to funnel to Tactical for some sort of simulated wargame exercise against the Breen.

~~Or Bean...Been.....Preen....whatever they are called.~~~ Miguel sighed to himself.

The 22 year old native of El Salvador kept his distressed thought to himself however as he carefully measured out a pinch of concentrated fertilizer into a resused beaker.

The Starfleet issued stuff was decidedly sub-par, and instead Miguel was trying to implement a revitalization trick he learned during Senior Year at the Academy to boost the fertilizers properties without resorting to using large ammounts.

Senior Year at the Academy.

Barely 4 months ago in actuality. Wet behind the ears did not even begin to describe Miguel.

Unfortunately for him his staff was even worse.

Apparently there was a practice aboard the Galaxy of passing off the dregs of the fleet from Department to Department until the low man on the totem pole was forced to accept them.

As a newly minted Ensign, Miguel was decidedly low-man.

His entire staff included but 4 persons, only 3 of which were actual crewmembers (the fifth being a civilian). Unfortunately this meant that Miguel did not have enough warm bodies to keep the labs open 24 hours a day. Considering that none of the above had any formal training in the Botanical science made this a moot point.

First there were the two enlisted ratings that kept making goo-goo eyes at each other instead of doing their work. Strangely enough the male was born on Mars, and the woman really was from Venus, which made them the but of many jokes.

That was all fine and everything, but Mr. Mars, and Ms. Venus were also complete lazy-ass's as well. Even simple task such as digging holes in the dirt to make room for new specimens elicited an unending stream of whining and complaining about how hard the work was, or how they might get their uniforms dirty, or how they needed to go talk to a counselor about their inner-Ferrengi or something.

The Klingon petty officer was no better. Transferred in disgrace from Housekeeping, the grizzled alien was the poster child for the Klingon Body Odor Association. He viewed Botany as a hobby of weaklings, and suitable for women and Eunuchs only.

Biting back his Latin pride, Miguel had instead pointed out that the Klingon would get the opportunity to play with sharp objects and dirt, and to think of plants as 'camouflage' instead.

Grunting excitedly, the Petty officer agreed and nowadays spent much of his time hiding in the bushes, and weilding garden shears with the grace of a samurai.

The final Member of the staff, the civilian, was actually the only person that Miguel even felt an inkling of respect for.

Across the old dirt-strewn lab-table from Miguel sat the newest member of his Department, a young fugitive from the Gryphon Asteroid Pirates.

Known only as Jan, this boy was no more than 16 years in age. Slim and pale skinned, Jan looked out onto the world through a pair of deep blue eyes that seemed to carry oceans of feelings within their sparkling depths.

It was good that his eyes spoke volumes, for the boy was also quite mute and seemingly unfamiliar with any sort of sign language or written communication.

In the weeks since his arrival Miguel had spent many frustating hours trying to elicit some sort of response...any response from the lad, all to no effect.

More enigmatic than the lads silence however was the rather amazing abilities that he demonstrated. Twice aboard the pirate vessel Miguel had chance to witness the unearthly ability Jan had to heal wounds by taking them onto himself.

The first had been Botanist himself as Jan healed his severly injured knee, and the second was the near-ressurection of the Pirate Captain who one moment had a bubbling hole where his chest used to be, and the next was standing as fit and healthy as you like.

For the Catholic reared Miguel it was a event like unto a miracle of old.

The Galaxy Medical Department had a different explanation.

"Despite his appearance, he's not human." The Doctor had explained. Of that Miguel had no doubts. Mere humans did not do the things Jan could do.

"Whats more he's not a mute.....not really at least." The Doctor explained further as he ran his tricorder over the youth's neck. "This boy has no vocal chords at all. Not even vestigial ones, and whats more, preliminary genetic analysis indicate thats probably normal for his race."

"Normal?" Miguel had asked at the time. "What race?"

The Doctar had scratched his chin and considered. "Well, taking into account the healing abilities you mentioned, and the lack of speech, I'd say he was a Minarian Empath."

"A what?"

"A Minarian." The Doctor explained. "Theoretically a race of mute empaths demonstrating remarkable healing abilites. The only known encounter with one was over 100 years ago with a female member of the race. The computer had a copy of the medical exam given her by the Medical Officer on the scene, and the boy's DNA indicates a racial relationship."

Since that time a few weeks ago, Miguel himself had looked up the original encounter with the Minarian Empath by the original USS Enterprise. He'd discoverd that the female's name had been Gem, which was too close to Jan for coincidence.

Unfortunately the Empathy was not of the sort typically known to the Federation, and even naturally telepathic beings such as Betazoids, Vulcans and Deltans could not even read Jan's thoughts, or make themselves understood to them.

It was if the boy was in his own private world and was unaware there was even such a thing as communication. He watched events with curiosity, and at length he learned to mimic Miguels chores in the Arboretum, but he never made an effort to speak or interact.

The Doctor had suggested introducing the boy to one of the Galaxy's Engineering officers who was also mute, but as of yet Miguel had not found the chance. What was here name.....Gray? Spray? May? something like that.

Across the table Jan worked merrily dumping enriched soil into a series of pots Miguel had provided for him.

He never seemed to smile or laugh, but somehow he exuded contentment.

Miguel smiled for him. After all, mute or not, he was the only capable member of his staff available.

"Reflection"

Flight Officer Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Five (XO)

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian
Vanguard Three

----------

=^= Deck 10: Ten-Forward =^=

Long slender fingers drifted across the keys of the piano and a soft melody echoed through the Cantina. Jasmine Heloi smiled to herself as she played the ancient tune, allowing it's tones to carry her away to a simpler time and place. Here, lost in the music, she felt peaceful and carefree as was not always the case in the 'real world'. The tune she played was a Betazoid ballad that told the tale of love lost and love regained.

Heroes, wizards, elves, and kings all took part in the story from her childhood and she poured those memories through her hands. As the last notes died away into the silence of the Cantina a polite applause began several heartbeats after it's ending. That, to her, was the most telling of her meager talent. The pause was far more eloquent than a thousand standing ovations and she nodded or smiled to those that had chosen to applaud. That was when she spotted the lone blue Andorian at one of the tables in the corner.

Politely declining to continue, Jasmine made her way through the sparse crowd to stand beside her fellow pilot. "Mind if I sit down?" she asked, extending the offer either for a friendly ear or to be simply left alone.

Tish looked up, momentarily at a loss for words, so long had she been looking out the windows of the USS Galaxy's Cantina. Not that there was anything particular to look at: workbees flitting around starships, EVA-suited construction workers, and massive Federation starships in the distance. She had been wondering, pondering all that had occurred, recently. The mission...what had gone wrong...the betrayal...the information...the link to the past and future...

"Hu...what?" she swiveled her antennas toward the figure standing next to her.

Jasmine smiled at the obvious distraction in the other woman's voice. "Can I sit with you?" she gestured towards one of the chairs at the table. For once her long hair was unbounded and it hung in red hued curls that framed her face and tumbled down her back. Brushing back a strand she waited for Tish's reply.

Tish sighed, looked to the chair that Jazz was motioning toward, and bobbed her antennas, in affirmation. "Sure, Jas'."

Once the Betazoid had seated herself, Tish looked back into the vastness of the starbase's interior. "Nice flying out there during the Graveyard Run, Jasmine. Too bad the f'theking avionics blew. I know what *that's* like," she offered a small, friendly - yet sad - smile.

"Yeah, the frelling thing. I submitted a formal request to Starfleet procurement to light a fire underneath those contractors to get that fix out. I would've had that damn Rogue fighter if it hadn't been for the stupid avionics..." she complained good naturedly. "Ah well, there's always the next game. You didn't do so bad yourself, T'Shani, very good flying. At least what I saw before I went blind."

Tish kept her gaze fixed on an EVA'er that was...washing the windows? ~He must be bored...~ she thought idly, while watching the space-suited man wipe-down the transluminum space-window in front of her. "Thank you. Well, if you would like, I'm ordering a Mark XVII Ukthar-Nijek; they're Andorian, Jas'...better quality than that Tellarite garbage on there, now."

"I'm willing to go with anything *other* than the crap that's in my fighter right now. I don't want any of our people stuck out there in that same situation in unfriendly territory. I'll talk with Corran about possibly requisitioning that package from Ukthar-Nijek for all of our fighters. This is the last time I'm flying anything with a Sm'trs label on it," Jasmine replied, shaking her head. "But enough of that griping. How are you doing, Tish?" Jasmine turned towards the Andorian with a compassionate gaze. If she didn't want to speak about what had happened, that was her prerogative, but she was still there to listen. What were - after all - 'Execs' and, even, friends for?

"I'm...*doing*...I guess, Jasmine," she finally turned to look back to her Exec.

Heloi's gaze softened slightly as she took in the full blow of T'Shani's appearance. Her time away from the ship had not appeared to do her any good, especially since it left her with a great deal of ghosts to deal with. As she had observed before, T'Shani had all the appearance of the Tanalya of her people's mythology. A wraith; a shadow of what had been before. The spark of life that had burned brightly inside the soul of T'Shani had been banked, and that concerned the Betazoid to, no-end. "Only *doing*?" she asked in her musical voice.

Tish sighed, bowing her head, slightly, remembering what Toluk had said: ~"*You're soul shall pay for what I have given to you...*"~ And, it was true. She had not only been betrayed, but had done the same, really...hadn't she? Shaking her head, she looked back up at Jasmine Heloi. Funny, how things were. When Tish had first come aboard Galaxy - almost six months ago, now - she had been quite put-off by the Betazoid vid-star. But now....

"How long will you have to atone for the past, T'Shani?" Jasmine asked, arching her eyebrow at the other woman. She suspected that part of T'Shani's absence had to do with the past that she had shared with her on that runabout so long ago. She felt that that absence had everything to do with the now 'Tanalya' T'Shani.

"As long as the blood of my clan is on my hands, Jasmine," Tish forced, through clenched teeth, while flexing her hands.

"Suffice it to say that I do not like seeing my pilots or my friends hurting, T'Shani. No matter what happened in the past, and I do not believe it was your fault. However, I suspect that I have little chance of convincing you of that...But, what matters is that you're not alone," Jasmine said earnestly, even though she knew that she might never reach the other woman. It was best to proceed carefully in situations like this, and it could easily cause T'Shani to go to anger.

Tish let out a long, low sigh, while rubbing at her eyes and then flipping a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. "Jasmine...what has happened to me?" Stopping suddenly, T'Shani realized what she had said; what she had been dying to ask, but had kept hidden... ~what *has* happened to me?~

Jasmine blinked at the question. It was a plea, a plea for help that she could hardly ignore. The Betazoid reached across the table to touch the back of T'Shani's hand, "Why don't you tell me?"

"I wish I could tell you, Jasmine. I do. But, it's classified, I'm afraid." She looked back out to the large window.

Classified. Such a horrible word when it came to the shadows that haunted the mind of her friend. There was little she could do to countermand that question, nay, that order. So, instead, the Betazoid smiled, "Then all that I can offer is a shoulder to cry on...and more to drink."

T'Shani studied the reflection in the viewport of her and Jasmine sitting across from each other. One strong and beautiful; vibrant. The other...frail, pale, and...and...?

Jasmine signaled for another round of drinks. Her companion was silent after her own offer, and the Betazoid sighed to herself as she thought on what had happened. The story of the Tanalya began with a young girl who was hurt terribly in her past. In the woods, a wicked witch offered to take away her pain in return for a small token. That token ended up being her soul...and the young girl became a Tanalya at the command of the evil witch. There were no evil witches here, though there was a very hurt little girl hidden inside the soul of her fellow pilot. Her heart bled for that child, and for chances lost in the past.

An idea came to Tish's mind...something she had heard of, long ago. "Jasmine..." she started, softly.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever..." she chewed her lip, then continued. "I can't *tell* you, Jasmine...but...I could...um, would you really want to know?" Tish didn't know why she was acting this way, around Heloi. There was just something...*calming* about the woman. Something that T'Shani had overlooked before.

The pilot turned to face T'Shani more fully, her hazel green eyes meeting those of her counterpart's as she attempted to glean what the other woman meant. Surely she could not mean for her to read the Andorian's thoughts...surely... "I believe that you need to share it, T'Shani. But I would not coerce you."

Tish shook her head. "No, Jasmine. I..." it was hard for her to admit, "I *trust* you. Gods...you're one of the only few that I do." If you really want to understand...really want to know..." she trailed-off again, looking down at the table-top. For once, the little girl pushed through the tough warrior-shell that she hid behind...for once, the *real* T'Shani A'Akledorian - a tragic ten year old girl - peeked out from behind the reflection that she hid from, to see if she could trust another soul with her secrets...

There were points in time where she wished that she had followed her mother's path and become a mind healer. This was one of them. Jasmine sighed softly as she saw reflected in the other woman's eyes the child she knew was hurting inside. How could she deny that pain? How could she dare try? "You know what you're suggesting, T'Shani. I do not wish to cause you more pain, my friend. To have another enter one's mind can be painful, especially when one fights against the intrusion. It would be against all that I hold dear to do that to you until you know the risks involved." "I..." Tish was about to continue, but was caught off-guard by the sound of the automated Bo'sun's Whistle sounding, followed by,

[All hands to launch stations. Prepare for launch in thirty minutes. This is not a drill. Repeat: All hands to launch stations.]

Jasmine suppressed the urge to curse audibly, and instead she sighed, "They pick the damndest times to do that..." she complained good naturedly.

Tish glanced over to Jasmine and *shrugged* her antennas. ~Oh-well,~ she thought to herself, as both women got up from the table. ~It was silly, anyway...~

"T'Shani," Jasmine said before they left the Cantina, gently touching the other woman's shoulder, "We'll have to continue this later." Without waiting for T'Shani's reply, the Vanguard Exec led the way towards Fighter Country. She'd have to remember to contact Corran to find out what happened during the senior staff briefing...With those thoughts in mind, Jasmine stepped into the turbolift as the doors whisked shut behind her.

(Backpost – The night before recall orders are issued)

“Down the Watering Hole”

Commander Navarre Shinta, Chief Counsellor

Commander Arel Smith, Chief of Security

Lieutenant Shawn Faraday, Asst. Chief of Flight Controll

Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Flight Officer / Rogue Eight

Lieutenant (JG) Ariss Edon, Security/Tactical Officer

Ensign Imanol Harinordiquy, Generalist/Hazard 9

8-Ball Hunter

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Walking out of his quarters, Ariss stepped up to the next door, declining to use the chime, he hammered on the door with his hand, shouting as he did, "Hey, c'mon guys, time enough later. Let's go have a drink!" A moment later, Brian and Sarah J came out, looking a little sheepish. Chuckling, Ariss nodded his head in the direction of the turbolift. "Drinks first guys," he said smiling.

… …

Walking through the merchants area on the Starbase, the three chatted, there was a profusion of shops here, more it seemed than on the promenade at DS9. And more bars, without that irritable Ferengi, quark, or someone like him. At least there was a selection of places to drink as well. Their destination though was someplace called 'Earharts', which seemed to be a fairly popular name among Humans for bars, at least so it seemed to Ariss. Walking in, the three headed for the bar, it wasn't overcrowded, at least not yet, but then the afternoon was barely over, shops were just closing. There were though, already a mixture of civilians and Starfleet in here. Seeing a few familiar faces scattered around, Ariss waved once or twice, his attention though, was focused on a recently vacated spot at the bar. Stepping into it, he grabbed the attention of a server, for the first time in years, he felt like getting well and truly drunk!

Raising his voice slightly, he looked to the Starfleet officers nearby, "If anyone's drinking, I’m buying!" He announced.

"Ariss! Congratulations!" Shinta walked over and hugged him. "You richly deserve this."

"I couldn't have put it better myself, Shinta!" cheered Faraday, thumping Ariss on the back supportively. The Lt. had swiftly emerged from a small crowd behind the man of the moment, he had been chatting with a few old friends from the Helena.

“Thanks guys,” Ariss said, a little embarrassed. Returning Shinta’s embrace. “It’s only taken nearly seven years to get bumped up from ensign.” He said with a laugh. "What're you all drinking?"

"A soft drink for me." Shinta's standard answer.

Medea had been off to the side with a long island iced tea when she heard the very nice offer of buying drinks. She giggled and in her usual bouncy manner headed over and ordered the Andorian version of a mai tai. "Thankies.", she smiled at Ariss.

Nodding and smiling to Medea, Ariss turned to the server, "Capellan 'Groz', a large glass please." Ordering a variety of drinks as well, he looked at the server, "Just rack them up right here," he said pointing to the bar before him.

Accepting the glass when it came, he turned back and raised it "Impatri Peslad Tensala" he said, in old Bajoran. "And for those of you who don't understand, 'Long life and happiness' " he translated.

Imanol was the last to join the party in 'Earharts Bar'. He had spent most of the day at the Aquatics centre looking at Aquariums. Ariss had plenty of Bajoran decor in the quarters but Imanol was keen on giving it a more human touch. Feeling pretty happy having just purchased a rare Malcorian baby shark he strode over to the group who were immediately recognisable.

"Hey there Shinta"

"Hey Imanol." She grinned at him.

"Hows Fred? Getting big I reckon..." He offered his hand to Lieutenant Faraday. "Imanol Haronordoquy, pleased to meet you."

"Spoiled rotten by the children. You should come over again." She said. "And you are overdue for another little talk."

"Shawn Faraday", replied the American with a grin, as he shook the hand of the comparatively larger officer.

Walking over to Ariss he slapped him in the shoulder playfully. "Got your message buddy, congrats! but don't think you can order me around now, big shot!"

"Now, would I," he said innocently. Smiling, "Not until I'm confident I can take you out with Hand to Hand combat only." Laughing, he downed half the Groz, then breathed deep as the fiery liquid hit his stomach and ignited a small nova there.

"Excellent, so that means never." he replied cheekily. Sticking up two fingers he signalled for two more of whatever Ariss' liver was battling with.

"Ladies and gentle beings," Ariss said, indicating the row of drinks before him, "The bar is well and truly open!" Picking up a couple of glasses, he passed Shinta her chemically inoffensive drink, and Imanol some Groz. Looking at Shawn and Medea, he raised an eyebrow. "Drinks?" Looking around for Brian and Sarah as well, he wondered briefly where they'd gotten off to, then spied the two, quietly leaning against the bar a little further down, blithely ignorant to the world around them.

"A Guinness would be great, Ariss!" replied Shawn

“Guinness , Guinness,” He muttered, he’d heard of that one, checking the bar, looking for something he’d only seen once. Giving up, he downed the last of his Groz, and waved at the barkeep. “Add some Guinness to the bar here please,” he asked, waving at the lined up drinks before him. Watching as the barkeep poured it, slowly, he turned to Shawn with a confused expression, “Is he brewing that as he pours it?”

"To be honest Ariss, I have no idea. All I know is that it tastes great!" replied Faraday with a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

Picking up two glasses of Guinness as they were deposited he passed one to Shawn and raised the other in a toast. ~ Definitely ‘very’ drunk tonight ~ he decided.

"Ooooh.", Medea giggled, her Andorian mai tai already kicking in quite nicely, "How about something with a lot of oomph? Something that'll have me table dancing."

"Something with a lot of oomph?" Ariss muttered, looking at the selection before him, he selected something neon green and passed to Medea, "Try this one. Hey, Shinta, you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

"I really shouldn't, I get very silly when I drink."

"Hey, join the club, I plan on getting very drunk, and therefore very silly." Picking up a multicoloured concoction, he offered it to her, "It's more fun getting drunk with friends, right everyone?" he finished, raising his voice slightly.

"I'll raise my glass to that!" laughed Shawn, before he took to downing his pint

Medea sipped the drink Ariss handed her and her face was alight with a beaming smile. "Oooooooh you KNOW what I like!" she near purred.

"All right then." Shinta accepted the drink.

Smiling, Ariss raised his glass and downed some of the Guinness. "Mmmmhh, Good" he sighed in appreciation.

Harinordoquy wandered to the entrance of a bar where some commotion had developed. Sipping his Groz he peered over a merchants stall to see what was happening. A small crowd had formed and some of the starbases security were jogging towards the fracas. It was over before they arrived on the scene, that Arel Smith had one hell of a streak. The cowboy didn't stand a chance. Laughing he rejoined the group. "Oh hey there, I didn't realise you were a friend." He said as he leaned in and kissed Medea on both cheeks.

Medea didn't know Harinordoquy from a hole in the ground for the most part, other than walking past him in the corridors, but she accepted the kisses with a hug hello.

Shinta took her first sip. It probably had been a one-off thing that day in Marks office. It would be OK.

"Guys! over here" Imanol waved the party over to a vacant table which he was struggling to keep clear from the intoxicated hordes.

Grabbing a tray from behind the bar, Ariss loaded it with the drinks he had ordered, and attempted to transfer them to the table, without spilling to much!

"Ariss, before you sit grab two bottles of Spanish Tequila, you can bill me later" Imanol rubbed his hands together. ~Let the games begin~

Medea bounced along to the vacant table, still grinning. "With this many people, we should have a drinking game, like that Terran one, Quarters." she chuckled.

By now Shinta had taken a few sips of the drink and was beginning to take bigger and faster gulps.

"Hey Shinta," Ariss said, ""Need a refill?" he asked, looking at her nearly empty glass

"Yes please." Shinta said with a silly giggle.

8-ball, bored as usual, wandered into Earharts and glanced around. There was a large party of Starfleet officers, mostly of people she didn't recognize, and most of them were already pretty drunk. 8-ball smiled widely. Drunk people were always more fun to hang out with than sober people. You could either get into fights with them and win with relative ease or end up their best friend and get drunk for free.

8-ball walked up to the big crowd of Starfleet. They looked like they were playing some kind of drinking game. "What are we celebrating?" she asked loudly, so at least one of them would hear her over the din. "And can I join in?"

Waving a glass in the general direction of the loaded table, Ariss nodded, “Sure,” he said with a smile, “Grab an unprotected drink and join in. The more the merrier.”

“Hey, Lieutenant,” Ariss said, looking at Medea, “So what’s this drinking game. Quarters?”

"It's simple. We pour shots of drinks and we have to bounce a small coin off the table and into the glass. Succeed and that person drinks the shot." Medea said, "Or we could do the Rigellian version with balancing the coin on the tip of your nose to the count of three then drink."

"Let’s do both!" a very high-pitched voice joined in. Shinta was jumping up and down with excitement.

Medea was grinning her head off. "Oh yeah!" she smiled while inwardly thinking she liked this person. Not many had that much of a sense of fun.

“Both it is then!” Ariss said smiling as well. ~ R!t’syjan! ~ He thought ~ She really knows how to party ~ Finishing his pint, he dumped the glass and randomly picked up another drink. "Hey, Mr L.T Shawn, you in?" Doing a double take he looked at the newcomer, realising he didn't know who in the seven hells... ~ Who? Ah, what the frell ~

"Yeah!!!" Shinta shouted while she downed another drink.

"I wish I had your enthusiasm, Shinta" said Shawn, "Oh what the hell?! Set me up here buddy"

8-ball raised an eyebrow. At least it wasn't going to be hard to drink one person under the table. She grinned widely. "Let's play."

(Backpost – The night before recall orders are issued)

“Down the Watering Hole”

Commander Navarre Shinta, Chief Counsellor

Commander Arel Smith, Chief of Security

Lieutenant Shawn Faraday, Asst. Chief of Flight Controll

Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari, Flight Officer / Rogue Eight

Lieutenant J.G. Ariss Edon, Security/Tactical Officer

Ensign Imanol Harinordiquy, Generalist/Hazard 9

8-Ball Hunter

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Continued)

8-ball raised an eyebrow. At least it wasn't going to be hard to drink one person under the table. She grinned widely. "Let's play."

“Oh yeah,” Ariss agreed, finishing his drink, “Lets play.” Picking up another drink, he signalled the barkeep for refills. Pulling a coin from a pocked he slapped it on the table. "Who's first?" He asked.

Imanol managed a wink at Shinta. "Rights girls and boys" Imanol poured a shot for himself and placed a coin on his nose. He actually managed to balance it for the 3 seconds but failed to get the coin to fall into the glass. "That's damn impossible" He downed is reward with relative ease as the coin was passed along the table.

Medea picked up the coin and tilted her head back to hold the coin on her nose. "Count for me.", she said as she started to make a show of almost losing the coin's balance despite it barely moving on the tip of her nose.

Innocence was jumping up and down. "I want to be next!" She shouted.

Imanol filled his empty glass with the ginger coloured liquid slyly. The game had several people googlyeyed and he was trying hard to catch up. As the coins were passed to him he simply signalled defeat by knocking back his drink. The door which had been quite visible an hour ago was quickly becoming a distant blur. Turning to Shinta he laughed as he watched her burp and giggle at the same time. It was a side of her he wouldn’t see very often so he cherished the moment.

Sliding another coin onto the table, Ariss chuckled, “Anyone elshe got any looshe change?” he asked, “We can all go at the same time!”

8-ball pulled out nearly a handful of coins and spread it down on the table amidst the many, many drinks. She loved to play quarters. Almost as much as pool or poker. Or strip poker.

"Got plenty," 8-ball said. "Feel free to share."

Shinta grabbed the coin and started to play the game utterly failing of course and drinking like mad.

Picking up a coin, Ariss joined in, and had about as much success as Shinta. Grabbing a refill at random, he tried again.

8-ball managed to balance a quarter on her nose pretty well and trumped in her success. Then she tried to balance three coins at the same time. That didn't go over as well. She downed three shots immediately, one after the other, and played again.

"This is so funny." Innocence/Shinta was giggling by now almost not able to stand up any longer.

Putting his glass forcibly onto the table Imanol turned to his nearest drinking buddy. Who it happened to be was quite irrelevant. "WhaasSsuup with yOur face? HIt any bussess on yoUr way heRE?" His head fell onto the womans shoulder and then rested on her chest as he was removed from the conversation and began to snore.

Innocence/Shinta jumped on the table and started to dance in a very childish manner. "It's certainly getting hot in here." She said and started to unbutton her shirt.

8-ball whistled loudly and threw more money at her feet. "Whew, baby! Take it off!"

Smiling sweetly at this encouragement innocence/Shinta threw her blouse into the crowd and started working on her trousers.

Never one to pass up much, Medea finished off her drink and joined Shinta on the table. Playfully unzipping her uniform tunic, she spun it around her head before tossing it to the first pair of waiting hands.

Innocence/Shinta was standing in her underwear now jumping up and down excitingly trying to get more alcohol down her throat in the meantime.

Squinting, Ariss looked up from the now wildly shaking table, desperately trying to hold onto a glass. Any glass, that contained alcohol. “Ohhh, Boy!!” he managed to get out as he saw the ‘Dancers’ on the table

Imanol pealed his head from the bench and watched the proceedings in a daze. The two attractive women flaunting their goods was enough for him to feel a little turned on. Moving his head slightly he caught 8-Ball at a glance. He continued to stare at her longingly.

For 8-ball, two attractive women flaunting their goods was enough for her to feel a little turned on as well. Of course, any amount of alcohol and other people just present in the room worked just as well. She looked back at Imanol and, smiling, stood up and weaved her away over to where Imanol was sitting, plopping herself down almost in his lap. "Hi," she said.

Medea was shaking herself for all it was worth, just enjoying the good times.

Giggling innocence/Shinta started working on her bra strap. All these nice gentlemen were suggesting she do so, obviously it would make them very happy and she liked to see happy people.

"WHOA!!!" Ariss shot bolt upright in his chair. The 'dancers' on the table had just, finally, focused, and he realized just who was dancing on the table before him. Not exactly sober, but no longer drunk enough not to care, In his drunken haze, a couple of things were suddenly crystallizing in his mind…

Shinta and Arel were friends.

Arel was a Commander.

Arel was his boss.

He was here.

Watching.

If Arel finds out!

"Oh Prophets!" Acting on impulse he improvised. Reaching up, he picked Shinta off the table, to the dismay of the loud and rambunctious patrons. Stood there, with her in his arms…

~ Brain to feet, time to go! ~ …

~ Feet to brain, you're in charge, directions please ~…

"Uh Oh!"

"Horse ride!" Innocence/Shinta shouted trying to squirm out of his arms onto his back.

Imanol watched on happily as the cute science officer munched on his neck. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed with Ariss, where was that guys spirit of fun. Anyway, he pulled 8-Ball onto his lap and planted one right smack in the middle of her lips.

"Mmmmppphh!!!" Ariss got out, Shinta's shoulder firmly planted in his face.

Which was about the time that Arel strode into the place. It had been getting loud and obnoxious and the Starbase security, which she had been checking in with, had just been about to dispatch their own officers. Arel had volunteered to check it out first, thinking that it was probably her people. She was sorta right. There were both Miranda and Galaxy officers here. She took in the scene, noticed the booze, noticed the coins, and noticed Shinta's condition.

Arel's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Taking advantage of a drunk woman, Ensign?" Arel asked in a calm tone. A too calm tone.

Looking over Shinta’s shoulder, Ariss sobered up. Better than Caffeine, better than Aerosal, better that Nitron. The sight of your boss, the Chief of Security. Sounding calm, looking… ~ Oh… Boy…!!! ~ “Uh, Uhmm, Ah!”

Arel stared, letting him stutter.

“Sir?” Shifting the still wriggling Shinta over his shoulder, he tried to dislodge her, but she was clamped onto his back like a Denevian parasite.

Her lips twitched but she was determined not to laugh at the silly pair. Or the rest of them for that matter. "Play time's over children. Get back to your ships."

8-ball tore herself away from Imanol to look at the security chick from Miranda. Boy, did she look like somebody who didn't know how to have a good time.

"She's absolutely no fun," 8-ball told her new kissing boy. "We should get her drunk."

Medea 'eep'd and got off the table. She hadn't a clue where her tunic went, but she wasn't going to go looking for it. At least she'd not stripped further than what she did so it wasn’t all that bad. With a parting wave, she hurried off back to the Miranda.

"Relly!!!!" still only clad in her bra and string Innocence/Shinta let go of Ariss and ran towards Arel. "Come and play, these people are really nice."

Arel cringed. Only her aunt ever called her 'relly' and she only tolerated because it was better than some of the other pet names that she had tried to impose on Arel in the past. "You can go and play on Miranda. With your children and your husband. And our friend Ariss here is going to be playing in the Brig if he doesn't start moving. Right now."

"!?!" Ariss got out. Dropping his jacket on Shinta, he looked at Arel. Hiccupping a couple of times, "Do you want a hand with," 'hiccup' "Shinta Sir?"

"Take her back to the ship." Arel commanded. She looked over at the others. "You two! Tongues can be shoved down each others throats just as easily onboard the Galaxy or Miranda or where ever the hell your from. You! Stop drinking NOW!"

‘hiccup!!!’ Ariss got out. Grabbing Shinta’s clothes, those he could easily find, he grabbed her arm and tried to navigate her and himself out the door and back to the Miranda. ~ If only she’d go the way I’m Frelling going ~

It reminded Imanol of his Academy days. It seemed he was pulled out of every San Francisco bar there was along with ten or thirty of his teammates. The professors had the city well covered with informants. Although by now somewhat intoxicated he still had enough wits about him not to antagonise the woman who helped rescue his career. He chuckled at Ariss as he lifted 8-Ball to one side.

8-ball sighed and shook her head. How disappointing. Nothing like a security chief to come and break up all the fun. She didn't even get a chance to get seriously bombed, only tipsy. 8-ball wondered yet again briefly why she was in Starfleet, took one of the last remaining shots left on the table by people too drunk to drink anymore, and grumbled to herself on the way back to ship about security and Klingons and life in general.

Before she left, though, she blew Imanol a kiss. Too cute. It was sad. Oh well.

"The Untouchables"

By

Emmett "90 Year Old Gives Birth to Two-headed Alien Baby!" Bregman,
Documentary Team Leader,
USS Galaxy

James "You Wanna Piece of Me?" Mitchell,
Chief Science Officer,
USS Miranda

*****

When James climbed out of the sonic shower at the exact instant Emmett Bregman had walked in, he, like the journalist, didn't believe there was anyone else there. Tying a large Egyptian towel around his waistline - sonic showers lacked the same feeling of relaxation a hot water shower accommodated - he padded lightly to the mirror to finish the cleanup.

His jaw still felt numb from when Arel slugged it, and he rolled his tongue inside the puffy cheek to revel in the morbid pleasure of aching pain.

Popping open the disposable toiletries case that he'd taken with him, he retrieved a portable razor, toothbrush and paste, a stick of deodorant, and a tube of hair gel.

He turned on the sonic streams to begin his daily grooming chores. He'd hoped to pick up tonight. Nothing like drowning your hurts in another woman's arms for the night.

Emmett sighed when he spotted the other man - Bajoran, or maybe half from the looks of him - in the room. It was rather amusing sometimes realizing the habits that men had developed over the ages - comparing musculature, who could burp the loudest, who had the best women, or who had the best bruises. "Hey," Emmett nodded in greeting, "That's quite the bruise on your cheek."

The Bajoran jumped at the voice behind. Toothpaste squirted out all over the mirror. "Dammit!" He threw it into the sink with a savage grunt.

"You know, it isn't exactly safe to sneak up on a man, Mister. Who is your supervisor?"

Emmett arched an eyebrow, though he'd vehemently deny he picked it up from the Vulcans - logical bunch, very boring. "Hey, calm down there." He gestured at the mirror which had held a rather obvious reflection of him as he had come in, "I didn't see that you were focused on the toothpaste. My reflection's been in the mirror. I'm Emmett Bregman." He smiled shifting the towel and toiletries to his other hand to free one for a shake.

James peered with a cautious eye down at the man's hand. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. He didn't take the proffered hand. This man had snuck up on him. Who's to say he wouldn't try something else? He knew certain species could pass toxins through the cellular membrane. Others had subcutaneous nanites that acted as a network to transfer data. The last thing he needed was a complete download of his biological net.

"James Mitchell. Chief Science Officer of the USS Miranda." His anger somewhat subsided, but tempered by his wary nature, he picked up his smucked up toothpaste, rolled it up and was able to squeeze out the remainder of the tiny tube.

"Ah, Miranda," Emmett replied as if that explained everything. In a way it did. Just about everyone knew about him on the Galaxy, and if they didn't, well, they were peons who didn't deserve to know about him. He was, after all, a journalist. The fact that Mitchell didn't accept his hand didn't pass him - he just cataloged it for later, "I'm a journalist temporarily assigned the Galaxy while I complete a documentary. I might see if I can visit the Miranda and get a few comparison interviews..." He went off in thought for a moment, thinking of the possibilities...

"Oh, wonderful. Just what we need. A tabloid reporter announcing to anyone that'll listen that Starfleet is mostly made up of idiots and midgets. Not that the idiot part isn't true, but... it doesn't need to be public knowledge." He stuck the toothbrush in his mouth, scrubbing. He had to get the taste of that ref's ear out of his mouth.

Emmett's eyes narrowed at the comparison. To think anyone would compare *him* to a tabloid reporter! "Actually, I was thinking of something more along the lines of Starfleet being mostly made up of idealists but if that's what you think...I'll quote you on it."

"Yeah, whatever. Most people think I breathe hot air and spew bullshit out of mouth, so I doubt anyone would take what you say are my words as the truth." Most of what he said was muffled, but he hoped it got across. He spit out the frothy blue paste into the sink. "What possible kind of story can you fish out of someone in the can, Bregman? Doing a comparison on penile sizes against Bajorans?"

"Feeling a little under-sized today, Mister Mitchell?" Emmett queried as he stepped up to the sink. "I'm here for a shower, then back to the tournament."

"If you were here for a shower, you wouldn't be talking to me while I'm only wearing a towel. Good thing I wasn't taking a leak, of which is soon, so I hope you don't get any ideas. You know what they say about men who start a conversation with other men in the can, don't you? Perhaps so, being such a 'notable reporter', hmm?" He tuned his razor to close cut, reveling in the pleasant vibration against his skin.

"Ah, obviously you're feeling some size issues," Emmett pointed out, setting down the pile in his arms onto the sink. Selecting the shampoo, soap, wash cloth, and towel he started making his way back towards the showers. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mister Mitchell, but there are some things that I just don't share." Vaguely he wondered if Mitchell had come out of the closet yet. He did, after all, exhibit the classic signs of a repressed personality. He laughed to himself at the thought. Maybe he should write an article about repressed personalities in Starfleet, since it did, after all, seem to be rather prevalent.

"Yes, well, your attempt to bait me into revealing something won't work, Pee-Wee. I'm a two woman kind of guy. If you're doing an exposé on that area of Bajoran expertise, I'm your man. I know of a few females on Miranda that would even stoop to your level if you're looking."

Emmett couldn't help his automatic reaction. He started laughing, and laughing hard. "Oh how you flatter yourself. I think if you actually *had* two women, I'd believe you...but from what I understand, Mister Mitchell, you don't have any. And that you're well on your way to being the most hated senior officer in Starfleet history. Congratulations, Mitchell. It's actually quite obvious that you're compensating." He was still snickering when he reached the shower stall. Bregman hung up his towel within easy reach, and set down the shampoo and soap.

James shared the hearty laugh. "I think you misinterpreted me, Mr. Bregman. I meant I'm a two women-at-a-time kind of guy. Being the most hated officer on the sector does garner me points with the gals, being the... 'bad boy' I believe is the Terran term? Flattering myself isn't needed. If you're looking for a good scrappy missus, though, I suggest Kitty Jordan. Captain's wife she may be, but apparently Jii isn't living up to her needs, if you get my drift?" He waved his razor in Bregman's general direction. "I don't want that in your report or whatever you're doing. Sharing broads is sacred ground between men, if you are truly one with any sense of honor. Journalism and honor work together about as well as oil and water, but I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

Emmett actually turned his head, laughter still sparkling in his eyes, "Been there, done that, almost married her, Mitchell, many years ago. You've really got to try harder next time to come up with something creative." Turning back to the shower, he turned the faucets - waiting for the water, actual water, to warm up for him. Gotta love the perks that they get on these ships.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that? You're a frelling civilian with these two ships combined making over 3000 crew for Prophets sake! But if you're looking for something creative, I know this Denobulan/Andorian pair that do this thing with their tongues..."

Emmett leaned against the tile and arched an eyebrow at the comment, obviously this one wasn't very up to date with the who's who in journalism. "Hah. 'Just a frelling civilian.' Tell that to my good buddies Misters Pulitzer and Oscar." He stuck his hand into the stream of water, testing the temperature. Almost there...

"Like I care about your boyfriends. You must have me mistaken for my mirror universe counterpart. He was just your type, I hear. Loved to get the dirt on people, then embarrass them for no other reason then they reject your advances. I'd go flighty, too, if I came that close to immortalizing your masculinity in that tramp's parked rear. More cushion for the pushing, I guess. Enough to give up women after that one if you came that close to signing off on womanhood."

Emmett started laughing again, yup, it was painfully obvious James Mitchell had a repressed personality. Even his rusty psychiatry skills told him as much. "Congratulations on accepting who you are, Mitchell. There aren't many who would admit something like that, especially to a stranger. Though, might I suggest seeing a Counselor? I understand Counselor Navarre," he deliberately dropped that name, "Is rather good listener." He stepped into the shower, closing the curtain. He could still hear Mitchell, but he did need to clean up prior to his next match.

The laughter faded as the mischievous glint dimmed from his eyes. Bregman was a good opponent to jest with, but he crossed the line when he brought Navarre into the conversation.

"Navarre is a psychotic, manipulative, deceitful bitch who fucked with my head. If you think she's a good listener, then you've got a screw loose in that broken trust you call a brain of yours." He sloshed his way over to the shower, ripping the curtain aside. Grabbing Bregman by the throat, the water curtailing around his arm, he pounded him up against the back wall of the stall, hearing a satisfied crunch as his head connected with the tiles.

"You ever put me and that whore in the same sentence together again, I'll snap your neck, you understand me?" His eyes breathed ice fire, his fingers tight as he used his weight to lock him down, pinning sideways in a purely protective stance. "If you think I'm kidding, try having her husband accuse you of rape, destroying what could have been your only shot at command. I lost Second Officer slot at the least because of them." He applied more pressure on the reddening reporter. "I've got nothing left to lose, asshole." He released the journalist, snarling in disgust as Bregman spluttered.

Black belt training came in handy sometimes, even after one had been rather surprised by the unorthodox entry into his shower stall and subsequent choking. He operated on instinct alone as he hit Mitchell with the lower palm of his hand, shoving the other man away from him. The slick tile of the floor was a bit of a detriment, as was his lack of oxygen, but he was too angered to care. How *dare* he assault him in this manner, it wasn't...well, honorable. His Jiu-jitsu and Karate masters would've had Mitchell on the floor in seconds and in pain for his daring. "Yes," he wheezed, launching a powerful kick towards James' midsection, "You do. You don't want to mess with me, Mitchell. Not like this." Not when he was a double black belt. His goal was to disable and call for security. However, he suspected Mitchell's goal was a bit more final. He silently cursed himself for missing the classic signs of a borderline personality. This man was psychotic. There was no other way of putting it.

He glanced down at the spot where Bregman had slapped him. Panzy. Glaring back at the man in the stall, poised in some 'wax on, wax off' Whooping crane maneuver, James contemplated the 'Whooping Ass' posture, but in picturing the image, he saw something rather distasteful, and decided against it.

"I don't know about you, Karate Kid, but somehow I doubt even you would want to be caught with your pants down wrestling with another man in a bathroom, you think?"

"Ah, but at the risk of sounding like a child, you started it. I just finished it. I'll be finishing my shower now that you so rudely interrupted, Mister Mitchell," Emmett levied a cold glare at Mitchell and began to step back into the shower, "Oh, and if you try to pull any of that again you will regret it. Attempted murder and assault are not light charges to have levied against you. Nor would you appreciate learning just how I earned two black belts. Now I suggest you take your things and return to your starship." With that, he slid shut the curtain again but this time he kept his eyes open and on the curtain.

"It would never have started if you hadn't mentioned that bitch. You took a perfectly good jesting and twisted it into this show of manhood. Whatever inferiorities you got going on in that peabrained skull of yours, mister, it doesn’t compare to what I had to do to survive on Bajor during the occupation. Your kicks and chops wouldn't stand a chance. You may get some licks in, I'll admit, but I can guarantee you the ferocity of my offense would render you an invalid, or worse. You see, I really don't care what happens to me, I've been to hell. You, my friend, did not have to kill your friends to survive, let alone Cardies. I lack compassion. Don't think I haven't danced with your type before." He backed away from the curtain. He knew enough about martial arts to know it's a defensive art, but he'd take no chances.

"If you want to prove you're a big man, you're welcome to try, but I'm not throwing the first punch. I know a weasel when I see one, hiding behind rules and regulations. I'm Bruce Lee! I kill you one punch! You're an embarrassment, Mr. Ninja Gai-jin. Moo Goo Gai Pan, let me beat you up with a wet noodle!"

Emmett just shook his head sadly under the spray of water. He didn't feel like dancing with the devil at this point in his life, nor did he care to push the issue. He knew exactly what Mitchell was trying - to goad him into a reaction, to force him to give in to prove his manhood. He had nothing to prove to that man. He had looked into Mitchell's eyes and seen the eyes of a killer. He, Emmett Bregman, was an a**hole, and he acknowledged that. But, Mitchell...he was something else entirely. A completely new category if anything else. Knowing of Mitchell's ongoing feud with Kitty only made him sympathize with her. "I have nothing to prove to you, Mitchell. It sounds to me like you're trying to prove something to yourself. Compensation will only go so far in this universe, and it sounds to me like you're starting to write checks you just can't cash." He quickly rinsed off, shut off the water, and pulled in the towel to dry himself with. Within a matter of moments, he was back in his loose pants and shirt, wrapping the black belt around his waist.

"I'm not looking to prove myself to anyone; I don't have to. I live, and that's all I need. Fate awaits me more so than anyone else, so what difference does it make to me what happens from one moment to the next? I know I'll move on." The anger slithered away. Bregman was a twit. Obviously too narrow-minded to truly understand the nature of what he was saying. Too wound up in his little world of connections. Big deal.

"To be honest, you just aren't worth the trouble." Remembering he had that date with a hottie Elaysian, he zipped and slid to the lavatory sink to finish shaving. Slapping on some after shave, he admired himself in the mirror. "I can't be bothered damaging these fine features, anyways."

Emmett harrumphed when he stepped out of the shower, "Fate awaits all of us. Don't think you're unique in that alone. Oh, and as a word of advice, from one bastard to another, try not to burn so many bridges down that you're stranded." He stepped over to the sink and gathered his things. After combing his hair with his fingers, he was ready for the next round.

"And don't put trust in anyone but yourself. Bridges don't do you any good if those who built them burn them down at the slightest inclination. I'd rather be stranded than burned."

Emmett looked at the Bajoran in surprise, "Now that's a rather depressing way of thinking, Mitchell. Those bridges can be lifesavers someday. But, to each his own. I can't say it's been good to meet you, but it has been interesting." He rubbed his neck absently, eying the red finger prints in the mirror. He should have the Commander written up for assault, he should have Garth do something about him, but he didn't really feel like he should. Maybe he could write an article on it...

"Wish I could say the same. Be careful what you write up in your tabloid, Mr. Bregman. You aren't the only one with connections." James had cleanly dressed in his best cruising clothes. Martian sand denim, loosely fitting, but snug where it needed to be. Open collared taupe silk blouse, plain white shirt underneath.

"Hope you get the ankle biter. I'll be sure to celebrate for you tonight. Say hi to your Jordan blow-up doll for me." Tossing the rest of his gear away, he padded away, without hearing for Bregman's response. He didn't much care for the immaturity anymore. The guy was all talk and no action. An empty suit.

Emmett watched him leave with a thoughtful expression on his face. On second thought, it might do Mitchell some good to finally get some help for whatever it was that was obviously troubling him. That was certainly one troubled young man. Bregman shook his head and headed out of the locker room. He had a round to do, and then he'd drop a quiet word with Security, or Counseling, or rather Cassius. For some reason, most of the security people on the Galaxy - with the exception of D'Tinya - God Rest Her Soul - couldn't stand to talk to him. He shrugged slightly and decided to get on with it. He did, after all, have a tournament to win.

"Some Peoples Children"

Lt. Circidon Yashanti,
Security

Yehenik Miranda,
2 year old Vulcan/Xanthe hybrid

Dr.James Brooke
Medical

Bored. Bored. Bored.

Miranda let off a small yelp. The sound was enough for her to get the dimensions of the room around her. Also the body temperatures of the doctors and other staff. Her long ears took in all the information, though her 2 year old mind only nominally understood it.

She had heard these sounds before, smelled these smells. Doctors.

"No doftors mhem" she whined, struggling in Circidon¹s lap. "No doftors. Erghh....".

Circ grumbled. She wondered where toddlers learned to squirm. The knowledge must be genetic. "Stop it, you will like this one. He¹s nice. He even has a funny accent." Circ was searching for something to keep the girl interested.. When Miranda was curious she was less grouchy.

"Whafsa axtent?"

"It¹s like...a funny voice. Dr.Brooke is British."

"Thoutsa he was human" Miranda said switching to Xanthi.

Circ looked up and rolled her eyes. "British is a type of human, little one."

"Oh" Miranda said intrigued, and more importantly, still. Thought played across the child's face. Finally, she turned her left ear to her mother and in a questioning tone asked "Whatsa makem humans Brifish?²"

Circidon had certainly talked herself into a corner here. "Funny voices" she said finally, completing the politically incorrect logic loop she had started with her daughter. It was conversations like this that messed kids up years later, Circ was sure.

That was when Dr.Brooke entered the ready room and saw his newest patient. She was quite unlike anything he had seen so far. At two, she resembled a human or Vulcan child at four or five in physical development. Not surprising, Xanthe children grew to physical maturity in only seven years. More striking was her face. It was neither Vulcan or Xanthe. The closest Brooke could figure was pictures of ancient elves in British mythology. Or maybe an imp. Her face was long, narrow, pointed and flat. Huge black orbs took up the forward part of the upper face while very long pointed ears stretched past the back of the kids skull. The body was wiry, but even from here Brooke could see the strength and tone of the little girl.

"Hello Circ," Brooke said, "and you must be Miranda. How are you two doing?"

"Doctor" Circidon said smiling. Brooke was the first person she had dealt that knew her before her fall from grace. He didn't seem apprehensive or concerned about dealing with her. That was good. "I am as good as can be expected. As for Miranda here, well...I think she is fine. That is the problem...I'm not sure."

"Let's go to my office then," Brooke said, "there we can talk without being interrupted."

Circ followed Brooke into his office and handed the data chip. "The best minds on Vulcan have examined her, and beyond saying her birth is so unlikely as to as scientifically defined as miraculous, all they have done is produced data." Circ cocked her head in such a way to express both her frustration and sense of irony.

Miranda for her part was testing her mothers grip. For now Circidon was winning the tug of war her daughter had started with her wrist.

"Vulcan's don't say things like that, it makes me nervous." Circ looked at the pictures and certificates on Brooke's walls, stopping at the Doctors most recent awards. "They actually said you would be the one to decipher Miranda's mystery, doctor. It was one reason I came back. I need your help to understand my daughter's....to understand what she...I just need to know." Circ looked as vulnerable as any new mother, something that ill suited the usually rugged woman.

Miranda eventually got bored with losing to her mothers strength and was now chirping at Brooke in rapid barks. Her long ears fed back the human man's dimensions.. This doctor was not producing candy or toys. Therefore, he was a bad doctor she decided.

"I can surely give it my best try," Brooke said, "I presume they have already done genetic profiling. I'll have a look at that and then we can decide where what's next."

Circidon nodded. "Here is the results from the Yehenik medical lab and the Medical Faculty at Yarek Nor. I also included my medical data from the locked files here on Miranda and gave you access to the Xanthe Information Database set up by the provisional government there." Circ wondered if Brooke knew just how much, and what kind of information she was giving him. "Brooke, look, I know this data...well, there are some people who really want their hands on it. I trust you implicitly..."

"I always treat everything confidential," Brooke said, "as it will be the same here."

"My main concern is that people will go after you or your family to get it. You would be very wise not to share it with anyone, which will make your job even harder. But honestly...you are my last good chance to know how to protect my daughter."

"I'll try," Brooke said, "I cannot promise anything, but I'll try." "And, Circ," he said as they walked out, "welcome back."

Circ smiled briefly and picked up her whimpering child. She was so appreciative she didn't know how to react.

"Lunch"

Lieutenant Yehenik Circidon Yashanti
Security

Captain Elaithin Jii
Miranda CO

You had to take your chances when the opportunity arose.

The reasons for Jii being free where unknown to Circ. From observation it appeared to just be the natural ebb and flow of command that surrounded the man. Whatever it was, he was alone and unattended.

"Good afternoon Captain." Circ could never speak to Jii in a friendly tone. He would always be her captain

"Lieutenant," Jii replied cordially, putting his drink down after taking a sip. Raising an eyebrow at the Xanthe's facial expression, he motioned to the seat opposite him. "Something on your mind?"

Circ smiled artificially as she took a seat. "I just wanted to show you these pictures of the wedding sir. On Vulcan." Circ handed over a PADD. Jii's careful eye for detail noted it was slightly thinner than a normal unit. Newer stock than the ones on Miranda. The pictures were pretty, showing a very happy Circidon. "See here" Circ pointed, touching the PADD and slightly changing the angle "there is Miranda as an infant."

"Still think it was a good name for a kid." he replied, scrolling through the photos. "You seem better, Circ."

The picture altered slightly at the angle showing a video of the Captain and his wife shopping recently at the starbase. Some kind of script scrolled along the bottom.

"Thank you, sir" Circ said happy, not missing a beat. "Wish I knew who took the picture, some relative I suppose." She knew Jii would get the double meaning.

Jii inclined hi head slightly as he ran his hand across his jaw. "Observant sorts, aren't they?"

"Very" Circ laughed. "Great shot of your wife, whoever it was had a real eye for her. I am glad she could make it." Of course, Jordan had not come. In fact, there had never been a wedding in the human or Bajoran meaning of the word.

"I am too." he replied. "You say you're not certain what relative took this one? It seems such an odd choice. Hard to imagine why.”

Circ shrugged. "Who knows, with all those people. Oh, I almost forgot...." Circ reached into her pocket and produced a wadded silk cloth. Opening it she revealed a silver bracelet. In the centre was two intertwined snakes, or maybe lizards, one biting the others tail. The middle of the lizards was a locket. "We found this after the party. My mother in law said it was Commander Elaithins."

Elaithin rubbed his nose ridges for a moment in irritation. "Come on then." he replied, pushing his plate away. "Let's give it back to her - I know she'll love to see you." He'd never much liked shadowplay. The Bajoran preferred a straight fight, and straighter answers, any day of the week.

"Of course" Circ answered. Jii could see the strain in her voice. "Perhaps after my shift." Circ knew she had taken a risk warning Elaithin. She was Miranda crew though, and these were her brothers in arms. But there was only so much she could tell Jii until Jordan clued in. After all, Jii wasn't being watched.

Jordan was.

Circ wasn’t even sure if Jordan didn’t already know. She might have made a mistake. Ah well, life was full of decisions.

"Well, then." he said, turning the bracelet over in his hands. "You'll let me know if you find any more...family photos, of course?"

"If the family sends any more of Jordan, I'll forward them all. Anyway, duty calls sir." her job here was almost finished. Jordan would figure it out. And Jordan was better able to fight this fight than Circ was right now.

"It's appreciated, Lieutenant." he replied as she stood, and looked back down at the PADD. Someone was watching them - or, if he was interpreting Circidon right, someone was watching Jordan. And if Circ felt the need to warn him covertly over it, he had the sneaking suspicion that their attentions were not friendly ones.

As Circ got up, she did her last task. "Oh, Captain Bretta at Starbase One sends her regards. Says that you and your wife are welcome there anytime to see the new facilities. Sorry to interrupt you sir."

"Anytime."

It took all she had to leave casually. Most lunches didn't make Circ sweat like that one.

She needed a long, hot, bath. That would be today's on shift fantasy.

OOC: Took place at Starbase 212.

"Deora Ar Mo Chroí"

Lieutenant (jg) Michael McDowell
Engineer

*** McDowell's Quarters ***

His quarters was dark, except for the faint warm glow of a few lamps. Michael slowly turned around and checked if he hadn't forgotten anything. For now, he would take only the most important things with him. The rest if his stuff would follow later on.

He sat down at the computer console that was located in a corner of his quarters near the entrance. Once more he browsed through the messages he had recorded in the last hours. Softly he mumbled the names for which the messages were meant.

"Mike, Richard, Dhani, Ethan, Rose,...Karyn..." Michael's voice was merely a whisper when he spoke out the last name. Profound sadness found its way into his heart. For a brief moment he though about Shakespeare and how right he was when he wrote that 'parting is such sweet sorrow'. "It was never meant to be, was it?"

Michael tried to overcome the sad feeling that had taken hold of him and recalled the message he received a month ago. A few months before that he had summed up enough courage to request a reopening of his case. It was only his second appeal since that disastrous incident near Starbase 86. The reply of legal branch of Starfleet Command had hit him hard. Just like the first time they had rejected his appeal, saying that there was not reason to look in it again. His arguments were pushed off the table with vague counterarguments and legal details, something Michael could not understand...and even didn't want to understand. Why couldn't they believe he was framed at the time?

Weeks ago it had all became even stranger and more sinister. He had visited the largest Asteroid while enjoying his shore leave when suddenly a woman, who he had never seen before, had stepped up and had given him a PADD. In the short conversation they had she said that it contained important information for him and that he would know where to go once he had read it. Before Michael could ask more she had left again. Not knowing what else to do he had looked up a little café and read everything. The story told was a whole different story of the Freighter accident four years earlier, and an almost unbelievable one at that. Most surprising thing was that it seemed to be a report from Starfleet. If this was true... Yes, if... Michael doubted it, but he had to be sure.

Like the woman said, Michael knew where to go next. It was not that difficult since the information included some general directions should he decide to take the chance that was presented to him - a chance to clear his name.

And now he found himself at a pivotal moment of his life. Still, it was not too late. He could still decide to leave the past for what it was and just go on with his life, trying to make the best of it.

No, he could not walk away from it. He had to face it or else it would keep haunting him for all his life, both personally and professionally. He reached up for his collar, slowly removed the two pips, and placed them on the console. His combadge followed shortly after that.

Michael took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Now the decision was made, it was like a heavy load fell off his shoulders.

He stood up, now with a determined look on his face. After years of living with the public knowledge of that Freighter accident and the disgrace of his demotion, it was now time to reclaim his honor and his life. No more appeals to the Justice Department, no more fighting against bureaucracy,...no more playing Mr. Nice Guy.

--

OOC: Ok gang, I'm out of here. I understand that for many of you this comes as a surprise since there were no (or not many) signs of me leaving, but it's true nonetheless. Though on the other hand, I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't surprised. I hardly was a picture perfect simmer that wrote his character consistently throughout the missions.

By the way, this is not the way how I pictured 'the end' of the character of Michael McDowell. Alas. But, it's an open end, and a mysterious and sinister one at that. He'll just might return. Where this all will lead to? I don't know yet. Think,...Section 31, or something like that. ;-) Should make for a great subplot.

Anyway, I'm leaving the Galaxy sim now for a bunch of reasons (of which I'll will not bother you with now) and move to another, much slower paced sim. Don't worry, me leaving has nothing to do with the sim or anyone who is writing here,...or any of that stuff. But, if you want to know more, just write me an e-mail. There's nothing secret about it.

It was truly great to write with all of you. You all are top notch writers (don't ever forget that) and I can only hope my writing wasn't too boring (lol) or out of place in this excellent sim-group. If any of you wish to keep in touch, or have some idea, or anything, then you know how to reach me.

Ian, a special word of thanks to you for being so understanding and your patience. You can cut 'the umbilical' cord now. LOL :-D

Ps. Angela, you can assume that Michael included a reference to the Holonovel 'Gone With The Wind' in his message to Rose, and that it is ready for use now. Lets say that Michael finished it in the first days on Starbase 212. :-)

Fides Catholicus Vetus

Ens. Miguel Sandoval
Lt. T'Lu (NPC)
Seaman Erasmo Belgrano (NPC)

The United Federation of Planets is a conglomeration of over 150 member worlds spread across more than 8000 light years of space. With each world comprised of one (or more) sentient species, and their prerequisite set of sub-cultures and beliefs it is truly a miracle that Starships can function effectively despite the inevitable cultural differences that arise when these cultures clash..

Deltans for instance are required to take rigid oaths of sexual celibacy before serving among mixed crews, and the sentient green slimes of Borgoras III are similarly required to refrain from following their cultural habits of laying egg-spores in the host bodies of their room-mates.

On a somewhat milder scale the effective union of a myriad of philosophical and religious beliefs into an organized crew was truly one of gargantuan proportions.

Aboard the USS Galaxy for instance, the Deck 10 All Faiths Chapel was a sanctuary of blended design serving everything from the austere practices of Vulcan logic, to the wild religious orgies of the inhabitants of Gem World.

(Although this tended to leave the pews a bit sticky after Kira Murphy got done with them.)

Unfortunately it was this sense of compromise and incompatibility that left the chapel unsuitable for some of the more conservative belief groups which is why Ensign Miguel Sandoval's weekly Catholic Study group met in a simple crew lounge instead.

Believe it or not, despite the best efforts of humanity to purge itself of organized religion, and despite Starfleet unofficial credo of atheism, Christianity still existed on earth.

The USS Galaxy Catholic group was pitifully small (3 members) but at least it did exist, and to those that belonged, it brought a sense of comfort and fellowship.

Born and raised in the city of Zacatolecas, El Salvador , Miguel was perhaps the quintessential example of the traditional Catholic. As a child he walked along the dusty roads to Sunday Mass along with his many brothers and sisters, and took to heart the Divine hope that lay in his Christian beliefs.

Later in the Academy, he found those beliefs challenged on many fronts, San Francisco in general having been an atheistic hotbed for hundreds of years, but nevertheless there were still old Spanish missions to visit and take Communion at, and other members of the community with which to share fellowship.

Life aboard the Galaxy unfortuantely was decidedly more challenging.

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin the Chief Science Officer and Miguel's direct superior was quite bluntly the archetypical image of a Heavenly Angel complete with piercing features and great feathered wings of white. The fact that the Chief in reality only an alien was somehow blasphemous to Miguel who had been raised with the teaching that Satan sometimes traveled in the guise of an angel of light.

Jan, the Minaran Empath Miguel rescued from pirates was himself a sterotype of a Messianic icon considering his powers of healing, and the sense of deep emotion that the lad radiated.

Even now Jan till made Miguels's skin crawl at times.

For now fortunately, only the three members of the Catholic study group out of the 1,000+ Galaxy members were present, and it felt quite cozy.

The second member of the group was of a quite similar background as Miguel. A young crew chief from the Starfighter Wing . . . . . Seaman Erasmo Belgrano was born and raised in the highlands of Argentina on Earth.

He and Miguel shared a bond not only of faith, but also of Latin culture and language, although Erasmo's English skills were much much better than Miguels's own poor grammar.

The third and final member of the group was perhaps the most unlikely of individuals.

Lieutenant T'Lu of Vulcan was a sharp featured female bearing the typical upswept ears and stark emotionlessness of her race's heritage.

When one discovered that she was both a Catholic and a Vulcan, most persons gave her a double take and wondered aloud if that was not some sort of contradiction.

Miguel found T'Lu however to be possessed of a keenly analytical mind, and able to logically debate the merits of Science vs Scripture better than the most aged Theologians.

As she put it, "Just because less than 0.137% of the Vulcan population currently practice Catholicism, it did not mean that the other 99.863% are not in error."

To Miguel that was REAL faith.

With a satisfied sigh, Chief Belgrano closed his Bible on the passage he had just read and the trio muttered amen and made the sign of the cross. (T'Lu doing so with the Vulcan 'V')

"Amen mi hermanos." Belgrano smiled again and leaned back to stretch against the plush lounge chair cushions. "That concludes this weeks study, and I believe next week sister T'Lu will be presenting a study on the book of Leviticus."

"Indeed." The Vulcan female nodded cooly. "I request that in preparation the group reviews the 710 Primary Levitical Laws and the their sub classifications into Dietary and Hygienic practices on one side, and the Temple Sacrificial Ordinances on the other. I will be referncing the doctrines of the 4th Vatican Conference in relation to these topics so it would be prudent to review edicts 237c through 1402-b."

Miguel and Erasmo exchanged mock looks of horror. Catholic or no, a Vulcan was a Vulcan, and the two humans had been hard pressed to keep up with her demanding standards of study.

"Si, am having anticipation at this time for your study already." Miguel said in his typical broken English.

Typically for off-duty affairs he turned off his Comm badge/Translator and attempted to improve his grammar.

"Am being thinking that my heads is being bursting from homework, but am being anticipating."

"I'll second that." Erasmo put in. "Your 'simple' Bible studies are probably more in depth that most Seminary courses but they are interesting nonetheless." The crew chief's English was obviously much better than Miguel's.

T'Lu merely raised an eyebrow. "As any structure is no stronger than its weakest material component, so too the Church must strive to strengthen its individual members in faith. Logic dictates we apply as strict scholarly expectations to our Faith as we do to scientific endeavors?"

The others nodded in agreement although it meant lots of reading to prepare for next week.

"So where are we going to be next week anyways?" Erasmo asked with a yawn changing the subject.

"Next Week? Am having had reserved same lounge as before for study I am thinking." Miguel answered in confusion.

"No no. I don't mean where we are meeting for the study, I meant the where will the Galaxy be? We got cut short at Starbase 212 there, and according to scuttlebut we're heading somewhere in an awful hurry."

"Ah.....apologies. Am having heard is going to Bean Territory."

"BEAN?" Erasmo snorted while T'lu cleared her throat to explain.

"The correct nomenclature is the Breen. A small militaristic collective on the edge of Federation space. There is an 68.2% chance that our deployment may mean that have recently discussed opening Diplomatic relations. The Galaxy and Miranda are both most likely being dispatched to effect those talks."

"Miranda?" Miguel frowned, " Who is Miranda?"

Erasmo chuckled, "Heh...Miranda's a ship. She's was the big gordita of a ship parked next to us at 212. She's probably running a parallel course with us all the way to Breen." Erasmo jerked his thumb out one of the lounge windows, but of course nothing but the streak of starlines could be seen.

"Ah si. Miranda is spaceship." Miguel sighed and blushed. Dangit, but English was hard! Not for the first time he considered giving up and just using his translator all the time.

"Well anyway I got to get going." Erasmo Begrano stood and stretched. "I know quite a few Prima Dona pilots who are gonna be pouting if I don't get some services specs downloaded on their fighters by next shift. Peace be with you my friends."

"And also with you." Miguel and T'Lu replied in the ancient blessing as old as the Church itself.

“Opening Up”

Commander Navarre Shinta
Chief Counsellor

Lieutenant (JG) Ariss Edon
Security/Tactical Officer

USS Miranda – Deck 20 - Arboretum

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Wandering around the arboretum wasn't as satisfying a walking around on a real planet, with fresh air and decipate upon decipate of open hills. ~ But at least they're real plants ~ He thought ~ Not some holo simulated facsimile ~. Laying down on one of the patches of Terran grass, he put his hands behind his head, his feet up on a rock and stared at the ceiling. Ever since the other Ariss had come on board, he'd been reliving all the old memories. That 'other' version of his had well and truly stirred up everything in his mind. It was as if all his memories were so very recent, fresh, he could close his eyes and see with such clarity.

Doing just that, Ariss closed his eyes, and remembered. He could look back and hear the voices of people long dead, smell the food cooking, feel the warmth, the cold. Feel the happiness, the sadness. Suddenly overwhelmed, Ariss could feel tears creeping out from his eyes, but he was beyond caring for now. There, in his minds eye, was Shala. He could hear her, see her. Touch... Lying there, he remembered…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I can’t believe they’d actually make you a Ranjen!”

“Ok, enough,” he said, smiling, “That’s the, what, tenth, twelfth, time you’ve said that?”

“It’s still true.” She said, “Have I also said how proud I am of you!”

“Once or twice” he said, still smiling.

“Good” she said as she leaned over and kissed him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“All I’m saying is that when this is all over, all I want to do is settle down and do something normal.”

“Like what?” Ariss asked.

“I’m not sure right now, but I’ll figure something out!” She was smiling as she spoke, even as she wafted away the smoke.

“As long as it’s not a cook” Ariss said chuckling. Taking the pot of the heating plate, he put it to one side. “Tels” he called, “Any ration packs around?”

Waving the spoon at him, Shala advanced menacingly. “RATION PACKS!” she shouted, “My cooking’s, not that bad!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Are you sure, I can postpone and join you if you want.” Ariss was smiling, “It’s not like it’s anything important”

Punching his shoulder, Shala smiled, “Nothing important. Vedek Solis is coming to Temple, and you’ve been asked to hold service. You postpone, and I promise, me, Galis and Tels will get together and make you regret it for a very long time” Picking up her PADD’s she put them in her bag. “Besides, I won’t be very long. The provisional government is asking for resistance leaders to serve in the government, or the military. I won’t be accepting any of the offers anyway. I just want to settle down.”

Nodding, Ariss walked over and embraced her. “I know, so do I love, so do I.” Kissing her he looked down into her eyes, “As soon as you’re done, I’ll see you in Temple”

“I’ll be there. Love you”

“Love you too!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So vivid… so clear… so real… Still crying, he lay there. Remembering…

Shinta had promised Gavin to water his plants. The boy was studying for a test and really didn't have the time today. She didn't mind the arboretum was usually a quiet place in she could use some time to herself.

Coming back she noticed Ariss lying in the grass. With a smile she went towards him, yet stopped when she saw the tears on his face. It was obviously something very personal and Shinta did not want to intrude. So instead of going to him she sat down on the edge of the grassy field and watched him. Later he could decide if he needed her or not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Edon! Where are you. EDON!”

“Prophets, Araj, keep your voice down, you’re in a Temple. For the love of the Prophets what’s gotten into you.”

“You’ve gotta come with me, quickly! It’s Shala. She’s hurt!”

Dropping his books, Ariss lifted his robes and ran. He ignored the startled looks and calls from his brethren, his mind was on one thing only. Shala!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What happened?” His voice was subdued. There she was, silent, pale. She was never this still, even when sleeping. He teased her about it, her little twitches, her breathing. But now, she was silent. It was so wrong!. Kneeling beside her he touched her. ~Prophets, please, no~ “What happened? He repeated, his voice breaking slightly on the words.

“It was one of the cell leaders. He got into an argument with Shala. Said she was a coward, a collaborator, ‘cause she didn’t want to carry the fight back to the Cardassians. She told him she just wanted peace. They started arguing, pretty soon, everyone was shouting. Next thing I know, he pulled a knife and before we could do anything, he attacked”

Drawing her into his arms, Ariss cradled her. “Please, No.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ariss looked at the face of the man who had killed Shala. “Who are you?”

He ignored him. He just sat there, looking at the cell wall.

He couldn’t get to him, not only did the guards prevent him, but there was a screen as well. But there were ways around those things. Pulling out a stun grenade from his pocket, he dropped it behind him, and closed his eyes. A moment later, he opened his eyes and removed the protective plugs from his ears.

The guards were down, as was the prisoner. Opening the cell, he put restraints on the prisoner, and dragged him out. He didn’t have long!

Looking down, he pulled out his Blaster.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hearing a noise, Ariss wiped away the tears and opened his eyes. The good, the bad. All those memories were there. All as powerful as the day they happened. Sitting up, he took a deep breath. The good, though… Smiling, he turned to see who was creeping around. ~ Shinta ~ Feeling a little guilty, Ariss realised he’d been so caught up since the other Ariss had come on board, he hadn’t really spoken to her much, let alone…“Hi Shinta. How are you?” He said quietly, still smiling slightly.

"I'm fine and you? That looked pretty intense."

"Just, the past Shinta, just remembering the past." There was a strange look of contentment on his face. "Ever since that other Ariss crawled around my mind, I've been remembering with more clarity than ever before. I can, see places that were hazy memories, recall sounds, sensations." His voice was low, quiet. Calm. "I can remember people as though they just left the room!"

"It's amazing really. When he was in my mind, I was terrified; there was so much I feared. He rummaged through my mind, looking for, something, I don't know what, but when he left; it was as though he left all my memories on the surface. Just waiting to be touched."

"I've spent the last couple of months looking back. It's not every day you get to look back over your life with such, equanimity. I can see, the good times and smile, the bad times and cry. I can feel the pain without suffering. I can look back at my life and see the decisions I made… I've thought a lot about Shala… Prophets how I loved her! I can see her now as clearly as the day I met her."

“It’s, it’s a strange sensation, to be able to recall with such clarity. To look back, and see. Everything!” Falling silent, he brushed the grass in front of him, watching it spring back up from under his hand.

"Sounds like a very good way of dealing with things." She hesitated knowing he hated the subject. "Maybe your brush with psi powers has something to do with it?"

Nodding, he agreed. "As much as I hate to agree," he said with a small chuckle, "Yes. He was looking for something, what I guess I'll never know, but… I was just a child when it happened last, and then, they took so much then, all I was left with after, was the memory of fear, and pain. But I can look back at it now with adult eyes. The fear is still there, but, I can feel it as an adult. Not a child."

"Besides, I know now not all telepaths are to be feared. I checked the medical logs Shinta. That day, there was someone else in that link, someone who helped me hold out against him. That was you, wasn't it!" It was not a question.

"Yes it was." She said simply.

"Thank you Shinta. I don't know what else to say, but thank you."

"We are friends, there is no need." She smiled.

Sitting there, Ariss reached back in his own mind. Something had been bothering him about that day, closing his eyes for a second, he searched, for a feeling. It had been transient, just as he'd touched the other mind.

"How have you been Shinta?" he asked.

"Okay, just very busy." Lying came so very easily right now.

Focusing on that instant, Ariss felt that sensation, a momentary glimpse of a feeling. It was bizarre, to be trying to remember a feeling not his own. It was like, trying to hold onto a zephyr, elusive, intangible.

"Shinta, you are a very good liar. But, I… I don't know whether I'm violating any ethics here, but remember, we shared something, it, it's like I know things, feelings, that aren't mine, and I know they not from 'him', his thoughts were dark, evil. This was from you! A, feeling of pain. Not physical, but, more anguish I think." Breaking off, he shook his head. "It's hard to describe a feeling that isn't mine. But it 'was' from you."

Opening his eyes, he looked at her. "So I'll ask again. How are you?"

"Hanging on by my fingernails." She admitted. "It gets more difficult every day to keep control. I have already lashed out verbally at several people, thank God not patients."

"To keep control? Is it anger. You're worried about becoming violent. Why? What's happened Shinta?"

"The silly thing is that nothing happened to me. I just witnessed something that brought back old memories. I'm trying to forget them and all my friends want me to talk about it, to let my feelings out and to lose control. I don't like that much."

"Shinta, forgive me if I'm out of place, and please correct me if I'm wrong." Pausing Ariss took a deep breath, then continued. "So, something happened. It brought back old memories, painful ones. And you just want to forget them and move on, as if nothing happened. Shinta, that's dumb!" He said bluntly.

"You of all people should realise how bad an idea that is. You're the person who's been getting me to open up, so I don't flip. We all have to talk. If you just bottle things up, you're not going to get over it, it's just going to fester, and eat away inside of you. You can't just forget. Believe me, right now I think I'm in a unique position to talk about this."

"You of all people should know that you have to feel. You can't bottle it up. Talk about it. If you feel the need to lash out, that's what your friends are here for, or the holodeck. None of us like losing control, but we all do occasionally. We have to release our frustration and anger. The trick is to control it when we do!"

"Talk to me Shinta. What's bothering you?"

"I know, I know all the books. I also think I know what to do to work through this myself. It's easy for me to say to patients to give into their emotions. Like I told my husband, I finally have everything I want in life and I am not going to jeopardise it. I have a great family, I finally am a department head and I have friends. I have four children to look after, what happens to them if I let the floodgates open and I cannot close them anymore. James is not being helpful, he will not give me any drugs to help me control my emotions, neither does Mark."

"Drugs," The disgust in his voice was evident. "Believe me Shinta, you don't want to go there! You start relying on chemicals to solve problems, you'll end up desperate for them every time you face a stumbling block in life." Standing, he walked over to Shinta. "You of all people should know better!"

"You can't hide your feelings anymore Shinta. Despite everything you've achieved, you're still living on Bajor, still living in the occupation. When we were fighting for our freedom, we had very limited choices. Fight! Run! Hide! You have more options now. You have to open up to new possibilities. You're a counsellor now, think about your training. If you keep everything bottled up, the floodgates will open of their own accord, and if that happens around your children..." He left the thought hanging, let her make her own conclusion to it.

Knowing Shinta was a telepath, Ariss desperately tried to control his thoughts, focus on what he was saying, focus on anger. He didn't want Shinta to see anything else.

"You have to let it go. When I released my anger, people died, and I’ve been afraid the same could happen ever since. I don't want to see you go through what I did. Talk to me! Everyone needs someone to lean on, to talk to. If not me, then someone else. But you have to work on this. Trust me, once you've started, it gets easier, and over time, those flood gates become a river, one that flows gently. No bottling up, just a gradual release."

"I cried with Gabriel. It helped a little. I shouldn't be the one feeling sorry for myself, it didn't happen to me, it happened to Cat. I only saw what happened through her eyes. I dealt with what Cenna did to me years ago. I should stop whining."

Sighing, Ariss sat down beside Shinta. “Shinta.,” Shaking his head, ~ So much for… ~ “Whining? There are times the smallest thing can remind us of things long gone. Whatever happed to Cat has obviously stirred something in you. Something you haven’t dealt with properly. If you’re crying, looking for ways to control your emotions, lashing out at people, being worried about losing control.”

“You tell me. If someone walked into your office and told you all that, then tried to say they shouldn’t feel sorry for themselves, or should stop whining. What would you say to them?”

She smiled. "You really should become a therapist, you are already using all the right techniques. If this was one of my patients I would tell her that her pain was real and that she would have to let it out no matter what."

“So? What would you advise her to do next then?” Ariss asked, smiling a little. “And that’s the second time someone’s suggested I switch jobs!”

She was silent for a little while. "Face it no matter what. Yet we are talking about patients not about me."

“Shinta. Right now, we are talking about you! And you are, whether you like it or not, a patient. I just don’t think you realise it. So. Using your own advice. You have to face it. So, how do you want to start?”

She was silent for a while. "I am hoping it will go away again, if I just ignore it. It's not going very badly that strategy, the nightmares are the biggest problem and everybody nagging me."

Thinking carefully, Ariss answered that one slowly. "Shinta, You can't just ignore it. Burying your head in the sand and hoping a problem will go away of it's own accord is childish."

"'Go away again'. It doesn't look like it went away the first time. You've just ignored it. The nightmares are your minds way of drawing your attention to a problem you've been ignoring for too long."

"And people nag you because they care. If people didn't care about you, they'd just shut up and leave you alone."

"Rationally I know all that. I know I should see a shrink and really open up. And every time I sit there with mark I can't do it. At the last moment everything shuts down."

"Okay?" He said, a little confused ~ Okay, lets ask why she won't talk, before we talk about issues ~

"So, why? What stops you? Are you worried about what other people might think? Or that they wouldn't understand. Help me understand here."

"I am worried about losing my job, and my husband." She said softly.

"Why? Because you're just as Bajoran as the rest of us. Because you have some past issues to work through? Why are you worried. Is there something you've not told James then? Something you're frightened he'll find out?"

"I told him everything. It's just, he's handsome guy, and before me... he used to be something of a ladies man." She blushed. "When I got pregnant we knew each other less than a week."

"And how long have you been together now?"

"About a year and a half. It's going very well." She smiled her love for James clear.

Smiling as well, “You love him, he loves you. So why are you worried about loosing him, or your job? You certainly couldn’t be worried about that little, incident, at Earharts the other day. We all get drunk once in a while,” Smiling wider, “Though the sight of a disapproving Arel Smith is enough to sober up anyone!” ~ Remembering something Shinta had said to him ~ “What is it you’re not saying here?”

"Are you sure you haven't been studying psychology textbooks." She smiled. "That...I really don't want to talk about that night."

"That's okay, for now. If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine, I'll understand. I'm no counselor, but you're going to have to talk to someone. And soon. Shinta, whatever is troubling you is not going to go away of it's own accord. You have to let go of it. Not forget, because we're all the sum of our memories, they shape and define us. But they shouldn't control us. Nor dictate our choices, or lives."

She stayed silent

"You let your hair down the other night," ~ Along with a few other things ~ "and I bet you woke up the next morning going 'Oh Prophets, What did I do!' Well, I bet so did a lot of other people. Prophets, you should've seen the look Arel gave me!" Smiling at the memory, he continued, "We all have to relax, one way or the other, it keeps us going. I like to tinker with gadgets, or race shuttles. What do you do to relax Shinta. How much time do you spend on yourself, on average, each week?"

"You didn't disgrace yourself, you were only drunk. I was half naked, there were patients present!" it was clear it bothered her greatly. "And I have time for myself I study and meditate with you."

~ Prophets, help me! ~ Ariss thought, ~ She is so…Arrrgh!!! ~ Frustration started building up a bit. "Shinta," he said a bit forcefully, "So the Wraiths what! So everyone seen that you're as Bajoran as the next person. You can go out, get drunk, unwind and have fun. You've nothing to be ashamed of, trust me. Okay, perhaps you were a little more uninhibited than some, but I've seen more, and worse, in bars on planets I can't even remember."

"And I asked what you did for 'Fun'. Not relaxation, but 'Fun'! Studying and meditating don't really count. What do you do when you want to unwind and have some FUN!"

He clearly did not understand. "For fun I exercise, I am still almost at my old level, I have to work real hard at it. Or I do things for the children and James."

Leaning back, Ariss fell silent for a moment. He was beginning to see the wisdom of having Mark around now. “Shinta?” he fell silent briefly, his mind suddenly filled with images, sounds and sensations. Rubbing his eyes, he suddenly felt very tired. “I’m sorry Shinta, I’m not being much help am I. I think I understand now why you asked Mark to sit in on our sessions. So much for being able to talk to a Ranjen!”

She sighed. "Now I'm letting you down as well."

"No Shinta. You, are, not! Believe it or not, in the last six months, I have changed. You couldn't have gotten me to open up with a powerpry before I came here. Some of the things we've discussed I've been holding onto for more than a decade. So never think you're letting me down!"

"Thanks." She smiled again. "It's so much easier for me to be there for others. I don't like talking about myself, I don't like feeling weak. Again, I am sorry."

"Don't apologize. You've nothing to apologize for. But you should talk to someone. Someone you trust enough not to freeze up with. You've said yourself, you'd advise a patient to face up to their issues, so perhaps all you need do is find someone you trust enough. Or perhaps, someone you don't know at all. Someone who can help you look back and see with unbiased eyes."

"Talking about yourself shouldn't make you feel weak, you should be able to open up and feel better for doing so. How do you feel right now? Weak? Or better?"

"I feel better, you are a good priest."

“And you are a very good counsellor. But you need to start taking your own advice.”

"I will think about it."

“Do.” Standing, Ariss held his hand out to help Shinta up. “But don’t take too long.”

With just a smile she left the arboretum.

OOC: Takes place before James' physical

"Twelve steps (or the road to recovery is a long one)"

Cmdr. James Mitchell
Cmdr. Arel Smith

*****

First movement. Hold. Second movement. Hold. Third movement....

Balancing a need to keep the baby safe and a desire to stay in shape, Arel had modified her workout program dramatically. True, she didn't find Klingon calisthenics, a discipline which resembled Terran Tai Chi, to be at all challenging but it did tend to help her mind clear and her stress level down.

While she was in the gym at least.

Fourth movement. Hold. Fifth movement....

Of all the days to pick to come down for boxing night, she had to be in the same gym as he. Coming off-duty from yet another incredibly redundant shift scanning more gaseous anomalies than his bowels after a raunchy night of riblets and cheese, he hoped to burn off some of the more persistent thoughts that felt the need to give him indigestion.

"Isn't there another gym you can go infest, Smith?" He needed focus, and she wouldn't help, that's for sure.

Arel saw him and scowled. She resolved herself to complete her training despite his presence.

"Get out of my ring. Timecard says it's my turn. I booked it. I'd hate to get in trouble with your man-friend if I hurt his baby." He stopped at the alcove at the rear of the ring, near the callisthenic training equipment and water fountain. "Prophets know, half the men on the ship would be nipping at my heels, since we hardly know who the father is. Oh, wait a minute! I hardly think anyone cares, being the bitch you are to the crew."

Eighth movement and she was resolved not to let him get to her. "I booked it first, Asshole." She shrugged slightly. "Looks like they double booked us. I'm not taking up that much room. Go box in the corner."

James had tied on the left glove, crushing his fingers inside. He angrily gestured to some random crewman to help him tie up the right.

"Not good enough. I might overswing and injure your precious pride. With all that weight you've put on, you're taking up an acre too much."

She set her jaw and took a deep breath. "If you're upset about the order from Sickbay, go bother Cat about it." Arel moved slowly into the next position, unfortunately which meant facing him, and concentrated on a spot above his shoulder and past his head. "It wasn't my idea."

"Sure, it wasn't." He slammed the two gloves together and contemplated showing her just what discipline was. "You and Shinta being the drama queens you are, anything to drive the stakes in a little deeper, right? Are you sure this is the right James you're with? LORD Brooke would just be the most ideal father, wouldn't he? Pis-ant whiner. You're probably just embarrassed you banged him and Shinta both. Freaks."

Her eyes flashed and she found herself taking a serious step towards him before she realized that the movement she was in didn't really allow for that. She winced as she felt her ankle twist and sat down quickly to rub away the pain.

"Damn it." Arel muttered. It was probably better in the long run though, she figured, given her oath and all.

"Awww... little Arel having problems? Maybe you should just go have a rest in the Lord of the manor's bed. Mr. Doctor will make it allll better. Now, get out of my ring, tramp." He climbed the steps to slip under the ropes.

"If I haven't asked or ordered you to get the test done for the past five months, why would I do it now?" Arel snapped at him, standing up. She was getting just a little tired of being called a tramp.

"Why wouldn't you? I'm just a convenient target. The ones you love the most are the ones you hurt the most, right? Isn't that an old Earth saying? Just your way of trying to get me back in your soiled bed."

Soiled bed? Only because of him perhaps. "You are such a pathetic mak'dar!" Arel shouted at him. "I'm glad you don't want to take the test because I wouldn't want MY baby soiled with absolute proof that YOUR his father, you fucking pansy ASSED YELLOW LIVERED MORO...oh!"

Arel doubled over, the baby deciding to do a tap-dance in her stomach and sharp pains shooting up her back. "Wow."

James instantly moved to her and knelt beside her unsure of what to say. As much as he hated what she was doing to him, he still couldn't deny he felt something for her. From his medical background, he knew any stress could prove fatal for the mothers of cross-bred children.

"You'll have....to wait...just a minute." Arel said, sliding to the floor. She concentrated on her breathing, tilting her head slightly as she rubbed her stomach now slightly.

"Arel... I... let's get you to Sickbay." He slid a hand under her back to give her support. As much as the history between them was painful, her life was at stake. That wasn't what he wanted. Inwardly he did hope she lost the baby, if only to protect his secrets. Harsh thought to have, but sacrifices had to be made. This was one of them.

"No, no." She said, waving him off with a shaky hand. "Been happening...not much to do about but wait it out." Arel laughed even though it still was uncomfortable. "Kahless sake, Korvin. It's not as if I haven't said these things before." She closed her eyes, still chuckling slightly.

"Korvin? What the hell kind of name is that?" Not like he cared, though. "Sounds insulting. Like he's named after rotten fruit or something. Or maybe a derivative of 'Corgan'? I hear he's got quite the reputation among the ladies now." James Corgan was and is Security Chief on board the USS Galaxy, the ship his host previously served on and with the Casanova. At that time though, Corgan was a wanna-be, hooking it up with the resident giant, Electra Reese, and screwing that up. But now, he was persona wanta by every exotic alien that boarded these days, he heard.

"I named him after one of the many guys I banged." Arel said in a dry yet deadly tone, her eyes still closed. "I found him the most memorable so..."

"Well, not everyone has my skills. I can see why the others would be more memorable. Hard to live up to my name."

She ignored that and cracked open an eye. "You know, the only reason I care about your physical is if whatever the hell you managed to get in you is somehow harmful to my son, which if you could just put away your skepticism of my remaining faithful, you hypocritical son of a bi...ow!" Arel took a deep breath and tried again. "I don't care what you got in you otherwise. Keep it, remove it, or serve it up for dinner, never made a difference to me. Allright, which way is the door?"

"This way." He took her hand, lifting her up by the small of her back.

"There's nothing in me, Smith. Shinta's been poisoning you again, has she? I bet she's loving every minute of this. Twisting the facts to make me out to be the bad guy, as usual. I hope we have a mission that'll use her skills to get herself killed. Save me the trouble."

"You so much as look at her the wrong way, Mitchell, and I swear to Kahless..." Arel trailed off as she tried to catch her balance. It hadn't been this bad before. She was probably going to have to stop by Sickbay to be sure and then she was going straight to her quarters to rest. Probably should take tomorrow off too. She took a deep breath. "Okay, let go of me, Commander."

'Promises, promises, Smith." Slipping his hands away from the bullying wench, he replaced them on his hips as he smirked at her attempts to steady herself. "I tried for months to get you to be this aggressive at the best of times. What makes you think I believe your idle threats? Go find some random crewman to intimidate. All you make me do is laugh." He chuckled and waved his hand as he turned to leave.

The twelve movement suddenly came to mind with astonishing clarity and Arel found herself sliding into formation and grabbing his hand, twisting it hard, and then smacking him on the back of the neck with her other arm. As a result, Mitchell went flying forward, knocked unconscious.

A few seconds went by.

"Well, shit." Arel said.

She went to roll him over. "You know, I used to have a pretty good impulse control until you came along, you smarmy bastard." She sat down on her knees and made sure he was still breathing. Then she smacked him lightly. "Wakey, wakey, Mitchell."

"Now, that's my girl." His arms flew up and around the back of her neck to grip her with a well-placed hand on the back of her head. Yanking her down to him, he attacked her lips with his own. She hadn't quite knocked him unconscious, but he had been caught off guard. He'd have to read up on pregnancy hormones. Prophets know what else he should expect.

Caught in his arms, she stiffened for a moment before returning his kiss. And that kiss was hard, urgent.. probably because she was both angry at him still and sad that it wouldn't mean anything to him but another score off her pride. She was the one to pull away finally before the situation got too out of hand.

"Now why did you have to go and do a thing like that?" Arel said lightly, well as lightly as she could while frowning at the ropes of the ring.

"I felt like it." He shrugged, rolling his shoulders as he pushed her aside in sitting up. "To prove a point. Your little attempt at aggression got me worked up, and since you've proven you're easy, I took advantage of it. I'm satisfied now. Got better things to do than bang a beached whale."

Arel's face turned an ugly shade of red. "Mitchell, do us all a favor and go shove it in a meat grinder."

"Oh, now don't be trying to turn me on again, Smith. You got your thrills already. I know I'm irresistible, but when you've been making the rounds, you get kinda loose, you know?" He closed his hand into a fist, brought it to his eye, and illustrated the canyon size of an overused feminine muscle.

Her face went from flushed to pale and back to flush in under forty seconds.

And then she went for his throat.

Because his fist was in the way, it blocked her lunging for his throat, but failed to prevent him from punching himself in the eye.

"Watch the whale fin, woman!" James scrambled back, his eye blinking away the tears that had welled up in it.

Because of her hormones, Arel was able to explain to herself her next reaction.

She burst into tears.

"I am *not* a whale!" Arel exclaimed.

"You could've fooled me. I was attracted to your tough-as-nails attitude, and hoped it would carry over into the bedroom, or table, or chair, or shower..." He counted off the places in his head with his fingers. He lost count at 4 more, but smiled at the memory of...

"Anyways!" He shook off the blank look he'd developed when he thought of a certain someone lavishing him with attention.

"Our sex life was about as interesting as a herd of cows lazing about the field. I think I fell asleep standing up a couple of times."

She wiped at the tears with the back of her hand a few times, tried to rub them away with both hands, and ultimately gave up, drew her knees up and decided to have a good cry out. The bastard had made her cry; there was no way he was getting the ring now.

James cocked his head, planting his hands on hips, hesitant in what she was up to. First she's all bad ass, then nice, then wantonly aggressive, promising, and now crying. He shook his head, thankful he hadn't committed to a relationship with the pendulum of a woman wound up like a ball in front of him. What a basket case.

Arel sniffed a few times as the tears wound down, trying to gather the strength to face him after totally breaking down in front of him. And she still wasn't completely sure whether she wouldn't kill him, the Captain's oath or not. Why shouldn't she get to break her oath? Everyone around her always did. Why couldn't she give someone an oath to fulfill for once?

Gods, she was tired.

"Help me up, Mitchell." Arel said.

"Aw, beached again, are we? And we aren't even screwing. Why should I help? I don't have a crane."

"Because you fucking owe me, that's why."

"I owe you nothing. You've already taken more from me than I was willing to give. Give an inch, take a mile." Yet, he still unhooked a hand from his belt clip. "I feel sorry for you. Desperate for love and companionship. No one else ever wanted you, so you latch onto the first man who shows a remote interest in you. Is there no other poor sap, or did you sit on a dirty toilet seat to get pregnant?"

"You are such a fucking..." Arel began as She gripped the arm he offered and pulled herself up, wobbling slightly. She looked up into his eyes, hers still teary from crying. "Do you think that someday your hate for a person will override your love for that person?" She certainly hoped it would; she wasn't sure how much more she could take.

"My hate has already over-ridden any love I could possibly ever have. People who lie and take advantage of my good graces deserve every bit of loathing I can garner."

"I wish I had your dedication." Arel said sincerely.

Then she slammed her open palm up and broke Mitchell's nose. That whale comment had just been the final straw.

"Just trying to spice up your life, Commander." Arel replied as she stepped out of the ring and strode towards the door. "Fucking herd of cows, my a..."

The door closed.

James staggered back when he felt his cartilage snap. His hands instantly flew to his face to try and stem the flow of blood as he dropped to his knees.

Even as the pain threatened to overtake him, he couldn't help but laugh.

"She loves me." Tilting his head back to keep the blood-flow down, he followed Arel to Sickbay, grinning ear to ear.

"Checkup"

Smith
Kincaid
Brooke

*takes place after "Twelve Steps"

*****

"Absolutely not." Arel replied. The examination had shown that nothing was terribly wrong, despite the sharp pains she had felt while in the gym with Mitchell, but Kincaid had decided to start discussing delivery options with her.

Kincaid refused to be intimidated by any of her patients. Such an attitude would prevent them from getting the best care possible, and it did little to help establish a trusting relationship. Arel was definitely testing her will-power.

"It's not normal." Arel said. "You can't just *make* a baby come out when it's not ready." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw James enter Sickbay, blood dripping from his nose.

The sight made her feel a lot better.

"But it will be when the time comes," explained Kincaid. "We won't induce labor until your baby is mature enough to survive outside the womb, but this pregnancy is putting too much pressure on you--"

"I'm tough." Arel snapped. "I can handle a little discomfort."

"...and Korvin," Ryley finished without slowing down. "There comes a time, Arel, when the risk of you remaining pregnant is higher than having you give birth a little early. If we wait too long, your blood pressure could send you into pre-eclamsia, and that could mean organ failure for you both."

That shook her. She could handle a little treachery from her organs but she could not allow the danger to her son. And, if anything, her little spat with Mitchell had only strengthened her resolve to keep her baby safe. "Are you sure it wouldn't hurt him? To be born that way?"

"I'm sure," Ry reassured. "As I said, we don't consider induction until we're sure the baby will survive outside the womb. We'll do what we can to minimize the stress of labor and delivery, and if there's any hint Korvin isn't tolerating it well, there's always the possibility of a cesarean section, but we can cross that bridge if we come to it."

"I want to read some information on it." Arel told the woman and then added a bit defensively when Kincaid raised an eyebrow. "What? I know how to read."

"Oh no, that's not what I meant to imply at all," Ry replied hastily. "It's just that most people don't take that much of an interest in their medical care. It's refreshing actually, that you want to be well-informed. I'll get you the information on induction you'll receive in the childbirth classes."

Arel crossed her arms. "I still say its unnatural." She spotted Brooke passing by and said loudly. "Couldn't you just develop some kind of shot or something? You medical people are always doing that."

Brooke came over.

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy," Brooke said, luckily knowing what Ry was going to discuss, "And even if we have something, it's not always effective on everybody. Besides, we don't do stuff like this for the fun of it, there's always a very good reason."

"If you say so." Arel muttered. She almost smiled as she heard a slight yelp sound as Mitchell's nose was reset.

"I sometimes wished it was different," Brooke said, "however, it's not. Everything checks out okay?," he asked Ry.

Kincaid nodded.

"Peachy." Arel said. "Well, if you two don't mind, the kid and I are going to go take a nap. After I find something to eat that is." And she stuck a few more voodoo pins in the James Mitchell doll.

"Good idea," Brooke said, almost tempting to ask where the real Arel had gone. But remembering the grumblings of the security department, he decided not to.

OOC:

A brief introductory post; for those of you on Miranda who remember, Sh'laran was the chief science officer of displaced crew from the NX-07. He's now a new flight control officer on Galaxy.

"Too Damn Big"

Ensign Sh'laran
Flight Control Officer
USS Galaxy

Sh'laran sat in front of the viewports in ten forward, looking out at the stars streaking ahead of the vessel. So far, he wasn't entirely sure what had possessed him to volunteer for this posting. The lounge itself was so damn large. The old Miranda's engineering section was barely this large, to say nothing of the cramped labs that he had spent most of his time in. As it was, this ship had a stellar cartography lab that was three decks high. He'd gotten vertigo the first time he'd gone in there.

Starfleet had no trouble training him to fly the behemoth that was the Galaxy. After giving up on his quest to learn over two-hundred years of scientific progress, learning how to tap a few buttons that weren't really buttons at all was comparatively simple. While he was a tad nervous about the idea of flying a vessel that was about the size of what he would normally consider to be a starbase, he knew that the ship did most of the work itself, and navigation was never a problem for him. That science, at least, hadn't really changed much in half a millenia.

No, what worried him is that he would be considered too much of an anachronism by his 'peers', if one could call them that. Considering a complete lack of shared experiences, he highly doubted it. If one more person asked him for a story of 'the old days', he was likely to revert to his decidedly violent Andorian roots.

Unlike most of his counterparts from NX-07, Sh'laran didn't really worry as much about the idea of never seeing his family again; he hadn't seen them in a very long time, anyway. Indeed, the descendants of his that Captain Murdock had discovered were far more pleasant company than his earlier family had ever been. Still, he was lonely. His chances of finding anyone to relate to on this vessel or in this time, even another Andorian, were slim. He would be better off immersing himself in his scientific studies, and not worrying too much about the present.

He took yet another sip from the bottle in front of him; he couldn't be bothered to remember what the stuff was called, seeing as it came from a planet that hadn't even been discovered in his time. All he knew was that it was decidedly green.

His time...

He shook the thought off, again. ~This is your time, now, Dammit. It's time to start acting like it.~

He stood and strode towards the door. Alcohol didn't really affect his physiology much, usually, though occasionally a very slight amount could poison an Andorian, instead. No such luck, this time. Besides, he had a meeting to get to.

"Talking Heads"

-Galaxy Staff -
Cpt. Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer
Legate Kylar Curran, Diplomatic Liaison
Cns. Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/2nd Officer
Sub-Cdr. Savar tr'Khellian, Chief of Tactical
Lt. Cdr. James Corgan, Chief of Security
Lt. Cdr. Ethan Suder, Chief Engineer
Lt. Curtis Geluf, Operations Manager
Lt. Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO
Dr. Janelle Reynolds, Chief Medical Officer
Lt. JG Cora Dobryn, Chief Intelligence Officer

-Miranda Staff-
Cpt. Elaithin Jii, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Brex, Executive Officer
Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall, Diplomatic Liaison
Cdr. Jaal Jaxom, Ops Manager/Second Officer
Dr. Felicia Khatroweena, Chief Medical Officer
Cdr. James Mitchell, Chief Science Officer
Cdr. Jerri Wolfson, Chief Engineer
Cdr. K. Jordan Elaithin, Intelligence Liaison
Cns. Navarre Shinta, Chief Counselor
Cdr. Arel Smith, Chief of Security/Tactical
Lt. Cdr. T'Chani Darion, Hazard Team CO
Lt. Cdr. Taalis, Chief of Flight Control
Major Wes Hammond, Rogue Squadron Commander

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

USS Miranda,
Holodeck Six

USS Galaxy,
Holodeck Four

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

Rather than sacrifice time getting to their destination, Captains Elaithin and M'Kantu had decided to tackle the issue of briefing their senior staffs simultaneously in a somewhat unusual fashion. Both men had their engineering and operations crew pull off some technical wizardry, but the result was rather remarkable.

100 percent interaction, and no sacrifice of speed as the two mighty starships warped at (according to Einstein) impossible speeds to their mission to the Breen's frozen homeworld. All they had to do was utilize the holodeck.

Matching holodecks on both vessels had been wired into a subspace transmitter/receiver unit, and the same program running on both. The program looked like a fairly common observation lounge, one with a large rounded table, large enough for the senior officers of both ships to meet and be briefed on this assignment.

The two Captains set next to each other at the side of the table nearest the LCARS monitor that the intelligence officers would utilize to give their information on the Breen.

"Captain," Daren said, looking down at the Bajoran at his side. "Would you like to begin?"

Elaithin shook his head. "You start. I'll take it up after Jordan and Dobryn."

M'Kantu inclined his head, and continued, Why we're here is simple, and has little to do with some of the more outrageous rumors I've heard in the last three hours. The Federation has received a formal request from a bordering political entity  the Breen - requesting the opening of formal relations and treaty negotiations. Galaxy and Miranda have been tasked with overseeing the initial steps of that process in the hopes that the overtures are genuine."

Captain Elaithin's mind wandered a bit as they were waiting for everyone - he'd already heard all this. He was thinking mostly of his experiences with the Breen, since he'd left the Academy. First when he was Exec on the Achilles, the situation that had resulted in him having to take command of that ship in battle had been against the Breen. The Achilles had been dry-docked for months afterwards - during which time he'd assumed command of the Miranda.

Since that day, the Pathfinder-class starship had been part of numerous skirmishes, usually on their patrol route The Breen had a funny idea of what their borders were.

Jerri Wolfson leaned back into her chair with a barely suppressed sigh. It had been a long week, and it had barely started. Between whipping up the latest in miracles for the Captain with the Ops crowd, upping the efficiency levels on the Miranda's warp core, and her personal life - namely one Daniel Frasier - she was about ready to throw in the towel and pray for a weekend." The latest information had them going to Breen, and she couldn't say that she was too thrilled about the idea. It probably meant damage to her 'baby,' that is as much as one could call a starship their child in any sort of means. No matter how peaceful it sounded...she knew it. The Miranda was going to get damaged. It was as inevitable as, well, the Jordan/James hate club. Then she'd have to yell at Jii for hurting her ship, and the saga would continue over and over again...

Cassius watched from his position next to M'Kantu as the meeting assembled and came to order. The mission briefing from Fleet Admiral Ross did have him concerned. Having fought the Breen previously, both in the war and on the USS Havoc, he had seen how unpredictable and genuinely unfriendly a race they were firsthand. In fact, unfriendly was about the only thing that the Breen were genuine about. He was certainly having his doubts about the truth of this new matter.

Lieutenant Commander Corgan took his position at the meeting, with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. His survival instincts, bred from a year in the Dominion War's most unfortunate ground battles, was not all gone, and he would be a grand fool indeed if he ignored his suspicions about the Breen. To say they were a chilling race was more than a corny side joke passed along groundpounders. His brief encounters with Breen taught him a healthy respect and a hard learned wariness about their ways.

Peace with them seemed a joke, but here were two senior staffs from two ships rushing in to meet the Breen.

Seemed foolhardy, in James' opinion. He settled down into his chair just as Sub-Commander tr'Khellian entered the room. His eyes flicked towards Corgan and he pointedly took the seat furthest away from the treacherous, nymphomaniac Security Chief whilst still within the group of Galaxy senior staff. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back and surveyed the unfamiliar staff of USS Miranda from hooded eyes.

Cat sat in her own chair and listened to M'Kantu. Definitely Breen, considering how Jii had left her Sickbay at a great rate of knots when he worked out Price's cryptic comments. She gave a slight shake of her head. Last time she had encountered the Breen directly was only a few months out of the academy. That wasn't a pleasant time. Her experiences with the Breen aboard the Miranda were limited to treating the crew that their weapons injured - not exactly something that made her feel kindly to them.

Dr. Reynolds showed up and found a place to sit with her Galaxy crewmembers. She hadn't been to a briefing in ages it seemed. She listened to what was being said. She hadn't really encountered many races, including the dangerous ones. All she knew that this was serious and that sooner or later, her services would be definitely needed.

Wes Hammond found himself a little late. His dinner with Jazz cut short, he ducked into the briefing just as it was about to begin and took his seat next to T'Chani Darion, whose daughter had recently talked him into a run through the Graveyard of 212 to gather supplies for her school project.

T'Chani sat quietly pondering the unspoken implications of their rather hurried departure. That alone was enough to make her nervous. It could only mean they were headed for potential trouble.

Commander Jaxom, still slightly steamed over the cancellation of his and Taalis' vacation to Trill, then his encounter with Cantrell, sat uncharacteristically stone-faced. He watched the proceedings warily. Going to Breen was *not* his idea of a good time, especially after the treatment the Miranda had gotten last time they were near their borders.

Taalis just sat next to Jaal, seeming almost bored despite the news of where they were going. However though her bond with Jaal, the cast to her face was nothing compared to her inner thoughts. She wasn't looking too forward to this either.

Almost concurrently, both Legate Curran of the Galaxy and Commander Mitchell of Miranda arrived. Curran, taking up the last seat on Galaxy's side at the end two seats down from his fellow outcast, Sub-Commander tr'Khellian, was stoic.

Mitchell on the other hand, pulled in immediately opposite, his nose still bruised slightly around the ridges. It wasn't required, but he had a simple white bandage stretched across the bridge as a reminder to Arel that what she did wouldn't be forgotten. In fact, he hoped Jii demoted her ass down to Ensign so he can pull rank on her again. Bee-yotch.

Jordan had gotten there early to prepare, feeling a bit like the junior high teacher's pet all over again with her notes and fancy interactive slide-show presentation. As everyone filed in one by one, appearing from the Galaxy or from within the deep recesses of the Miranda, the phrase: too many cooks, sprung to mind. It reminded her a bit of how she always felt when it came to "group projects".

Karyn had entered the conference lounge with the slight stirrings of a headache that was slowly worsening. Needless to say, the crew was not happy with having their leaves cut short, and naturally it fell to her department to maintain morale. She was sure everyone understood they had an obligation to do their jobs, and somehow she knew telling everyone to just "get the hell over it" wouldn't win her any brownie points.

In addition to maintaining morale and keeping an eye on those members of her senior staff who looked ready to kill one another, Karyn had to be the picture of calm as she not only contemplated participating in another diplomatic mission, but also confronting the very people who had conspired with the Klingons on lanjep to destroy diplomatic ties between the Klingon Empire and the Federation.

But she had already done a good job of that herself, hadn't she? Her first opportunity as a mission commander had ended in disaster after Lee Price had been kidnapped and the Breen responsible demanded that she reverse the Federation's position regarding a very profitable and strategically located trade route. Giving into the Breen's demands had bought the security team enough time to rescue Price, but not before the kidnappers shot Lee in the back, paralyzing him from the waist down.

Sitting beside Cassius Henderson, Dallas tried not to wince visibly as stabs of pain shot across her forehead, making her dizzy and nauseated at the same time. She was the Galaxy's Second Officer. She couldn't afford to appear hesitant, especially after lanjep.

"Commander Elaithin," Elaithin began. "Lieutenant Dobryn - if you would?"

Jordan had met Cora Dobryin on several occasions, all during briefings. Most recently was a few days ago when, together, they sat in front of Captain Geraz, the man in charge of ship-based intelligence operatives of the First Fleet. It was his duty to brief them on what they would be briefing the senior staff of their vessels.

The Miranda's officer pushed herself to her feet and met Cora at the LCARS monitor just behind the captains.

"Okay. The Breen," Jordan said, calling up the display. It was a bit like a 'power point' presentation with computerized slides of information. "We don't know too much about them, really. Despite the fact that we've been at war with the before. They're a relatively private race and anything we do know is pretty much easily observed from the outside. It doesn't help that the Intelligence at our Embassy down there is a little, well, lacking."

The entire embassy staff seems to be somewhat lacking, Jii mused to himself.

"What we do know of the Breen comes from encounters involving attacks on various Federation vessels," Cora continued as she looked at her counterpart then back to the others, "Biological components are widely used in their technology. Part of the mystery surrounding them is due to data we can surmise about their home world's natural environment beyond what we've learned about their technology so far. None of them has been seen without an encounter suit in typical Federation planetary environments."

The Miranda's Science Chief contemplated interrupting at this juncture, since he and Jii had commandeered Breen suits on Galaxy's last mission before price retired, but Jordan's chatterbox self-important Intel officer companion on Galaxy prattled on. She wasn't half-bad looking anyways, so it was all good.

"As far as on their home planet, we plainly don't know. Anything we have from the embassy has them remaining in their refrigerated suits, largely, one would suppose, because of the elevated temperature designed for humans. The Breen home world has been most aptly described as a frozen piece of hell. As for the Breen themselves..." Jordan called up a large picture. "They are known for being just as cold as their planet. They rarely swear any alliances, and while they fought along side the Cardassians and the Founders during the War, we cannot be sure whether or not they're still allies. Just as we cannot be sure these peace talks are authentic."

Cora picked up where Jordan left off. "This non-aligned status makes for a very gray area when it comes to dealing with the Breen. They tend do deal with whoever they want to in a manner that suits their needs best," she paused, "Refrigeration and weapons seem to be two areas where they excel even though they are considered to be among the technologically advanced species. The CRM-114 is one example of this: in previous engagements they also chose to use disrupters of the same classification as the Klingons and Romulans do. Culturally Breen are considered a warrior race, which isn't much of a surprise."

"And that's just about all we know," Jordan said. "We have no contacts in the Breen government. No infiltrators on the planet. The chief of intelligence at the embassy is little use at all. In short: we know only what the Breen want us to know. We're going into this next to blind and there's very little we can do about it." She glanced at Cora. "Is there anything you want to add, or should we open it up to questions?"

"Talking Heads" Part 2

-Galaxy Staff -
Cpt. Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer
Legate Kylar Curran, Diplomatic Liaison
Cns. Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/2nd Officer
Sub-Cdr. Savar tr'Khellian, Chief of Tactical
Lt. Cdr. James Corgan, Chief of Security
Lt. Cdr. Ethan Suder, Chief Engineer
Lt. Curtis Geluf, Operations Manager
Lt. Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO
Dr. Janelle Reynolds, Chief Medical Officer
Lt. JG Cora Dobryn, Chief Intelligence Officer

-Miranda Staff-
Cpt. Elaithin Jii, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Brex, Executive Officer
Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall, Diplomatic Liaison
Cdr. Jaal Jaxom, Ops Manager/Second Officer
Dr. Felicia Khatroweena, Chief Medical Officer
Cdr. James Mitchell, Chief Science Officer
Cdr. Jerri Wolfson, Chief Engineer
Cdr. K. Jordan Elaithin, Intelligence Liaison
Cns. Navarre Shinta, Chief Counselor
Cdr. Arel Smith, Chief of Security/Tactical
Lt. Cdr. T'Chani Darion, Hazard Team CO
Lt. Cdr. Taalis, Chief of Flight Control
Major Wes Hammond, Rogue Squadron Commander

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

USS Miranda,
Holodeck Six

USS Galaxy,
Holodeck Four

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

"I'm ready to answer questions. As we've already stated we know very little and what we do know you've just been given in this briefing," Cora added just as frustrated by the lack of information as Jordan.

"More or less anyway," Jordan replied, wrinkling her nose.

"Dangerous assignment, surrounded on enemies by all sounds, very little information, and we'd best all be praying that they are for real." Elaithin summed up, drawing a chuckle from one or two of the gathered members.

Recognizing her husband's comments with only a small, curt nod, Jordan glanced around the room. "Any questions then?" she asked.

"Actually, yes," Cassius Henderson said, looking toward Jordan and Cora. He'd had his own intelligence briefing previously, where he'd gone over the Breen in depth with Captain Amara D'Arn, his official handler from SFI. And since he couldn't reveal the simple fact of his commission's reactivation to anyone with clearance below the command staff of the two vessels, he elected to give out the information he'd found out their by asking Jordan and Dobryin questions. "What enemies of the Breen, other than ourselves and the Rihannsu, exist?"

That sounded like a fishing mission and Jordan narrowed her eyes slightly studying the slightly older man with an eye so cold it might have rivaled Breen itself. "We've been giving that a lot of thought and careful study. There are several species in this particular area of space that are adversarial to the Federation. However, we cannot be sure that either the T'Kith'Kin or the Hydrans are responsible for the Breen wanting to talk about alliance with us. It is something to take into consideration, but something we also will not know for absolute certain until we're speaking to the Breen delegation." The T'Kith'Kin were an especially touchy subject for the Miranda crew: some very bad guys indeed, and Jordan, personally, wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of meeting up with them. "I hope that answers your question, Commander, that's all the information I can really give."

"Can I add something?" Cat called over the table.

"Go ahead," Dobryin replied in acknowledgement of Cat's request to add her insight to what they had presented so far. Commander Henderson's rather pointed question also caught her attention. It left Cora pondering several things.

"Small number of years ago, I was just not long out of the Academy and on the ol' Gal, the Galaxy encountered the Breen. They had some form of system that created a vortex to fluidic space, something had gone wrong and the ship it was on was severely damaged. We were able to execute a rescue, before it was sucked into the vortex. We got three of the crew off - but only two survivors. We did what we could to help the others. I was tasked with the autopsy of the third crewmember. The other two weren't doing that well and we needed as much medical data as we could get."

"Breen can survive up to temperatures to not far below zero Celsius, but they need to acclimatize to that temperature and it needs to be done slowly. More to do on that they don't have separate circulatory and respiratory systems, but a combination using a hydro-fluorocarbon compound that transports the oxygen through the body. In a class M environment, that HFC will evaporate very quickly, causing something similar to a condition called caisson disease. This is the base of the rumor that they have no blood, technically they don't, not like something we have which uses a chemical reaction.

For them, it is based on the oxygen dissolving in the HFC. In a temperature we find comfortable, their 'blood' would evaporate very quickly, much like freon. They have a cartilage base skeletal structure, three eyes for good peripheral vision and a thick skin with large layers of subcutaneous fat. They have a four lobed brain, makes it difficult for any form of telepathic or empathic contact.

"They are very well adapted to a cold environment, one very much colder than one that most races could survive in."

Jordan could swear her eyes were crossing out of boredom as her mind clouded over and she felt herself tuning out. She liked Cat, it was nothing against the CMO, but technobabble of any sort, especially when environment and physiology were involved, bored her to tears.

"That would explain why they went *poof* whenever we opened their suits." James added.

**Makes clean up easy in a hand to hand battle.**, Taalis quipped through her bond to Jaal.

**Heh,** was his only reply. Jaal really wasn't in the mood for this. His mind had gone from work to vacation and back to work again in too short a time for him to do anything but loathe the Breen at the moment. At the moment he was hoping that 'this' staff meeting wouldn't digress into the typical 'free-for-all' that Miranda staff meetings had a habit of doing.

Dr. Reynolds chuckled at the comments while she took notes. She hadn't ever gotten to study the Breen. She didn't even know that there was that much information about them. She continued to listen.

Their ships are made up of much of the same composition atmosphere-wise." Mitchell finally piped up. It was exasperating listening to all this technobabble.

"Galaxy's last mission under Admiral Price was to lanjep a few years ago. Captain Elaithin, the former Commander O'Grady, and myself had beamed onto one of their ships to search for the Captain. We had to commandeer suits in order to keep ourselves alive. They also have sensor veils to prevent detection, but they're limited to static sections within the ship itself. We managed to avoid detection by staying within these nets. It's possible they've expanded on this technology since then. If they've gotten their technology to the level of our sensor veils from the early part of our century, we could be out of our element entirely. Security sensors should be set to scan for their suit radiation and temperature levels. The mechanics of their refrigeration units will greatly offset the internal temperature of their suits. Look for high differential in close quarters." He let the warning sink in.

Karyn started inwardly at the mention of lanjep but forced herself to remain outwardly poised. It was difficult, however, not to think of Price's rescue, and to force the memories of the night that had ended Lee's starship career back into the recesses of her mind. As if to punctuate the effort, another stab of pain coursed through her temple.

"Either way, we should be prepared for limited movement in their environment if they haven't precipitated measures to allow us movement while on Breen."

Several officers nodded at that observation, Captain Elaithin among them. "Mister Jaxom, see to it that the quartermaster prepares cold-weather gear for the away team."

The Miranda's Operations manager gave a curt nod, and made a note of it on his PADD.

The sudden admittance of first hand experience with the Breen brought James to the forefront. He explained sheepishly, "I haven't encountered the Breen often during the war, but a couple of times while I was part of a platoon on the Thunderchild, we ran into a battalion or two of Breen shock troopers. They were strong and tenacious fighters. Not as tough as Jem'Hadar or as sneaky as Cardies, but a good compromise of both. A couple of ensigns and I tried to open a suit once... and they melted like the wicked witch of the west."

Lieutenant Corran Rex frowned at the Miranda's Science Officer's comment. "The what of the what?"

"Wicked witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. An old Terran legend. I believe she melted when she came in contact with water..."

"Whatever." the Trill replied, shaking his head slightly to clear the confusion. "We saw a lot of action against the Breen in the last months of the war from here on the Miranda. When I was flying with the Rogues, we had several skirmishes with their fighters. They're a little faster than ours, and the Breen definitely know how to fly them." the Commander of Vanguard Squadron observed. "Of course, they exploded then, too.. but not in the way you're describing."

"I doubt their habit of decomposing is of much interest to the assembled officers," Sub-Commander tr'Khellian sneered across the table. The Galaxy's Rihannsu Tactical Chief had remained silent and brooding throughout the meeting, willing to sit back and soak up what Starfleet Intelligence knew about the Breen. "I am sure we are all far more interested in theories as to why the Breen have chosen to attempt to establish diplomatic relations now. Speaking personally, the specific qualities of evaporating Breen flesh also ranks far lower than my immediate concerns about the flimsy guarantees to our safety in hostile territory."

"Sorry. Begrudge to admit it, but I did leave us off at a tangent," James Corgan sincerely apologized.

"Perhaps it's done differently on Romulus, Sub-Commander," Captain Elaithin interjected, "but here in the Federation when tend to believe that no information is useless. You never know when it might help."

"Quite so," Savar narrowed his eyes and scowled at the Captain, contrasting Elaithin's use of the Federation's name for his homeworld unfavorably with Commander Henderson's more respectful reference to the 'Rihannsu' earlier in the discussion. "On ch'Rihan we do not, indeed, believe that the Wizard of Oz has much bearing on diplomatic or military matters." He trailed off coldly.

Savar leant forward now, placing his interlocked hands on the surface of the holographic table. "The 12th fleet may be lingering behind us on the border, but we will be deep inside Breen space. The Galaxy and the Miranda are both well-equipped vessels of war, but, independently, we are no match for the combined forces of the remnants of the Breen fleet. We should have disarmed them totally and allowed whatever twisted neighbors they have to dismember the lot of them, not allowed them a substantial 'planetary defense force'," Savar remarked sourly, glaring balefully as he delivered his verdict on intergalactic politics. "What happens if we are heading straight into a trap?"

The Bajoran commander of the Miranda cocked an eyebrow at the Romulan's dissertation. "Put simply, we run. It's not an idea I much care for, but I've no interest in having all of us die simply for the Breen's amusement," Jii replied. "We put out the word to the fleet, and hope they can extract us. If the Breen won't let us out on their on, then we'll just have to make a fight out of it."

Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall was the next to speak up then, saying what was on Jii's mind before he himself had the opportunity. "Put simply, we can't afford to take the chance that the Breen aren't serious. If we have the opportunity here, now, to forge a lasting peace with a race that has been nothing but hostile in the past, then we have to take it." the British ambassador said in simple terms.

"Talking Heads" Part 3

-Galaxy Staff -
Cpt. Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer
Legate Kylar Curran, Diplomatic Liaison
Cns. Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/2nd Officer
Sub-Cdr. Savar tr'Khellian, Chief of Tactical
Lt. Cdr. James Corgan, Chief of Security
Lt. Cdr. Ethan Suder, Chief Engineer
Lt. Curtis Geluf, Operations Manager
Lt. Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO
Dr. Janelle Reynolds, Chief Medical Officer
Lt. JG Cora Dobryn, Chief Intelligence Officer

-Miranda Staff-
Cpt. Elaithin Jii, Commanding Officer
Cdr. Brex, Executive Officer
Legate Abigail Pryce-Randall, Diplomatic Liaison
Cdr. Jaal Jaxom, Ops Manager/Second Officer
Dr. Felicia Khatroweena, Chief Medical Officer
Cdr. James Mitchell, Chief Science Officer
Cdr. Jerri Wolfson, Chief Engineer
Cdr. K. Jordan Elaithin, Intelligence Liaison
Cns. Navarre Shinta, Chief Counselor
Cdr. Arel Smith, Chief of Security/Tactical
Lt. Cdr. T'Chani Darion, Hazard Team CO
Lt. Cdr. Taalis, Chief of Flight Control
Major Wes Hammond, Rogue Squadron Commander

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

USS Miranda,
Holodeck Six

USS Galaxy,
Holodeck Four

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

"Precisely." Elaithin nodded. "We may not trust the Breen - I don't know about any of you, but I'll say that I don't - but we have to presume that this offer from them is in good faith. If it's not, then these negotiations will fail before they've even begun, and we're walking, as the good Sub-Commander here has noted, straight into a trap."

"From my experiences, the Breen are tricky. Tr'Khellian has every right to be suspicious." Corgan added, "They have a more alien mindset than I'm used too, so I find it hard to trust them. I'll have my security staff on 24/7 standby, and I'll run some training scenarios. While we're on Breen, I'll also have an entire security platoon ready to move out at any time... unless that is too aggressive."

"Keep in mind, the Federation sent a small contingent of starships to ch'Rihan after Shinzon's failure." Legate Curran, among the last to speak up, reflected on tr'Khellian's statement. "The Rihannsu were - and are - a much more dangerous and formidable opponent that the Breen ever were. The risk was greater of opposition than there is with the Breen. They do not have the alliances ch'Rihan have been able to broker." Taking his focus off of the Romulan, he spoke to the entire group now. "I too share in Sub-Commander tr'khellian's discomfort of this being a trap, yet if we do not make the attempt even with the flimsy data we have been given regarding their intentions, we shall never know if they are serious or not. If serious, it would be a major coup. They border a sector of space that has been unreachable up until now."

"I have to agree with The Sub-Commander as well," Daren observed. "The Breen seem unlikely to make such an abrupt change in policy without the sort of internal political upheaval that even our embassy couldn't have failed to notice it. The lack of such upheaval suggests to me that either the Breen are facing pressure from another source that has suddenly escalated; a source that they feel dealing with the Federation is preferable to facing defeat from, or that they are engaged in some sort of duplicity. Whichever it is, we have to respond to the offer as though it were made in good faith."

Arel then shrugged. "Id just as soon take out both of them. I don't trust the Breen, Sirs."

'Good faith' could mean any number of things. However it wasn't the Hazard Team's duty to deal with situations that worked out as planned. Captain Elaithin's comments were correct, but she also couldn't ignore the hidden nuances within them either.

"I think it's a sound idea." Elaithin noted as well. Be that as it may, Our assignment is try to make peace with these people. We don't have to like the idea - hell, I expect some of us downright loathe it. But that's what we're going to do."

No one seemed to respond to that, though Elaithin could tell that, among his own crew at least, the words were being considered. No one in this room doubted that both crews would do their best to complete the assignment - the question was simply whether the Breen were "on the up and up," as the humans would say.

"Captain M'Kantu and I have discussed it already. I'll lead the diplomatic team, accompanied by Legates Curran and Pryce-Randall. I'm also taking Commander Smith, Counselor Navarre, and Lieutenant Cantrell. From Galaxy's crew, I'd like to have Karyn, Commander Corgan, Lieutenant Kreighoff, and... Counselor Lywh.. Lywhyn? I believe that's how her name is pronounced."

Shinta pricked up her ears. It had been quite some time since she had been on away mission.

Not sure if Shinta could pick up a telepathic message, Taalis still sent a **Be careful** to her longtime friend.

Shinta picked something up and smiled at Taalis.

Jordan frowned as she folded her arms and leaned back in her seat. She was not on the away mission, which annoyed her. But Christ, how many Counselors did they need? Navarre, Karyn Dallas, this Counselor Lywhyn person. And Cantrell the only thing even remotely resembling an intelligence officer-- and hell, ever that was up for debate. She should be on that freaking away team. Or at least, Cora should be. That was beyond annoying. She and her husband would be having a chat about this, that was sure.

Both Cora and T'Chani noted it was an interesting contingent for the away team. In particular Miranda's Hazard Team commander made a mental note to herself that her team hadn't been disrupted for away team duty. A good sign that someone anticipated possible rough waters ahead.

"I do not believe Commander Dallas would be a logical choice, Captain. Her track record in the past has been less than stellar." Curran, upon hearing of Dallas' assignment, became apprehensive. She would be a distraction and need to be babysat. He would sooner have Commander Thomas lead negotiations than have her remotely near him. "Her presence could in fact, be detrimental. I don't see the need for three counselors on this mission." He would have enough trouble in the transporter; he did not need to have Dallas lording yet another weakness of his over him.

Tr'Khellian glanced at Curran, wondering what the history was between the Kelvan and Commander Dallas. He was aware, of course, of her disastrous blunder at lanjep, but there was always something far more bitter, far more personal beneath Curran's snide remarks about the Chief Counselor. Savar hadn't spoken with Curran for quite some time, but word had come to him of the Kelvan's suspension from duty. For this, and other reasons, the Rihana decided it was time for one of their little chats sometime soon.

"Typical."~ Corgan groaned. Curran was trying yet another power play. Counselor Dallas' performance on Lanjep was once again under scrutiny. Though James agreed that diplomats should be doing the diplomacy, he felt Curran was being less than tactful. Not out of the ordinary for Legate Curran, though insightful as to his motives.

His urge to speak up was countermanded by Shinta, who took the words out of his head.

Despite Karyn's earlier attempts to appear poised and self-assured, she felt herself bristling now, but underneath her anger there was hurt and humiliation, not because objections had been voiced, but because of who had voiced the opinion and how he had done it. Did he get off on hurting her? Before she could say a word, she heard Shinta speak.

"Excuse me," Shinta said not knowing this officer. "I have served under Commander Dallas for many years, and is my opinion that she is one of the best therapists in the fleet."

Savar rolled his eyes. Quite how one's abilities as a therapist equipped one for a diplomatic mission was far beyond his understanding. His gaze flicked back to Curran for the Kelvan's riposte.

Despite Shinta's good intentions, and how much Karyn truly appreciated the vote of confidence, Karyn was mortified. They were talking about her like she wasn't in the bloody room! Is this what she had become, someone who needed defending? She was afraid to speak, afraid to breathe. Dallas felt trapped, nauseated, and the blood pounded in her ears. She was ready to explode, although she wasn't sure what would happen if she did. Would she scream? Would she cry? Emotional unpredictability seemed par for the course these days. She hated it. "Really, I think I--" then Jii steamrolled over her.

"I've also worked with Karyn for years, Legate, and I believe she will be an asset to this team as much as you would be - otherwise you would not have been reactivated, despite her recommendations." Elaithin interjected. "The team assignments aren't up for debate.:

Karyn closed her eyes against the prickle of tears. *Please God, let them move on. Please let them leave me the hell alone. I just want to be left alone.*

Mitchell wished he could operate the controls to the transporter. One slip of the controls and out goes Navarre to some methane-enhanced environment. He felt a prickle of fear for Arel, though, and failed in drowning it. "Are you sure it's a wise idea to send a pregnant woman down to the planet, sir? I'll go in her place." He hadn't even meant to say it out loud, but the situation called his bluff. It was far too dangerous a mission.

Arel, who had been about to say something on Karen's behalf, immediately shot Mitchell a look that, in a perfect universe, would have scalded off his skin. "I hardly think that your qualified as a security officer, Commander.

"James, I would be more concerned with leaving her behind." Elaithin replied, putting up a hand to stall Arel's riposte. As the Security Chief fumed, the Captain looked at the Science Officer appraisingly. "I understand you're concerned for your baby, Commander, but Commander Smith will be more than capable of providing protection."

"I hardly find a waddling Security Chief ample protection."

**Oh shit,** Jaal thought to his wife, **Here we go again.**

**I'm surprised it took that verrool this long.**, Taalis replied through the bond.

James Corgan added, "That was less than flattering but I have to agree. I would have to object to putting Commander Smith on duty based on moral grounds as well. One of my staff already lost her life and almost lost her baby in our last incident. I personally would not want to risk the life of another child. Sorry ma'am." James nodded to Arel, "But I suggest you should sit this one out."

Jordan rolled her eyes, but bit her tongue to keep from saying anything. She was having a good run with her positive thinking, personal reassessment, and damned if she was going to let a pompous ass comment from James Mitchell ruin it. Hell, everyone could tell it was just a hurried attempt to mask his true feelings. At least, that's what she was choosing to believe.

Maybe she was letting Jerri brainwash her, or the therapy she was getting from Ry was clouding her judgment, but she was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. She smiled slightly, inside, knowing that if he knew that's what she was thinking, it would only piss him off further...

Shinta was also secretly touched. He was worried about Arel, and she even found herself agreeing a little with him. Not that she was going to say anything, Arel was old and wise enough to make that decision for herself. And the last thing she needed was her friends making things more difficult.

Dr. Reynolds couldn't help but comment. She knew the former XO/Chief of Security and her situation, "Normally, I would agree with Commander Mitchell but it's only a diplomatic assignment. If he'd feel better, Commander O'Grady could go in her place but in her present mental state, I think you'd have a better chance with Commander Smith here. I'd feel more secure having her cover my butt than Commander O'Grady at this point."

Shinta looked at this stranger. How did she know her patients mental state? "I don't think it's your place to speak about one of my patients here in this manner."

It was worse than she thought, "You're right and I apologize." She couldn't help but wonder what kind of CO would keep on a pregnant woman and a woman who obviously was having emotional troubles. Oh well, she wasn't going to be part of that away team, so why should she care? it wasn't her butt.

"Apology accepted," Shinta said and then turned to her Capt. "Sir, maybe we can discuss the security contingent later in private."

Arel looked like she was on the verge of having a verbal fit. "Permission to be dismissed, Sir." She said through gritted teeth.

"When everyone else is."

**Well,** Jaal commented to only Taalis, **That's first. An actual apology at a staff meeting.** The Trill was impressed.

**It's either a sign of good fortune or the end of days.**, Taalis sent back through the bond.

"Feel free to try to change my mind." Elaithin replied. "But for now, this is it."

Jerri had kept quiet during the majority of the briefing - either nodding at the appropriate points or jotting down quick notes. The only thing she didn't like about this mission was the idea that the away team - composed of two of her closest friends, at least on the Miranda side - would be going into danger without a good, well, problem solver. Her 'spidey sense' was tingling overtime in regards to this mission and she'd feel better if there was a "by-the-seat-of-their-pants" thinker on the team. Someone that could, for example, jury rig their way out of a tight spot or get them out of a prison cell. However, all that the Chief Engineer could do was make sure she kept the metaphorical fires stoked in the warp core in case they needed to make a quick getaway. However, like she had thought earlier, that inevitably meant someone's starship was going to get damaged - most likely hers.

"Now, does anyone else have any concerns?" the Miranda's Commander asked, looking across the table.

Karyn looked away slightly, not comfortable being under scrutiny and feeling as if everyone's eyes were upon her. Now was not the time to speak, but perhaps after the briefing.

"Well, that seems like enough for today." Captain M'Kantu interjected after locking eyes with Elaithin. "Everyone's dismissed. Get your departments prepared. I'll want department readiness reports by 0800 tomorrow, I presume Captain Elaithin will as well."

Jii simply nodded, and folded his hands as the room cleared out. As the various officers departed, M'Kantu, Elaithin, and Brex were the only ones remaining. The Bajoran raised an eyebrow at his Exec as Daren looked on. "You were rather quiet, number one."

The gregarious Bolian gave a slight shrug. "Not much to contribute, sir. Other than to remind you, we know very little. We're going into this half-blind, and I don't think anyone likes that."

"That much is certain, Commander." M'Kantu responded.

[Backpost]

"Outward Reflections of An Inner Self"

(Takes place the first day in orbit around SB 212)

Principle Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Ensign Ammanalyn Lywhyn

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 10
Ten Forward

The ship was all but deserted and powered down for the minor maintenances it would be under going while in port. Most of the crew were visiting the planets in the nearby area, or having whatever kind of fun was to be had on the giant Starbase.

Ammanalyn didn't care for any of that, particularly. She was shy of large crowds, which made her frightened and nervous and awkward. She'd never gotten along with large groups of people; the Academy had been a horrifying experience for her: so many eyes, so many people. Her own kind were terrified of her: for Tampatiaen's uniqueness, largely. Everyone else was curious. They did not understand. They treated Tampatiaen as a pet or as a monster; he'd been mistaken as a changeling more than a few times, and trying to explain to a troop of Starfleet security officers Tampatiaen's true nature was like trying to teach a shelot how to speak standard.

So she chose to remain on the Galaxy, and took a bit of comfort in the fact she was almost entirely alone on the great ship. Her entire level of crew's quarters was empty, leaving on her and Tampatiaen, and he'd delighted in racing up and down the corridors, tugging gently on their invisible bond, enough to feel daring to them both but not enough to cause pain. But, the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had informed her that the replication systems on her deck were going to be shut down, so she would have to go elsewhere for a mean. Rather than trek to the Starbase, which she avoided like a plague since her last rotten experience there, she headed down toward ten forward.

The lounge was darkened, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the port and the panels of the public replicators. She didn't notice the other person in there until she'd collected her meal and was moving toward her favorite table, only two down from where he was sitting. She didn't recognize him, but he certainly seemed the dark and brooding sort. She set down her tray and Tampatiaen jumped up on the booth side, just under the large windows as she took the chair opposite so she could look outside and watch the goings on from the private safety afforded by being on the other side.

Or almost private.

Victor frowned as the woman entered and chose a seat closer than most would dare, and then deepened the frown when he realized that his hackles were up, set off by the presence of the animal that slipped in the doors with her. It was too big to be anything other than a predator. It was large enough to be a threat to an adult, much less one of the children aboard, and he studied it for a moment from the shadows of his normal table, deciding what to do.

A touch of his PADD and a search turned up the answer: it was a Counselor's pet - he assumed the slight girl it accompanied was that Counselor - or something like that. She'd have it under control, of course, but he didn't like it. Animals shouldn't be free aboard the ship. Not this ship, his ship. Too many things could go wrong; he'd hunted enough predators to know that intimately even if he, himself, hadn't been one.

He continued to watch the pair - especially the cat - and wondered which of them would react to his presence first.

It was Tampatiaen, though the reaction wasn't to Victor so much as it was to his sensing of Victor's temperament. While Ammanalyn seemed undisturbed and, perhaps, even unaware of the man's general "creepiness", Tampatiaen's heightened senses made him all too conscious of it. So he did the only thing he could really think of to do: become less 'threatening'. He jumped down from the booth onto the ground on the other side of the table, hidden in the shadows from the man's view, and shifted into a smaller-than-usual ermine shape. He then proceeded to climb his person to around her neck, hiding under her long, thick dark hair-- worn down, for some reason, she said she wanted something different.

Ammanalyn felt her daemon's wariness of the man more than she noticed the reason for it. Quite simply, she was oblivious as she cut the lemon-flavored chicken on her plate, eating it with pieces of rice and curry, using the flat bread as much as she used the fork. The replicators had never managed to get Daedryn food right, and so she'd taught herself to appreciate human food: Indian and 'Asian' cuisine was the closest to her native tastes. She'd even come to prefer some of it to what she'd grown up with.

"Do you not like crowds either?" she asked. Her voice was soft, pleasant, and almost child-like, fitting her general demeanor (that is, unless you were Karyn Dallas, whom Ammanalyn still didn't care much for). "They're too judgment, I think, one person is fine, but a group of them, they don't take any time, they just make their own conclusions and hold you accountable for that. I try to stay away from them. And there's something to be said for peace and quiet anyway."

Victor nodded. Definitely a Counselor. The pet, or whatever it was, had made itself smaller, turned into something that he thought might be akin to a Terran ferret, and retreated to the safety of the Counselor's shoulder, so there was no need to continue to view it as a threat. At least not at the moment. He wondered if Dallas had put the woman up to this, then decided that she hadn't. No matter what her feelings about him, she wouldn't offer this child up as a sacrifice.

"What I like doesn't matter," he said quietly, after a sip of his coffee. "What they think or don't think doesn't matter. I can't be around them because of what they'll do."

"I know the feeling," she said softly, picking at her food with a frown creasing her youthful face. There was a long pause. "I'm Ammanalyn," she said, after a while. "I can leave you alone, if you want me to. I understand. I just..." She didn't want to say it. She didn't know how that man would react. He was just so dark and brooding; he reminded her of a character from a Terran novel she once read: a man named Heathcliff in a book called Wuthering Heights. "You just look kind of lonely." She whispered it to her plate, knowing she was probably speaking more of herself than this man, who she'd never seen before; she just couldn't help it.

"You should read your files more closely, Counselor," Victor replied quietly. "Or listen to the ship's gossips; I understand I'm popular with them again. You'd already know who I am then." He looked down at his coffee. "If nothing else, ask your companion there, hiding under your hair. He knows what I am even if you don't."

"I don't care much about gossips," she said with a soft sigh, looking over toward him. She hesitated a minute, and despite Tampatiaen's trembling and whispering for her not to, she found herself standing a moving closer to him, sliding into the booth seat across from him, her wide brown eyes studying the man. "And Tampatiaen overreacts sometimes, so I don't always listen to him. He got scared of his own shadow, once. He acts tough, but he's even whimpier than I am. What... what are you that I don't know?" she asked.

Victor closed his eyes. It was easier to get it over with now rather than drag it out. M'Kantu had decided to let him stay, even after he'd gotten D'Tinya killed, and one Counselor that wanted to 'help' him was enough. He took a breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out and stopped holding himself in check.

The feeling that permeated the air around Victor intensified suddenly, shoving against Ammanalyn with almost physical force, digging at the primal part of her mind in ways that made it shriek and send signals that demanded she flee. He looked up from the coffee then and a shadow passed over his face as a workbee passed outside the viewport, the strip of darkness wiping away the man's face for a moment as it passed to reveal what lay beneath it to her. "You know what I am, Counselor," someone else said in a voice that wasn't Victor's any more; one that she did, indeed, know. One that everyone knew waited at the end to welcome them to the other side. "Everyone knows what I am," Death whispered, the wail of the damned souls in his care slipping down the words like mist rolling off a waterfall.

Outside the viewport, the workbee moved on, and the shadow it had cast followed it, completing the trip across Victor's face, and, in its wake, Victor was merely Victor again, his sense of presence withdrawn back into himself. "That's why they're afraid of me, Counselor," he said quietly, as he took a drink of his coffee, "even if they don't understand exactly why."

She laid a hand over the trembling and ever shrinking Tampatiaen, but her large, dark doe-like eyes stayed level on his. She was warmth and innocence while he was cold and destructive. But she didn't want to say evil. She didn't believe that.

"You've never met a Daedryn before, have you?" she asked, softly. "We're not afraid of death. We know what happens to us, so why should we be afraid of it? Some of us even look forward to it." She lowered her hand from Tampatiaen, then rested her hands, palm down, against the smooth table top. She was watching him intently; she was curious, she had to admit, there was something about the man that was, well... curious was the only way she could really describe it. She sighed. "The others of my people are afraid of me, too," she stated. "I hate them for it. Or I want to."

"Don't," Victor said quietly. "There's no point to it. They are what they are. There's no sense hating a sheep for being a sheep, that's just the way things are." He took another sip of his coffee and looked over the rim of the cup at her. "I am what I am. You are what you are. They are what they are. The sooner you accept that, the easier things are."

"That sounds like something I should be saying," she said, blushing slightly. "I am the counselor after all." She studied him further. "Why do you think you're like you are?" she asked. "We try to think about why we are like we are all the time and we never really come up with answers. We discuss it all the time, together, and did with some of the scholars we grew up with and we could never figure it out. The only thing my people are really afraid of is departure from tradition, it seems, and we are definitely that. We just don't know why. The Dust won't answer." She frowned as she chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought for a moment, pulled out only as Tampatiaen chose to descend from her shoulder, keeping close to her arm.

He'd chosen to approach the man like he might a potentially aggressive Daemon. Slowly, and showing trust. He kept as small as possible, snaking down to the table between her hands and took a shape not dissimilar from a baby fox, rolling on his back, exposing his stomach, pale blue eyes staring at Victor, his tale moving back and forth along the table. The trust in his eyes was more his trust in Ammanalyn, knowing that should he try anything, her reflexes were quick and she could easily pull him to safety, but he was able to throw the trust toward him, this dark, dark creature he didn't understand, with the glowering eyes and the cold disposition, so much unlike a Daedryn, and more than that, so much unlike anything they'd ever encountered before.

Tampatiaen, and he'd not shared this with Ammanalyn because there was really no reason to, was beginning to suspect that the man's difficulties lay in the fact that, unlike most humans, his Daemon was not entirely hidden deep on the inside (if it customarily existed at all). He wasn't sure what made him think that, really, except that maybe it was a product of a bored and slightly frightened mind. But curiosity, as it tended to do in their case-- and particularly, in the case of Tampatiaen-- overwhelmed the fear, and there he found himself, submissive in front of this beast of a man, unable to defend himself even if he weren't.

"I'm the way I am because that's the way things are," Victor said after a moment. "I've been like this since I was born. There were tests done - not many, but some - at the Academy and before. All those results are in my file. None of them answered anything. I don't need an explanation, I know what I am. It's the people that don't want to accept it that need it explained to them."

"That sounds like something I should be saying," she said, blushing slightly. "I am the counselor after all." She studied him further. "Why do you think you're like you are?" she asked. "We try to think about why we are like we are all the time and we never really come up with answers. We discuss it all the time, together, and did with some of the scholars we grew up with and we could never figure it out. The only thing my people are really afraid of is departure from tradition, it seems, and we are definitely that. We just don't know why. The Dust won't answer." She frowned as she chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought for a moment, pulled out only as Tampatiaen chose to descend from her shoulder, keeping close to her arm.

He'd chosen to approach the man like he might a potentially aggressive Daemon. Slowly, and showing trust. He kept as small as possible, snaking down to the table between her hands and took a shape not dissimilar from a baby fox, rolling on his back, exposing his stomach, pale blue eyes staring at Victor, his tale moving back and forth along the table. The trust in his eyes was more his trust in Ammanalyn, knowing that should he try anything, her reflexes were quick and she could easily pull him to safety, but he was able to throw the trust toward him, this dark, dark creature he didn't understand, with the glowering eyes and the cold disposition, so much unlike a Daedryn, and more than that, so much unlike anything they'd ever encountered before.

Tampatiaen, and he'd not shared this with Ammanalyn because there was really no reason to, was beginning to suspect that the man's difficulties lay in the fact that, unlike most humans, his Daemon was not entirely hidden deep on the inside (if it customarily existed at all). He wasn't sure what made him think that, really, except that maybe it was a product of a bored and slightly frightened mind. But curiosity, as it tended to do in their case-- and particularly, in the case of Tampatiaen-- overwhelmed the fear, and there he found himself, submissive in front of this beast of a man, unable to defend himself even if he weren't.

"I'm the way I am because that's the way things are," Victor said after a moment. "I've been like this since I was born. There were tests done - not many, but some - at the Academy and before. All those results are in my file. None of them answered anything. I don't need an explanation, I know what I am. It's the people that don't want to accept it that need it explained to them."

"Huh," she murmured, rubbing Tampatiaen's stomach with her index finger, glancing down at her Daemon who was being a little bit ridiculous now; his tongue was lolling out of his mouth and his eyes were closed. A paw flicked. She lifted her tea cup with her other hand, sipping, letting their conversation fall into silence. She turned and glanced out the window, watching what was going on outside for a minute. "It's strange, I think," she said, turning her eyes to Victor's faint reflection in the transparent aluminum glass. "People warned us about you and we don't really understand why." She smiled slightly as Tampatiaen batted her finger with a paw and she scratched deeper into his thick white-silver fur. "They said you were physically dangerous, that you would hurt us if given the chance. I don't know, that bothers me a little."

"It should. I would." Victor took anther sip of his coffee. "Your companion is a predator - or feels and looks like one - even if he lacks the will for it, and this territory is already taken. If I feel he's a threat, I'll kill him. If I think you're a threat, I'll kill you. If I think you're only a slight threat, I'll hurt you badly enough that you're not a danger to anyone else while I take you to confinement." He finished his coffee and set the mug down. "And then I'll forget about it, and you, and move on. No guilt, no nightmares, no shame. There's more in my file, but that's the short form. If Counselor Dallas or anyone else suggested you avoid me, they were right."

She laughed girlishly, looking over at him. "Tam's not a predator," she said, grinning, her tone adding a 'silly' at the end of the statement. "If he even tried to hurt you, or anyone, he'd hurt us far worse. Tam can't touch anyone else, and he'd never try." She dipped her face down to her Daemon and he slid into ermine form again, crawling over her head and then draping himself back around her neck, though this time far more visible, his eyes blinking at Victor. "He's part of me, you see, like my arm or my heart... And I've been told I'm probably the least threatening person... unless you're another Daedryn... which, you're definitely not," she said, frowning. "And it wasn't Counselor Dallas, we don't get along well, I don't care much for her." Her nose wrinkled. "Ever try to... curb your instincts? Don't you ever get tired of being seen as an animal? Not being close to anyone? Always being suspicious of people? I'm not trying to be a counselor, I have a very special hat for that..." She sighed softly; he obviously didn't respond to humor very well. She looked down at her hands and picked at the side of her thumb as she chewed the inside of her cheek. "I'm just curious, Victor."

Victor smiled, and it was as if something else were smiling from within him, using his face as a mask for a moment. "No, there's no point to it. I can't change what people see, or expect to see. I am what I am, a killer, a predator, a tiger in a world of sheep. The sheep don't have to like me for me to do my job, that's not necessary."

"I think you're just too stubborn to admit that you could be a relatively normal person. I think you're just far more interested in being subversive. Standing out. Prevents you from having to get too close to people. People stay away from you. You use it as an excuse not to have to be particularly pleasant, open, or otherwise welcoming. Maybe you're a house cat pretending to be a tiger by killing sparrows and you just haven't found anyone who doesn't buy it and who will challenge it."

Victor looked at her impassively for a moment, and then keyed in an order for another coffee on the table's LCARS panel, not speaking until it had arrived and was in his hand. "Stop," he finally said quietly.

"Stop?"

"Stop trying to fix me, Counselor. I'm not broken." He looked at her over his coffee again, the impression that his face was a mask for something terrible within him back. "I'm not repressing anything. I'm not scared of commitment, or friendship, or letting people see the real me." His voice shifted as he spoke, their very sounds changed as his voice became that of Death again. "I do not care what you, or the crew, or the Captain, think of me. There's no cute fluffy little house pet inside me trying to get out. I am what I am, and all the misguided analysis and feel-good therapy in the universe won't change that." He sipped at his coffee, the normal human gesture absurdly incongruous with the voice he had spoken in. "Help someone who needs it Counselor," he added, his voice still not his own, "I don't."

"That's kinda a freaky little voice thing there, Victor," she stated, though unphased by the throaty, demonic sounds that made his words. "Have you tried what the humans call an exorcism?" A pause. "I'm not trying to help you, Victor, I couldn't really care less; you're not one of my patients, you're certainly not traumatized. And maybe you don't need therapy but really just a... what did Commander Riker call it... a swift kick in the ass?" She raised her eyebrows, her childish doll-like face taking a pixyish appearance. "I don't know. The light bulb must want to change and all of that. So there's nothing anyone can really do for you. I just wish I could see you Daemon. That would answer so many questions, regardless of whether you'd want it to or not." She sighed softly and stood. "It was interesting to meet you," she said, as Tampatiaen leapt from her shoulder, morphing slowly into her leopard form by the time he landed.

"Three classmates at the Academy tried an exorcism my Junior year," Victor replied quietly as she stood. "Nothing happened. I didn't think it would, but it cost me nothing to see. As for my Daemon... if I understand what you mean correctly, I don't think that would be a good idea. I know what my inner self is, and no one needs to see that." He paused to watch Tampatiaen change shape as he leaped to the floor. "Do you mind a suggestion, Counselor?" he asked, his voice now fully returned to the flat, emotionally-null - but human - tones it had had when he'd first spoken.

"A Daemon. Like Tam. A special reflection of you: you at your most true and honest." She cocked her head. "What kind of suggestion?"

"Give Counselor Dallas another chance. She's had a bad time the last six months, had to deal with some things that happened to her she didn't deserve. She's still not over them yet."

Ammanalyn wrinkled her nose. "We'll see, I suppose. I think a counselor should be able to go beyond those emotions when dealing with other people, particularly professionally, but," and she waved her hand about her head. "You don't need to hear my philosophies on that. It was good to meet you, Victor. Maybe we could be friends? I'd like that. I don't have too many friends around her, and you don't really seem to either. So... But anyway... Things to tend to... I'll... maybe see you around."

"I don't do so well with friends, Counselor," Victor replied. "I think too much time around me is bad for people. But I'm not hard to find." He watched her move towards the door, adding, "You really ought to read that file before you try, though," as she reached it and opened it for her companion.

After they'd gone, he watched the door for a moment, shook his head, and returned to his coffee and the silence of the room.

Commander Shinta Navarre,
Chief Couselor

Ensign Imanol Haronordoquy,
Hazard Nine

"Frustrations" - USS Miranda

--

Imanol sat in silence as the Bajoran telepath placed a tall glass of water in front of him. He watched her as she smiled and took her own seat. She shifted in her chair rearranging the items on her desk. She looked up at him with a crinkled forehead, her posture unsettled, and her smile forced. To Imanol she didn’t seem like a lady at ease.

“Shinta” he smiled, “im not your most favourite client am I?”

"What makes you say that?" It was a complete surprise to her as she liked him both as a person and a client. She always liked a challenge.

"You cant enjoy the whole squeezing water from a rock thing. I know Im not the most upfront and open person."

"That's true. It makes my job more interesting." She smiled. "And you still do not understand my job completely. I am not out to get you, or to get information from you, just to make sure you are comfortable in the life you lead."

"i doubt i'll ever be 'comfortable'. Whats on the agenda today?"

"Today is actually looking at the progress we have made. Your doctor tells me you are doing fine. What do you think?"

"Yea I guess." He leaned back in the chair, his neck slightly sore. "The meds have run their course and there have been no signs of any after effects, I feel alright... physically at least"

"and mentally?" Was the logical next question.

"Mentally.." he smiled. "Im a little pissed". He said simply.

"Tell me about it." She wasn't really surprised.

~Where to begin~ he thought. There had been a lot on his mind lately and a lot of it made him angry.

"Its been quite a while since I was removed from active duty and honestly, every little thing is getting on my nerves. I cant take a piss without someone at Hazard making sure I dont miss the bowl. I hav'nt done ANYTHING of merit in the last few months despite rearranging the armory into alphabetical order, then chronologically! What gets me is that everyone says Im making progress." Imanols eyes flared up. His stature suddenly became bigger.

"WHY THE HELL AM I HERE IF THEY DONT F*CKING USE ME!!!"

His voice echoed throughout the room. Shintas face had remained passive. He wiped the vapour from his forehead and sat back to simmer. His head was pounding, he couldnt remember the last time he made an outburst like that on Miranda.

"Sorry, you dont deserve that" he remained cold staring at the plant on her desk.

"It's my job. And maybe that's the reason you are still here, you need to vent. What better place to do it than in my office. Tell me if you think you are completely cured, why haven't you yet picked up Fred?"

"I thought it would be cruel to take him back just now" he replied.

"So what do you plan, to not take him back?"

"I cant see much point in me keeping him, his life would be more wholesome with you guys. If thats alright with you and James."

Imanol had simmered somewhat, Fred taking his mind off the his whole situation, but only momentarily, he spoke as he faced the port hole, his back to the Counselor.

"T'Chani has some balls, and that Hammond as well, but god help them if they pursue their career glorifying crusade with me. Im too experienced and intelligent to be treated like some punk cadet. Ive made my bed and slept in it, its time I got back to my job. Without it I have nothing."

"They can't take chances. I am sorry, I realise it's hard for you, yet it will take time to prove yourself to them." Shinta really did feel for him.

"I just cant see where all this is going" He stood silently for a few moments, his mind overloaded with deep thoughts and emotions which normally never entered into his head.

"I've spent too long scratching my ass here". He paused again and finished his sentence in a mumble, "Maybe its time to out of here...".

"Isn't that a pattern in your life? You seem to have a problem facing adversity. Don't throw it away now, in the last couple of months you have come a long way. The most difficult part is behind you."

"Adversity is my job Shinta, I revel in it, Im a soldier... well... I used to be... " He sat back down staring at the ground under his feet. "This chapter has gone on too long"

"We told you in advance it would take time. Is only seems more difficult now, because you feel better."

"You know, last week I got a memo to report for duty. There was a demonstration to be made for the Galaxys Chief of Security, Lieutenant Commander Corgan. It was something I was looking forward to.. we ran into each other on the starbase not long ago, a nice guy. I got there and the place was emptied, on the bulletin board it read 'all active Hazard members report to holodeck six, all others are surplus to requirements. I think they call that, a kick in the teeth Commander"

"Ouch. Maybe you should try talking to T'Chain again. I will do the same if you want." She said softly.

"I understand the situation I've put her in but I think I've spent long enough paying for it. It doesnt look like Hazard will put this behind them too easy. Maybe I should go back to the Rangers, start again, at least there my abilities do the talking."

Shinta stepped in, "That would be running away again."

"what do you want me to do? stay and fart all my dignity away" his voice raised a few notches.

"Fight. Show them you were worth their trust, however long it takes."

"And if it takes years. What good will that do me?" he replied.

"Even if it takes years, which it will not. If you quit this will still be on your record, and what would it say to a new commanding officer?

Shinta was right as she tended to be, people seem to loose logic when emotions get the better of them, and Harinordoquy was just that, an emotional wreck and he couldnt explain it. Perhaps a lot of it had to do with his work and his frustrations, another part was probably due to the addiction. Whatever the cause he struggled to stay calm.

"I know your making sense Shinta, I just cant see it for myself" he laughed lightly then quickly reverting to his previous disposition.

She felt all the suppressed emotions inside him. Shinta felt for him, yet the only thing he could do now was hang in there and prove himself.

"Would it help if we talked to your boss together?"

"Like mummy bringing baby to see teacher? look I dont want to bring you into this, thats not your job. I've always managed on my own and I dont want anyone to help fighting my battles."

"Maybe you need a little bit of help. And you are wrong about it not being my job. You would be surprised how much of my time is spent in solving problems between crew members." She said.

Imanol took a few moments. He took a lot of these moments when he sat in Shintas office. It took him time to dissect her comments, attempting to find flaws in her advise. He never liked or trusted shrinks, it was born out of a need of dependancy, something Imanol had grown up without. He was dependant on no one. Things seemingly were changing. Perhaps the years he put on made him less self sufficient or maybe it was simply just Shinta.

"If you think it will make me feel better than I will meet T'Chani with you. I know she will not back down on this but I guess knowing where I stand would be better than knowing nothing."

"just be reasonable when we talk. Try not to be defensive and tell her how you feel. Be honest."

"I'll be bruetally honest if thats what you want. I dont hide behind fancy words and politeness."

"Always within reason. Remember you are talking to senior officers." She watched him closely. "You know exactly what I mean, don't try to be smart with me."

Imanol narrowed his eyes. "your chastising me? if you think Im going to attack her you really hav'nt learned much about me."

"And what if I am?" She was testing him.

"then i'll beat you with this plant" he nodded at the plant in jest. If she was'nt a telpath she may well have seen it as a threat.

She knew he was joking, yet stayed silent to see what else would come out.

He turned surly. "I expect to be told off when I've crossed a line or two not because there is something you think I MIGHT do! Where on all those files" he pushed around a bunch of PADDS on her desk. "does it say that Ive ever stuck a senior officer or a woman for that matter."

Imanol backed off a little trying hard to contain his temper. Perhaps she was reading something off him he himself did'nt know. Maybe she could see deeper into his subconscious than he could. The fact that someone could do that was disturbing enough. He was indeed in a volitile state, that was obvious, but was he capable of attacking a senior officer? and a woman for that matter? he shook the thought from his head.

Still she watched him.

"just say what your going to say" he insisted.

"It's interesting, I didn't mention striking a senior officer. I was talking about your body language and your verbal language. Why do you translate it to physical violence?"

"I thought thats what you asked me, I can't read minds like you can"

"I cannot read minds, I can just pick up on emotions. And what I said was pretty clear."

"obviously not clear enough. A misunderstanding doesnt translate into a twisting." he said bluntly.

"Why are you so defensive?" Shinta kept at him.

"Im psychotic now right? brilliant! " he said with quite an amount of sarcasm, throwing his arms into the air.

"Again you are putting words in my mouth I didn't say. Why?"

"Your making out that I might 'attack' someone. Dont I have a right to defend that?" he replied

"You would have the right to defend yourself if I was implying something, which I am not. I want to find out why you think I did and why there is so much anger in you."

"Use your counselling skills to figure it out. " He slounched in his chair. Mentally worn out. It was a signal he had enough. His mood quickly changed.

"Im angry at everything lately" he concluded.

"Why." She leaned forward. "I know you are tired and confused, yet I think this is important for you."

"I dont know why. I cant explain it, I dont know why Im so angry. Its not like me to be like this. I wake up in the morning and the first thing I want to do is put my fist through the headboard" At that point Imanol put his fingers to his temples. Those migraines were getting worse. He massaged his temples to try and soften it.

Shinta got to her feet and began massaging his shoulders. "Does Cat know about these headaches of yours?"

"No" he closed his eyes. "She's got better things to be doing" he said quietly.

She massaged him gently. "You are pretty tense, how long have you been getting these headaches, are they getting worse?"

"I dunno a couple of weeks maybe. They'll be gone when I get my life back together."

"Have it checked in medical anyway, you are probably right yet it doesn't hurt to be careful."

His silence indicated he had no intention of going to see the doctor. He opened an eye for a second then smirked as Shinta dug further into his shoulders.

"I recovered one of your shoes from the other night"

"You really think you can change the subject by trying to make me feel embarrassed." She chuckled. "I will give you until our next appointment to see a doctor, otherwise I am going to help you make one."

Imanol looked up at her but could only see her hair dangling down.

"why be embarrassed, its nice to see there are still some life signs in Starfleet, it has a tendency to squeeze the life out of its people"

"I told you before I'm not falling for your teasing." Shinta said in a calm tone of voice, although inside she didn't feel calm.

"anyway you should be happy! you showed that Rogue girl how they shake it up in counseling" he chuckled but quicky frowned as he remebered what he had been up to at the same time.

"Eh yes." She had no idea what exactly he was talking about. The evening was a little bit hazy.

Imanol patted Shintas hand and stood up, rolling his head and neck.

"Bring that dithery husband of yours over some night for dinner, I'll try to get some time in the Cantina galley." he said remembering the promise Zaphod had made him earlier in the week.

"You will cook for us this time? That's nice." She smiled. "I will give you one bit of advise, of course I will tell James nothing about your headaches. Yet he will probably pick up on them even sooner than I. So it's best if you make an appointment before our dinner date."

"Alright. House rules though; No shrinking and no doctoring, okay?" he said as he ambled to the door. "you Bajorans better like Garlic".

"I do, I am not sure about James though. We will see. And we will abide by your rules if you make that appointment. " Grinning she let him go.

~Christ if she is'nt messing with your head shes trying to get someone to mess with you body... I wonder what she thinks of chilli peppers~

*WARNING: SPOILERS for Spiderman 2. Don't read if you haven't seen and you care about finding out little things in the movie.*

**Backpost**

"With Great Power"

Ensign T'Pol (8-ball) Hunter

When 8-ball discovered she had been saddled with a new roommate, she had been a little worried. After all, 8-ball's had never had good luck with roommates. 8-ball's roomate at the Academy had hated her. Of course, she was also one of those people who thought that real girls didn't drink, swear, or have sex before marriage, so she and 8-ball didn't exactly click. For some reason, a lot of people just didn't seem to click with 8-ball. She wondered why.

But the new roommate, Roxy, wasn't so terrible. She didn't mind drinking or sex before marriage, and she didn't believe a sentence was complete without a swear word in it. She wasn't a fan of Celine Dion music like 8-ball's last roomate on Galaxy and she could recognize when 8-ball was going to have a temper tantrum and leave her alone, for the most part. But the one, somewhat annoying thing about Roxy was that she had a fascination with ancient Terran culture, particularly involving old films and music, and felt the need to spread that fascination with everyone in her path.

Last week it had been Pulp Fiction and that had been pretty neat. 8-ball had particularly enjoyed the quoting of the bible before killing people. That was fun. The week before it was Shakespeare in Love, and if that wasn't the fucking lamest movie 8-ball had ever watched, she didn't know what was. Today it was Spiderman 2. Ah, the joys of rooming with someone with eclectic tastes.

Roxy passed the popcorn to 8-ball as she watched Peter Parker talk to his Uncle Ben in his dream. Roxy said that a movie wasn't the same without popcorn and 8-ball agreed. A movie was never the same without annoying, addicting snack food getting stuck between your teeth.

"With great power comes great responsibility," Uncle Ben was saying to Peter.

~Well, there's a man who's never had any fun~ 8-ball thought. "Oh come on, Peter, you can say it," 8-ball told the screen. "Just say, 'Eat me, Uncle Ben. You're dead already. Stop taking up my screen time."

Roxy snorted. "You're missing out on the fucking sensitivity of the scene."

"Sensitivity my ass. What kind of lame ass line is that anyway? With great power comes great responsibility. Uncle Ben has obviously never been a politician."

"Just shut up and watch the fucking movie, 8-ball," Roxy said and 8-ball did until Mary Jane blew Peter off again after he had decided not to be Spiderman ever again.

"Jesus, what is with this guy? His girl hates him, his friend hates him, he gets fired from one job and fired off and on from the other one, he's doing badly in school, he has to tell his aunt about what really happened to his uncle, his aunt is getting evicted, he has no money. . .Christ, why doesn't he just kill himself and be done without it?"

"8-ball!"

"Well, really! How much more angst can they put on this guy? Most people think about killing themselves over stupid stuff, like they broke up with their boyfriend or they couldn't find the right shoes or something. One or two tragedies in life is enough. You really don't need sixty different examples on how much your life sucks to get the point across."

"Well, he's Spiderman. He's supposed to deal with more shit than we do. That's the whole point of the power and responsibility line."

"And I still think Peter just needs to tell the ghost of Uncle Ben to take his responsibility and shove it up his ass," 8-ball argued. "You don't see Uncle Ben doing anything of momentous importance. You don't see Uncle Ben flying around, trying to save people."

"Well, for one, Uncle Ben wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider. For another, Uncle Ben's fucking dead."

"Excuses, excuses."

"Oh, for fucksake, 8-ball, just watch the movie."

8-ball turned to the screen for half a minute. Then she turned back. "Well, I mean, think about it, Roxy. If you got a bunch of nifty powers and could be a human spider and jump around and be cool, would you really waste your time saving people from getting hit by cars? Wouldn't you be spending your time getting rich and buying expensive, pretty things?"

"They covered all that in the first movie. Peter does all that but then Uncle Ben dies and Peter feels responsible and his responsibility spreads to all the other innocent civilians and blah blah blah."

"Well, that's stupid. No person, no matter how cool, could be responsible for everyone. No one can fix everything. We're watching a movie about Spiderman, not God."

"Must you fucking analyze EVERYTHING?" Roxy demanded. "Can you not just watch a movie and enjoy the pure fun of it?"

"Not when it's stupid."

Roxy hit herself in the forehead.

"I'm just saying there's all this pressure on Peter and there shouldn't be. If anyone REAL was going through all this trauma, they'd snap. With great power comes great insanity. That should be the tagline for this movie."

"You'd make a terrible superhero."

"Probably," 8-ball said. "But I don't think anyone would make a good superhero. No one's really this brave. Anyone who buys in to Uncle Ben's spiel is just another schmuck who dreams about saving the world but never would even if he could somehow because when it really comes down to it, people choose their own needs over other people's every time. People aren't meant to be heroes. It's not in their blood."

Roxy rolled her eyes. "You're saying there's no such thing as heroes?"

8-ball shrugged. "I've never met one."

Roxy shook her head. "This is what happens when you overanalyze. The world becomes the fucking gloomiest shitpile ever created. That's why you aren't happy with anything. You overanalyze ever little bitty thing. You think so much you're brain is on overload" Roxy laughed. "You can throw every temper tantrum in the world, 8-ball. You can't change the fact that you're part Vulcan."

Without a second thought, 8-ball snapped up from her sitting position and backhanded Roxy in the face. Roxy fell backwards and the popcorn flew everywhere. "Don't call me that," 8-ball said, glaring at where Roxy now lay, covered in little buttered kernels. "Don't ever call me that."

Roxy shrugged. "Okay, but you're ears aren't going to suddenly change shape just because you've got this mantra, 'I hate Vulcans'. It doesn't matter what I say. You can't change what you are."

8-ball abruptly got up and left the quarters. Roxy sighed, started to put the popcorn back in the bowl, and watched Spiderman save the day.

Maybe this roommate thing wasn't going to work out so well after all.

Lieutenant Commander Rayna O'Grady
Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy

"Under the Shadow of Aphrodite"

== Tyrone Howe's. Deck 20, USS Miranda ==

Imanol took Rayna to his sanctuary. Tyrone's was a small cafe located just off the Miranda's Arboretum. It was a world away from starfleet and stargazers, it was a little piece of Eden on a hard lump of Stafleet metal. Tyrone was an ex-mercenary but more importantly a botanist and publican. The Australian ex patriot had been on Miranda since its inception and very few knew him personally. He preferred it that way as did most who wandered his direction.

He lead Rayna and Imanol to the Atrium where a number of tables lay vacant, a welcoming sight for Imanol. The holoemiters produced a blue sky above their heads, thick cumulous clouds shifted in the wind while an artificial sun split the limestone pavement below. Their table lay in the shade of a tall granite fountain, Aphrodite. The Greek goddess of love, beauty and fertility toward over them as if to say 'Welcome to my Realm.' Sparrows and Kingfishers sang their welcomes as they fluttered in the artificial breeze. A babbling brook littered with water nymphs and manna grass chattered in the distance. A Tablinum of Roman mosaics sat proudly at the entrance to the sanctuary. It was a little piece of Eden all right.

Tyrone sat two coffees in front of them and left just as softly as he approached. The two sat in silence for some moments, afterall that was what this place was for. Quiet reflection.

Rayna stared into her coffee, a bad habit that she seemed to pick up. She poured some cream into her coffee, then sugar, then more cream and more sugar until it was really creamy sweet. She took a drink, sipping the hot coffee that was once black in her cup...another bad habit she picked up from trying not to fall asleep. Sleep for her was still a road to nightmares. Shinta and her husband were still working on that aspect in her life, "Thanks for the coffee."

Imanol felt quite relaxed in O'Grady's company. She was with her thoughts and he with his. An awkward silence for some but their minds were too busy to notice.

"Your welcome" he replied, his face more relaxed than it had been for quite some time. He pondered over his latest episode at the Hazard center and whether he'd be able to face another month of inactivity. Being stuck on a starship was bad enough for the claustrophobic French man but having to do the jobs of a cadet was just degrading and served no real purpose other than to consolidate T'Chani and Hammond's positions. He was angry for sure. He looked to his companion to take his mind away from it all.

"What's on your mind Rayna?"

"Everything." Her mind was always going, "I can't stop wondering about my husband. I don't know if he is hurt, being held captive anywhere or stuck in that other universe. I just don't have any closure. I can't move forward with my life until I know for sure that he is never coming back. I mean, how long do I wait before I give up on him ever returning?"

"I wish I had the answers."

Loss, the taboo subject of Imanol Harinordoquys life. He once lost his parents and brother in the same day, since then he has never been remotely the same person. He's spent seven years running from what happened for facing it was the most feared thing in the universe.

"Maybe you should take Nikki and go away for a while. Travel, see things you'd normally never be able to see. When you come back you'll be fresh. A starship is a cold place when there's no one sleeping next to you."

"Actually, I have twins too, Gillian and Miles. I really don't want to travel, not with three kids. Besides, I have to remain here incase Arel has her baby." The word baby made her cringe. She lost hers and it bothered her to even think about it. In fact, it hurt very much to think about it. She'd drown her problems later.

A single mother with three kids. At least from what he heard Nikki was old enough to share some of the burden but, God that was rough. Imanol had to feel for her, and the children, Nikki and those twins had just lost a father at critical ages. Damn rough.

"How is Nikki doing?" he asked concerned.

Rayna shrugged, "Nikki is Nikki. She is very self-efficient. I kind of raised her that way. I think what is hard for her is that she has now lost two dads, not just one."

Imanol rested his chin in this hand as he listened to her. ~What a mess~

"If you done mind me asking, what happened to her first father?" He didn't want to unearth any more painful memories, he just hoped to understand her better.

"Long story but I'll give you the condensed version. How can I put this? Oh yeah, I was sexually assaulted by her father and Nikki is the result of it. Later, he was arrested, then let go. He came back to claim me or kill me, we haven't figured that one out. My husband and him fought, he lost, Mike won and the rest is history."

~Talk about putting your foot in it~ Imanols eyes looked more surprised then the rest of him, but it was fair to say that he was taken aback. He lined up something to say then completely forgot what it was and for a few moments they just stared at each other. ~How old was Nikki? Rayna must have been at the academy~ "I cant tell you how sorry I am to hear that." Imanol clenched his fist below the table.

"But all that's history as you say" ~so what? What difference does that make? You still have to relive it all over again~

He looked at her eyes, they were tired and sad. "Just because its done doesn't mean its over, they don't let us off that easy." He thought momentarily of his brother then tried hard to get the image from his head. All it took was one thought or picture for all those memories to flow back.

"Sounds like your Mike loved you a great deal," he said placing his hand delicately on hers. He smirked slightly as a small butterfly landed in the edge of Rayna's glass and fluttered away just as quick, he looked up at Rayna, she didn't even notice.

"Yeah, he was. You don't find too many of him any more. Not many men would take on an instant family with all the baggage Nikki and me came with. He helped me get through a lot." She was really feeling depressed and missed him dearly.

"I know what its like to lose someone who means the world to you but it wouldn't be right to compare them." He paused in thought. " Some people cry and some people die by the wicked ways of love; But I'll just keep on rollin' along with the grace of the Lord above."

He smiled at her, "A little Led Zeppelin for you, an English band from the twenty-first century. He smiled again, "So if you wake up with the sunrise, and all your dreams are still as new, and happiness is what you need so bad, girl, the answer lies with you."

She shook her head, "Well, if the answer lies with me, I don't where it went. I think I misplaced it somewhere."

He rose to his feet and took Rayna by the hand. "Come, let's walk this place, it's too nice to just ignore."

She followed him. Her and Mike used to go to the Arboretum when they wanted to be alone or get away from the normal crowd. Rayna hadn't been there since Mike disappeared.

They passed under the shadow created by the Aphrodite. To Imanol it seemed the goddess had her work cut out for her, one of her flock was straying and there wasn't much any mortal could do about it.

Kit's Arrival

Petty Officer Kit Oshagoold

There was something, she had decided and believed more and more the closer the shuttle got the ship, truly magical about everything that was happening. Only a week before she had been waist deep in the warp overflow containment system for a cargo ship. A cargo ship that had probably in Federation service longer then her father had been alive and now she was here, in a shuttle moving toward one of the most advanced ships in the Federation fleet. Her large brown eyes widened as she looked out the large forward windows of the shuttle, taking in all of the Pathfinder's long lines. While she watched as it grew closer her breath caught in her mouth, seeing the machine's lines were not without grace and care. While part of her told her that not everyone saw it as she did for Kit the lines of the USS Miranda and the ship itself were beautiful. This was not just a ship to Kit; it was a symbol of engineering, of adventure, of new horizons and of new freedom. The shuttle moved slowly into the shuttle bay, Kit stood with her single bag by the hatch. Once the ship was inside and the field raised the door opened to the shuttle bay; Kit fought back the urge to jump out of the shuttle and run into the ship, running down its corridors and exploring its halls. Had she not been in uniform she might well have done it but as she was it would probably look bad, an engineering officer bounding down the halls of a starship like an excited little girl in a toy store.

So here she was, the dream of being on a starship had finally come true and part of her almost didnt know what to do. She supposed this is what it was like when people finally won the sport they put their lives into or finished the story they had spent their lives telling. It was a fantastic feeling but with it came a slight pang of regret and depression. While Kit was ecstatic to be here part of her felt the sorrow of knowing the dream that she had dreamed would no longer be there for her to strive for. Pushing that thought out of her head Kit made her way through the corridors of the immense ship. There was no sense in feeling down over it, dreaming it was over but only because living it had begun. Kit grimaced suddenly thinking about how corny that sounded. Ok, forget the talking myself into feeling anything I am not, I'll just enjoy this. Now that felt more like her, much less corny anyway.

Kit stepped inside the turbo lift, the doors whooshing shut once she was inside. She paused a moment then in a soft voice showing most of its youth said "Deck twenty seven." Kit had heard other officers on Neptune station talk about getting lost in the corridors of ships while trying to find their quarters. The thought of getting lost was completely alien to Kit, she had downloaded maps of the ship during her trip over and had been going over them since. She easily found her way to her quarters and walked in, now she was home.

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