"Confusion"

Commander Navarre Shinta
Chief Counselor

Lt. Commander T'Chani Darion
Hazard Team CO

Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy
Hazard Nine

-----

Shinta had asked both Imanol and T'Chani to come to her office for this chat. She hoped she could sort things out between them. Shinta realised that T'Chani might in part be so tough on him because of her own insecurities. And that was something she could not tell Imanol, it did not make things easier.

T'Chani had arrived early for the meeting with Shinta and Imanol. Part of her wondered why the Counselor wanted to see both of them together, yet the basic reason behind the request didn't escape her attention either. She'd take things one step at a time.

Imanol entered the Counselours office and took the seat next to T'Chani. "Commander's." he said nodding to the two woman as he sat down in the leather chair. The man was extremely appehensive at the thought of having to air his problems with them, especially with T'Chani, a woman he was trying to impress not antagonise. He was'nt used to this kind of situation. Imanol waited for Shinta to kick start the conversation. The sooner it started the sooner it ended. Every minute spent in the Counselors office was a minute dreaded.

Shinta hoped he would be able to keep his temper today. "Good morning, I have asked you both here to talk about Imanol and his work. Or rather I hope you guys can talk to each other about it without much interference from me. Imanol, do you want to tell your boss what you would like?"

~ well thanks Shinta! no sugar coating or nothing.. ~

"Thank you Shinta." He turned to T'Chani reluctantly and focused in on her deep blue eyes.

"Shinta suggested that I air my frustrations with you as a form of therapy. There is a lot of anger inside me at the moment and part of it comes from not having an outlet. The work Im doing now is degrading and does nothing to feed my energy, my talents or my nerves. Its come to a point where Im trying very hard to see why Im still here on this ship."

He glanced over at Shinta, then refocused on T'Chani.

Shinta gave him a slight nod telling him he was doing fine.

"So you're questioning my wisdom on how to deal with this situation?" T'Chani asked Imanol calmly, "Perhaps I have my reasons for the tasks and yes while they aren't the most entertaining at times they certainly were never meant to be degrading. Keep in mind they are things that have to be done whether or not someone specific is assigned to them. Many times even I find myself handling such tasks and some were specifically designed as a test. If circumstances were reversed what would you do? Also I can tell you are trying your very best to keep your temper in check. How do you think that will affect your overall performance if that were to get out of hand?"

Shinta debated with herself if she should intervene or not, finally decided to give it a little longer. It would be best if they worked it out together.

"Im not questioning your wisdom or your reasons, I just feel its about time I had a little say on the small matter of my career. We all know what the addiction did to me but for the last few months all reports from Shinta, Brex and Cat have been generous and conclusive. Im more than ready to be back in action. Im angry because I dont feel like you've given me an opportunity to show you that I am ready. While Im aware we all have to do those mundane jobs I just can see how me having to do them week in week out, for months on end is testing my abilities. I doubt it would be a requirement in the heat of battle"

He paused a moment but spoke again before T'Chani could get in a reply.

"As for my temper, when did you last work with a soldier who had'nt one? I've learned to channel it into my work over the years. When Im working properly my temper works to my advantage, when im not working there is no need to have one at all. Its only now because im in this limbo that I have to concentrate on not boiling over. I hav'nt been in this situation before and there is no where to vent properly. Ive either have my work or I dont, no in between." Imanol did feel overly aggressive and even emotional the last few weeks but he attributed it to his work.

T'Chani knew his points were valid even though she had a point of her own to make. "Then why are we having this conversation in the Head Counselor's office?"

Before Imanol or Shinta could answer she continued, "Why didn't you just come to me and request to be reinstated. I'm not stupid I know your career is at stake here. Besides if you'd just asked more than likely you'd already be well on your way to working more interesting things. Taking initiative and asking the hard questions is part of leadership. Yes I have my reasons for things but I'm not totally inflexible. Out there I need my people at 110% all the time. We're being sent into who knows what and I can't have my team afraid to talk to me. I don't see why you felt you couldn't on this matter. Things were reaching a point where I was about initiate this conversation in my office myself, but I'd been waiting to see if you would first. Talk to Major Shaw about changing your duty related tasks."

"T'Chani that is entirely my fault." Shinta said. "I suggested it, Imanol wanted to talk to you alone. You know this is a large part of my job, many crewmen and officers select to talk with me present."

Her gaze shifted to Imanol, yet T'Chani didn't respond. Waiting to see what her Hazard Team officer had to say. If he really was afraid to confront her then there were other issues that needed to be dealt with.

Imanol could'nt for the moment look at either of them. Shinta who had convinced him to do the three-way meeting was finally living up to the shrink stereotype (causing more problems than they solved), it was how they secured work. How could he have been so needfull as to trust a shrink?? There was a reason he hated them, he just had forgotten why.

He finally turned to T'Chani, pretty disheartened.

"your absolutley right, there is no reason I could'nt come and talk to you alone." It really was'nt like him, he put his hand to his head to try and soften the migraine.

"Guys, you are making a big deal out of nothing. Imanol did the right thing, for people in his position its standard practice to have the counselor present. It also part of my job to observe how you people interact. If either of you has a problem with it, I do apologise."

T'Chani met Shinta's gaze, "I don't have a problem with it. My only concern is making sure he feels as if he can come talk to me. Communication is vital for the Hazard Team to function as it does. Beyond that I still expect Imanol to follow your assesment and Cat's. While I can deal with getting his duty assignments changed I can't fix the mental or physical components of what this experience has done to him."

This was something better discussed with T'Chani in private. Imanol did not know that his boss was a patient of Shinta's as well. "I can tell you that I think he is ready for some more responsibility."

This wasn't the place to say everything she wanted to say, "I've given him the go ahead for that. Major Shaw is handling those assignments." T'Chani wasn't upset by Shinta's intervention but she did want to discuss that at a later time with the Counselor.

"So is everything cleared up now?" Shinta asked knowing very well she would have to talk to them both separately after this.

Imanol did'nt even bother to look up. The little meeting did nothing to reassure him, infact it did quite the opposite. Now T'Chani was'nt sure if he was confident enough to talk to her. ~What was I thinking bringing Shinta into this~ he thought, eyes piercing a hole through the floor. His head was still pounding and he just wanted to get out of the room. Sure he'd talk to Shaw but he'd have to talk with his C.O again first, alone. ~when this headache was gone~

T'Chani simply nodded. Things were confused enough she didn't need to make them any worse.

"Baptism By Fire, Part II"

Doctor Mark Mnementh, Ensign--Medical Officer
Doctor Felicia (Cat) Khatroweena, Commander - CMO

[Sickbay, USS Miranda NCC 77000-B]

"Assignment, yes well...with leave cut a bit short, I'm not quite up with the paperwork I should be." Cat smiled. "Our Chief Engineer has a theory about the mating habits of padds. I'm one to agree with her assesment. No-one ever comes in here, but the padds seem to increase in number. But I digress. As the new guy on the ship, you'll be assigned Delta, oh two thirty to oh nine thirty. The extra hour is because I want my people to be up to speed before they start their shift and to get the next shift up to speed on what happened when they leave."

"Excellent! At that hour, there probably won't be much going on and I should have time for continuing my research."

"Well I don't know about that.you'd be surprised how many night owls we have aboard the Miranda, and they're always finding creative ways to require medical attention; but I suppose, in general, Delta shift is a little quieter." Cat smiled. "What is the nature of your research, Mark?"

"Nanotechnology. One of the projects I'm working on right now is the application of nanites in microsurgery. We learned a lot about Borg nanoprobes when Seven of Nine came back from the Delta quadrant. We already knew they we're highly adaptive, and with study and modification of their programming, I believe there's potential there for new adaptive medical techniques."

"Don't tell me you've brought live Borg nanoprobes on board the Miranda?" Cat responded, slightly alarmed.

"Oh no. I'm not researching the nanoprobes.that would be kind of redundant after Seven of Nine filed detailed reports about all that she has learned."

"OK. As a geneticist, I'd be very interested in your results. Keep me updated on your findings.not just from my own sense of professional interest, but I rather not be surprised about a swarm of nanites going around eating the hull."

"That's not an issue. I'm well-versed in the proper protocols. No nanites will be running amok aboard the Miranda."

"Good, the lab has facilities to store and program nanotech. I'll set protocols for access."

Mark smiled. "Cat, I've already gone over some of the medical staff roster on the PADD that Steve gave me. Will I be working with Doctor Love, or will it be my shift to run?"

"It will be your shift to run as you want. I'm a believer in total responsibility, which means I don't micromanage, but I do expect that you keep me up to date on anything that could effect the health of this crew."

"Absolutely. That should be pretty easy anyway since our shifts will overlap. That extra hour will give me plenty of time to update you on anything unusual that could effect the crew's health and file a full shift report. And of course, I assume that if a real emergency arises on my watch I'd be calling you anyway."

Cat smiled and nodded as she stood up and moved out from behind the desk, "Well, time for the five creds cook's tour."

"I'm ready. I understand the Pathfinder Class has all the bells and whistles."

"She does!" Cat emphatically affirmed. The obvious pride she felt in the Miranda and the ship's capabilities was clear in the enthusiastic tone in her voice.

"This is the primary Sickbay, with the secondary and tertiary bays usually on standby. When the ship goes multi-vector they come on-line. In combat with the ship together, they get used as aid-stations. Right now, they are manned alpha and beta, by a med tech or a nurse to act as dispensaries if needed, for non-scheduled medications."

We moved out into the small corridor that led to Cat's office and onto the ward. "Main Ward, used as primarily a simple consultancy. In crisis situations, it is our primary treatment area." Cat pointed over to a couple of double doors on a wide corridor, "They lead to the other two secondary wards and the private rooms and quarantine areas. Next to it is the duty nurse's desk, there is always a nurse assigned to that desk, with direct comms to me. We have an operations repeater in the desk. In a combat situation or the like, we get real time updates on what is happening to the ship. Knowing that a torpedo has hit the lower levels of Engineering means we have got those few extra seconds to be ready when the casualties start coming in."

Moving over to a three quarter circular area, about the size of a transporter pad, I saw the arrangement of medical equipment and meds all labeled and accessiable on the outer arc. "Transporter Foyer."

Cat shook her head, "I have been trying to convince Frisco to make this a part of every ship. Most emergency beam ins are to the main wards. If you have an emergency, you don't want that taking up room. This area has it's own sensors and emitters and pattern buffer, for safer transfer. It is controlled by the ship's main computer from the nurse's station. That is only done in emergency situations, mostly transport is done by a duty transporter chief. In combat or high power usage situations, it isn't used, except for extreme emergencies."

"That's awesome. Is it site-to-site enabled, or is it just used to beam the wounded up from a planet's surface?"

"While it is for primarily from surface, it is used Site to Site and that is what it has been used for primarily up to now... We have two EMHs," Cat began. I noticed that she sighed at the mention of the holographic doctors, "Doctor Love as you have already mentioned, and I would suggest that if you don't want to be continually informed on how to 'impress girls' or the like, you might want to keep him deactivated."

I chuckled. The thought of an EMH giving out advice like an old Earth gossip columnist was highly amusing. That it would feel the need to give me advice about my sex life was doubly amusing. I had never had any problems finding a partner. But perhaps I could use a few ideas as to how to find a permanent one? It might be fun chatting with Dr. Love sometime.

"We have a second mobile EMH system," Cat continued. "A field holographic system, this one is in implementation and is being tested."

"What is there to test? Voyager had an operative model that was fully capable of moving anywhere on the ship and able to go on away missions with its mobile emitter."

"A lot, while I've been informed that all of it's systems are in good order. I've watching over the personality matrix. Plus the Voyager EMH had a mobile emitter from the future if the accounts are to believed, this one has been built here, when it comes to people's health, I like to be very careful. Through here, we have the main bio-assay labs and theraputic areas..."

[Medical Emergency - There has been an accident in the Gamma Ray Observatory]

I turned to look at Cat who had turned to look at the nurse's desk. She nodded to Cat, who led me back to the transporter. The nurse called out, "Radiation burn, only slightly crispy. Person is unconscious, Andorian male.

OOC - It was forgotten, I think, in the closing of the last mission, but Daniel and the Geology Department discovered neolithium, that magic Warp 10 inducing material, in asteroid Bob. It was, um, a thing with the politics and the blahblah, in case anyone was curious about the brief mention. Doesn't really matter.

~Cycling Back Down~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Lt. Daniel Scarborough

Daniel yawned, wiping away the sleep that still seemed to be collecting in his eyes. It was 05:15 hours, he had woken about half an hour earlier to shower and dress. Four, what an ungodly hour that was. He hadn't had to wake up that early since his first assignment as a sensor monitor on the Yorktown's delta shift over ten years ago. It was his own fault, though, he remembered, calming the internal whining before it began. He didn't have to wake up this early, he could have abused some other poor monitor, like he often was when he held that position; someone else could have down these scans.

But where would the fun be in that? Besides, it wasn't often he could scan a nuclear degenerate neutron star, and the sight was really half the fun. Nuetron stars were gorgeous, in all the wavebands, not just visual, and especially through a blue-hued subspace gravimetric tensometer, where they often resembled radient whirlpools. The Galaxy was at warp, along with the Miranda, towards some secretive mission in Breen territory, though he hadn't officially been told that. Federation navigation routes were not hard to decipher. They wouldn't be allowed to stop to satisfy Daniel's curioiusity, he would only be able to grab a few snapshots in a four-thirds minute interval zooming by at warp seven. He wondered if anyone on the Miranda was attempting to do the same thing, perhaps they could work on a cooperative paper.

He stopped before the large doors leading to the Astrometrics lab, the sensor nexus of the USS Galaxy. His hand reached out, tapping the entrance code into the input terminal on door frame, commanding the large doors to open. There was someone inside, as expected, there was at least one sensor monitor posted here at all times, but the regular youth wasn't here. Instead, Daniel's superior stood before the large forward view screen, his white wings folded to the sides, eclipsing a large part of the screen.

"Cutter?" Daniel asked, having learned long ago the Fruna'lin's distaste for rank. "Uh... why, uh, um, why are you, uh, here?"

There was no immediate answer, Daniel could see through the dim lighting Cutter's arm moving over the screen which was blanketed in numerals and graphs. Finally, he spoke, "I'm working."

Daniel sighed, a slight feeling of dread filling him, knowing that something was wrong again. Another, more selfish part realized that he would probably miss his scan session. "Have, uh, have you, um, taken a break since yesterday morning?"

Another pause as he continued to work before he replied, speaking to the screen rather than Daniel behind him, "Its only been a few hours since my shift ended."

"Um, its been, um, fifteen." This got no response. Daniel slowly climbed the steps to the forward platform, moving next to Cutter. "I, uh, I think, um, you should, um, y-you, er, um, take a break?"

"I'm fine." Cutter's again refused to break from the screen.

Several moments went by in silence as Daniel watched the digital manipulation of information before him. "Is, uh, um, this is, uh, the, um, your Gryphon project?"

"Yes."

Daniel frowned, studying the winged alien, unable to fully understand his mindset. His eye twitched, causing the brimming question to drop; he rubbed it with the back of his wrist. "What is, um .... what is it again," he asked, his hand jerking awkwardly towards the large display.

Cutter sighed heavily before explaining, expressing his irritation, "I'm testing various formation models, seeking to explain the lack of planet formation in the system, despite the abundance--"

AH-CHOO!

The interruption caused Cutter to slowly glower at the human, the first time he looked at Daniel since he entered. "Sorry," he said, holding a nostril shut with a knuckle.

"Despite the abundance of heavy metals," Cutter continued, "I'm taking Sullivan's discovery of neolithium into account, which looks to be the solution to the problem, though I have to revise all the known models to include it."

"Ah." Several more moments. "Is, um, is there, um, uh, some sort of, um, rush for this?"

"It needs to be done."

"Why tonight?"

No answer. Daniel breathed in heavily, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his short hair. He was debating with himself how to broach the subject. "Um, Cutter? Is, uh, is there, um, something the matter?" he finally asked bluntly.

"No." The answer was quick, irascibility sparking from the single syllable.

Yes there was, obviously. "You, um....Cutter, you always, um, everytime you work, um, like this, uh, all day, without, uh, without breaks, it means there's," he paused symbolically pulling the words out with his hand, "There's something wrong."

"There has to be something the matter with me in order to work?"

"Yes. Like this, yes."

Cutter did not respond save for another heavy sigh. He continued to work and Daniel granted him respite. After some time, he spoke, "There was a staff meeting today."

"Oh? How, um, how did it, uh, go?" Daniel asked, his voice lighter, lifted by new curiousity.

"I don't know. I was not asked to attend." As Cutter admitted this, his hand began to type faster on the screen.

"Wha, uh, um, well, maybe they, uh, they didn't scientific advice. Who, uh, who attended?"

"The head of every ship department and top command and diplomatic officers from both the Galaxy and the Miranda. Including James Mitchell," Cutter explained, his voicy like scratching ice.

"Oh. Well, he's, um, your senior, right? He was, um, on the Galaxy. He's a biologist?"

"He's a ka thekik chanit," Cutter spat.

"Oh. Uh, uh, well, I, um, uh, okay. Don't like him, I see. Well, um, we are, um, uh, he-heading for Breen, um, Breen territory, maybe he, uh, he has, uh, maybe he's an expert, um, on them," Daniel offered.

"No. I looked. Only one publication referencing the species. He studies a species called the T'Kith'kin. I'm a planetary system scientist, one of the Federation's leading authorities on planetary dynamics, but I suppose they did not require any information concerning the system we are venturing into."

Daniel was taken aback. Though Cutter was justified in his claim, Daniel had never known him to brag. About anything. Bragging was a plea, his culture believed, for social acceptance and verification.

"Did you come in here for a reason Daniel," Cutter asked, addressing him with his actual name rather than the common diminutive 'Danu,' "Or did you just happen by?"

"Oh, I, uh, I was going to, um... There's a, uh, a, uh, neutron star I, uh, wanted to scan," he explained, pushing against a curious pressure in his nose.

"Then perhaps you should get to wo--"

AH-CHOO!

Cutter didn't finish the word. He stood tense for a moment, before sighing and adjusting his ruffled feathers, a muscle movement sending a small tightening wave down his white wings. Again he glared at Daniel, only the second acknowledgment with his eyes.

"Thorry," Daniel mumbled blocking his nose with his fingers. He waited a moment as Cutter continued his work, but sensing that he had opened as far as he was going to, Daniel resigned himself from prodding any further. He moved back to the primary console, still a few moments away from the target star and began to quietly set up his scans.

Chad Vicenik
Caberation@aol.com
Lt. Cutter Kara'nin
Arkedi Nitel'rajek
USS Galaxy

"The Romulan Connection"

By
Sub Centurion Atole Tekri

Location: USS Galaxy, Ambassador Omar's office.

Behind two stern faced, serious guards, was the doors to the most secretive part of the USS Galaxy.

Not that it was secretive on Starfleet's part. Romulan nature was that of paranoia, suspicion, and caution. A society rife with so much subterfuge, deception, fear and power that caution has become a sort of instinct. Known problems were potential threats; unknown problems were threats not yet encountered but seen ahead of time. Plans within plans always interwoven to failsafe each other and catch the unprepared. From a race who shunned the anti-matter drive because it was 'unsafe', this was all normal behaviour.

To counteract such paranoia, one had to prove their loyalty and prove it often. It was the state, the senate that held this power. A somewhat democratic process, though in reality plagued with one party rule up until the Reman insurrection. Senate policy dictated everything in Romulan life. The way they voted, the way they spent their times, their art, and the direction of society in general. All well controlled by the senate.

Those the Romulan society could not control or keep under wraps were either changed into something more palatable by Rihannsu society... or eliminated. For this, the government had many tools, from the loyal citizen, their vast and powerful military, to their allies from many vassal planets.

But the most feared was their intelligence agency, the Tal'Shiar.

The Tal'Shiar specialized in political control, acting as the Senate's commisariat. Eliminating individuals who opposed the state and their policies was a talent their agency cultivated well. Wherever there was a Vulcan reunification sympathizer, a separatist, or a disgruntled population of vassals, there was a Tal'Shiar always keeping a watchful eye. When the time came that the target was too powerful, a more extreme and discreet method was needed.

Atole Tekri, Sub Centurion and diplomatic attaché to Ambassador Ramir Omar, was one of those watchful eyes. Sent months earlier, her task was to implant herself in the Galaxy, do her diplomatic tasks, and wait for the proper time to prevent a rather dangerous threat to the state.

It was her first assignment. Not that she had a choice. The Tal'Shiar had been depleted during their failed attempt to behead The Dominion and destroy The Founder's homeworld. The ranks of Tal'Shiar left over were purged, akin to the Terran nation state of the Soviet Union during the 1930's. The very few experienced agents and leaders left over were far from enough to do the task of keeping the Romulan Empire pure and loyal, and the Senate had doubts their own intelligence agency could be trusted.

Because of these events, taken place while Tekri was still in her senior year at secondary school, she became part of the new generation of Tal'Shiar soldiers. But while they proved their loyalty once again during the darkest hours of the Dominion War, Tekri was training at the war college. During the Cardassian offensive, she was in covert assassination training. She missed the war by five years, missed out on experience that could have been an asset.

So as a Tal'Shiar, Tekri was almost too green for her assignment. But then again, the Tal'Shiar had very little to work with in the post Dominion War period. They had to make do, and so did she.

Flung outside her empire, alone in her mission and surrounded by potential enemies, in the starship of a race whom decades before were archrivals, Tekri considered her mission a proving ground to show what she was capable of.

But as the months passed, she found that the mission was not that easy.

Technologically, a Federation starship was as sophisticated as Valdore ships of the line. Their computer technology was the best in the quadrant by her reckoning, and so was their encryption sequences. What would take months for a Tal'Shiar codebreaking team to conquer was expected of Tekri to bypass in mere weeks, and her specialty was assassination, not hacking into alien computer systems. Without access to the computers and its information, not to mention codes to get into restricted areas, it was more difficult to do her mission.

Humans were a worthy lot to face. Their decadent, soft veneer hid behind them a guile and toughness she didn't anticipate. Humans were intelligent, adaptable and innovative, and worse, they were so damn nice about it! Federation citizens (mostly human on the Galaxy) were such a contradiction. Soft and strong. Kind yet standoffish. Adjusting to a crew that naturally didn't trust her hampered her ability to work and gather information.

One of the crew was close to her, as far as she could tell. The Chief of Security was a valuable ally, one she almost lost due to her concerns about him. His cunning was admirable, but manipulating him was a chore. He appeared to enjoy her company, but as with most humans' appearances, there was an indefinable surprise behind his back; the likely culprit was the paranoia invoked by two hundred years of shadow conflict.

There was one time when James Corgan was honest to a fault. The curious young human resisted her feminine charms, and even took the offensive in their little game of mental checkers, but eventually opened up to Tekri's persistence. For a human, he was brutally honest, artistic, kindly, and willing to give anyone, even a Romulan, a chance. It was human naivety up front. But when faced with alcohol, a near shootout, and probing questions even she couldn't ignore, Tekri knew there was more to Corgan than a silly officer with an alien fetish.

Corgan was odd, for a human.

Odd and enticing. A man that always gave and rarely asked. One who didn't take advantage of her, for survival or for sex. Tekri couldn't help but feel guilt for trying to use the Chief of Security to her own ends. In most circumstances, she would treat their relationship more seriously, and not as a means to an end.

As the saying went in the Tal'Shiar, loyalty was more effective than a cold shower. She had a mission.

The obstacles, however low in number, were insurmountable. The computers were a solid wall. Her progress on the Chief of Security was frustratingly slow. Gaining the access and information she needed from James Corgan was even more difficult than the computers. It was his answers, guarded better than his questions, under the veil of loyalty to his vaunted Starfleet that kept a simple security access code out of her reach. Not only that, her mark could not be reached easily on this ship without the codes she needed. And without a few key implements for a discreet assassination, and good means of escape in the middle of unfriendly territory when the assassination was implemented, Tekri could do nothing. It was not cautious enough to kill yet. Tekri was taught to be cautious above all else, and that involved an infinite patience.

Tekri was still working on patience. As a cover, she was the diplomatic attaché to a fallen Senator, whom was sent to a foreign Starship to stay out of the Rihannsu Senate's way. The words 'secretary' were more adept to her role, taking down notes and doing reports for Ambassador Ramir Omar. Not a rewarding career, to be used as a scribe and as distracting visual titillation, for the Ambassador was famous for hiring only the impossibly attractive. To serve the Tal'Shiar, even using sex and seduction, was acceptable to her morality. To have someone else use her in that fashion... clearly rankled her.

Today was report day, and Ambassador Omar was demanding. Tekri was at the end of her shift, and thankful Ambassador Omar keep his lecherous leer down to a minimum. She greeted the two statue still Romulan bodyguards goodbye as she left Omar's office (both bodyguards moved only their eyes, a forgivable habit), and travelled the nearest turbolift to her quarters.

She was out of the most secretive part of the USS Galaxy, completing another day of tedious, boring work.

Atole Tekri never imagined her work for the Tal'Shiar would be like this. When she signed up during the terran year 2373, she signed up to avoid her arranged marriage between her insistent Tekri clan and the eldest son of the Sekur family. A position in the Tal'Shiar would make her untouchable, even to the moderately wealthy merchant families of Romulus. She expected a difficult transition, gruelling training, and harsh taskmasters; all more appealing than a dull life being the housewife of a rich merchant brat. After her graduation, she expected dangerous assignments, but with covers that some would see as romantic. A writer, a gardener, a military officer.

Not a secretary. Not on a Federation starship. Not with a Terran she couldn't figure out and definitely not with a fallen ambassador with a wandering eye.

She returned to her quarters, still bare and austere (a Tal'Shiar field agent didn't have much of a need for decorations). One bed, a replicator, a sonic shower (that worked remarkably well compared to Rihannsu units), and a work desk, organized by the people who moved her furniture in and left the shrink wrap for her to open. A Romulan made computer terminal and a small box were the only items originally hers. They were placed on the desk temporarily.

Between the boredom of her cover job and the frustration of her real one, Tekri decided she needed something else to occupy her mind.

~"I am going to decorate this room."~ Tekri nodded, looking scornfully at the walls. A Tal'Shiar had not much need for decorations, though want was another matter, ~"A lived in look would cause less suspicion. Look at this room... so bright. No gray or green anywhere. And that hideous shade of beige. Who designed the interior? I must do something about this place. This will not do at all. It is nothing like home..."~

*Bee-loop!*

Her ever demanding console chirruped for her attention. The custom ring indicated that it was not a message she could easily ignore. She walked over to her screen and activated it.

An audio message, displaying the symbol of the Romulan Empire.

VERY important!

"Sir." Tekri greeted, keeping it simple for privacy's sake.

"Tekri." The voice greeted back, a synthetic, monotone drone with a slight Romulan accent. Tekri already knew who it was on the other end. It was her commander, her assignment co-ordination officer. His identity was kept secret for the sake of the mission. The Tal'shiar was thorough when it came to security, so all co-ordination officers were incognito.

But this co-ordination officer Tekri knew well. Though they never meet in real life, they talked over the lines enough to know each other's personalities well. Tekri was actually glad to hear the familiar, secret voice.

"How is Romulus today?" Tekri asked.

"Monsoon in the southern continent, and the northern regions are having their first snowfalls of the season a little early this year. Other than that, all is normal. Your city is still temperate for the time being, Tekri."

Atole smiled. She liked to hear about her home in the equilateral region.

"To what is the nature of this conversation?" Tekri asked.

The monotone voice droned, "Vocal status update."

Status updates were kept brief. The less time spent communicating, the least likely the communications were traced. Already, Tekri took great pains to keep the transmission from being traced, with false signals, piggybacked on other communications channels, encrypted heavily and made to look like subspace interference, and still there was a danger of being spotted.

She kept it brief, as she was trained to do. "Status of mark ok. Some suspicion, as expected from target's psychological profile. Attempts to infiltrate systems longer than anticipated. Resorting to wetware manipulation. Resistant, but cracking."

The 'mark' was her target, whether one or plenty, and it was true. Her mark was suspicious, but as expected when a presence of a new Romulan came on board. She was having difficulty gaining access to certain levels of the Galaxy's computer, and she needed the emergency security commands to disable forcefields and open doors in case of escape.

Wetware manipulation was the most interesting part. Wetware itself was people, flesh, blood, bone and brain. Every system was as weak as the people who ran it, and if they could be manipulated to give her free access to the computers, all the encryption and security overrides in the ship could not stop her. That was where Commander Corgan, the handsome yet oddly naïve security officer, came in. Her attempts to seduce him were difficult, but working.

It was the part of the assignment she enjoyed the most. She was no prude, though her Romulan relatives may find her 'immoral'. She enjoyed sex and was not ashamed, and she was fortunate to find a person to 'wetware manipulate' that was eager to please her more than taking pleasure for himself.

"Wetware manipulation? Who?" The computer drolled.

Tekri replied, "Officer. Human. Space borne. Very handsome. Has all the access I need."

"Good girl." The co-ordinator's surrogate voice answered back, "New objective. We know where you are going."

Tekri raised an eyebrow. "Breen." She said.

"Correct. Give us a report on events happening on Breen. Rumour, conjecture, everything. Just observe. Do not compromise your primary mission on this secondary objective. That's what our people on Breen are for. Any new developments?"

The new developments were current events of note on the ship. Tekri responded, "Lieutenant Ahdjiia D'Tinya rewarded the Federation Star for saving civilians on Lammegeir, Gryphon Coalition." Tekri didn't go into Gryphon, the Tal'Shiar already had her report on that event, "Lieutenant Commander Corgan has begun recruiting for a 'Hazard Team'. Please Clarify?"

"Hazard Team, combat squad. Highly trained, meant for hazardous situations. Be careful around them."

"Aye." Tekri sighed, "USS Miranda travelling to Breen with Galaxy."

"We already know."

Tekri's silence was awkward, but she managed to say, "Nothing else of note."

The computer replied, "Continue on. Stay with plan to get the mark. Do not get caught. We will disavow any actions you take, and not come to your rescue if you are captured. You are alone on this ship, caution must be observed."

Tekri nodded. It was the standard agreement of the Tal'Shiar agent. Many never made it, and preferred death over failure and capture. The assignment's weight and consequences were not lost to her. Alone on a ship, with no clear route of escape, in the middle of enemy territory. She had to succeed, and not getting caught was paramount in her escape plan.

"Understood. Have a good day." Tekri said.

The computer chirped, "You too. Don't take too long on the mark. We'll need you back someday. Over and out."

The screen's audio cut out, as the message was sent secretly through obscure parts of the Galaxy's communications systems.

Not only did Tekri have a mark to accomplish, she had to give her observations on the Galaxy's mission to Breen.

Not good. Tal'Shiar loved to complicate missions. She smoothed over her discontentment with Romulan Ale from the replicator, and a book of poetic verses from Vreenak. Even that was less than satisfying, for the weight of her mission was pressed on her shoulders.

The co-ordinator seemed rather impatient today. It had been three months already. Tekri was being delayed needlessly by the Galaxy's complex electronics protection. Most other ships, such as a Klingon fleatrap, would have been infiltrated, and the mark destroyed and stuffed in the plasma vent, while she used their next shore leave to discreetly go to a safehouse, and slowly work her way to Romulus.

This was a tough assignment, one she wasn't prepared for. She didn't prepare for a mark so difficult to reach, a ship who seemed to be prepared for every effort she undertook, and 'wetware' that was so stubborn, teasing compliance until he sprung his limits.

However, she did enjoy Commander Corgan's company. If there was one person she could take stock in, it was the security chief. Both souls seemed to get along, and dispite Corgan's apprehension about her motives, Tekri managed to garner some measure of trust.

Finally, she folded the book of poetic verses on her table.

Bored of reading and frustrated about her mission, Tekri decided to cave and go back to work, doing the one part of her work she was actually enjoying.

She decided to go see James.

"The Final Line"

Cmdr. James Mitchell
Cmdr. Arel Smith

****

She stormed out of the ready room as soon as they were dismissed, brushing aside Shinta's attempt to talk to her with a comment about the counselor's table-top dancing and managing to stomp hard on Corgan's left foot.

Arel made it to the Security office, fumed for the rest of the day without incident, and then clocked out, went to her quarters, and then destroyed her coffee table.

All in all, she thought she was handling it very well.

The nerve of these pthaks! Not only did Mitchell have to find yet another way to make her feel like crap, which she should have expected of him, but her best friend had been on his side! And Crazy Corgan had backed them.

A man nicknamed Crazy Corgan had backed them! What the fuck?

She sat in the middle of her floor tossing K'Laudia's toy across the room and then watching as the cat would pounce on it, rip it apart some more, and then bring it back for Arel to toss again.

This wasn't just her job. It was her life. It was what she *did*. It was what she had depended on, what she depended on when everything else in her life went sour.

She was her job. She may be pregnant but Arel was also a security officer.

She sat in the middle of the floor and concentrated on breathing.

They couldn't take this away from her.

She sat in the middle of the floor until she was sure that she could talk to Mitchell without having to physically assault him.

Verbal assault on the other hand...

*****

James, in all his heated anger over being once again ignored at yet another Staff meeting, had gone to the one place he knew he could feel solitude.

Having moved his Main Office to the Whale Tanks deck, he had dimmed the lights, leaned up against the transparent aluminum shielding, and ran his fingers over the glass where a giant tortoise now floated towards in search of food, most likely.

Crossing the Spartan room, nothing of any import besides the leatherbacked chair that he held so dear occupied the cubicle he called his home away from home. Keying open the large steely armoire lined up beside the entrance, he reached up near the top to retrieve something he'd thought he could keep locked up as much as his buried thoughts. Yet, with this upcoming away mission, he couldn't keep up the charade. He needed to think.

Arel rang on the buzzer and waited until the door glided open. And then she pushed past him. "Anyone that might be hiding in the backroom, Mitchell, relative or otherwise might want to leave now."

Having almost being knocked into the Armoire, it took James a moment to register that it was in fact, Arel who had found him in his peaceful solitude. He felt anger rise in his gut at the intrusion first, to balance itself out upon realizing who'd stomped in his office. Not to say he still didn't felt ire at the interruption, no matter who it was. Just the fact that it was Arel dulled it somewhat.

"Somehow, I don't think the Tortoise has another place to go, Smith." The teak-shelled behemoth floated up the window, its immense legs pedaling in peaceful drift.

She looked at the turtle in the tank for a moment before getting down to business. "We're going to get a few things cleared up." Arel announced and then sat down. On what she knew was his favorite seat. "Like, for starters, what the hell were you thinking today?"

"Come on now, Arel, really. Do you honestly have to ask that question? You and I both know even you aren't that dumb. Think about it." James had no touch of heat, only mellow pitch as he fumbled with the item he'd been reaching for. Without any luck, it slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the carpet beneath his feet. The picture landed face up, Arel's wide smile and glimmering eyes staring back at him. He bent to his knees to gingerly pick it up by the frame.

She stared at both the man and the picture of herself. Why did he even have it? Probably saving it as some kind of voodoo charm or something. Still, shouldn't it be burned or full of pinpricks or something by now?

"I know I'm not dumb." She finally snapped. "And what you did today was really low, Mitchell. Its not enough that you insult me personally but you have to do it professionally as well?"

"Remember when this picture was taken?" He wasn't in the mood for being baited. This was just a melancholy day for him, he supposed. How odd to be acting almost human for once.

"I am not just some...what?" Arel stopped as she realized he wasn't arguing her. "Yes, I remember. My hair looked frizzy. Now, listen-"

"We really were happy once, weren't we?" Undaunted by her attempt to change the subject.

It was really hard to argue with the man if he insisted on not arguing back.

"Well, I was at least." Arel said. "Who knows what you think or feel. If you feel at all."

"I don't want you to go on this mission, Arel. No matter what I may have said or done in the past, or whoever's baby that is, don't go. I've got a bad feeling."

"It's your baby, you idiot." Arel began heatedly but then felt herself falter as the words sunk in. She looked at his face. He meant it, she realized. He hadn't just been trying to find another way to get to her.

Now she was thoroughly confused. Why would he even care, after all the things he had said. "You...you're really concerned *for* me?"

"I do have feelings, Smith, believe it or not. I may not like what you did to me, but it doesn't change the fact I feel dread whenever the thought of you going to Breen comes to mind."

"Not even the Gods understand you, Mitchell." Arel commented but couldn't quite get the right ring of annoyance in her tone. Annoying, she thought. And he was concerned about her going to Breen.

Now didn't that just shoot down all her plans about verbally ripping Mitchell to shreds.

Bastard.

"The Gods never thought of me when you did your thing, now did they? Perfectly good relationship we had, and you had to go and knock yourself up. Now, you're slow because of the extra dead weight. The added concern for another's well-being will only distract you, putting both you and the baby at risk, and put you at a disadvantage if and when something happens to the landing party."

"I can't just sit by and watch them stroll about Breen by themselves." Arel said calmly. This was the closest to a polite conversation that they'd had in a long time. If they'd ever really had one, she reflected. "I wasn't raised or trained to do that, Mitchell. This is my job and I'm very good at it."

"When you weren't pregnant, that is. All your training and practices never involved the added physical strain and emotional involvement. You can't be trusted to be detached."

She stopped herself from snapping about his obvious abilities of detachment.

"I've seen women, not just on Qo'nos, in combat in their full term." She told him. "And I still have three or four months to go."

"You aren't Klingon. You're human. Are you so willing to put your baby's life at risk? Will you sacrifice your unborn child if you were forced to make a choice between it and the landing party?"

For Arel Smith, that wasn't even an option. She could keep her child alive *and* protect the landing party if needed. Perhaps it was an arrogance on her part. She gave a mental shrug. "We'll be fine, my dead *whale* weight aside."

"Lose the pride, Smith! The Breen don't care about you or that blubber you got tucked away in there! You've already made yourself a liability in saying 'we'll be fine', you realize that? They'd love the opportunity to use you against the rest of the crew. You can't take on the whole planet yourself, no matter what you think. Get real. You're *excess baggage*."

"Matter of opinion." Arel grunted. "And since I don't show and I don't intend to announce to every Breen on the planet of my condition, it shouldn't be a problem. Besides, the Breen are...just not that intimidating."

She watched with interest as she saw the anger build on his face. He really did seem to care. Strange.

"Why do you keep that?" Arel asked suddenly, not able to hold back her curiosity any longer.

"I'm contemplating using it for a dart board target." Hurriedly turning his back to her, he tucked it back into its sleeve in the armoire, lest she read his features as a lie. Damn security people and their psychology training. He'd be damned to give any inclination of his need for her. She'd betrayed him, and he wasn't about to let that go. A baby wasn't part of the deal.

"You even have to contemplate it?" Arel asked. It wasn't a dry, snide, or even angry tone, simply curious. Everytime she thought she understood him...

"Yeah, whatever." He kept his back to her, at a loss for a snappy response.

Damn these emotions! Why couldn't he control them?

"I don't understand you." Arel said with a frown. "If you hate me, then you should have ripped it to shreds a long time ago. Broken the glass at least. It's not even that good of a picture." Too many teeth had smiled back at her from the photo. Happily. Cheerfully.

No wonder she preferred to frown.

When he didn't say anything, Arel pushed herself off from the seat and went to reach for the picture around the still open armoire. "Here, I'll help."

"No! I'll do it myself. Go sit down and take it easy. If I can't stop you from going on this mission, you're going to need all the strength you can get. Bantering with me isn't going to win you any favors except high blood pressure, which in turn might keep you on-board...." His left eyebrow arched, and if it were possible a lightbulb appeared over his head.

"You've soiled enough, don't muddy up the only decent thing I got left of what we once had when it was pristine."

"Pristine?" Arel said incredulous. "You must be joking."

"You're right, I am. I can apply pristine to a holo-photo only because it doesn't talk back."

Her reply was in Klingon but the general message was understood.

"See? It's this childish banter, or your desire to be controlling over me that took whatever good times we had and flushed them down the crapper."

"No, *you* flushed them down the crapper..." Arel snapped. "We were good." She thought about it and then nodded as a confirmation. "We were really good. At the sex part anyway. And wasn't it you who said that our sex life was about as riveting as watching a herd of bovines pass by?"

"That man is gone. You destroyed him when you took another to your bed, bitch-whore." That should do it. Put her over the edge, James. If you're lucky, she'll knock you on your ass with another broken nose. Jii will have to throw her in the brig, then.

Her hands tightened into fists. "YOU ARE SUCH A...." Arel shouted and then, if such a thing were possible, the lightbulb shifted and appeared over her head. Her eyes narrowed. "You can't get me to stay onboard by giving me a heart attack, Mitchell. Nice try."

He shrugged. So much for the foreplay.

"So, I want to get this straight. You're pissed at me for getting pregnant by you, something which I had no control over, and messing up your bachelordom? Because otherwise, it would have been all shits and giggles, what with the *pristine* relationship we had?"

"Why do you keep coming back to me being the father? Are you *that* obsessed with me? Not too healthy, my dear. Maybe you should see Shinta for lessons on being a proper psycho."

"Why do you keep coming back to me being the whore? Do you feel *that*guilty that you cheated on me with some green bimbo. Not too healthy for you. Darling."

He spun on a heel and marched right up and into her personal space.

"Then try this one on for size, my dear. Why did Jii send your preggo self into an untenable situation and not his wife? Obviously he should be the one you have a problem with, since he seems to care even less about you than you think I do."

"Why should I have a problem with the Captain telling me to do my job?" Arel snapped.

"So you're saying his wife is less capable? She's an Intelligence and Strategics officer. She has more knowledge and capability on Breen expectations than you, yet he sends you in. A person with less experience."

Arel glared at him. "I have enough experience to deal with any trouble we might find, thank you very much."

He took a chance and placed each hand on her shoulders, firmly but not rough.

"Don't go, Arel. Please. If you stay, we'll... talk. About the baby and stuff. Whatever you want, but please. Stay."

She looked up at him. "I wouldn't insist if I didn't believe it to be true, you know."

James cast his eyes downward. It wasn't obvious, but he knew there was a slight swell to her body at the waistline. If he were only another man, a real person, he could have what so many others have aspired to. So many in the galaxy couldn't have what he was a part of; he only wished he could trade with them, to give them what so many couldn't. He shook his head minutely from side to side.

"It's not that I don't believe you, 'Rel. I do. That's why I don't want you to go. You obviously want this baby quite badly, yet you are putting it in a position that is giving it no choice but to participate. And if you're captured..." He shook his head more aggressively now.

She wanted to hug him and press him tightly against her. Instead, she remained still. "Don't tell me how to live my life or care for my child, James. You lost out on that privilege."

Inwardly, he wanted to care. His own flesh and blood to carry on his essence, promoting his own immortality in descendants, but not this... this thing in her. It was an abomination, composed of his altered genes and Prophets know what else. It was no child; it was an extension of himself, and he couldn't have that. For both his and Arel's sakes.

"Korvin's death will be a part of you as well, if not the deaths of all those close to you. Every member of that landing party need to be there equally and indiscriminately protective of each other. No one person should be more valuable than any other. Carrying this baby changes the stakes, and now by virtue of lacking defenses, the Security Officer becomes the most protected member, relegating the others to expendable status. You put an unfair burden on everyone, not just yourself." He pulled his hands away and backed up.

"If you think I do this out of caring about you, then I agree in part. But I also have a duty to perform on this ship, and for Starfleet. That baby is a civilian, and you are bringing it into a hot zone. Don't be so egotistic that I'm doing this all for you, my dear. I do it partially for you, but mostly for the rest of the party. I can only hope you learn to live with the mistakes you make, if any. Anyone dies on your watch, and I'll be lodging an official complaint with Starfleet Medical to take custody of that child of yours. Shinta's in your court, so she can't be trusted to be impartial." What was one small lie amongst many? He would never admit he adored Arel, so deflect it with getting her all fired up. Blackmail was always effective.

"Y..you wouldn't dare." Arel said, her voice trying to come across as strong and failing miserably. "You wouldn't do that to me." Her face was suddenly turning an unnatural ashen color.

"I would if the costs were too high."

"But he's my *baby*" Breathing was suddenly very difficult. "You can't just..."

"If I am the father as you so adamantly believe, then I have every right to its upbringing. If what you say is true about my part in its creation, then by all that is holy, I have the right to say where it goes and what you do with it. Don't test me on it, Smith."

Arel's heart started to beat faster than it had when she had faced the Hirogen. She wanted him to believe that he was the father. But she never thought he could... She looked at his face. He would, oh yes he would.

Her eyes slowly began to turn deadly, whatever warmth there quickly hardening to blue steel with flecks of green.

"I'll kill you if you ever file that report. Do you understand?" She could feel her breathing quicken to match the pace of her heart and knew that blind panic was about to set in. "I don't care about the oath I swore to the Captain. I'll kill you if you try and take him away from me. I'll cut out your heart with my bare hands and shove it down your throat. I'll kill you, I swear to Kahless. I'll..kill..."

She started to hyperventilate.

"Sit!" He forcibly took her arm and guided her into the chair she'd so lovingly dirtied up with her presence earlier. Now he'd have to febreze it to get rid of that enticing perfume she always wore. Diving over to the emergency kit that hung on the wall beside the tanks, he hurriedly tossed out gauze pads, pressure kits, and sanitizers until he found a suitable item to help reduce the quick breathing.

"Here! Breathe deep breaths in this. It'll help.' He unrolled a sterile glove, blew it open and handed it to her, carefully holding her head up and over as she inhaled and exhaled sharply into it.

She breathed in and out until her breathing was nearly normal, then took the glove away from her mouth and let it drop to the floor. She made no move to leave or move away from Mitchell, just sat there and watched the turtle float effortlessly in his tank.

At least someone got to be huge and still do what they wanted to do, Arel thought with no small amount of disgust.

What would she do if she couldn't do her job?

What would she do if she couldn't have her baby?

She'd kill everyone who stood in her path, that's what.

"I'll stay." Arel said finally.

James felt relief wash over him like a burden had been lifted. His shoulders sagged, the tautness in them releasing in a single wave that rolled over him. He suddenly felt tired, like he'd endured a long battle.

"Somehow, I don't quite feel you're going to keep your word, Smith." Whether his body felt confident in her promise, his head didn't. He knew how impulsive she was. It wouldn't surprise him she'd say just that to end this debate here and now just to spite him later by going.

*He* had the nerve to question her word?!?!

She smacked his hand away from her and pushed herself off of the chair. "You cross too many lines, Mitchell! Too many!" And with that she stomped over to the armoire, took out her picture, and smashed it hard against his desk. The sound of breaking glass seemed to echo in the room. "I don't want your concern, you worry, or your pity! You stay the hell away from us!"

"That's it. You've pushed it too far, Smith." The shock of his personal property lying in shards on the carpet tilted the anger that had been brimming in him over the rim. Stomping across the room, his arm darted out with dizzying speed to meet with her upper chest flat on. She fell back against the tank, the tortoise rolling around behind.

Half dazed, Arel nonetheless moved to strike. Unfortunately, he hadn't just had the air knocked out of him and he was faster. Mitchell pinned her to the tank by an arm at her throat.

"I *HAVE* stayed away from you, you goram bitch! It's YOU that's been coming around to me like some possessive control freak who always has to have the last word in! You like to make people hurt inside? Are you only happy when you've made other people miserable? Misery loves company, slag." His breath blew hot on her face as he leaned in with more pressure. Her face was flushed and she gasped for breath. "You're going to have to do more than break my nose, for if you raise one more fist against me, I'm NOT going to hold back anymore. I *will* kill you. I've. Had. Enough." The blood burn churned within him, daring, taunting to do more. To take the last step.

Arel struggled to both breathe and push him away. Lucky for Mitchell that she didn't have either the strength or a weapon in her hand. Whatever love she had felt for this man had just been pushed far away into the cracks of her soul, behind the fear that she could lose her baby and the hatred she had for him for threatening to take him away. And as if he knew that, Mitchell's voice came to her, even as she thought she might just pass out from lack of oxygen.

"If that baby is truly mine, I'm going to fight you for it. No way do I want it raised by an irresponsible mother who only thinks about herself and her ineptitude. Trying to make up for her own weaknesses by fighting impossible battles in a poor excuse of a soul. You're a weak, worthless, failure who puts innocent lives at needless risk. Fucking coward can't even face yourself in a mirror and see the truth about who and what you are. You don't deserve to be a mother." He suddenly reared back and spit in her face.

His movement was what she had been waiting for. She punched with all her might and connected with his stomach. But it was about all she was able to manage before falling forward on her knees with her own punch helping the momentum. She wanted to move but her body wanted to breath more. Mitchell's spit slid down her cheek even as his hands suddenly were back on her. And pulling her towards the door.

"Get the hell out of my life. Crawl under that rock you slithered out from under..."

"Go...to...hell." Arel managed.

"I did love you once, Smith, but not this thing I see crawling on her knees before me. I can't believe I even slept with you. Now GET OUT!" He flew to the door and yanked it open. When she hadn't moved or even said anything, he ran back across the room, grabbed her by her mane of hair, and dragged her across screaming and clawing at him. The epithet of Klingon curses meant nothing to him anymore. He meant what he said. If she raised her fist once, he'd put her in a place so dark, she'd never find her way to the light again.

He threw her out the door, kicking her in the ass when the door wouldn't shut. Immediately, he slammed the door shut, locking it and her away.

Turning, he stumbled to the floor, tears rolling down his face when he couldn't hold them back anymore, cradling the remnants of the picture.

On the other side of the door, she lay where she had fallen and waited for the rage that shook her body to pass, praying to Kahless that some poor soul wouldn't happen to cross her path.

And when the rage finally did pass, only a cold fear remained.

He would not take her child. Even if it meant giving in to him, she would do it for Korvin.

But if Mitchell ever touched her again, ever spoke out of turn to her again...

She'd send him screaming his way to Gre'thor, with his bloody heart in her fist.

"The Next Step"

Lt. Ella Grey
Arkedi Nitel'rajek

*****

Arkedi looked at Ella Grey, the voluntarily mute engineer that wanted him to teach her how to speak again. She reached out for a PADD, but as she typed, remembered the winged alien was illiterate, at least in English. She threw it back down on the table, realizing the futility and simply returned his stare.

"Ih, sema. You would like phonetics data, yes?" he asked.

She nodded.

He looked around the room momentarily, like he wasn't quite used to it, then stepped towards a large metal covered cabinet lining the far wall. With loud clanging, he raised the segemented sliding track door, revealing a series of shelves lined with bound books and handwritten journals, stapled papers and stacked magazines. "These two hold phonetics," he said, pointing to two shelves, each stretching the twelve or so feet of the office wall.

Ella looked at the two shelves with something like despair. She pointed at the books with a questioning look.

"Esema. You want just phonetics. If you wanted learn syntax, you need these," he said, indicating the two above and the four shelves below the phonetics section. "Much books, yes? Linguistics is big field."

She could see that. Ella tilted her head. There were so many titles to choose from. "Which one?" Ella mouthed.

Arkedi looked at her curiously, inching his thin face closer to hers, his eyes studying her mouth. He mimiced her, "Wawan? Ih, what one? Which one?"

She nodded.

"Ka. Your tongue does not move, you forgot much articulation," he explained, opening his lips as he talked to illustrate that darting dance of his tongue as he spoke. "Except your lips, your lips move fine," he added. A curiousity.

Ella frowned and made a note to practice moving her tongue when speaking. How could she have forgotten that?

"I will begin you off easy, yes? Federation Standard has very difficult phonetics." He turned back towards the shelves and ran his finger down the line looking for what only he could find. His hand reached out for a book thicker than Ella's palm, but stopped just before grabbing it. He hummed in indecision, then shifted his hand over and pulled out a thin book, the size of Ella's pinky. The choice caused a sigh of air to be released from the young engineer. "Taka," he said, holding the book out, "Very basic Terran phonetics."

Ella took the book greatfully and then groaned when she opened it, revealing that it was written in some foreign alien language. She turned the book around and showed him with raised eyebrows.

Arkedi laughed, a result of mild embarassment. He took the book from Ella, closing it in his hands. "Upside down," he apologized, rotating the book and handing it back.

Frustrated, she stamped her foot and pointed at the book again. She was seriously beginning to question her choice to come here.

"Ih, I forget, you cannot read," he said. Meekly, he took the book back and replaced it on the shelf. Then, his hand moved ominously back towards the ten-centimeter thick book. "This is complexer, but is written in five languages. All say same thing."

Ella looked at the monstrousity of a book and sighed. She went and picked it up and nearly dropped it from its weight. She made a sound of disgust.

"Is big, I know, but good," he defended, "Federation Standard is at back. Uh...or front, I forget."

Ella flipped to the back. Then she flipped to the front. Then with a large sigh she opened the book in the middle and began to skim. Picking a section at random, "...we can say that many, perhaps all, languages have some form of built-in isochronism or isodynamism, initator power being parcelled out into roughly equal quanta..."

She wrinkled her nose and then blinked her eyes in confusion.

Arkedi shrugged, his wings drawing back behind him, what could be so difficult? He moved around beside her and looked at the text, but then remebered that it was unreadable. He comtemplated looking up the section in the Mika'Kardi section, and even reached out and began to pry open that section, but he apparently thought of a better idea and stepped over to the desk.

"Ih, noel," he explained in his own tongue as he bent down and ruffled through a drawer. When he stood again, he was holding a device that looked like a flattened pen. One side held a beveled edge, the other was wider, about a centimeter, and square. He returned to his position along side Ella and the open book, and she could see him check a small toggle. Satisfied with its previous place, he placed in against the text near the area Ella had indicated and moved it across the page like a highlighter. A voice spoke, not unlike the ship's computer, but in an unfamiliar language. It sounded like Arkedi's mumblings.

"I do not understand you not understand. Is easy. Languages have power, uh, pulses? Power pulses. Standard has--"

He turned to look at Ella's face. It was an expression that should have been easy to recognize for most humans at least. A mixture of incredulity, anger, and disgust.

*YOU'VE HAD THIS DEVICE THE ENTIRE TIME!!!!* She wrote and then passed on to Arkedi to read with his machine.

"Esema," Arkedi affirmed, then shrugged. "Forgot about it, but I did not need it ago, with the human interpreter."

Ella threw up her hands, shook her head, and then went back to the computer PADD. *REALISTICALLY, HOW LONG DO YOU THINK IT WILL TAKE TO LEARN HOW TO SPEAK IF ONE ALREADY KNOWS THE LANGUAGE. YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I KNOW THE WORDS I JUST HAVENT SPOKEN THEM IN A FEW YEARS.*

"How many?"

Ella's eyebrows pinched together as she tried to remember exactly how long. *SEVERAL YEARS* she finally wrote.

"Am not very familiar with human growth. Has been how many years since the, uh....kilinkelin, do not know word, uh, mind freeze? The age that learning becomes difficult?"

Ella knew that much at least. *MOST HUMANS LEARN LANGUAGES FASTER WHEN THEY ARE CHILDREN. I PASSED THAT PHASE A LONG TIME AGO. BUT I *KNOW* THE LANGUAGE, ARKEDI, I JUST CAN'T GET MYSELF TO SPEAK IT.*

"Well, I am talking about that. Language is more than vocabulary and syntax, is big part, yes, but, if you forgot the ability to speak it, to pronounce it," he said, moving his hand before his mouth and grabbing the last word from the air, holding it on display like an imaginary butterfly, "If you forgot the ability to speak any language, it can take months to learn again. Dozens to learn to sound normal, to sound native again. And, you may not care, but to perform, to sing, it can take years, if you can ever learn again."

"Years?" Ella mouthed, her dissapointment obvious. True it had taken her years to master not speaking but it hadnt been all *that* difficult. All this effort for something that she might never do again. *I DONT KNOW IF I HAVE THAT MUCH DEDICATION, ARKEDI*

He stared at her, she was expecting a response, was she asking him to insist she learn? The sacrifice of what he viewed as individual determination, something that never occurred in his culture, confused him. "Is your decision."

~~I know that!~~ Her fingers snapped even as her face remained thoughtful. She would have to think on this, that was for sure. She would definately have to think about it. *THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME.* Ella wrote and then turned on her heel and left, the book in hand.

Arkedi watched her leave, curious if he was going to be taking on a student soon. He taught classes for nine years before coming to the Galaxy, he would like to do it again. He turned back, noticing for the first time that she opted for the fat tome over the small book and his translator pen. Well, that solved things; with the density of that book, she'd be back asking for interpretation in an hour.

Exactly one hour and two minutes later, Ella made a large wailing noise and threw the book across the room.

"The One With The Brooding"

Captain Elaithin Jii
Commander K. Jordan Elaithin

Seated at the desk in his quarters, Jii tossed the latest PADD down in frustration, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. PADD after PADD of absolutely useless data.

Not all of it was useless. Captain M'Kantu's profiles for the Galaxy members of the diplomatic team were helpful. Starfleet Xenobiology's official workup on the Breen, which was surprisingly sparse. Most of the relevant data had been in the briefing.

Of the Breen themselves, their cultures, their desires, their likes, their dislikes,... anything that would have been useful at all in helping him to prepare, to figure out what they'd be like at the negotiating table... not a Wraith's-damned thing. Intel's reports consisted of what they'd given at the meeting. One would think, with an embassy on the planet, they'd know a little bit more about it, but two things had conspired against them there. One, the embassy staff was not allowed to leave the grounds - ever - , and two, the place was a dumping ground for personnel that should have been cashiered out.

Not exactly reliable sorts. The diplomatic corps didn't even have a representative on site, because they saw no point in keeping on hand to deal with such a .. private people. That seemed to be the only cultural insight he had available to him.

It was not particularly helpful.

Jordan moaned dramatically -- though, truth be told, not as much as she felt it could, deservedly, be-- as she emerged from the bathroom where she had been for most of the evening. She was still rather impressed that she'd been able to get through the entire meeting without heaving on someone, which would have certainly been, well, pleasant. Not that she had much left to heave, which was, frankly, beginning to concern her. She needed to talk to Cat about it, but so far, she'd been in a sickbay of some sort eight times in the past nine days, and she was a little tired of playing the fainting rose or the nervous, hypochondriac first time mother role. Neither were particularly her style. What really pissed her off, however, was the fact she couldn't even guilt trip Jii. She couldn't pull the "I blame you, look what you did to me!" card because it was what she wanted and really, he was more deserving of the "look what you did to me!" exclamation. She'd kinda, well, pushed him into it. Two reasons, really: first, she wanted it, second, punishment for starting a family without her (i.e. Toryl), though the latter really was just the push off point for her to decide to--- Damn, her head had to stop going off on tangents, it was no good to anyone, she thought as she moved through the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. "I feel yucky," she mumbled, covering her face with her hands. "Very yucky... I want to diiiiiiiiieeeeeee..."

"I wouldn't recommend it." he replied somewhat absently, his eyes still closed as he rested his head on his hand.

She moaned in response, hating him for a moment as she rolled over on the couch, burying her face in the back cushions. She stayed that way, ignoring him for several minutes before mumbling, voice muffled by the cushions. "What's wrong with you?"

He frowned even more a moment in, seeming to be in what she liked to call "full-on brood mode". The Bajoran's brow tended to become more pronounced when he was like this, not to mention wrinkling his nose even more than normal.

"I'm trying to prepare for the negotiation and it's just..." Jii started, and let out a sigh. "The Breen are just such a... blank slate. A name, some ships. They could be anything. They could be saints, or they could be evil alien space Nagis for all I know."

"I think you mean Nazis."

"Whatever."

"Well, if you're going to allude to human history, at least know what evil you're alluding to," she stated. It drove her crazy, really; he was consistently fecking-up human history, getting things mixed up, thinking one thing, yet that never stopped him from talking about it. Sometimes, it was funny. Sometimes, it made her want to strangle him. "The Breen are the Breen. I'm sure we'll know more than we ever wanted to know about them in a week's time. Just... the intelligence is shit. They're more secretive than the Vulcans ever were. And oh, did I mention; our intelligence is shit."

"I've noticed." he replied sourly, waffling between trying to read another PADD or giving up for the evening.

"Pisses me off... one would think. That on..." She stopped a minute, trying to regain her composure. "Could you get me more of that fizzy water? If I get up, I'm going to spend another 20 minutes in the bathroom..."

Having become accustomed to the pregnant woman's seeming inability to do even the smallest thing for herself, he conceded and brought her the requested beverage. Deciding to pack it in, he sat down next to her. For a moment, the music from Toryl's room got loud enough it could be heard through the bulkhead, to which Jii responded by knocking on the wall a few times.

The volume went down, and he faced his wife again. "What's the verdict today?" he asked.

"The verdict today? I have spent most of the day in the bathroom, on the floor, or in the bathroom on the floor... Tell me why I wanted this again?" she said. "Why is it so easy for some people? I don't understand. What is it, three percent of women become violently ill with pregnancy? Something like that. Why do I have to be one of those three percent, Jii? WHY?" She whined the last word and sighed as she sipped the carbonated water through the straw. "Oh. And I'm angry with you, by the way. So you know."

"Okay." he replied simply, and leaned his head back on the back of the couch.

"Aren't you even going to ask why?" she muttered. "You're no fun when you're like this."

"If you want to tell me, you'll tell me." was the response - though there were hints of a smile behind it this time.

She managed to kick him -- well, tap him with her foot. "You're letting Arel go on the away mission but not me," she stated. "I'm intelligence. I know as much about the Breen as anyone; I should be going."

"You're a higher-profile officer than Cantrell is." Jii replied, fixing an even stare on her. "To them, he'll be just another Security officer. If they know anything about us, our crews, then they'll know you're not only my wife, but a Commander in Starfleet Intelligence. It wouldn't be particularly conducive to trust to be so blatant about it."

"I'm sure that they'll have their own intelligence officers present! It's what two sides do, it's just... politics. I should still be going. I trust Cantrell as far as I could throw him. And that's as far as I could throw him now, after heaving myself weak."

"How can you not trust Cantrell?" came the scornful reply. "He's got that damned thing - that data core that Intel put in him that forces him to follow orders."

Jordan knew her husband's scorn wasn't directed at her, but rather at Cantrell's superior's who, in the Bajoran's view, had seen fit to eliminate the man's control of his free will. Jii was never comfortable with the notion of the thing, and sincerely hoped he never would be.

"Regardless," he began after a moment's pause "It's not up for debate, like I said at the briefing. The people I listed are the ones going. Daren and I spent several hours trying to make sure we picked the right people. This is too important for us to screw up."

She huffed. "I should be going," she muttered, turning on her back and folding her arms around her stomach. "I resent the implication that I would screw it up."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." he replied offhandedly. "Though I think Legate Curran is going to give himself an aneurism over this thing about Karyn."

"That's how it sounded, regardless of what you meant. And I can't say I don't agree with him, a little... how many counselors does one need? A therapeutic practice does not a diplomat make, Jii. But she could probably use a confidence boost, given what happened the last time she was on one of these high profile missions. I don't know her at all, but I know how I'd probably react." She sighed. "I should be going Jii. And what's more, you know I should be. But I guess we both have to live with our roles, don't we?"

"We do indeed." he said quietly, and finally stood from the couch to lean on the overhand, and stare out their viewport. The expanse of the forward saucer could be seen sloping downward, and beyond that, the stars. "I'm taking so many Counselors because I need insightful eyes. They're trained to read people, and moreso, they're trained to do it with several different species. If we don't have any advance information about what the Breen are like, we're going to have to figure them out very quickly. They'll all be good for that."

"And Karyn's a friend. I don't know what's going on with her now, but she doesn't deserve to be punished for lanjep for the rest of her life. It wasn't her fault, and it still galls me that the Federation let her take the fall for it. Or that people like Curran, who have no idea of the whole story, are so quick to judge her."

"People are always quick to judge other people, that's how life is," Jordan stated. She'd been judged more than a few times by more than a few people on this ship, which never really served to convince her of the open-mindedness of Starfleet officers, only the hypocrisy. Frankly, she thought she would be better or, at least, as good at 'reading' the Breen as any counselor. She had as much or more background. It just annoyed her. Hugely.

That response only drew a snort from the Bajoran.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this," she stated, pushing herself up, then regretting it as nausea and dizziness wiped over her. She wavered hugely as she grasped onto the edges of furniture in order to keep moving. These babies would kill her, she was sure of it. "You're so grouchy."

Putting his arms around her, Jii looked into Jordan's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm trying not to be."

"Uh huh," she said, frowning. "You're supposed to be nice to me, you know."

"Well, I am." he said, mimicking her frown, but exaggerating it. "If I wasn't, I'd look like this."

That made her frown deeper and wrinkle her nose. "Hey, weird and random question while we're at it... have you noticed anything... I don't know. Odd recently?"

"Like unknown persons recording us - or more specifically you, in public?" he asked. "Wish I had."

"Yeah, something like that," she said, studying him. "I didn't happen to... 'drop' anything a few days ago, did I?"

Walking over to his desk, he picked up an item. "According to Circ, you dropped this." Jii stated, and handed her the bracelet.

With one hand on the sofa, steadying her, she took the bracelet with the other, looking at it. She recognized the design as something she'd seen years ago at her grandfather's. Opening the small locket she smiled softly, turning it so Jii could see. "That's me with my grandfather," she said. "I was six... it was just before he died." She pulled it closer to herself so she could see. "I think this was the last time I was happy in my childhood..."

The Bajoran leaned over slightly to get a better look. "What's it mean?"

Jordan looked at him and smiled slightly with a shrug. "Every so often I come upon something that reminds me of my grandfather, is all," she said. "Usually somehow like this..." She wanted to be able to tell him, but it was because she loved him that she knew she couldn't. There was too much there, far too much to explain, and it was all so sensitive anyway... she still hadn't fit all the pieces together, though this would help. Little clues were scattered throughout her life, revealing themselves, giving her pieces of the puzzle. She kissed his cheek. "Thanks for giving it back to me; thank Circ next time you see her. I'm going to go lay down."

Puzzled, he simply did what he had always promised to do - trust her. "Allright. But when it's figured out, you'll tell me."

"Oh. You'll know, Love, I promise," she said, smiling as she paused at the bedroom door. "Good evening... wake me up in a few hours, okay?"

"Will do."

Pilot Tyten
Vanguard Five
USS Galaxy

"Of Frozen Flag Poles"

The Breen. To Tyten, this race resembled everything that he had spent his life trying to avoid. The heartless deception, dishonesty, excessive show of force and strength, and the cold.

Oh, the cold. He hated the cold. Mind you, he had nothing against keeping your quarters cool, but cold without reason, well, that was another story. A counselor he had seen once told him that his dislike of cold environments was all in his head, but then again, to all counselors, everything was just "in your head."

No, for him, it ran much, much deeper. In fact, it all started during survival training during his days at the Academy.

Then

"Cadet! If you don't keep moving, I'm going to personally burry you in three feet of snow. Now move on! You're holding up the line!"

Tyten nodded in reply to the Lieutenant that was unloading the shuttle they had transported in to Antarctica. Of all the places that were available for survival training, he had been so lucky to be assigned to the cold training first. He didn't mind the cold, just when there was warmer climates available, it would have been nice to start there.

"Hey Tyten! Are you ok?" another cadet asked him.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?"

"You look like your freezing! You're face is turning all blue!"

The cadet doubled over in laughter. "Nice one, Laughlin. I bet you've been saving that one all day," Tyten replied.

Nora Casey, a female cadet friend of his and Laughlin's girlfriend, simply shook her head. "Don't pay any attention to him, Ty. He's still jealous that he didn't get selected for the pilot training course," she teased.

"What!? I am not!" Laughlin protested. Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as a snowball exploded across his environmental suit helmet, startling him.

He looked to find Tyten doubled over laughing this time. "Now that was funny," Tyten smirked.

Gathering their gear, the braced themselves for the 10 kilometer hike they had ahead of them before they reached their designated camp site. Normally, Tyten wouldn't have complained except for the heavy equipment they were lugging around.

The snow slowed their pace as they made their way over the frozen tundra, but eventually they arrived, tired and sweating.

"You know," Laughlin huffed, "when I was in first grade there was a kid who stuck his tongue on the flag pole."

"What?" Tyten asked confused.

Laughlin laughed as he recalled the memory. "I lived in eastern Utah and it was the middle of winter. We were outside for recess when Vince Anderson decided to stick his tongue to the flag pole. Funniest dang thing I ever saw, right up until the bell rang. We didn't have any warm water to pour over it. Vince didn't want to be late to class so he just yanked it right off! Bled all over the place."

"That's disgusting, Dave," Casey scolded. "Why don't we save the juvenile stories for later and set up camp."

Laughlin simply shrugged his shoulders and walked up next to Tyten who by now had been unpacking their tents. "When we're done, remind me to tell you about the time when I was in second grade and we arranged to have a third grader kick this kid in our class right in the pills! Oh man, I feel bad about it now, but it was the funniest..."

"Dave!"

"Sorry, honey! Setting up camp right now!"

The next day was filled with a series of tests and analysis. They spent a better part of the day exploring the mountain range that they had set up camp next to. They had been warned of the dangers of the mountain ranges in the Artic. Hidden sink holes and false bridges were only a few of the dangers.

Looking back, it seemed like such sensible precaution. However, at the time, they were excited to impress their instructors with their scientific ability.

Tyten had wandered off on his own, which he had only planned to do so for a few seconds, when he became interested in strange readings his tricorder was picking up. The source of which astounded him. There, in the middle of nowhere was a small home. It appeared several centuries old, it's occupants long since gone.

Determined to take a look inside, he folded up his tricorder and moved towards it. The next thing he would remember was falling. He wasn't sure how long or how far he had fallen. His body had landed with a sickening thud, forcing the air out of him.

Clearing his head, he tried to stand up and that's when the pain hit him. What light filtered down from the hole he had created revealed a small metal pole jutting out from his suit. He had fallen into an underground cavern which, as he surveyed his surroundings, had been converted into a storage space, most likely by the former inhabitants of the house. Whatever the metal pole was, it had been left behind, much to his detriment.

"Warning! Environmental controls offline. Unable to maintain temperature control."

In the back of his head, he heard Laughlin laughing, no doubt a story that he would tell to the next available person once they got back.

"Tyten to Casey."

Nothing.

"Tyten to Laughlin."

Again, nothing.

He could only conclude that his comm system had been damaged in the fall. A perfect ending to everything else that had happened. He tried to sit again, but the pain forced him to lay down again. It wasn't long before blackness crept into his vision and threatened to overtake him. He had lost a lot of blood and while the cold had helped to slow his blood flow, it also helped to claim his consciousness.

So this is how it ends, he thought to himself.

Now

Later, he found out that he had only been there a total of two hours. After he didn't check in, Casey had grabbed Laughlin and started searching. The next memory he had was waking up in a medical facility back at the Academy, warm and dry. His leg had been healed from what was discovered to be a fishing spear. Laughlin, of course had found the whole matter completely hilarious and told the story for their next year at the Academy.

Tyten sighed as he activated the desk monitor in his quarters. He could only hope that should he be required to go down to the Breen homeworld, it would be within the comforts of his fighter and several hundred feet in the air.

"A Matter of Choice"

Captain Elaithin Jii
Commander Arel Smith

------------------------
USS Miranda,
Deck One
Captain's Ready Room
------------------------

****

"I request to be removed from this particular mission, Captain." Arel Smith said without preamble as she walked into his ready room. From behind her, she heard a low whistle from someone on the Bridge before the door shut behind her. She didn't care. Her words were flat, almost mechanical. "I'm not fit for duty."

"No." the Captain replied, not even looking up from the PADD he was perusing. Outside the viewport behind him, the Galaxy could be seen, and behind it, the stars traveling at high warp. "No matter what Mitchell may have talked you into."

Her eyes would have hardened into the appearence of two cold blue stones if they werent there already. "The Commander did point out the dissadvantages to my being on the planet. And I grudginly would have to agree. I *will* be a burden on this mission if everyone feels the need to protect me."

"Then I'll just have to count on the rest of the team feeling professional enough to accept my judgment then, won't I?" he replied, finally looking up from the PADD.

"And if they're not?" Arel replied.

"Arel." Elaithin said, laying the PADD down and putting his hands on his desk. "Let me be clear about this. I have two reasons for selecting you to be on the team. One, simply, you're the best hand to hand combatant on this ship, and, should things go south down there, we'll need that."

"Of course." Arel replied. She'd already known that one.

"The second is a more... Political reason. Taking a pregnant woman down as part of the away team will send a message to the Breen that we trust them. We don't, of course, but we need to seem as though we do. Something like that can be subtle, but very effective in establishing the bond with their negotiator that we'll need to build an effective treaty. And if something happens, then you - along with the rest of us - will be beamed up immediately. There's really very little risk involved on that front."

"So, I'm to be," Arel said slowly. "a tool?"

"We're all tools of something, Commander." the Captain replied, picking his PADD back up. "You're one of mine, I'm one of Command's, and that particular chain extends off into eternity."

Arel's face was neutral, without even scowl or frown. A Vulcan would have been proud. But her eyes were almost glowing. "Commander Mitchell has made it clear that were I to go to Breen, I would be putting my child's life in jeopardy. He has threatened to declare me unfit. He might even do so regardless."

Jii gave her a patient gaze then. "Arel, you know as well as I do that if he were attempt to do so, it wouldn't succeed. For one, he'd have no legal grounds, and for the second... You're definitely the more suitable parent of the two of you."

"Undoubtably." Arel said. "But you understand what will happen if they try to take Korvin away from me, Jii?" She'd never called the Captain by his first name before. She hoped he understood how serious she was.

"I imagine we'd be finding Mister Mitchell's body somewhere." was the even response. Not that he would particularly be suprised - or blameful, in that case.

"And anyone else who gets in my way." The warning was issued; she didn't intend to give it again. "This mission can't be used against me, Sir."

"Arel," the Captain even smiling slightly this time. "No one's going to take your child away. Especially not for following your Captain's orders. Believe me, we commanding officers have a great many regulations regarding the use of pregnant personnel. The policy basically boils down to the crew member in question's wishes."

"Meaning?" Arel asked.

"It means that, essentially, Commander - it's up to you. If you want to go to Breen, you can go. I know I want you there. But if you don't, if you feel it will be too risky... Then that's allright as well. It's really your choice, Arel." the Bajoran informed her patiently.

She didn't frown, didn't lift her eyebrow, glare, or do anything that would show an emotional respone. "I'll have my answer for you within the hour, Captain. Permission to be dismissed."

"Understood. Dismissed, Commander." the Captain replied, and resumed his perusal of the PADD as the Chief of Security departed.

Gathering the help"

Counsellor Navarre Shinta - Chief Counsellor
Doctor James Brooke - Assistant Chief Medical Officer
Commander Jaal Jaxom - Second Officer
Taalis Jaxom - Chief Helm Officer
Ariss Edon - Security/Tactical Officer

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

Shinta:-

After talking to Rayna in sickbay she knew something had to happen. The loss of Mike had left her severely depressed, and it was clear she could not be alone during evening and night-times. Shinta has hardly slept at all last night, and she knew, James had made that clear as well, that she could not carry his whole burden alone. Rayna had said she hadn't got any friends, Shinta didn't want to believe it. So she decided to send a small note to people she thought were still friends of Rayna's and some people who were very social and might be willing to help anyway.

This was the note she sent to a couple of people

Hi,

This is an off the record message. It will remain of the record, and I am appealing to you as a person. Somebody on this ship is going through a very rough time and need some off the record help and support to get through it. If you are willing to help out please come to my quarters at six this evening. No hard feelings if you are not there, yet if you show up you will abide by my decision to keep this quiet.

Shinta

She didn't want any of this in Rayna's record and knew her friend and patient would prefer it this way.

… …

Looking at the note again, Ariss tapped the PADD, ~ Well, Shinta doesn't usually ask for help ~ Erasing the message, he looked around. "Mondar," he called out, "I've got a meeting with Commander Navarre, you've got the desk. I’ll be back a little later. Comm me if you need me, but only if it's urgent." Listening to the rumbling acknowledgement, Ariss stepped out of security, feeling the deck vibrate as the behemoth like Brikar took the security desk. ~ We have got to reinforce the floor ~ he thought as he stepped into the turbolift.

A minute later he was outside Shinta’s quarters, tapping the chime, he waited.

"Come in." She said smiling. "I'm glad to see you, I appreciate it."

“No problem, you’re note piqued my curiosity. That and it’s hard to ignore a call for help.” Ariss said as he stepped in. Looking round, "I'm the first?"

"Yes you are. I'm hoping for an a few more. Would you like something to drink while we wait?"

Brooke had not received a note, but he came home to see Ariss in the living room.

“Hey," he said, "how are you doing? No more headaches, I presume?"

"Headaches?" Shinta arched an eyebrow. Then kissed her husband. "I am glad you are home early."

"You were there," Brooke said, referring to the doubles episode, "what's going on, actually?"

Taalis came over soon as she read the message. She hadn't a clue who it was about, but if Shinta said they needed help, that's all she needed to know for now. Naturally, she was followed by her husband, Jaal. **Any idea what this is about?**

He knew through their bond she didn't, but Jaal had to ask anyway.

**Not a clue.**, she sent.

"Okay. It seems this is it for now." It would have to do. "You all know Rayna, And you know she has just lost her husband. Personally I haven't given him up yet, yet we have to be realistic. Rayna is not coping, I am very worried about her. It so bad that she cannot be alone overnight. Now James and I took care of it last night, we cannot do it every night. That's why I'm looking for volunteers to divide the workload. And it's all off the record."

Taalis sighed. She'd worked with Mike quite a bit when she was his assistant chief, and he spoke of Rayna often. "Count me in.", she said.

Jaal's experience with Rayna was limited to when they shared a bridge shift together. He felt she was a capable officer despite the problems that had gotten her demoted from the XO spot. "Me too," he answered after Taalis. The Trill figured he might as well help out if his wife was going to.

Simply nodding, Ariss signalled his assent. He hadn’t interacted much with Rayna since he’d come on board, mostly he’d worked with, or reported to Arel, but still, she was part of the team. And you didn’t let your own down!

"Remember." She said especially to Jaal. "I am keeping this out of her record, she has had enough tough times already. The most important thing is that she is not alone at night. There has to be somebody there who can look after the children and keep an eye on her. She has a tendency to sleepwalk."

"How should we handle the sleepwalking if it happens?", Taalis asked.

"Not too fast," Brooke said, "in fact, if she doesn't seem to be harming herself, or others, best is to do nothing. When you have to do something, depends on the situation."

With a slightly raised eyebrow, Jaal mentioned, "I have an uncle that sleepwalks. We just lock his bedroom door at night so he can't get out. There's nothing kept in there he could hurt himself with. He's been fine with that for years. Won't that work with Rayna?"

Taking her duty very seriously she had not even told James about the phaser incident. "She could open the doors in her sleep. And if we lock her in the still has to be someone there for the children and to comfort her when she gets one of the violent nightmares." She finished more softly. "Believe me, you want someone there at such times."

Nodding again, Ariss spoke up. “So, if she sleep walks, just let he do what she wants, but just keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t injure herself or do anything dangerous?”

"Basically, yes. Keep her away from any objects she can use to hurt herself or others. And just as important right now she needs to know she has friends."

Jaal shrugged, "That doesn't sound too difficult."

"It isn't. It's just too exhausting to do with one or two people."

"A discreet telekinetic nudge should cover most of it.", Taalis said.

~ Oh Joy! Another Frelling Telepath! ~ Ariss thought. Closing his eyes briefly, he counted swiftly to five, then opened his eyes.

Jaal nodded, "It's a big job. Splitting up the shifts is a good idea. Does Rayna know we're doing this for her? I don't want to surprise her by just suddenly showing up at her door." The Trill winced.

"No, she doesn't yet. First I wanted to know if I had enough volunteers."

“Count me in.” Ariss said. “I’ll be there, I’ll help as long as you need me.”

"What you guys think, shall we ask her over here, or shall I tell her alone?" Shinta was a little bit hesitant over this.

"You're the counsellor, whatever you think is best should work," Jaal mentioned.

"Would you prefer we be here, so she can have a chat? I mean, she probably knows you all fairly well, but I think I've only spoken to her maybe half a dozen times since I came on board." Ariss admitted. "Different shifts." He finished with an apologetic shrug.

"Don't feel bad," Jaal offered, "I don't know her that well either and I've been aboard a lot longer than you."

"how about I have a little talk with her first in my office and then I bring you guys in?"

"Cat Scan"

"Oh Boy" He mumbled.

This was one visit Harinordoquy had been avoiding for months. Once the Chief doc had sent someone to bring him in personally there was no avoiding it. He definatley could'nt afford to miss the physical, another tribunal awaited him if he did.

He sat swinging his legs nervously on a bed waiting for the feline to appear. He yanked on the Starfleet issue gown which he had been forced to wear by some doctor in a gravchair. Strange that, there must have been a change of policy since his last visit. Strange too that despite the resources at Starfleet Medicals disposal they had no answer to that doctors condition, what ever it was. Still her pretty face brightened the sterile ward somewhat.

Still waiting he couldnt help but think back on his last encounter in sickbay. He could'nt possibley tell Cat what he'd almost done with her mirror personality. ~maybe she already knew~ he was getting quite paranoid. But judging by the way the mirror handled herself he was lucky not to have gone fully through with it. Still, he had the images. It would be awkward for him, very awkward.

Cat walked into the private ward, her concentration on the padd that held Harinordoquy medical notes. She looked up at Imanol as he sat there on the bed. Ryley had told her that the ensign had arrived, he had been avoiding his physical. Cat hadn't wanted to do it, but finally sent one of her nurses to collect him, with a reminder of his conditions of him to continue at Starfleet.

"Thank you for coming Ensign," Cat greeted as she headed over to the man.

"Your welcome," he kept his eyes firmly focused on the ground.

"Considering that you've not been able to attend the last few appointments, this one is going to be a full physical..."

"A FULL physical?" Imanol inquired startled at the revelation. A physical was fine, but god, a full physical? He couldnt stand the thought of it, he remembered the last one all too clearly. ~the blue Caitan running her sharp fingers down his soft back suductively, little purrs here and there floating up into his ears.~ It was too much. Imanol jumped from his seat.

"No, no no! A check-up fine, not a full physical, not today Commander"

Cat looked at Imanol, his reaction seemed very out of character from the man. "Ensign?"

"No chance Cat.." he backed away from her and the bed. He was normally composed in awkward situations but something about this one made him very uncomfortable.

Cats eyes narrowed, "Ensign, I think you have explaining to do. I understand that you were seen by my doppleganger from the other universe."

Imanol closed his eyes ~You fool, could I have been any more obvious~ he opened them again. "Yea, I met her."

He took a seat back on the bed under the doctors insistance, it was time to spill it, he could try to cover up what happened but judging by the way he was reacting it had the potential of messing up the greater details of his court martial.

"Well, Ensign?" Cat stood there, her arms cross on her chest, the padd held in her hand.

He began making sure to look Cat straight in her eyes. "She was cordial but a little distracted when I came in, nothing to warrent an investigation into your.. her behaviour though. Even more strange was when you.. sorry she starting feeling me up, what was I to know, You could have been in heat for all I knew."

Cat's eyebrows raised at the mention of 'heat.' It wasn't the first time for her, or for Caitians in general, that the comparison came up. Humans would have been horrified at the comparison of them and the primates of Terra. Attributing an animal's behaviour to a sentient, just because of likeness. Cat didn't say anything, it had happened too many times.

"I was feeling very awkward as you can imagion, then she asked if I'd join her for a little bit of 'fun'. I said alright knowing fully what she meant but when we went into the ward I got cold feet. Getting cold feet isnt something that happens too often but it didnt feel right at all. I can't help but feel a little guilty. I should have figured out who she was, maybe that could have prevented a lot of the hurt she caused. Who knows maybe in the heat of passion she could have attacked me, and that would have been the end of you, her, her."

"Ensign, my doppleganger wouldn't have cared whether you had been intimate with her or not. It wouldn't have affected her decision on what she did...to me." Cat stopped and took a deep breath, using the deception of reading the padd and Imanol's notes, she hid the feeling that bubbled up to the surface. What she couldn't hide was her tail, no matter how she tried, her tail was her emotional barometer. She had to consciously think about it, to hide her emotions and now it had sank to the floor.

"I can assure you, that I am not in 'heat,' nor do I have any plans to get intimate. I'm sorry if she has caused you concern and if my likeness to her causes you reservations, I can get another physician to attend to your physical."

Despite the coolness of her voice Imanol could tell the events of the last few months rested heavily on her. His revelation had'nt helped one bit and neither would telling her that he wished to be seen by another physician.

~ and yea sure! no plans for sexual relations, who was she kidding~

"Its wierd, but it doesnt change anything. It really had nothing to do with you, I dont know why I reacted the way I did."

"There are many and varied reasons why we do anything." Cat looked at Imanol and little doctor alarm bells were ringing. "Has there been other 'wierd' things happening," she asked.

Imanol looked up with a vulcan eyebrow, "Weird?" he thought for a moment. " I saw a wierd little monkey wandering the corridors a few days ago, had a piece of cake in his hand"

Cat looked at Imanol, not sure if he was joking or not, "Pardon?"

"You asked me if.. oh... "

"Has there been anything else out of place?" Cat asked

"A few migraines here and there, once I find an outlet for this temper of mine they should go, it just keeps building up."

Cat closed the tricorder - there was obviously more than meets the eye here. A tricorder is useful, but it isn't omnipotent. It will only report on what it is asked to scan, but it takes a doctor to know what questions to ask. Right now, she was asking Imanol - "How long has this been happening?"

"Five or Six weeks, when I came off the medication." Cats face looked more concerned now then saddened. He watched her closely. "Is there a problem?"

"Off the medication, completely? Who ordered that? I..." Cat stopped, "Her?" she asked.

Imanol stared coldly and blackly at the Catain, he was visibly sickened "yea.."

"Have you had mood swings, problems with your temper, what about your concentration? Anything like that?" Cat asked.

"All of the above" he was very worried. "headaches, mood swings, bad temper, overly aggressive, I just blamed it on work, it did'nt even dawn on me..." his eyes sunk to the floor.

"Tell me I hav'nt messed this whole thing up" he asked.

Cat shook her head, "You haven't messed anything up."

His fist landed on the biobed shaking some of the equipment opposite them. His temper obvious to the doctor for the first time although he did'nt intend for it to have such an impact. He watched the doctor as she studied him, her silence was quite unnerving for the Ensign.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Rather than use the tricorder, Cat had moved to the high res sensors in the Sickbay itself, "Ensign, I really do suggest that you calm down. Take a deep breath hold it for a count of four and release completely. You continue to do that until I tell you to stop."

Imanol started the breathing routine, it was the same as when one had to decompress after a deep water dive, just at slightly different intervals. His eyes followed her as he continued to breath.

A few minutes later, Cat was studying a holographical representation of Imanol's brain floating in front of her. Using a special wand, she manipulated the display. She watched blood flow dynamics. Through the semi-transparent brain, she saw Imanol, still following her orders. "You can stop now, Ensign."

~Thanks~ he was feeling quite dizzy with the increased intake of oxegen. He asked Cat with a hand gesture if he could join her next to the holograph. With her approval he ambled over.

~Thats one fine looking brain if I dont say so myself Doctor~

"First things first, Ensign - you haven't messed anything up, she did. Secondly, symptons are not from work stress, but a number of small lesions in the limbic area of your brain, they have been agrravated by the felicium treatments."

As long as it didnt get anymore specific Imanol could follow her.

"So the medication I was on actually made these lesions worse? so was'nt I better coming off of them?"

"Yes, but very simply, it was the going straight off them, 'cold turkey,' you could say that added to the problem. But that is not important here, it is to make sure that you are ok."

Imanol always had a slight interest in Medical science given that both his parents were physiotherapists and his brother was a medical student at the Academy. Still, he knew he never had the patience or probably the intelligence for a Medical career. Definatley the patience part anyway.

"How did those lesions get there" his forehead wrinkled in a concerned manner.

"Genetic disposition, a reaction to a virus that you caught a few years ago, a slightly too hard hit in the rugby game that you play. If it wasn't for the problems with the medication, they wouldn't cause a problem. Before you start to worry, they are only slight, it is only because of the neuro-chemical imbalance already are they even becoming a risk. Using nano-surgical units, we can clean them and repair the damage. But first, we are going to need to balance out your hormone levels in your brain and that will take about a week or more. One of the things that will help is that you are going to have to control yourself. I can give you something, but it has some side-effects and I don't want to use it here."

~Oh great, side-effects~ He looked at his reflection on the monitor he was staring at, ~actually a third ear would'nt be too bad~

"So after a week, if every thing pans out the way we want it to, I go under the knife to put these lesions right? How long is this going to set me back, I cant afford to miss anymore time." he asked.

"Three days, including the surgery here in Sickbay and Observation. Two days on medical leave, you can do here or in your quarters. Basically as long as you are resting, you can do what you want. Three days light duties. Come in at the end of the medical leave and we have a look at you. After the light duties, we have a look at you. After that, you're free from our tender mercies," Cat finished with a smile.

His mind smiled back at her ~ of course its just a few damn brain lesions, nothing to worry about~

He looked at her with a frown as he got up to leave, "should I make a will?" he ended sarcastically pulling tight the back of his gown.

===========

<<Cat Scans and Lab Tests>>

A man runs into the vet's office carrying his dog, screaming for help.

The vet rushes him back to an examination room and has him put his dog down on the examination table. The vet examines the still, limp body and after a few moments tells the man that his dog, regrettably, is dead.

The man, clearly agitated and not willing to accept this, demands a second opinion. The vet goes into the back room and comes out with a cat and puts the cat down next to the dog's body. The cat sniffs the body, walks from head to tail poking and sniffing the dog's body and finally looks at the vet and meows.

The vet looks at the man and says, "I'm sorry, but the cat thinks that your dog is dead too."

The man is still unwilling to accept that his dog is dead. The vet brings in a black Labrador. The lab sniffs the body, walks from head to tail, and finally looks at the vet and barks.

The vet looks at the man and says, "I'm sorry, but the lab thinks your dog is dead too."

The man, finally resigned to the diagnosis, thanks the vet and asks how much he owes.

The vet answers, "$650."

"$650 to tell me my dog is dead?" exclaimed the man....

"Well," the vet replies, "I would only have charged you $50 for my initial diagnosis. The additional $600 was for the cat scan and lab test."

"Learning"

Dr. Klaus Fienberg, Medical Officer.

Location: Holodeck 3, Basic Combat Training Simulation, Target Practice.

The phaser was a dead lump in Klaus' hand. Despite being made of other materials....it was a cold frozen thing. Evil. Yet this evil thing could be what would protect him....and his family.....and his friends....his life.

Gunther Engleman would not stop. The demon in the empty shell that was once his friend had to be stopped. Klaus never used to wear his golden cross before. He used to keep it in a small box in his quarters, under his bed. The last thing his father ever gave him. In past weeks, he has been wearing it every day, asking, praying for forgiveness for what he would eventually need to do.

Hands Clenched, he raised the phaser and pointed it at the target. He had lowered the difficulty, he hadn't used a phaser since basic training at the academy.

"Miss. Damn it."

Aiming again, Klaus was luckier this time. The target started spinning, with a large chunk knocked out of it. It stablisied and returned to it's original position. "Ok....one more time." With a quick squeeze of the trigger, the target was now holographic dust.

Two new targets materialized, and moved slowly. On forward and backward in respect to Klaus, and one side to side.

The moment was strange. Klaus nearly dropped the phaser and walk out. Giving up. But a Strange strength seemed to surge into his arm, making his arm raise again. Hitting on target, then the next. The Second needing two shots. The same near-surrender came after this set. But Klaus pressed on. Trying to hone his skills. His current skill would get him kicked out of Security for incompetance, but it was a start. Blade training would be needed too. Close range with a knife.

-What am I training for. How many others after Gunther.-

He dropped the phaser and started to walk torward the door.

Dr. Fienberg stopped dead in his tracks. turning slowly, he spied the phaser on the floor. Then like a torrent, flashes came. Flashes of his friends(what few he has), this family, his lovely wife, and what may come from that union. He approached the weapon.

-This little lump of plastic, and metal and crystal. This little weapon. Destructive instrument. Is this what will save me? My family.-

His fists clenched, and he stooped to his knees. The realization that he would be reduced to the violent act of killing another man just to continue his life of peace, to protect what he holds dear, to continue to protect the lives of others through healing. To end a life is one thing, but to prepare to do so is another...an entirely different animal.

The pain in his heart continued to throb, but the phaser went right back in the hand, and the hand went right back to training. Learning.

"Reconsidering"

Lt. Commander Heather Sanchez,
Security Officer (Pat)

Dr. Jack Carter,
Medical Officer (Laurel)

Heather Sanchez was in a foul mood.

This, in itself, was not particularly surprising. If one were to ask any of the various Ensigns that she considered to be infesting the Security department, they would tell one that this was in itself a permanent state of being.

But in this particular instance, Sanchez was in such a mood because she had to go to Sickbay. Like many officers, she hated Sickbay. Karyn Dallas had once told her that it was because going to Sickbay was such a problem for her because it was an environment that she couldn't control, but she pretty much figured that was crap.

She just didn't like Doctors.

Holding her wrist, she huffed as she entered Sickbay, and looked around for the nearest doctor.

There was something oddly soothing about creating a tongue depressor cabin. Admittedly, he was only doing so because he was bored - but honestly, it was calming. Before too long, he would have a prime log cabin built...and he could create a pond out of a packet of saline solution. Then again, the pond would be more like a glacier... He was interrupted from his all too obvious construction skills by the swish of the Sickbay doors. Looking longingly at 'Planet Bob' - the name of the world his log cabin was on - he turned towards the door and almost dropped the tongue depressor still in his hands at the vision that had just walked into Sickbay. She was gorgeous. Hispanic, gorgeous, and, well...gorgeous. 'Get ahold of yourself, Jack,' he told himself firmly, before his mind automatically perverted that thought. 'Damnit!' he mentally cursed before using one of his winning smiles, "Howdy! What can I do for you, today?" 'Or would that be...to...you. Jerri, Jack. Think Jerri.'

Sanchez raised an eyebrow. "Howdy, vato? What farm did you just wander in off of? Where's the Doctor?"

"That would be me. Doctor Jack Carter at your service," he bowed towards her. He took a look at the way she was holding her wrist and harrumphed in that way that most Doctors had of neither telling the patient anything good, or anything bad. He stepped closer and gently grasped her wrist, both keeping it immobilized and trying to avoid causing Heather more pain, "What happened?"

Her eyebrow inched slightly higher as she gave the Doctor an honest appraisal. He was older, and fairly good-looking. The farmboy comment had been an honest appraisal - he looked like the kind of man one would find on a farm. Nice arms, if they really were the way they seemed to fit under the uniform. "Allright farmboy, I'll give you a shot."

"Rancher," he corrected absently as he steered her towards one of the biobeds, "So, what did happen to your wrist?" Jack couldn't help but marvel at the daintiness of Heather's wrist. It was actually smaller than Jerri's, if he gave it much thought, and his hand completely enclosed it. She also had a scent about her...rather musky, actually. But nice. Real nice.

"Misjudged a hold flipping Lieutenant Mar'quan in judo practice." she replied absently, naming the Nausicaan member of the Miranda's security staff.

Jack winced in sympathy, "Yeah, that would do it." He grabbed the nearest tricorder, all without letting go of her wrist and began scanning the injury. "So, what's your name?" he asked as he gently rotated the injury.

"Heather Sanchez." she replied. "I didn't think there was anyone on this ship that didn't know who I was." she replied, with not a small amount of wounded pride. The Latino officer rather enjoyed her (well-deserved) reputation as a badass.

"Ah," Jack said, snapping his fingers. He now had a face to put to the name, "I heard your name, Heather, but I never had a face to go with it. So, what do you do for fun besides tossing full grown Nausicaans around the gym?" The Doctor put down the tricorder and reached for one of the portable healing devices.

"It's just Sanchez." she replied at first. "My Madre is the only person who ever calls me Heather." "To pass time, I play pool, I box, I play with weapons that make things blow up, and I exercise." she said as he and an osteoregenerator over her wrist.

"Really?" he said, waving the healing device over the prone limb, "What sort of exercise?"

"Klingon and Nausicaan fighting styles, judo, running, weight training, calisthenics..." she trailed, giving the doctor a lingering look again as she reconsidered her earlier thoughts regarding Doctors. "Sex."

Jack could feel a flush run up his face at the last, including her appraising look, "Ah," he mumbled, fumbling the healing device slightly before continuing it's even keel, "It looks like you have a bad strain, Sanchez. The healing device will ease your muscles, but I'll have to recommend against any heavy weight training, Nausicaan tossing, or push ups for a few days."

"Which nails my hobbies down to running and sex." she commented again, and then thought.. what the hell. "So. When do you get off, farmboy?"

"In an hour, and it's Jack," he corrected as he continued moving the healing device over Sanchez' hand.

As the Doctor finished up, the Security officer experimentally moved her wrist around. She gave a curt nod to the much friendlier wrist, and then looked back up at the doctor and gave him a smile.

"Well. We'll just have to see if I get off around then too."

And with that honey-soaked line lingering in Carter's ears, the Latina officer departed sickbay, leaving one rather confounded medical officer their, holding his.. medical tool.

"Contact"

Black Cluster
Outpost 78
Breen Confederacy

Deep in the heart of Breen occupied space there swam an outpost, alone and desolate in the sea of ebon. It wasn't large by any means. Housed on an unnatural coil of manufactured debris no larger than a kilometer across, there sat no more than a trio of light-suited aliens, their gender hidden under a layer of grotty flesh.

These Breen were one of the many vanguard of their world, on the furthest lines from home to hold sentry to any who may attempt to pass.

At all times one of these Breen kept an ungloved hand on a depressed switch, the only safeguard that prevented the lattice of perimeter mines from arming instinctually. Since the call came from the homeworld of the Federation representatives acceptance of the opening of diplomatic relations (and this came with an untypical Breen sigh from the switchboard operator), this outposts crew rotation had come several months early.

Then, the sensor array emitted the audible signifying non-transponder code craft entering the sector.

This brought the other pair of watchers to the alcove where the first kept post for its required shift.

No words were spoken. The pre-mission briefing had clearly outlined the procedures.

Long-range scan, ionic beacon bounce, confirmation. No communication would be attempted with the Starfleet ships by the outpost. It was not their task. They would perform what was assigned of them, and their part would be complete.

Verification of telemetry, short range scans as the ships passed near, a visible hesitancy in assessment of personnel on each ship. Life signs that shouldn't have been there were. Wordlessly, the lesser looked to his superior, who simply shook his helmeted head, signally that the vessels should not be halted, even for something so grievous as this.

Third isolated the data packet stream, sending a short burst transmission to its destination several million miles away. A confirmation appeared moments later, the data packets were received and acknowledged.

After the Starfleet ships passed beyond the perimeter, first removed his gloved hand from the pad as per instructions. The board lit up green across its interface.

The mines were armed. The Confederacy's space was once more secure.

*****

Breen Confederacy Headquarters

"The Federation ships have entered our territories, the perimeter has been secured." The shallow mists of condensation hung in the icy cavern that served as the head of the Confederacy's government. The haze enhanced the mystery of the Breen, providing a cool ever-present level of oxygen and dense barometric pressure that suited their liking. A Terran equivalent would be an air conditioner set at its highest level whilst standing in the same room.

The hot volcanic gases provided power to the underground labyrinth the Breen made their homes in, an unfortunate byproduct of technology. The refrigeration units themselves counteracted the gases that warmed the heart of the homes as cold and black as they may be.

"Very good." Without their units, you could not avoid the unmistakable rasping of breath. Since the Breen converted oxygen to energy through tubules in their skin rather than breathing it in as Humanoids do, the actual motion of inhaling through the mouth was most likely a leftover genetic effect that would soon evolve away. One could hope, at least. It was an irritating behavior.

"Governor," Thot Gor's hesitation was obvious in that there was something unexpected he had uncovered in the data burst they'd received from Outpost 78.

"is there a problem, Thot? Do you not feel you can accomplish the tasks I have set forward for you? You can be easily replaced." A sharp crack resonated through the cavern, yet no one jumped. A low rumble emanated from the Governor.

Thot Gor licked his inner jawline, grimacing as the governor partook in the delicassé of frateert, a rare flying rodent whose costs could only be afforded by the rich and noble. Its stomach fluids were rich in sweetness and cool larvae always prevalent in the asexual predator throughout its short lifespan.

"The personnel scans have detected five Romulans on the smaller ship, and a single one on the larger. Intelligence had been lacking in this specific venue."

"The Romulans are of no consequence. The long-standing distrust of the voles by the Federation will bear little fruit for them." The room grew more chill if that were possible. "Besides, we have fed their spies here much disinformation. They lack any bite after their internal disputes of last year. They crawled to the Federation on their hands and knees begging for their assistance. They dissolved the Neutral Zone, leaving themselves open to invasion. They are weak and justly ignored."

As we now do, Thot Gor thought, but kept the notion to himself. Gor had reservations on this ideal held by the Governor. The Romulans were a shrewd, sly, slithering race. They carried among them, one of the most successful and deadly assassination cults ever to grace history. The Adepts of T'Pel were ghosts in the timeline, but very real indeed. There is an unconfirmed rumor of one such on Breen even now.

Let the governor make his own mistakes. Gor would succeed him once he did.

"Dispatch the welcoming committee, Gor."

"Yes, Governor."

"You'll do well, Thot. If this succeeds, consider yourself promoted to Thot Admiral." Gor nodded and backed off to perform his duties. If he pulled this off, he'd be more than Admiral, he'd be Governor.

*****

[We are within sensor range of the Starfleet ships, Thot.] On board the Gravnor, cloaked with its backup ships alongside, the Thot barely nodded his assent. Jacked into the system through his organic implants, Pran could see and feel the ship as the ships helmsman thought the words to him in a nanosecond.

[Tactical, confirm target areas, and lock them into the system.]

[Targetting systems online and locked. Weapon discharge at standby status. All craft are synchronized]

[Activating vocal translation systems, disengaging cloak]

The ship shimmered out of cloak, and Pran hailed the interlopers.

"Federation starships, I am Thot Pran. Disengage your warp drive, lower your shields, and power down your weapons. We are here to escort you to Breen under impulse only."

["This is Captain Elaithin Jii of the Federation starship Miranda.] was the reply as two communications showed up on Pran's screen. One, a Bajoran, seemed to be younger than the darker skinned individual. Unusual that their younger commander had the larger, and presumably more capable vessel. But then, he was not very good with judging humans. Perhaps he was mistaken. [" Ourselves and our sister ship,] the alien was continuing. ["the Galaxy, are carrying diplomatic envoys at the request of your government. What is the reason for the restriction to impulse speed? The final leg will take days in such a situation."]

"That is not your concern. Comply or leave the system. You are encroaching on our territory with two formidable starships. We will remain at Yellow status for the time being."

The Breen commander observed as the Bajoran Federationer spoke with someone off to his side, and nodded in approval as the Federation ship lowered it's shields and took it's weapons offline. Trusting fools. His every instinct chafed at the thought of escorting them to the homeworld, that the Governor wanted peace with these people. They did not deserve it. None of the lesser races did. ["Our shields are down, Thot. But I warn you, this ship has other defenses. Just for your information."

"I thank you for you consideration." the Breen coldly replied in his mechanical tone. "Compliance in navigating our territories requires an observation team comprising of three of our personnel to assist your piloting into our sector. This is per starship. Failure to comply will result in termination of relations, and an interminable act of war on your parts. Comply."

[Only if we in turn send our own observation team over. We'd like to think you are acting in good faith. So are we.] M'Kantu would have none of it. No Breen would set foot on his bridge without he having assurances of his own on the other side. They'd known to expect this - he knew Elaithin felt the same.

"Do you not trust us? It is we who have invited you. We are offering trust to the Federation. Is it not your way to be trusting as well?"

[Based on our recent histories, Thot, there is enough distrust between our peoples to justify the inability to blindly hand over trust. I will lower my shields and power down my weapons, but I will not allow any transports over to by bridge without equal representation on your own. Take it or leave it. Like you said, *you* called us. I don't have to be here."]

Captain Elaithin watched as Daren stared down the Breen commander. This was the first test.

There was a dead silence for several long seconds. Pran was evaluating or in contact with his government for direction. The situation was tense and the next words would finalize the direction.

"You have 5 Rihannsu on your ship, Captain. There is one aboard the larger vessel. What is the meaning of this? And there is one on the other one as well. This was not part of the agreement. They must leave."

[The Rihannsu are part of my crew, like it or not. All valued as equally as any other member of this ship, Thot. I sincerely hope you do not suggest I beam them out into deep space, do you?]

"That is an option, yes. But if you are so concerned with their well-being,' the sarcasm dripped like honey on a warm day, "There is a planet on the way where we can deposit them for the time being."

[Out of the question. They come with us, or we leave.]

["Frankly,"] Captain Elaithin interjected, ["Either our entire crews are welcome, or none are. The Federation would be most displeased if they had sent us all this way for nothing. I don't imagine your superiors would look too kindly on it either.]

Pran was growing exasperated. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. If he had more ships, he might have fell victim to his desires to blow both ships out of the quadrant, but he bit down.

"Fine, Captain, but they are not to be on the Bridge while our observation team is on board, and they are not to take part in any negotiations."

Daren knew he'd pushed far enough. Having the Breen acquiesce this much was a feat indeed. Having his Romulans given free reign on the ship while the Breen were on board was another.

[Very well. We await the exchange with great interest. Five minutes.]

"Baptism By Fire, Part III"

Doctor Mark Mnementh, Ensign--Medical Officer
Doctor Felicia (Cat) Khatroweena, Commander - CMO

[Sickbay, USS Miranda NCC 77000-B]

Cat waited for the blue shimmering to coalesce, a crewman looked up at Cat. "He was in the gamma ray telescope when the shutters opened.

Moving forward, Cat's nose took in the smell of the burnt flesh, thankfully the Andorian man was unconscious, the extent of the burns would have been very painful. Her eye took in the amount of damage, and the glint on the burns that were visible suggested that they were very deep. As she reached the side of the man, she had flicked open her tricorder.

The man wasn't breathing, her primary concern was the airway and the tricorder readings showed her the airway was clear, turning and looking at Mark, "Vent him!"

I grabbed the mask and vent bag, old technology, but still very useful. I watched as Cat, now the primary physician, continued her examination. I watched as she flicked through the scan modes, certainly practiced actions. I watched as Cat spent a second with a expert eye reading what the tricorder was telling her. From my angle, I could see what Cat was reading, it wasn't unexpected, the man had gone into shock.

Reaching out, Cat donned a pair of disposable gloves, she grabbed a coded hypo, ejecting the vial with a quick look and then reinserting it, she held it against the neck and then the familiar hiss of the hypospray followed.

"It's not working," I said, taking the spent hypospray from her.

Cat continued to work as she replied, "Delactovine!"

Quadroline would have been better, I thought, but it has a chance of interfering with the burn treatment.

Cat turned to a nurse that was near the transporter. "Twenty milligrams of Masiform in an IV," she ordered. Returning her attention back to her tricorder, she studied the disply. "C-spine, pelvic and chest are ok. No internal bleeding."

It was a credit to her people, they were exactly where she wanted them to be. She didn't have to look around to give orders, they were there already. Two orderlies had come up with an anti-grav gurney.

"Take him to the low G ward," she said.

An orderly took over venting the Andorian as I followed Cat.

"Hope you haven't had a heavy lunch," quipped Cat.

"Nope. Just a Solarian Sunset in the Cantina."

We moved through a small corridor into a room with four biobeds. The front of the door and the floor were covered in the red and yellow alternate stripes of low G areas.

"With the extent of the burns, I'm trying to reduce the pressure on the burns themselves until we can deal with them."

"Good thinking," I said, scanning the Andorian with my tricorder. "The burns do not penetrate below the skin. Miraculously, deep tissue has not been injured, but I think it's going to take more than our dermal regenerators to repair the damage."

"Agreed. Third degree burns over thirty percent of the body are always difficult to heal. What do you suggest, Mark?"

"I led a wilderness exploratory team for two years on Ba'Ku. One of my team members had a very bad accident and tore up her arm pretty badly. We didn't have a dermal regenerator with us, but we had discovered an anesthetic plant that seemed to aid in the healing process."

"That's very interesting, but we can't divert the ship to Ba'Ku."

"We don't have to, Cat. When I left Ba'Ku a week ago, I brought a large sample of Dermaleaf, along with some other plants, with me."

"Dermaleaf? Nice name," Cat replied with an arched eyebrow.

"But I don't know if the leaf will be effective off Ba'Ku. The unique characteristics of the radiation from the planet's rings that keep people young and healthy may be required by the plant. It's one of the things I wanted to research aboard the Miranda."

"I think it's worth a try. Go get the leaves while I continue dermal regeneration." Calling out from to the nurse, concentration on the patient, "I want Dermaline Gel, thirty milligrams of Kelotane. I want a one fifty milligram Hyronalin IV..."

"Aye, Sir."

I left sickbay and headed to the nearest turbolift to take me to my quarters on deck fourteen, grabbed the storage case I had put the leaves in and started back to sickbay. I quickly returned to find that the situation had deteriorated.

"Twenty-five ccs inaprovaline!" Cat ordered.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He's lapsed into shock, his vitals are failing."

I got down on the floor and opened the storage case with the Dermaleaf. I pulled out four large leaves, each one about four by ten inches long. Upon doing so, the tips of my fingers went numb. It was a good sign. I quickly spread them over the Andorian's burns and gently pressed them into place.

"He's stabilizing now, Doctor," the nurse said.

"Good, good."

"I think the leaves will help," I said. "Now that he's stable, we need to leave them in place about two hours."

"How can you be sure?" Cat asked. "You said yourself you didn't know if the leaves would be effective off of Ba'Ku."

"Yes, I did. However, just from handling the Dermaleaf, my fingers have become numb-indicating that the chemicals of the leaf that healed on Ba'Ku are still active, so I have reason to be optimistic. Also, I believe the leaves will form a better bandage than anything we could devise."

"Alright. We'll wait and see," Cat said. She turned to face the nurse. "I want you to watch him carefully. If there's any change in his condition, good or bad, I want to be notified immediately." Cat sighed. "Alright Mark, there's a few more areas I wanted to show you in sickbay, and then you'll need to get back to your patient."

"Lead on," I said. I watched as she stepped over the threshold of the low-grav ward. Cat's tail seemed to dip and she paused for a few seconds. "Going in and out, always get to my stomach," she mentioned with a smile.

"That's understandable…but there are hyposprays for that, you know."

"During a medical emergency there usually isn't time for a hypospray for the doctor," Cat replied dryly.

"Okay, so where are we headed now?"

"The nano-lab. Considering your research into Nano-tech, we'll get your access set up. It will be interesting to see the effect of the Dermaleaf. Ba'Ku - ahh, now I know where that name comes from. I am very surprised that it still works. Let us hope that they don't have a side effect like the spores from Omicron Ceti 3."

"There were no side effects in Olivia on Ba'Ku after we applied the leaf, and I haven't experienced any side effects from handling the leaf other than the numb fingers, which is a temporary condition, I assure you."

"We still don't know how the plant will work, off Ba'Ku. We'll just have to wait and see," Cat cautioned.

Cat led me into another lab with another door just inside. There was an angular symbol on the door, which was very much reminescent of the bio-hazard symbol, but it meant nano-tech.

"We keep extra security on the nanites." Cat approached the second door and it opened up. Moving up to a terminal, she gave a series of security codes and added myself to the list of allowed personnel. As we went in, Cat looked at me, "I assume that most of this is familiar to you?"

"Of course. Standard and Level Ten containment field controls, nanoscanners, science tricorders, microatmospheric controls, a plethora of apparently self-replicating PADDs…."

Cat laughed. "They really are everywhere. And it seems you know your way around the nano-lab. If you have any questions at all, there are detailed specs in the medical database and I am usually available."

"I'm sure I won't have any problem."

"Well..." as she was about to speak, Cat was interrupted by her com badge. Counsellor Shinta asked to meet her in the main ward. There was an emergency. Turning her attention back to me, "Mark - keep a close eye on your patient. If those leaves don't have an effect - I want standard treatment. I'm always interested in new treatments, but not at the cost of the patient."

"Of course. I'll go check on him now and advise you of any changes. After I give the Dermaleaf time to work, I'll check on him again, and then I'll probably head for bed before Delta Shift begins.

"Excellent!" Cat said. "Well, sorry I have to cut this orientation short. We'll talk later."

"Aye, Sir."

"And Mark…welcome aboard!"

=/\= "Breen Space" =/\=
ens. Oscar Lanzo

** USS Miranda, Deck 41, Main Engineering **

Jemel Aria stood between Oscar and T'Prala. The three engineers intently watched images and data change on the panel before them. Lieutenant T'Prala broke the silence, saying "We are now seven billion kilometers from Breen space."

"One minute," Aria converted aloud based upon their current velocity of Warp factor 6. She added, "watch for the mine fields."

The three officers were observing the feed from the primary sensor array because ensign Oscar Lanzo had expressed curiosity about Breen space. He had asked, "What defines the borders of Breen space? How will we know when we've crossed it?"

The half-vulcan engineer, formerly a science officer on a previous posting, looked to her superior. "It is possible that the Breen have found a way to mask their mines from our sensors. They do employ cloaking technology for some applications."

Oscar looked at her, frowning. "At the academy they didn't warn us about cloaked Breen mines!"

Lieutenant Jemel gave a crooked smile. "It seems unlikely. If the Breen had developed that kind of mine, it would take enormous resources to replace the existing defenses across their entire border. And I just don't think they'd put cloaked mines exactly where our two Starfleet vessels are travelling, and risk us discovering them!"

T'Prala lifted an eyebrow. "That is logical. A race as belligerent as the Breen would wish for their mine fields to be visible as a deterrent. They would save undetectable mines for a ... special occasion."

Oscar snorted, saying "even uncloaked mines, by design, are difficult to pinpoint exactly."

The bajoran lieutenant almost whispered, "Five seconds..."

T'Prala pointed to a portion of the display. "Here, and here, tell-tale signs of defensive fortifications. But, they do not appear to be active."

Aria frowned. "I guess they were expecting us. I feel so welcome," she said facetiously.

"What else can we expect?" Oscar asked. His imagination was running a bit wild; he half expected the Miranda would suddenly find itself in the middle of a forgotten Dominion battle fleet.

The half-Vulcan said nothing. The red-haired Bajoran opined, "From here on out, the Breen are one hundred percent in control of what we see. Probably we'll soon be met by a handful of light cruisers that will escort us to the homeworld."

T'Prala announced another sensor reading. "We have been scanned. The source of the sensor beam is a small artificial body, approximately seventy four thousand kilometers away as we passed the point of closest proximity."

Knowing that the Breen were aware of the Miranda and Galaxy's exact positions actually reassured Oscar somewhat. It was comforting to know where your potential enemies were - even if that enemy is a tiny chunk of trash floating in a mine field.

As they watched the displays for new discoveries, Oscar looked toward the two women. "You know, I've been working on an idea... it's still in the early stages but the concept is to strengthen our Bio-Neural Gel Packs' resistance to the Breen neurological weaponry."

Aria shook her head. "Starfleet's been trying that for years. A few improvements have been made, but truthfully the best defense is to stop the energy pulse from penetrating into the ship at all."

The Vulcan was more adamant, "It is foolish to invest resources in pursuit of a line of research already exhausted by those with more time and resources than you have."

Oscar Lanzo tilted his head forward and raised his eyebrows. "I disagree, lieutenant. To me it's a puzzle to work on while I perform rather tedious parts replication, so I'm not really spending a significant amount of time on it yet. And, since we haven't found a way to prevent the Breen weapon's energy from penetrating into our bio-neural networks, I believe a better gel pack would be highly valuable."

T'Prala pursed her half-latina lips. "That would depend upon your success or failure in finding a solution that has for years eluded Starfleet Headquarters' special engineering teams."

"I'm not saying that I'll find a miracle cure in only a week. But I do have a couple of ideas! Unfortunately I'm handicapped by the biology aspect of the gel packs," Oscar admitted.

"Well, Oscar, you do sound determined. When you have an opportunity," said the pretty Bajoran, "you should speak with someone from medical about these ideas of yours. I would hate to think we overlooked a brilliant solution based on misplaced skepticism," she concluded, touching Oscar's arm.

Lieutenant Jemel then licked her lips. "You know, I could go for something to eat." Both of her junior counterparts looked at her with mild surprise. "What?" she demanded. "We're going to be in Breen space for a while. We can't just sit in engineering the whole time waiting for the sky to fall!"

"Changes, They Are A'Comin'"

Lt. Yehenik Circidon Yashanti
Gamma Shift Leader
USS Miranda

Lt.Commander Rayna O'Grady
Asst. Chief Sec/Tac
USS Miranda

OOC: Occurs before the staff meeting

Circ decided that Security was no where near as funky as Operations. It was far more impersonal. People here were paid to understand the information before them, and the people that produced that data. It was another level deeper than Ops in many ways. More brains than braun.

Today it was time to make sure those brains started thinking about security again. Circ decided O’Grady, a person she greatly admired, was the place to start. As the assistant chief walked in, Circ was behind her duty station, legs up on the control panel, waiting.

“Hello sir, here is the overnight reports. Just one question from tonight, if I may.”

Rayna stared at her for a moment, seeing how comfy she made herself, "Can I get you some coffee? Tea? Water maybe?" She sighed, "Nevermind, what's the question?"

“Just this sir, when are we going to get organized and be effective again, because right now this department is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Rayna became sarcastic, something she was very good at, "Gee, why don't you tell me what you really think." Rayna shook her head, "Haven't you heard? Disaster has already happened. I'm sure the male security are having a field day with the jokes. They are probably all saying things like, "This is what happens when you put women in charge" or some crap like that." She sighs again and apologizes, "Sorry. Why do you ask?"

Circ calmly placed her feet on the ground and examined the human woman for weaknesses. The flame was still there. Good. "Because my daughter is on this ship now. Enlightened self interest I assure you. That, and I hate to be in unsuccessful departments. Tarnishes the old ego." Circ brought up some stats that scrolled slowly across the main viewscreen in the small room. "Miranda is one of the premier ships in the fleet. Yet we rank currently between 3rd and 17th in almost all the standard measurements."

Rayna folded her arms and glared at Circ, "And I am sure you are going to tell me what you think the problem is."

"I would put it down to trauma, an extremely high turnover rate, and poor morale. The whole ship suffers from the latter, the previous two are a result of problems within the staff. I am suggesting nothing more than a swift kick in the departmental ass." Circ handed her a suggested schedule that included intensive three-shift long holodeck combat training, antiterrorist exercises and physical training. It also included cross-training plans with the Special Operations teams and a weekly briefing and training regimen from intelligence.

It was in a word, brutal.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Arel is pregnant, with an attitude to go with it and my husband has been missing for almost three months, not to mention I lost my baby. Then there is two more in the department who have been having some personal problems of their own. Of course moral is down but shit happens."

"I need your support on this Rayna" Circ closed her eyes and leaned back against the panel she had been sitting behind. "I am good at doing this, I did it on three ships and Starbase One before I came back. Jii is right, Security really is a tactical division. These people see themselves as guards and bodyguards. Cops. They are not, not in this time in history. They are soldiers, and its time we trained them as such."

Rayna nodded, "Well, if Jii said it, then it must be God's honest truth. Heaven forbid that he could be wrong." Rayna sighed, "Okay. What do you have in mind?"

"Well, look at the plan, and get back to me please, sir. I want to take it to Arel within the next 48 hours and I didn't want to go over your head."

"I'll take a look at it tonight. I can't sleep anyway. Maybe it'll put me to sleep." Rayna was just giving her a hard time, "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Not today, sir. Thank you for your consideration." Circ gave her best attempt at friendly comraderie. She still had to prove herself here. But at least she was starting to do her job. With a nod she left her exasperated superior officer to her reading.

"A Word with the Friendly Flight Officer"

Primary Characters:

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Chief Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian
Vanguard Three
USS Galaxy

****
Ten Forward
Deck 10
USS Galaxy
****

The ship's computer had unexpectedly alerted tr'Khellian to a new presence onboard. Just prior to the Gryphon mission, Savar had attempted to seek out the pilot who had performed so outstandingly and dazzlingly against the Rihannsu warbirds they had enountered - and fought - when investigating the disappearance of USS Pallas Athena. The manifest had listed her as Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian, but the Computer has flatly denied her presence onboard. She had, the monotonous voice informed him, transferred off the Galaxy. Irritated, Savar had requested her new posting - only to be denied. The information had been classified. He had resigned himself to not meeting the Flight Officer, but had asked the Computer to let him know when her posting information became declassified. He had scarcely expected her to return to her original post.

Now, Savar had tracked her down to the ship's lounge, where he had decided to take breakfast before reporting for duty. Having collected a light breakfast from the replicator, he headed over to what he assumed was A'Akledorian's table. She was the only blue, tentacled, white-haired woman in the room, anyhow.

She didn't look up until he had almost reached the table and was standing over her, tray in hand. "Flight Officer A'Akledorian?" he enquired.

"Yes?" she snapped.

"May I join you?"

T'Shani A'Akledorian had been actually *enjoying* her afternoon... something rare for her, indeed. What with Rex's endless simulations, she had been looking forward to just sitting and relaxing in the ship's lounge, without anyone bothering her. *Especially* St. Valentine. The oaf had 'mistakenly' sprayed Angelenia's call-sign on *her* fighter. She had been tempted to replicate a Klingon Painstick and *stick* him with it.

Sighing, she looked up to the newcomer who had interrupted her solace...and froze. *ROMULAN!*, her minds screamed. *GET AWAY...NOW!*, but she exercised her willpower and remained firmly planted to her seat. ~Frellin' Greenbloods~. What the hell did *he* want with her?

Gritting her teeth, and trying to hold back the urge to hit him - or curse him - she simply responded, "How?"

Tr'Khellian frowned deeply, wondering if he had heard correctly. 'How' did not seem a proper response to his question, and he paused to consider what she might have meant. Savar's Standard had improved considerably since arriving onboard Galaxy, so much so that he got by without the assistance of the Universal Translator much of the time. But this had him stumped.

"How?" he echoed, bemusedly. "Well. By sitting down opposite you, Flight Officer. I believe that is the general custom."

Quickly, she got up, eyeing the Romulan interloper. ~What in the name of Umarin is a Greenblood doing on a Federation ship?!~ she asked herself.

"You can sit wherever you like," she said while clenching her fists. ~Why did I even come back?~ she asked herself. But then she remembered...she still had a mission to perform. Quickly she turned, about to stalk away from the wretched Romulan.

Frowning, the Chief Tactical Officer set his tray down. "Please wait a moment, Flight Officer," he called after the rapidly-departing Andorian. She did not slow down. Frowning, he hurried after her, his long strides outpacing her before she managed to exit the lounge. He was bemused by her reaction but also offended by it - and somewhat humiliated. At the very least he was determined to discover the reason for A'Akledorian's rudeness.

"Flight Officer A'Akledorian," he said, moving to half-block her way. "Is there some problem of which I am not aware?"

"Get out of my way, G'thak," she swore in a dangerously-cool voice as he blocked her way. ~Why was he here?...What did he know?...Did Toluk send him?...Wait, was he already here?...A *Romulan*...on a Federation starship?!...~ Tish's mind raced at Warp nine as she automatically went into defense mode. A primal growl started from deep within her, as her antennas coiled back, like two blue cobras ready to strike...

"What?" scowled tr'Khellian, not comprehending the epithet, which the Universal Translator left well alone. "That is no way to address a superior officer, Flight Officer!" he snapped, his eyes flashing angrily at her rudeness. He was still confused, and a little upset - he had come here to congratulate the Andorian on her skills as a combat pilot against his own people - and here she was, spitting fire at him!

"Get OUt of mY wAy, NOW!" she shouted, while drawing stares from all over the lounge.

"That is *enough*, Flight Officer!" tr'Khellian barked, fiercely enough to make her pause, her deeply ground-in military training apparently disorienting her for a second. Savar glared menacingly around the lounge, and whoever had looked in their direction hurriedly returned to their meals, drinks and conversations. His eyes flicked back to the defiant features of A'Akledorian. "Keep your voice down," he snapped.

"Who the hell are you to issue orders to me?" she demanded, the chill entering her voice, again.

"I am the Chief Tactical Officer of this vessel, and the last time I checked," Savar said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height so that he could look down his nose at the pilot, "you were just a Flight Officer." His voice was lower in volume now but still brimming with annoyance. He would not allow anyone to behave so disgracefully to him - it was a loss of face, the most terrible thing of consequence to any Rihana. "Now what, in the name of the Archelement, is wrong with you?"

"Just a..." ~Who in the Name of Almighty Umarin *is* this f'theking hor-torder?! "See *this*?!" she pointed emphatically to the chest of her duty jacket, where some of her white department tunic shown through. "*This* means that I'm not even *rEmOTeLY* under yOUr juridiction. I don't answer to M'Kantu. I don't report to Henderson. Starfighter Corps aren't under any command from Starfleet, unless in battle. Frell...I don't even *really* answer to Rex, either. So take your stuffy, self-righteous....*SELF*...and shove it up your ass! I asked you twice, and now I'm telling you: get out of my way, now!"

Tr'Khellian's blood boiled and blasted through his veins. Never in his life had he been spoken to with such unveiled disrespect, such audacity, such offensiveness. "I don't care *what* uniform you wear, Flight Officer," he roared, his olive skin darkening as his face flushed, his dark eyes issuing a look deadly enough to wither grapes on the vine. People looked up again. "You're a foul-mouthed, offensive, disrespectful, petty little ingrate. I came here to congratulate you on your skills as a pilot - instead, I can assure you you'll be on report in the morning."

With considerable self-restraint, the Romulan patrician resisted the urge to spit at her feet and curse her using language that would have made a ch'Rihan street urchin blush. Instead, he swept out of the lounge, his face like thunder as he dared anyone to meet his gaze.

T'Shani watched him leave, not caring *who* he went and complained to. ~What are they gonna do, transfer me?~ she asked herself. ~Fine: let them! Then I can get off this wretched ship...~ she shook her head, drew a cold glare across the room, and departed the opposite corridor the Greenblood had gone.

OOC: This JP comes directly after the staff meeting, and sometime before the JP between tr'Khellian and A'Akledorian.

"Cold Counsel"

Principle Characters:

Legate Kylar Curran
Federation Liaison Corps
USS Galaxy

Sub-Commander Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian
Acting Chief Tactical Officer
USS Galaxy

****
Corridor outside Holodeck 1
Deck 11
USS Galaxy
****

As the meeting of the two vessel's command crews broke apart, Curran silently gathered whatever notes remained to him of the briefing to himself.

The first impression of the Miranda crew was one of dread. How did Starfleet entrust a ship such as a Pathfinder class to yet another inept crew? Abigail was correct in her observations. This future of the federation frightened him. There was a lot of work to be done in correcting it. The exchange between the Science Officer of the other ship and it's pregnant Security officer was an un-warranted argument. The woman should not have been assigned. Her pregnancy *was* a liability.

Yet their Captain felt the need to send her into that precarious situation. The female mind was emotional enough. Add the chaos of hormones to the mix and she was liable to start a war. Obviously, the federation lacked the pathos of how valuable the children were. In his culture, a Kelvan with child was revered. Adding to the species' number was an important task, and one of honor. It was the only time they were optioned out of battle.

Spying Sub-Commander Savar, his features unreadable in the wake of the playtime of the children, blathering on and on about if's, maybe's, and whatevers. Curran could have gotten any of the information shared from the ships computers.

He needed a unique perspective on the situation, for he didn't trust this Starfleet agenda. They were bound to screw it up somehow.

Picking up the pace to match Savar's, he intercepted the Romulan.

"Sub-Commander tr'Khellian. May I have a word?"

Savar glanced to his left. "Legate Curran. Of course." He smiled at their parallel thinking and slowed his pace to a more sustainable stride for the Kelvan. Curran still looked worn, haggard, as if recovering from a long illness. At least he had been forced to rest and no longer looked on the verge of death. The Sub-Commander touched his commbadge, the symbol of Starfleet he wore on top of his Rihannsu Galae uniform, and notified the bridge officer at Tactical that he would be further delayed.

The holodeck where the tortuous and inconclusive staff meeting had been held was closer to the Tactical offices than the diplomatic liason corps' suite, and so Savar steered Curran in that direction. His mind was already working, wondering what Curran wanted. Probably - with all due cause - to bitch about another peurile and pointless staff meeting, but doubtless there would be other points of interest, other agendas at work; that was always a given with the shrewd-minded, mean-spirited Kelvan.

"It is pleasing to see you back on duty, Legate," tr'Khellian remarked placidly, as the turbolift doors closed, leaving them apart from the dispersing officers. "I hope you are in better health?"

"My health is not an issue." However the Sub-Commander may be, personal concern for another being was not in a Romulan's capacity. Like he, an invalid was useless to the well-oiled machine of effectiveness and productivity. Discussion of one's health issues only proved to admit weakness.

Still touchy, then, Savar thought to himself. Still ill. Still under some sort of restraint.

"I will come straight to the point, Sub-Commander. Starfleet has virtually no intelligence on the Breen as you and I have borne witness to, and I wonder if you would have anything worth sharing that may assist me in my duties brokering an agreement with them." It was sickening to bear that none of the away party was of any species worth understanding a Breen's motives other than possibly himself. The Breen were an aggressive, thoughtful race at first glance; not governed by emotion, but purely strategy in accomplishing their goals. They could not have foreseen the virus that would decimate the Founders, thereby weakening their superior military forces. If they had, one could be sure they may never have joined the front.

The Kelvan and Rihannsu race shared this pension for emotionless single-minded victory. They could easily discard their own lives in the pursuit of elevating their own cultures into the conquerors; to lead the lesser species to enlightenment. The Federation could not understand this. Their value on life extended beyond what was feasible. Sending an unborn child into the mix was just an example of how infantile their race was. It was easy to send an undeveloped life-form into the fray. It had never experienced existence, therefore it was easier to sacrifice it. Sending a fully-developed adult in spoke of courage and audacity, if not boldness. Humanoids lacked this trait.

So he and Savar were at the mercy of the half-wits, to be sure, but by no means could he not take advantage of the Rihannsu Officer's intelligence and resources. It was a risk, to be sure. The Tactical Exchange officer would no doubt call in the favour in the future if he were to release enough information. It was a risk worth taking.

Savar considered the Legate's remarks as they entered the Tactical suite. He nodded to the yeoman on duty as they passed through to the Rihana's inner sanctum. He poured a glass of water for himself and the Kelvan, still pondering Curran's request with a pensive expression. It was unlike him to be so forward, to be asking a favour so blatantly. The lack of intelligence on Breen must be critical.

Tr'Khellian frowned as the two men sat down on opposite sides of the large, glass-topped desk which dominated the office. "It is puzzling to me, Legate, why Starfleet and the Federation Diplomatics Corps should have stationed their most incompetent and foolish officers on a world whose inhabitants have been impeccably hostile towards the Federation and with whom a major war has recently been fought. Whose inhabitants razed San Francisco to the ground and destroyed Starfleet Academy, with the loss of hundreds of thousands of lives." Savar sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of his wing-backed chair, and steepling his fingers together. It was a characteristic pose for the Romulan, mirrored, much to his profound irritation, by the African Captain of the Galaxy, giving them the somewhat ridiculous appearance of opponents in a chess game whenever they happened to be seated in the same room. "Can you shed any light on this, Legate?" Savar asked.

The Romulan knew he had the advantage of the higher ground in this exchange, Kylar knew. The power of knowledge was a droplet of water to a thirsty man in the desert. The more precarious the situation, the greater the balance of power rested in the person whose grasp held the precious elixir of life. In this case, it was a well of knowledge from a people up until a year ago were bitter enemies, their secrets cradled in a womb of deceit and uncertainty. Savar knew this to be sure, and he would use every ounce of privilege he could grasp. Therefore, Curran would not banter needlessly.

"Starfleet has given diplomatic relations with the Breen any sense of urgency. The outpost embassy on the planet was used more for political purposes than furthering negotiations with them. Sending disgraced Starfleet personnel that have no place in the scheme of the Federation to the ice planet is more of a prison sentence than anything conducive. Every major government body has such practices. Your own government would send you into the heart of the inferior United Federation of Planets themselves since they were unable to imprison you." The Kelvan intertwined his own fingers, manicured to the point of perfection once again, and rested them on the laminated table in front of him. He left the water untouched for the moment.

Tr'Khellian glared impassively at Curran across his desk. He could not believe the nerve of the Kelvan - coming crawling to him for advice, and then insulting him so brazenly. Curran seemed to have no concept of his tenuous position on this Starship or the diminished status of his rag-bag race, not to mention his own feeble physical condition. In earlier days, Savar's ancestors would have stricken dead any insolent peasant who dared to speak to them thus. "A fatuous and hollow comparison," the Romulan patrician remarked cooly. "I am not a diplomatic officer and my people already maintain permanent diplomatic staff of the utmost competence on all key Federation worlds." He glared again at Curran. "It is an act of weakness and stupidity on the part of your organisation to send fools and incompetents to such a dangerous and hostile world."

The Romulan patrician launched himself suddenly out of his chair and strode to the window, hands clasped behind his back. He was tired of sitting still after that interminable, squabblesome staff meeting, feeling restless and frustrated.

"My people have had contact with the Breen over the years following the end of isolationism, Legate," Savar said, turning to look again at the Kelvan. "We also maintain a consultate on Breen and I dare say a very close intelligence-gathering network. We have less reason to be wary of the Breen but we are in doubt as to their cold, calculating tendencies and their implacable hostility towards the Federation and its allies."

"What do your intelligence officials make of the Breen?" Curran enquired.

"I believe they understand them far better than the Federation does. Humans in particular seem to think that all other races are to pay deference to the Federation's subjective code of morality. Those that don't are merely misguided, or oppressed by wicked governments, or just waiting to hit a certain stage of development, until, suddenly, they will become enlightened and be brought into the wonderous, seamless fold." Distaste and irony dripped from every word and splattered onto the floor. Sarcasm was etched across the arch features of the Tactical Chief's face.

"The Breen do not operate by the Federation's moral standards, by your standards or by my standards. They operate by their own. What I can tell you for certain, and what neither the Galaxy nor the Miranda intelligence departments fully comprehend, is that the Breen are entirely self-interested, but also fiercely independent. They will not approach outsiders in a position of weakness, even a concealed weakness. If a million Breen were starving to death, they would not ask for help or even try to improve relations. That hasn't changed with the imposition of a technically 'civilian' government - they can only operate within limits sanctioned by the military, because they know that no outside power is going to invade Breen to restore 'civilian' rule in the event of a military coup." Tr'Khellian folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the windowsill and exhaling noisily. "The Breen have asked the Federation to come because they believe they are in a position of strength."

Curran's face remained a chiseled facet of stone. Unmoving or daunted by tr'Khellian's revelations, he expected no less. The stance of rather dying than request assistance was a mark of a superior intellect to be sure; he and the Romulan shared that trait between them. The observation that all races should bow to the moral and ethical obligations the Federation preaches to the masses was a correct one. He himself had fallen victim to the softness of their 'peaceful handshaking' and giving them a new world to reside on. It was sickening. One day, they would regain all that had been lost, though. He was sure the Breen were planning something of the same. He knew he would not approach the same peoples who had defeated him in shame and add insult to injury by turning tail to leave their people in ruins. It is honorable to die in battle, but the loving Federation only left them in tatters. He would be vengeful indeed.

"The Federation and these Starfleet crews would never understand their thirst for vengeance and retribution. I am no military tactician by nature; that is your strength, Sub-Commander. What is your assessment of the situation? Based on what intelligence you have and have not revealed, what is your projection of end results?"

"The situation is not good," tr'Khellian said, simply, moving back to his desk and activating the large display panel beneath the glass surface. His hands worked arcoss its controls as he continued to speak to Legate Curran. "As I tried to indicate in that pointless and rambling meeting, I suspect we are heading into a snare." The formerly-blank screen was now displaying a standard star map for the Breen region, including the border with Federation space.

"The Breen system is here," Savar said, pointing to a cold blue star to the left of the display panel. Curran craned forwards to peer at the map. "This line traces the border. If the twelfth fleet is placed on manoeuvres along the border," he said, indicating the most likely location, "at Warp 9, it would take them 3.1 hours to reach the Breen system."

He brought up a separate information panel and tapped at the console for a few moments, bringing up the text of the peace treaty signed with Breen at the end of the Dominion Wars, then having the computer search for and pick out the provisions made for disarmament. He read quickly through the extracted text, the spirit of which he knew and despised, the exact terms of which were unknown to him.

"Whilst the Breen were forced to give up much of their armaments at the conclusion of hostilities, they have been permitted to keep 2 battleships and 15 cruisers for the purpose of 'planetary defence', and the treaty made no stipulations for smaller craft," Savar summarised, looking back at Curran. "I am sure I do not need to tell even a man of your limited tactical expertise and battle experience that 2 battleships and 15 cruisers could quite easily destroy the Galaxy and Miranda within 3 hours. And that," he said, his eyebrows rising, "is making the unfounded assumption that they have abided by the terms of the treaty and have made no new military alliances."

"What would the Breen hope to gain by attacking us?" The Legate demanded. "The 12th fleet would still be able to destroy their forces and leave the Breen prone, even if the Galaxy and Miranda were destroyed."

The Sub-Commander opened his hands skyward and shrugged his shoulders, merging a traditional Romulan gesture of not-knowing with a human one. "The Breen's aims are seen only through a glass, darkly. The 12th fleet might be able to destroy the Breen planetary defence forces, but would they have the strength to launch a punitive invasion of Breen itself? Certainly not. Would they even have the authority to destroy the Breen fleet in reprisal? Doubtful, given the pathetic divisions in Starfleet command which seem to rear their heads in every mission this vessel is involved in, like some hapless, wretched pawn on a chessboard." Savar paused, looked around and seized on the glass of water, sipping at it to buy time to collect his thoughts. His frustrations were bubbling to the surface again. He hated being a servant on someone else's ship, but for that ship to be a servant of foreign political whims which were vain and self-defeating, executed without aplomb and rarely successful rankled even more bitterly. "If the Galaxy and Miranda were crushed before the 12th fleet arrived, I might even expect the fleet to be withdrawn," tr'Khellian said, setting down his glass. "For consultations. Will the Federation embark on a war it cannot possibly afford, and is not prepared to fight, in order to avenge our deaths, Curran?" He looked at the Kelvan for one long moment, his face dark. His voice was grave as he answered his own rhetorical question. "No."

The Kelvan unclasped his fingers, grasped the rim of the table, and pushed himself off to a standing position.

"Thank you, Sub-Commander. Your information will be most useful in my dealings. Do you have any other items of interest I should be aware of while planet-side?"

"The pregnant woman. She must not be allowed to go."

Legate Curran paused. "Why do you say that?"

"She is a liability. If this is indeed a trap, the Breen will capture her and, if they need to, hold her, and her unborn child, to ransom. They will not stop short of mutilation or torture - of the mother, or her foetus. They are also ruthless hand-to-hand combateers; in any high-risk situation, our personnel on the ground must be willing to lay down their lives as much as their opponents. Will the pregnant mother sacrifice her life, and the life of her child?" Savar shook his head. Frankly he had been disgusted at the outrageous faux pas that the Miranda crew and her captain had caused during the staff meeting. Given the recent death of Lt D'Tinya-Bolivar, pregnant, killed in the line of duty, it was a terrible thing to be squabbling over the despatch of yet another pregnant woman to hostile territory. The collective chill which had run down the spines of the Galaxy staff had not left tr'Khellian untouched.

The Legate nodded once tersely. "What is the cost of this information, Sub-Commander? What do you wish in return?"

Tr'Khellian narrowed his eyes in a palpable wince. "Really, Curran, must you be so crass?" he remarked, in a weary and exasperated voice. He knew full well that their relationship was based on quid pro quo, not mutual amity, but to state it so openly and unsophisticatedly was anathema to any Romulan. Savar, in particular, as a member of the aristocratic class, despised the idea of 'cost' and 'bargaining' as mercantile activity, a dirty art best left to people like Ambassador Omar and his filthy ilk. "We have come to a mutual understanding. I am pleased to assist you, and you are pleased to assist me. We will both know when the appropriate time comes."

"Very good. As usual, your assistance has again proven itself most invaluable. Perhaps one day, Starfleet may come to understand the principles my superiors and yours have come to understand in working together, even if at first the actions are for political reasons at first." It was not usual for the Kelvan to provide a positive comment in any sense of means, but in the case of the Rihannsu, he knew their paths and his were parallel. Both wanted to achieve the same aims. He could only hope they would work together long enough to see those aims through before the Federation destroyed them all with their soiled manifest destiny. For a union that so resolutely stated all were equal, their Starfleet personnel still resonated with discrimination in terms of the two of them.

(OOC: Takes place shortly after Galaxy and Miranda leave Starbase 212.)

"Letters to Lia"

by
Ensign Tarin Iniara
Operations,
USS Galaxy

Location: Ens. Tarin's quarters, USS Galaxy

"Hey! Sorry about my last message, I know it was a bit rushed. But I'm on the Galaxy now!" Iniara leaned back in her desk chair, gesturing widely to her surroundings. The computer wouldn't pick up much more than her, the desk and the wall, but it was the dramatic effect that concerned her more.

"Anyway, I'm settling in pretty well so far. Ops looks to be run well, the department head is agreeable, and most of the department's personnel range from mildly personable to really friendly. They're all unique, but I suppose that's what makes Starfleet what it is..." She chuckled, pausing to take a sip from a glass that sat just off-camera.

"I've met a few of the senior staff and several other crew members in various departments. Then again I'm on overnight duty again, Gamma shift this time, so I don't get to see many of the daytime personnel. Not that I'm complaining; you know I've always been a night owl. That, and Gamma and Delta shifts always have their own special brand of weirdness about.

"Home life is decent. My side of quarters looks really bare; I got paired with a roommate who brought lots of stuff." She raised her eyebrows, empasizing the word 'stuff'. "She's an interesting character, has a funny accent, describes herself as 'Scottish-Cardassian'. Yeah, you heard that right. Cardassian. From what she tells me, she was orphaned young and adopted by a couple from this place called Scotland on Earth. I have no idea why they stuck a Bajoran and a Cardassian together as roommates. Maybe someone high up has it in for us, I don't know. We haven't killed each other yet though, which is good.

"Anyway, I'd better get going. My shift starts in an hour or so; I still need to eat something and get caught up on the day's paperwork. Hope all is well in your corner of the Quadrant. Give me a buzz if things get too boring." Iniara waved before pressing the stop button on the screen.

"Computer, send message to Commander Tarin Kaeylia, normal encryption. Save a copy in Sent, Lia." The computer chirped merrily, accessing the pertinent information in Iniara's personal database before encrypting and shooting the message off to its destination. A moment later the words "Message Sent" displayed on the screen.

Satisfied, Iniara turned off the terminal screen, rising from her desk chair. She returned her half-finished drink to the replicator, paused a moment to straighten her uniform, then headed out the door into the hallway beyond.

"Broken"

Flight Officer T'Shani A'Akledorian - Vanguard Three
Lieutenant JG Victor Krieghoff - Security Officer

----------

If I smile and don't believe

Soon I know I'll wake, from this dream

Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken

Hello

I'm the lie living for you, so you can hide

Don't cry...

----------

=^= USS GALAXY, Deck 11: Gymnasium =^=

The Andorian woman took up her stance, feet spread - not too far - shoulders squared, back straight, and arms and hands in the Eighth Order position. Silently, she extended her right hand, palm up, flexing her fingers to her opponnent:

~Come and get me...~

The man charged with a perfect Eighth Order attack kick, sweeping near the midsection. T'Shani whirled away, but not without first catching his leg, and throwing him out of the ring, followed by a *CRUNCH* sound.

She was trying to cool down from the *incident* with Savar, that morning. At the least, the hologram didn't mind if it got a few broken bones...

"Computer, reset simulation: Level Nine..." she paused, as she *felt* something...no...*someone*. It was a feeling she had only had once before - in Ten-Forward - when her holodeck priveledges had been revoked, for using a *real* chaka blade in her fighting simulation.

Slowly (while still facing her opponent), she swiveled her left antenna in the direction of *him*...

"Mister Krieghoff, what a *pleasant* surprise," she intoned quietly, coolly, while keeping herself still unmoving.

"Flight Officer," Victor nodded. "Is this a bad time?"

Tish made a *shrug* with her antennas. "Only if you have come to tell me that you're revoking my priviledges, again," she smiled slyly, while still facing the opponent. There was just *something* about Victor Krieghoff that...well...*excited* T'Shani A'Akledorian. She couldn't quite put an antenna on it...but there was some mysterious, frightening, *exciting* energy that seemed to follow him, wherever he went.

"No. You haven't done anything to require that," he replied with no trace of humor. "I owe you a match."

"Computer: pause simulation," Tish commanded, while relaxing from her pose. Casually, she walked over to where Victor was standing, dressed (as ever) in her jet-black, form-fitting workout attire.

Victor watched her walk towards him and the frown that seemed always present on his face shifted slightly. His gaze wasn't appreciative, or assessing in any of the many ways Tish was used to having men look at her. Instead it seemed to be directed inside her, at something below the surface.

"What is your poison, then?" she asked, as her antennas swayed, warily. The 'vibes' - as the human's called them - she was picking up off of Krieghoff were...were...*intoxicating*. "Your...'aunt'...you say she is a Grandmaster, in the hand-to-hand arts?" Tish queried. She really needed to meet this woman.

He nodded. "Hleshvalath, Pel Ta'an, Kharakom, and at least two others that I don't know the names of. One of them has the root word for 'dancing' in it - I think that one is unique to the Idrani keth. She also knows one of the Vulcan styles - Kareel-Ifla - and a few others." He thought a moment. "One of them is that thing the Orions do with the head butts, and another is Centauran; that one is a grappling style. I don't know either of their names."

"Quite impressive," T'Shani said earnestly, while picking up a towel and drying herself a little.

"She's good," he agreed tonelessly. "Maybe the best I've ever seen."

While re-fixing her hair in a ponytail behind her head, she turned to face him, once again. "And what do you suggest we start out with today, Mister Krieghoff?" she asked, laying on sarcastic sweetness to her voice.

Victor frowned. "I'm not like my aunt, Flight Officer. I don't know the names of all the moves or anything like that, because I don't practice any of those styles - I just fight." He looked at her again with that same penetrating gaze. "Perhaps this is the wrong time."

~That's odd~ Tish stopped what she was doing...*feeling* him gazing at her - no - *through* her. It was...spooky. "And wh-why do you say that," she asked, cursing herself for catching herself up on the complex, odd feelings emanating from Victor Krieghoff.

"Because you're broken, Flight Officer."

T'Shani stood still, the color blanching from her already pale features. Eyes widening and antennas standing erect, she couldn't *believe* what he had just said! ~And yet...And yet...He's right...~ the voice told her, again. Still, there was no excuse for him to be so blatantly *direct* about it (not that Tish, herself, would ever do such a thing)! ~The *NERVE* of this guy!~

The thoughts and emotions that ran through T'Shani's mind were written plainly on her face. Shame. Embarrassment. Anger. Rage. Victor catalogued them all dispassionately as he waited for her to choose one and act on it.

"How...*dare*...you..." she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Tell you the truth?" Victor asked. "I always tell the truth, Flight Officer. There's no reason not to. It's all there; written in your stance, your words, even your hair. You're broken."

"You know *nothing* about me." With that, she quickly swept her arms into the First Order of Pel Ta'an; a fighting style well-suited to close-quartered action. "Either fight me, or leave, but do *not* insult me, Mister Krieghoff."

"I haven't tried to insult you yet, Flight Officer." Victor tilted his head to one side, and looked at her without reacting to her aggressive stance. "Do you want me to? I'm told I can be very insulting when I try...."

He never finished his sentance. Lightning-fast, she swooped around, her left hand forming a fist and cutting toward his chest, while the right arm took up a defensive posture.

Her fist smacked into Victor's palm as he caught it, his fingers clamping down on hers. He pulled hard on it, rotating to the side as she was jerked forward and off-balance, and then released her as he smacked the heel of his hand into the side of her head while she stumbled past him, her ponytail slapping her shoulder as her head was knocked to the side and she dropped to one knee. "Like I said, Flight Officer," he continued as he stepped back and looked at her there, his voice still scrubbed clean of emotional context, "you're broken. If you were whole, that would never have worked."

Tish was......*stunned*. ~How had he...?!~ She felt humiliated, infuriated... True, her specialty was the bladed weapons, but she wasn't that bad in the martial arts, was she? ~It's a *lie*!~ her mind raged back at her, as her head started to pound where he had smacked her.

"<Shez'aal'aa nee'throo kee'mroofth'amaal>," she swore at him, powerfully springing up from her place on the mat, raising her arm and open palm to him, catching him square on the point of his chin.

Victor's head rocked back mechanically from the blow, but his expression never changed as he dropped it back in time to take a knee to the chest that seemed to amuse him more than anything else. "You're not really trying, Flight Officer," he said in his toneless voice. "Did you miss a few pieces when you glued yourself back together so poorly?"

As he staggered back slightly, she rushed him again, the rage building inside her. Rage of what happened at Raath Ra'Chuul... rage at her 'mistake' at Chryonix Five... rage at the betrayal at the Rel'kessan starbase... rage at *herself* for what she had done.

Rushing him again in her full power, she landed a one-two-three punch to his chest, before he caught both her arms, crossed them, and spun her to the mat, pinning her down by kneeling on her chest; his knee digging into her ribs, with her arms crossed near her throat.

"Better, Flight Officer," he frowned down at her. "But you're still not..." He paused to slap aside an attempt at breaking his hold with a seemingly casual ease and continued, "...not really trying, are you?"

~Wow...~ she had never fought a Pinkskin who had such a... *primal*... fighting style. Not as fluidic or balanced as one of the taught-arts, but effective, nonetheless. Catching her breath, she looked *up* to see his face hovering mere inches from hers. Her antennas twitched as she *sensed* something while he was so close...something...*dangerous*...

He leaned down closer, and his voice began to shift subtly, becoming something that was no longer toneless. "Why is that, Flight Officer?" he asked in a low growl, which was more like an animal's warning rumble than anything else. "Do you *want* me to kill you?"

While T'Shani's body froze, her mind raced, with Victor's echo reverberating deep within her...

~Do you *want* me....do you...kill you....kIll you...KILL YOU...do you WANT me...to KILL YOU!~

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed the sound of the lost one that had for so long remain hidden. Pushing back against his Presence, she fought to regain control...

"Really?" Victor growled again. "The why are you just laying there, Flight Officer?" he snorted once, dismissively, and reached for her throat. "If you're that broken, you *are* better off dead."

"YoU...wIll nOT..." she rumbled back at him, while powerfully kicking him off of her; her legs throwing him almost two meters into the air, before she rolled out, quickly flipped up, and let Victor *SMACK* back into the floor mats.

Without a word he rolled up shook his head once, and nodded once. "Maybe you're not so broken after all. Maybe you just need to get hurt a little to remember that.""

Now, *her* Presence...the presence of *her* hunter...was in full-force, competing for space, existance, POWER against whatever was eminating from Victor Krieghoff.

Plus, Tish was pissed.

Victor shifted his stance slightly and circled to the left. "So, which is it, Flight Officer? Do I hurt you, or kill you? Do you care?"

~Do I hurt...KIll...CARE!~ "You're wasting your time, Victor," she started while launching a powerful kick to his chest.

Victor caught it, twisted, and sent her to the floor, only a fast roll on T'Shani's part preventing his follow-up stamp-kick from shattering an ankle. "It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?" he observed. "Oh, wait, you meant something other than fighting you at all, didn't you?" He slapped another kick aside and stepped in to hook a powerful left into her torso and dance back. "Or did you?"

"Because," she snapped, as she looked for a way to catch him off-guard. ~Interesting...~ her mind noted and catalogued several fact about his stance that she could use to her fighting advantage.

"Because what, Flight Officer?" he asked in that same taunting, neutral voice. "Because you're broken and you can't pull yourself together?"

"Because..." she repeated, while quickly jumping in the air, both legs coming together in mid-air to sweep around his stance. An instant later, she squeezed her legs together in a scissors-hold, to bring him off-balance and crashing to the mat.

He grunted once, rolled to the side as his right arm came up in a blow that would have been only slightly-less devastating to T'Shani than a man standing in her position - and checked it at the last moment. He looked at her for a moment, then slapped the mat once, acknowledging the bout to her.

Standing over him, while planting her foot firmly on his throat, she leaned over, her amber eyes ablaze, as she snarled at him, "Don't try to fix me, Victor. I'm not broken."

Victor's almost colorless blue eyes looked expressionlessly back up at her. "Of course you are, Flight Officer. It's still all there, plain as day, for anyone who wants to look to see. It's not my job to fix you. Talk to Dallas about that - it might do you more good than you think. I just owed you a fight - if I'd known that you were this broken, I wouldn't have come today."

Pushing a little more pressure on his throat, she glared at him again, and then released her hold on him, slowly walking away from the workout mats. ~That was.......invigorating, and...infuriating~ she decided as she walked toward the showers.

"Flight Officer," Victor's voice followed her. "When you're not broken any more, come see me. This wasn't a real fight, and that's what I promised you."

An image flashed through her mind, momentarily...before she shook it off. "Don't bother, Victor," she said silently, before disappearing.

"Ping! I am a Duck. Or, the Secret Lives of Bored Roommates."

Ensign Tarin Iniara,
Operations

Ensign Aristi Ferguson,
Flight Control (APC)

Location: Tarin/Ferguson quarters, Deck 2, USS Galaxy

The evening dragged on...and on...and on.

Except it wasn't the 'evening', technically, since it was somewhere around 0930 hours. And it wasn't really dragging either. Not yet.

From a darkened corner of her quarters, Iniara broke the silence. "Computer, time."

"The time is oh nine thirty six hours."

Iniara slouched down in her desk chair, legs extended straight out and elbows propped up on the chair's arms. In her hands she held a small block of freshly replicated clay, which she was slowly but surely moving away from its default 'boring lump' state. Nimble fingers worked their way into the mass, while at the same time a different sort of fingers were trying to prod a different sort of lumpy grey mass.

~*Ping.*~

~*Ping. Ping ping.*~

~*Helloooo in there.*~

Nothing. No response at all. For the past half hour or so, Iniara had been sending little telepathic calls across the room, but so far she'd received no response, no acknowledgement that anything had been received.

~*Ooga chaka, ooga chaka.*~

Not even silly phrases got through. This was never going to work.

Technically she shouldn't even be doing this, having long ago vowed to herself never to communicate telepathically without permission from her target. But she had wormed her way into many similar minds over the years, so what was the harm in doing it once more? They were only Cardassians, after all.

Iniara sighed to herself, tearing off a chunk of clay and beginning to knead it with just her left hand. Not even featureless clay, her old standby, could get her mind focused enough today. She had been gradually increasing the strength of the probes, letting her shields down bit by bit with each one, all apparently unsuccessful.

~*Ping?*~

~*Hello?*~

She had been ignoring the headache that was building, tingling behind her eyes and spreading across the front half of her skull. If she kept this up much longer, Iniara would be marching her stubborn self down to Sickbay for some painkillers. And for what? A failed attempt to communicate telepathically with her roommate?

At least now she had a good idea why they had been paired up. Something about Aristi's brain made it harder to communicate with, deliberately or otherwise.

~*Pay attention.*~

~*Gul Dukat is my hero.*~

"Did you just say something?" From across the room, Aristi picked her head up off her bunk, looking back at her roommate. A thin shaft of light fell across her face, glinting off the smooth surface of her artificial eye.

The sudden broken silence had startled Iniara, and her shields reflexively shot back up. She hadn't really expected that line to work, but was now thankful it didn't go through clearly. It was bad enough thinking such a horrible statement without someone else being around to bear witness.

"No," she replied. She didn't feel bad about lying. Technically she hadn't said anything...out loud, that is.

"Oh." Aristi shrugged, an awkward movement considering she was lying flat on her back. The Cardassian dropped her head back to the bunk and picked up the PADD she had been reading, holding it overhead.

Silence descended upon the room once more. Iniara went back to her blobs of clay, smashing the smaller piece back into the larger one and beginning a new sculpture. Across the room, Aristi continued to stare at her PADD, not moving except to occasionally tap the screen and flip to the next page.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Fifteen. Twenty. A lifeless lump of clay became a crude bipedal monster-looking thing. Now the evening really was dragging.

"Computer, time."

"The time is ten oh nine hours."

Oblivious, Aristi continued reading. Iniara figured it must be extremely engaging, whatever it was on that PADD. Slowly the minutes ticked by. Except there was no clock in the room to do the ticking so the minutes just slid by, silent and unnoticed. The clay monster eventually grew a tail and thick legs.

Iniara's headache was waning, and like any stubborn fool she began testing the mental waters once more. ~*Who's up for some kanar? Anybody? Thought not.*~

By the time Iniara was using a fingernail to craft a menacing set of teeth in her little monster, Aristi had flipped over to her stomach and was swinging her legs back and forth through the air as she read.

~*I am a duck. Quack quack. Come on, can't I get a reaction?*~

The clay thing grew tiny front legs. Iniara began to think she should quit for the evening and go to bed. Neither her sculpting nor her telepathic experiments were faring too well.

"Hey! Is that a Tyrannosaur you're making?" Aristi had rolled to one side so she could see Iniara and was now pointing with her free arm to the miniature.

"I think so. Yeah, I guess it is." Iniara hadn't really been paying attention to what she had been doing; now that she looked closer it did look a bit familiar...

"I just read something about the T. rex!" Excited, Aristi sat up on her bunk, feet dangling off the side. She picked up the PADD, gesturing at it with her other hand. "Get this-- new research suggests their brains were much larger than previously believed, meaning they might have actually been intelligent, thinking creatures!"

"Really?" Iniara bent down, peering closely at the tiny monster. As if on cue, its squishy little legs gave out and it fell sideways, making a dull splat noise as it hit the desk.

Aristi snickered. "Doubtful. I've been reading up on some archaeology journals, not paleo-whatevers. Don't know naught about dinosaurs-- too old, no fun."

Still hunched over, Iniara looked up and gave her roommate a mockingly cold glare.

~*You are strange.*~

"I'm going to bed." She stood up from her seat, took the little clay lizard and put him back in the replicator, then disappeared into the washroom.

Aristi picked up the PADD, trying to locate where she had left off. "Am not. You're the strange one," she whispered to herself. She chuckled lightly before settling back down on the bunk and continuing to read.

[BACKPOST]

"Sharing History"

Cora Dobryin
Paulo DiMillo

Paulo sat in his office in the intelligents offices. He was going over some reports that had come in from the rim, mostly from the Miranda, who was docked right besides them here at base. It was an interesting mission they had gone on, and something he hoped he never had to do.

Cora was still coming to terms with what happened on Gryphon. If she moved wrong she could still feel a twinge of pain from where she'd landed after the explosion. At the moment time to relax sounded really good.

Paulo leaned back in his chair and looked accorss the hall to see his new head sitting in her office relaxing. Paulo had been given the chance to step up as Department head, but had decided aganst it as he was still getting used to his duties being an assistant head. Paulo got up and walked over and knocked on the door to her office.

"Enter," Cora responded not expecting guests but not declining company either. Everything that happened since the recent away mission stil lhad her head spinning.

Paulo entered. "Saw that you might want some company," Paulo said.

"Have a seat or do you have a better suggestion than my office. I'm not exactly in a mood for work right now," Cora replied hoping Paulo had some suggestions.

"I was thinking of heading to get some food on the Starbase if you would like to join me," Paulo suggested.

Cora nodded, "That sounds good to me. I need to eat and to get away from here for a time."

Paulo smiled and waited for her to get up before heading out.

Slowly and carefully Cora stood, "I hope you know of a good resteraunt cause I'm fresh out of ideas."

"I know of one," Pete said holding out his hand motioning for her to leave first.

With a smile Cora exited her office then towards the exit to Intelligence. "Well then I look forward to finding out for myself how good it is."

Paulo smiled as he walked up beside her. "Just hope you don't mind some Chines food."

"Not at all Chinese is one of my favorites," Core responded, "And I have to say good company to share it with is even better."

Paulo smiled and nooded in agreement. Paulo had heard about the place, but had never been there before. When they got there the place was decorated in a traditional chineese way.

"Someone has done an excellent job with their cultural research," Cora observed.

"Really," Paulo said as the host sat them at a table. "Its almost like being in China."

Cora had to agree with that as she was seated then turned her attention back to Paulo, "So this is a chance to find out more about you besides what I've seen on duty."

"Well I guess the place to start is for you to ask a few questions," Paulo replied.

"I guess I should start with asking about your childhood. Where you grew up that kind of thing," she responded with a laugh, "I'm trying to avoid making this sound like we're at work."

Paulo let a smile seep through. "Well most of that is in my records, but, I grew up in Italy on Earth with my parents. I had a brother a sister who where twins. I stayed there till I joined Starfleet."

"So you were close to your family?" Cora asked, "Feel free to ask me questions as well. It works both ways. I grew up aboard my father's ship, USS Raiden. Eventually I joined my brother on Betazed then enlistedin Starfleet. After two years there I decided it was time to pursue becoming and officer so I went to the Academy."

"I was close to my family, especially after the incident. I was the only thing that gave my parents hope. Guess you could say I was their lifeline."

She undestood his comment all too well. Memories of her sister Alanna came to mind briefly. "That makes sense. I don't get to see my family as often as I'd like."

Paulo knew the whole story of his childhood was not in his offical records. She prob didn't know that his sister has been missing for many years and that his brother, her twin had died some months later. It was painful memories, but memories that he relived every day of his life.

Cora knew she hadn't mentioned her sister to Paulo yet that was a moment she'd never forget. It had changed her world forever. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring up painful memories," she suddenly found it necessary to appologize for her earlier question.

"No, its alright. I live with them everyday of my life. Its the only thing that keeps me going, and is probably why I never really succed in relationships. Its the whole reason I am here now on this assignment."

"Perhaps we're more a like than eithier of us wants to admit. My reasons for serving in uniform are closely tied to my family and its why I feel a need to be out here."

Paulo was slightly interested. Some of the things in her record was sealed, just like his. Not just the perks of the job, but casue it could damage them in many ways and Starfleet was not dumb like that, to let something that could damage their officers, especially when they didn't have any control of it. "Tell me about it," Paulo said.

"When your not on duty how to you like to spend your time?" Cora wondered about his hobbies.

Paulo ignored her change of subject. "I am usually still working," Paulo said. "I do do a few sports and work out, but I usually work on my side project that I have been working on since I got my commision. How about you?"

"I'd be lying if I said work didn't consume a lot of my time," she paused briefly, "I like to stay fit and theres always a range of personal projects in line to tackle."

Paulo coudn't help but smile. Their waiter came and took their orders. About 10 minutes later they had their meals. At first Paulo thought it was replicated, but then relized that it was all real, freshloy cooked in back. "This is great," Paulo commented as he took a bite of his chicken.

Cora finshed of a bite, took a sip of her drink then nodded in agreement, "Yes its excellent. I haven't had good fresh Chinese food in quite some time."

Paulo took his next few bites in silence, letting what had been said set it. It seemed like they both had similler reasons for being in uniform. "What do you know about my childhood from my service record?" Paulo asked, relizing she may not know a lot as it was partly locked away.

"Only wahts int your record. Though its safe to say I can make some pretty educated guesses when it comes to the rest." Cora answered honestly. They bpth had personal demons that much was clear.

"Well I would like to hear what you have come up with, as I am sure you have dug into my background as much as I have dug into yours."

"I know you suffered some serious personal losses. They still haunt you. But Paulo there is nothing you could do to change what happened," Cora answered his question honestly.

"Maybe," Paulo said, "but I have to try. To find the ones responsible is the only thign that keeps me going sometimes."

Sympathetically Cora nodded, "Yeah I know. That much we can't change. So what do you know of my record?"

"Just what is there. Seems you were able to digs your very well," Paulo commented.

"Well then you know there is more than meets the eye. I have two siblings. My brother Lance and my sister Alanna," Cora waited to see how he'd react to that. "Alanna is officially listed as MIA."

Paulo rememerbered that name from someplace, but could not place it. "From the War?" Paulo asked.

"She was assigned to the USS Oberon," it had been a long time since Cora really reflected on any of it.

"That ship was lost..." Paulo stuttered off.

Cora simpy nodded. Even now it was the only way she could truly answer his question.

"Nothing has been heard from her since she was lost at the end of the war, just before our last push." Paulo could just imagne. He had it bad, but he had lived with it for many years. For her, it was only a few years old, and still very fresh in ones mind.

"I know the stats, Heck I could recite them for you but what bothers me it that while Alanna took the oath to serve she was their Chief Engineer. Not strictly a combat trained officer. I know she made the ultimate sacrifice because duty required her to do so but part of me still hopes to see her walk through that door one day, safe from harm's way."

"I have those same feelings everyday," Paulo said. "Hopeing that the answers will walk right in, and my family can be somewhat normale again."

"So do I," Cora looked at Paulo, "Now you know more about the story behind me."

"And you want to know more about mine," Paulo replied.

"If you feel like talking about it," she answered.

"When I was little I had a younger brother and sister who where twins. On one of their birthdays my younger sister was kidnapped right out of our house and my brother died a few months later. They say he died of a broken heart, his twin was missing. They spent every moment together and they hardly ever did anythign without the other. At this point my parents where already in a very deep and deprssed state, and this didn't help much. The local Earth Force police could not get anywhere, and Starfleet coudn't find much more. Since then I promissed to find out what happened to her. The only problem is that the trail is two decads old."

"One thing you can never do is give up hope. For your sister there's still a chance." Cora had listened carefully to every word. "its not easy but you're doing what you need to do."

"Though it gets one in trouble from time to time," Paulo commented as he took the last few bites of his meal, and finishing his tea off. "I got a few leads from out last mission, but nothing I can check out for some time as it looks like we will be shipped out early."

nightstormiv: Cora nodded as she finished off her meal, "Yes I understand. Looks like I'll be working with Miranda's Intelligence Liaison."

Paulo had never worked with the Miranda's Liasion Officer. He had heard a lot about her and the only reason he ever talked with her was to get the Miranda's mission logs.

"It will be a nice change and a way to get my feet wet in my new position but I'll be the first do admit its a lot to comprehend in a very short time."

"Yeah," Paulo replied. He was glad that he had let her take the job, and glad that she had accepted. It would probably be to much for him right now.

She looked at him for a moment then smiled, "I'm pretty sure you could have handled this just as well as I am."

"Your not a telepath are you?" Paulo asked with a smile

"Telepath no way," she commented, "But I also want you to know that I'm relying on your abiltities to help me keep things flowing smoothly. Sounds like we're going to need it."

"Sounds like it," Paulo said. "I got a call from one of my sources back home, and I don't think we will like our next mission to much. They also said that both Captain's have also been contacted unofficaly. We might have to bring out all the stops for this one."

"Yeah I have a feeling we will," Cora had heard things that put her on edge as well.

The waiter came back with their check and Paulo handed him his credit chip, and the two got up and headed out to walk along the Promenade.

"Thank you for dinner," she commented as they took in activities on the starbase.

"Your welcome," Paulo replied. "It was actually kinda nicem and its nice to know where we both stand in an unoffical sence."

"Yes it is and I have to admit dinner is far more enjoyable with company," Cora really hadn't felt like spending the evening alone.

"It is," Paulo commented. "I actually can't remember the last time I had had dinner with someone, for any reason. not something i usually do."

Cora didn't have many friends aboard the a Galaxy yet, "I've been keeping to myself far more than I probably should for a ship like the Galaxy."

"Well I don't know about you, but this is my first ship assignment. I have been based out of Earth since the Academy, and even there I didn't have many friends. I seem to push many of them away."

"This is my fourth since I joined Starfleet," she confessed, "Each one had been different."

"I can imagine," Paulo said as they stopped to look at a shop.

"Thought I'd be used to moving around since I have done it several times, but its always a challenge," she admitted.

Paulo just smiled and looked at what the shop was offering before they moved on. He had never been in this much personal contact with anyone for as long as he could remember.

Cora had to admit to herself that she was enjoying spending time with Paulo. He was one of the few she had started to consider a friend.

The two kept walk along, stoping at a shop here and there to check out what they had to offer and kept walking till they got back to the Galaxy and Cora's quarters.

"You're more than welcome to join me for a drink. Though I'm avoiding anything other than tea or juice right now,

"I would like to join you for a drink," Paulo said as she opened the door.

"My quarters aren't much but they are home. Make yourself comfortable. What would you like to drink?" Cora's weapon's collection was diplsayed on one wall. Pictures of her family and other momentos were strategically place around the room.

"Um, Thi(SP) Ice Tea," Paulo replied as he looked at her collection of weapons. She had weapons from all over the Quadrant, and some that Paulo coudn't even think of where to place. "You have a wonderful collection," Paulo commented.

Cora ordered two of the special iced tea and handed one to Paulo. "iguess you could say I'm a student of the various cultures that developed those weapons as much as I am of the martial arts. A few of those were presents others I've picked up in my travels."

Paulo was just amazed by them. He had seen many types of weapons in his life, but some of these were just outstanding and nothing like he had ever seen before. "I bet some museums would love this collection," paulo admitted.

"Probably but many wouldn't have a clue of their origin or uses. Its become a personal goal of mine to learn as many of them as I can. Though there are one or two that have some sentimental value behind them as well," Cora glanced in his direction as she sipped her drink.

Paulo looked back at her and lcoked his eyes with her. "I could only imagine," Paulo replied.

Her hand lightly brushed a gainst a ceremonial sword though she didn't say anything for a moment, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Something one of my mentors once quoted. He was right."

Paulo looked at the sword and wondered how she had gotten her hands on it, and what was the history behind. He didn't say anything, he just stood their and looked, and staired.

"This was given to me as a gift after my final Intelligence field training excercise. Its true origins have never been revealed entirely, at least not yet but so far its has some roots Capellan in nature while others are tied back to the Romulans."

Paulo just smiled and nodded as he listed to her story. He could tell there was something else in her story that she was not telling him, but he would not dig for it. If she wanted to talk about it she would, if not, all well. For the time being he would just sit there and listen to her.

She could see it in his eyes, "What do you want to know?

"What is means to you," Paulo replied simply. "I can tell there is a whole story behind it that your not telling."

"Its no secret this was given to me by someone I highly respect both professionally and personally. What not many people know is that after I graduated training we fell in love neither of us expected it. The only time it has ever been anywhere other than that display is the day I stood among the honor guard at his memorial. Its a constant reminder to me that our work is dangerous. Yet I wouldn't change the way things happened even though they ended far too soon."

Paulo smiled. "It's nice to have something like this," he replied. "I have nothing of the such, excpt some photos of younger years." He then stood their watching her as she looked the sword over and over, seeing a little moisture forming in her eyes.

"It will always be with me but life goes on," Cora replied. Quietly she finished of her drink then moved to put her glass down only to wince slightly as her shoulder protested. "Sage piece of advice the ground is rather unforgiving when it comes to diving for cover."

Paulo smiled as went over to help her, taking the glass from her to put it on the table.

"Thank you. Medical said it would be a week or so before I feel completly like myself again."

"Your welcome," Paulo replied as the two walked over to sit on the couch so they could get off their feet.

The couch was comfortable. Cora wondered briefly who had been guiding her actions on this particular evening. It wasn't in her nature to act this way.

Paulo sat there, not knowing what to say or do. This was not like him, he was supposed to be the closed off one, never doing anything like this.

"Miranda Is Taking The Stars Down"

Ensign Mark Mnementh,
Medical Officer,
USS Miranda

[Location: Mnementh's Quarters, Deck 14, USS Miranda]

What an exciting day! I thought, for probably the hundredth time as I tossed and turned in my bed. Less than twenty-four hours aboard the Miranda and I made a couple friends in the Cantina, ran into an old friend from academy days, Ariss Edon, and had a great orientation with Dr. Khatroweena and not only that, but got to use some of the plant specimens I brought from Ba'Ku to the Miranda in a medical treatment of the injured Andorian, who had made a full recovery, much to Cat's amazement.

I couldn't stop grinning. The Dermaleaf had worked perfectly, and after only two hours of treatement, not only had the Andorian's burns healed, but he was able to report back to the X-Ray telescope where he had suffered the gamma radiation burns. Dermal regenerators had only been used to accelerate the seasoning of the Andorian's skin. Usually, there is heightened sensitivity after a burn and a need to keep burned areas away from heat sources, and that was still the case with the Dermaleaf, however, with the dermal regenerators, that last step of healing was accomplished freeing the crewman for normal duties. Cat was so impressed she assigned me the task of profiling the active ingredients in the leaf and charged me with developing a new derma gel to replace the standard medical issue salve currently in use. And with proper documentation, Cat was sure I could get a paper published. But that would have to wait, as I had been newly assigned to the Breen Observation Team that would beam aboard Thot Prann's ship. But first came Delta Shift Duty in sickbay and I needed sleep. Or a woman…but that was unlikely, even for me, considering the hour and the time constraints.

It was hopeless. I got out of bed and went to my desk to clarify my notes and make sure I had up to date information on Breen physiology, such as what was available anyway. The message "Incoming Transmission" was flashing on my monitor.

"Computer, play message."

Instantly, the picutre of my brother Dan appeared on the monitor and I smiled.

"Hey Big Brother," Dan said smiling broadly. "I hope this message finds you well. Congratulations on your assignment to the Miranda! Can't believe you got a Pathfinder! Mom says you worked very hard and have earned the privilege and blah, blah, blah. You know how it is when one of us comes close to living up to one of our parents' Daystrom caliber expectations. Etc., etc., etc.

"Anyway, I'm here in Charlevoix tearing up the whitewater circuit on the Pine River Channel. I got your last package from Ba'Ku. The holoprogram of the Briar Patch River is unbelievable! Nate, Bobby, BJ and I loaded it at the Lake Michigan holocenter and put on the river just below Data's Lake. We got our asses kicked and our kayaks stuffed down our throats in the first Class V. You named it So'na, right? You should have called it "The Breen." We restarted the program and ran So'na again. Same result. After that though, we were able to handle it. You'd have been proud.

"Hmmm…what else? Oh! They've been finding tons of cool music at the Old Cleveland archaeological site. Check this one out! It's by a group called Fleetwood Mac, and the song is called "Miranda."

Miranda
(Lindsey Buckingham)

At the end of the day the end of the light
She keeps the remains of all of her foes
Miranda is dying with all of her might
She never comes she always goes
She sticks the camera right into her arm
Anything to forget what the trouble's about
It causes her pain that's part of the charm
She's down for the count then finally out

Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
But the lion still rules Miranda and
Miranda is always alone

She sees her face in another magazine
And the walls all close in as the fancy takes flight
Can't stand to be loved but she loves to be seen
She slips down headlong into the night

Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
But the lion still rules Miranda and
Miranda is always alone

And then all at once the sun starts to rise
She sees her father holding her down
Oh the daylight is poison to her eyes
She slips down the shade and lets herself drown

Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
But the lion still rules Miranda and
Miranda is always alone
The lights shine down the marina all across her safety zone
But loneliness follows Miranda and
Miranda is always alone

"Interesting, huh Mark? I think the song is catchy, but the lyric is a little ambiguous and pseudo-depressing. For you guys up there patrolling Federation Space I think it means to just watch the beast inside of you. If your crew has issues, and I don't know a single starship crew that doesn't, just keep them in check and work together to keep the beast inside at bay. Of course, I know that you will never be alone. Have you met any cute nurses yet? Are you ever gonna settle down? I'm telling ya, it's wonderful being married. Sara and I are like kids we have so much fun. Okay, adult kids, having tons of sex. You know what I mean.

"Well, that's all the philosophizing I'm capable of right now, Big Brother. The guys are nagging me to load Briar Patch again so we can take another run at So'na before exploring the other whitewater gems you have undoubtedly captured for our enjoyment back here at home. And speaking of home, when are you coming back for a visit? We haven't seen you in…what? Three years? I miss you, Hoss. And I love ya. So take care of yourself out there and reply soon."

"Computer, save transmission," I said, wiping away a tear from my eye. I'd send a reply back later. But Dan's message was perfect and really got my head back where it should be. I'd try to go asleep one more time.

"Computer, turn off lights and playback musical composition "Miranda", continuous loop. Volume level four."

The classic rock of Fleetwood Mac began playback and I drifted off to sleep to thoughts of Earth, home, family, whitewater rivers, and the Miranda.

"Touch and Go"

Legate Kylar Curran
Lt JG Claire Barnes

Jumping into the air, Claire spun and kicked out at the punching dummy, sending it away. Dropping back to the ground, she gave it some rather vicious punches that would have sent a person to the ground before giving it a hard kick between the legs that would have sent men screaming to the ground.

Spinning when she heard the door open, she noticed that it was the Kelvan Chief Liaison. Thinking back to the crew roster she had scanned, she remembered his name as Legate Curran.

Grinning, she wondered if maybe, he might be amenable to sparring, so decided to call out, "Legate Curran, wondering if you are busy and want to spar?"

After the 'therapy' session he shared with the visually schizophrenic counselor (and she stated *he* had problems??), Kylar felt an insatiable need to burn off the excess emotions that threatened his sanity once again. The revelation of the events in his quarters shortly after the android had taken advantage of his human side had been utterly distracting, if not debilitating.

Having changed into the standard uwagi for light practice - a heavy, quilted cotton shirt with sleeves 3/4 of the way down, paired with a long black hakama bottom - Curran's posture was rigid as he carried his bamboo shinai into the makeshift dojo set aside in the recreation lounge.

"I was not aware there were other crew on the Galaxy that practiced Japanese fencing, specifically the art of Kendo."

Claire grinned, "I am new to the ship. I have studied many forms of armed and unarmed combat from the Orient."

He gestured towards the mat, inviting her to participate. It would be a refreshing change of pace to face a real opponent rather than a mobile mechanical sparring mechanism.

"I do not know you. What department do you serve in?"

"I'm one of the new grunts in Security. Like I will be one of the people to Pull your butt out when things go snafu with the Breen."

"The mission specifics are classified, Ensign. I don't know how you obtained the information, but I would refrain from speaking of it further before your Security officers arrest you themselves." How she was going to pull whatever a 'butt' was out of anything of his was moronic.

Claire gulped before replying, "Sorry, sir. I won't speaking any more about it."

He raised his hand out straight, perpendicular to the deck, palm up. In the same movement, a new shinai shimmered into existence within, precariously balanced as it fought for position. He ducked his head a faint nod, eyes never leaving the woman. "This is yours."

Grabbing the weapon correctly, she moved it into a defensive position, moving back a bit.

Instantly, Kylar rushed the woman, a sharp scream emitting from his lungs as he pushed out with his diaphragm and body both. A sharp downward swing meant to arc into a forty-five degree angle to land at the base of her head where it met the shoulders. Before it registered the effective parry by Barnes, the exact moment shared a klaxon alert throughout the deck.

[Legate Curran to the Bridge]

"We shall have to pick this up again another time, Ensign. Until then...' He nodded sharply, slightly bowed at the waist. Without waiting for an answer, he padded across the room to the closest intercom terminal. Conveniently located next to the exit, he jabbed lightly at the panel.

"Curran here. Have is our status? We aren't due to arrive at our destination for another several hours." Under his feet, this close to Engineeering, he sensed the lightened step of the warp engines throttling down. He didn't have to view the portal across the recreation deck to realize the stars losing their extensible 'tails'.

The deep basso voice of M'Kantu, coupled with the smoothly confident lilt of the Bajoran Captain of the Miranda could be heard over the communication band.

[Not in the nature as was expected, Legate. We've been intercepted.] Kylar raised a brow. Had Savar's prediction come true?

"On my way." Turning to Barnes, he bowed gently. "Report to your station, Ensign. There may be some 'butts' that need to be extracted in short time."

Saluting with the sword, she nodded, "Aye aye, Sir."

"Dealing with Anger"

Shinta
Arel

****

The buzzer to her door went off again.

"Come in." Arel yelled from the back room, hoping that this time the person would hear her. She was in the middle of folding Korvin's new clothes and placing them into the sturdy dresser that she had bought a month ago.

Shinta had seen how angry Arel have been at the briefing. She had been too busy today to come and talk to her sooner, so tonight she took the opportunity to visit.

"It is me!" She yelled back.

"Shinta." Arel acknowledged and then continued to work.

"I just came to see how you are."

"I'm putting away these things." Arel said, showing Shinta the blue shirt she had bought for Korvin on the Starbase. "What are you up to?" She was interested but her voice was also very flat.

"Seeing how you are dealing with your anger. You were about ready to explode." She smiled.

Arel shrugged."I'm not mad at you anymore, Shinta."

"You mean that party." Shinta blushed a little. "I remember very little, I am so sorry for causing all that trouble."

"No, I mean for questioning my abilities as an officer and a pregnant woman at the meeting." Arel said calmly as she moved to the next box. "As for the party, I was more amused than angry."

Shinta looked at her not really understanding. "Sorry? I have no idea what you mean. I didn't say anything."

"You didn't want me to go to Breen either."

"I may have my doubts, yet it is your decision that's why I didn't say anything in the staff meeting."

Arel blinked and tried to recall the conversation at the meting. "Ah, I see. I misunderstood you when you said that you wanted to talk with the Captain. My appologies, Shinta."

"That was more about Rayna. So why did you get so angry? Don't get me wrong, yet if you were 100 percent sure you should go you wouldn't take it so badly."

Arel didn't say anything for awhile, just went through the routine of grabbing something from a box and folding it. Putting it away.

"I want to be a good mother." She said finally. "But I want to be a security officer too. I think I can do both. It angered me that everyone seemed to think that I couldn't. They wouldn't think that if I were...someone else."

"I think I can give you better advise then the men. I've been there. There is no easy solution, I understand you wanting to do your job, I am the same when I am pregnant, and at times I did take too many risks. When you are in a situation where you have to fight and your pregnant the only thing you can think about is the baby. It shouldn't be dangerous, yet things can always happen. On the other hand the ship can be attacked as well. There is no safe place, you will have to decide where you feel best."

"That's what I ultimately decided." Arel said with a small nod. "What do you think of this shirt? Samantha thinks its adorable but I'm not so sure about the teddy bear on it. It looks so...cute."

"I like it. And baby stuff for kids should be cute. What did you decide?"

"That I'm not going to run from a fight. Because there is no real safe place. I'll do my job and I'll do it well." Arel said. She didn't add that if anyone tried to take Korvin away from her because of it, that theyd find themselves floating in pieces in space.

"Your choice. I'll help you as much as I can." She promised. "You will not agree, yet I thought it was a good sign that Mitchell was worried for you."

The look that flickered across her face before she went cold again was not pretty. "He's going to try to take Korvin away from me, Shinta."

"Do you think he has a chance in hell of doing that? He doesn't. The law still recognises the rights of the mother, and you have enough witnesses who can testify to his character." She hesitated. "It would be much better if you two worked something out between you."

"That'll be a cold day in hell." Arel replied. "And as to law, Mitchell's a sneaky lying pthak. If there's some loophole to be found, he'll find it."

"If it would be needed I am sure my husband would be more now willing to find you a good lawyer. For now don't give him a reason, don't let your anger rule you."

For the first time in what seemed like awhile, Arel gave a small wry smile. And then it was gone. "Anger has rule me my whole life. Why should now be any different?"

"You were getting at it, anger management. Isn't Mark working with you?"

"I've been busy. Besides, what he can tell me that I dont already know?"

"Are you still going to therapy?" Shinta ignored her question.

"I've been busy." Arel repeated. "Don't worry, I'll get there." The word 'eventually' was left hanging in the air.

"I will know if you don't go."

But what will you do about it, Arel thought to herself and then shrugged."I don't want to talk about it anymore." The security officer said. "Let's talk about my baby shower instead. I would really like Jordan to make the desserts."

Shinta's mouth almost fell open. Arel and a baby shower. "I...eh... yes that's a wonderful idea."

"It's customary to have one, yes?" Arel asked. "I dont want to play any stupid games or anything but I thought a little get-together might be nice."

"I've never done one myself, it's a human thing. It sounds very nice, I believe you ask girlfriends to come and everybody brings a present."

Arel winced. "As long as they're not all cute presents."

"Weeelll I would not count on it. And if that happens you will just have to smile and be grateful." Shinta kept her face in passive.

"I'll be grateful." Arel said. "But I don't want my kid's room covered in rainbows, sunshine, and fuzzy little animals either. No use giving him nightmares this early in life."

"It wouldn't harm him. Yet you could always throw it out later. Only Arel let the kid decide what he likes as soon as he is old enough."

"Of course." Arel said. "As long as it has nothing to do with Ferengis."

"By the way when are you joining me for my morning session with the bajoran priest to learn more about the culture and religion?"

Arel grimaced. She wanted a spiritual connection right now like she wanted a whole in her head. But this was for Korvin so..."When's the next time your going? Tommorow?"

"Yes, tomorrow morning early in the cargo bay."

"I'll be there."

1515