"Boom, Bang, Boom"

(otherwise entitled Mek found a way around that pesky engineer technobabble :)

Lt. Ella Grey,
USS GALAXY

****

"But it's working fine!"

Ella Grey gritted her teeth. She didn't have the time to explain to the new ensign that the (BOOM!) always shorted out during an attack, which he would have known was just another fun design flaw to the ship that Quick built if he had been working in Engineering for more than two weeks.

Or if he were old enough to understand the concept of an overworked (BANG!). Christ, the kid had to have been about eighteen. What was Starfleet doing these days, Ella thought remembering her encounter with the young botanist she had learned was named Jan. They must have been recruiting straight from grade school.

Reverting to her own childish tactics, Ella stomped her foot and pointed towards the (BOOM!) again.

The young ensign nodded and went off grumbling to himself about exercises in futility.

Ella rolled her eyes and made her way over to Zack Jackson, the Damage Control Systems Chief, and two other engineering officers who were talking rapidly near one of the many consoles whose lights were flashing like mad. Matthews and Sousa were running around trying everything to ensure that the warp core wouldn't fail at a crucial moment and Sota looked like he was awaiting a call any minute from Tactical.

Of course, Sota was a Vulcan so he did so in the most stoic fashion. His ears were twitching slightly though.

Ella pulled out her computer PADD. *HAVE YOU CHECKED THE..."

BOOM!!!

The ship rocked and her PADD jumped happily out of her hands and went flying in the air while she was typing the last word. Jackson caught it easily, read it, and understood even though half of the last word was missing. He nodded. "Yes, the (BANG!) is still online."

Ella held a hand up to her ear. She hadn't heard the last bit. She had been distracted by trying to stand.

"It's working fine!" He yelled.

Ella started to give him the thumbs-up, which seemed to throw off her balance as the next wave rocked the ship. She fell soundly on her rear.

She glared up and into the general area that she thought the enemy ships would have been.

*SOTA* Ella typed as soon as she got up off the floor. *LET'S SEE WHAT WE CAN DO ABOUT INCREASING THE (BOOM!) FOR TACTICAL. BEFORE THESE ASSHOLES START BLOWING REAL HOLES IN MY SHIP.*

"Headshrinker"

BACKPOST (Takes place in the Calm before the storm. I mean, why would a Security Officer be in the Shrink's office. Also, I may be out for awhile, Not Mieke, I dunno about her.)

Stel Jonran
Navarre Shinta

Shinta waited for Stel to come into her office. After receiving the little note from Ariss she had immediately made another appointment. Luckily, Stel has never missed an Appointment. "Shinta. I suppose Edon had something to do with this?"

"I don't tell on people." She said smiling. "That's just say it was time for your next appointment, please have a seat." Shinta gestured.

"I'm not mad. I have been meaning to get around to stopping in. I guess I've been distracted. And I guess Edon didn't notice this." Stel slipped out an Alchohol inhibitor of Kless Design. "Whenever I feel the need to drink away my troubles, I slip this in, and get a placebo effect." "I'm sorry to hear about your family." She said. "And I don't blame you for wanting to have several drinks after you heard."

Stel leaned back in his seat a bit. "I noticed something in Edon's face when I told him the reason my brother gave for allowing him to escape. I beleive he thinks that there was more motive to just sending the message Stil carried." "I only heard the basics. Why don't you start with telling me exactly what is going on." Shinta said.

"Then you likely heard it all. We suspected that House Denrick was only going to strike on the financial front, and bring just us down, then try to gain favor with the royal family. We were wrong. They conducted a Coup, Not only displacing the royal family, but the only house that could challenge them." Stel seemed strangely calm, talking from the outside of something that was deeply plaguing him, something directly related to him. Like some Starfleet Analyst. "So instead of replacing just House Jonran, and waiting to jump again, they jumped over the step and smashed it."

"I am so sorry." Shinta said. "How are you coping?"

"As best as a disposed noble is able. I don't beleive they're come after me. Althought Denrick wanted power, they still want to be allied to the Federation."

"I have heard you tell it all very statistically, I miss your emotions."

Stel's face cringed and strained with inner pain. "There is so much that I have no choice but to suppress them, lest I lose myself. My Mother, Possibly my Father. And Despite the fact that slavery has been long outlawed, thats why my Child and his mother ARE." Stel's face went to a look of grim curiosity. "But why did they allow my brother to leave. He has been fully examined, obviously not tampered with."

"I understand, about you wanting to suppress things, believe me I do." She said gently. "Yet if you do, the motions have the nasty habit of creeping up on you when you least want them to. Because of that it is better to face them head-on."

"How do you deal with intense anger and frustration?" Even that had trouble going out.

she took a deep breath. "To let it out before it festers. You can shout at me, some patients prefer physical exercise or a punching bag."

"Well, I haven't fenced in Ages, not since I heard about this confounded mission."

"you want to try that? We could go to the holo deck ." She suggested.

Stel fidgetted. "Sorry to turn you down. I don't have the energy at the moment. I'll have to schedule some holodeck time within the next few days." He paused... "you don't really believe I'm going to let you walk out off here like this?" She said gently.

"Shinta, I know Enough to be safe to say that I know you better than that. I paused because I don't know what to bring up next....and fidgetted....as a nervous reaction. But I remembered my Brother. He was suppose to be on board before we left Earth....." "have you have any contact with him since then?"

Stel sucked in some air, and released it out of his mount. "The day or so before we left. He's been busy. I think the bearucrats have him somewhere. Likely getting whatever political information they can from him....I might try to hail him tonight." "that sounds like a good idea. You guys need each other right now."

"I need him here, now, sitting in the Promenade wheting his thirst." "can you do that with somebody else?"

Stel smiled slightly. "It's different. I haven't had a drink with my brother in 5 years." "I know. Yet we have to find something that will lift your spirits a little bit."

"How about getting off this blasted duranium storage container." she laughed. "That is the only thing we cannot do. Of course we could recreate something on the holodeck."

"Yes...I know. But I need a real world...with real trees." "that's the only thing I cannot do for you right now."

"I cannot go home. I know I must stay here for reasons I yet not know, but I cannot go home anyway."

"you can prepare for when you can go home." She said seriously.

"Yes...buy there is something more to it. I would prefer my people were on closer terms to the federation." "have you talked to the diplomats about it?"

"I arrive on Earth ON a Ambassadorial ship. I'm glad the intermittent wormhole was active, would have taken an extra 2 months of travel." He seemed distant for a moment. "But our diplomats only wanted a close alliance in both Military and trade." "and what do you want?"

"A Very unpopular view on Kless'sha'neranu. The outer colonies are a little more open minded."

"what are your views and why?" She continued.

"Well....I would like our people to have Full Membership in the Federation. But I doubt this will happen, not for a long time. But the alliance may be enough to fight our common enemy. I have spoken of the Borg before. I know of what Captain....or rather Admiral, Katheryn(SP?) Janeway did to them. Destroying their Transwarp Hub." Stel paused for a moment. No matter what he was talking about, or what was going on with his people...it always seemed to return to the Borg. "They are not so defeated as Starfleet is lead to beleive. Likely the Queen has been revived, albeit at a far reduced capacity due to the pathogen. They still attack. Disorganized yes, but defeated, no....not at all. Perhaps the best thing for both the Federation and my people, is for us to join you." Then it shifted in his mind again. Denrick. "House Denrick is the farthest to the right. All Howlers, with no intention of ever considering membership. They will likely scale up the military effort, but not solely against the Borg. There are a few neighboring races that are under our protection, and the Devore have been skulking where our Explorers tread the furthest......." Stel was conflicted. -Am I really so connected to the plight of my people that I can think or them more than myself? Or my Family? Even with my near declaration of Poverty, and Service to a foreign power, my mind wanders home.- Stel stopped everything. He was totally silent. Not even a thought, almost a form of meditation.

Shinta just watched him. She had no intention of interrupting his train of thought. Coming back to life.

"Shinta. I really don't know where you stand on Politics, things have been happening as such that I cannot remember at this moment. I still wonder why Gula Denrick has not influence Parliament to have a fixed election to put a Denrick agent in the seat of Prime Minister. It does not make sense. Yuka Rist was a friend of the Family. There is no way she could be in league....I knew her personally.....even gotten klicked with here. Dozens of times! You don't think....." Stel seemed frozen at the possibility. He looked up, oddly finding the need to fixate on a feature of Shinta's face......her ridged nose. He looked like he was looking into the eyes of death, fixing his target. "Were we betrayed?"

"I try not to get into politics much." She said honestly. "I find it a dirty business. Yet try not to draw conclusions until you know all the facts. When your act only out of revenge your head will not be clear." She knew that one from experience.

"Yes. Retalitory strikes are often costly." A Thing Stel ALSO knew from experiance. "I am just not a vengeful person anyway." "use this time to gather as much information as you can. And also if you can to contact people on your home world to figure out exactly what is happening." Stel respectfully nodded. "Yes. I must be rational."

"not about everything. Not about your grief, that you should be emotional about, don't push it away."

"I should program a fencing program huh?" she chuckled. "Sounds like a good idea."

"After that Incident. The Interdimensional one.....which oddly challenge my beliefs, since the Kless Science Commission always discouraged experimentation along those lines.....well, I had a dream. I fought what appeared to be myself......but different. I think I will model the arean after it....partly." "you want to tell me more about the dream? Dreams often do have meaning."

"Perhaps it has meaning, but in truth it was nothing more than a harrowing battle with a beast that shared my face, save for an Eye of course." Stel thought back. "Strange really."

"you were fighting yourself. That could point to an inner battle."

"I keep thinking that it isn't as such. He was far too Feral, too animalistic. And it came right after that incident at the Galactic Barrier."

"does that scare you, that feral part?"

"No...no...More disgust than fear."

"why?"

Stel clenched his fists, yet spoke with a calm voice. "That something that vile, that honorless, and that Evil, could possibly share my face." "every single one of us has had a dark side. Things in our character we would rather forget. Most of us don't like admitting we have them."

Stel paused. "As my brother has told me occasionally." "and what you think about what he said?"

"He was DRUNK at the time, so I really don't know." "yet it stayed with you otherwise you would not have mentioned it."

"It struck a cord." "why do you think it did?"

"As you said, the general fear and hatred of the darker half. See, I learn quickly. My father WAS the greatest living Psychiatrist on Kless'Sha'Neranu for the last 20 years. That helps." A New realm of though Stel decided to explore. "He always explained my problems in logic and the way the mind works, trying to shape me as such. I was, thankfully, not a victum of his attempted, and I admit, well meant, mental conditioning."

"I didn't know that about your father. Inmost cultures its frowned upon or even illegal to council family members. he was not your therapist, yet he did give you advise?" She checked if she understood correctly.

"In his position of power, he could get away with anything short of Murder. And Kless adolecents go through rebellious periods Rivaling Humans." He said this with such a flare, his hand went up in the air as if he was announcing to a crowd. "what was it like growing up like that?"

"As a youth I was rebellious in the only way I thought I could be. My father dismissed every attempt save for my Support of the People. When I was 16 standard years of age I made my first speach about cultural reform. But, mind you, I was 16, the only people who actually listened were the same, or similar age." Stel laughed at the thoughts of his youth. "how did that make you feel?"

"Angry. An angry young man. But I feel that I was merely a short while ahead of my time. The Change is coming soon. I can feel it. But the anger is still there." "Anger at what, your father, your culture?"

"A Maelstrom of reasons. Probably just the testosterone. Oddly enough, I always thought I would have hated to speak of my youth. Never did speak of it much to anyone really." "and do you mind?" She asked curious.

"Not much to tell....but I don't mind. I beleive it really didn't have a negative factor on my life." "that's what I hear you saying, it's not what your body language tells me. I think it would be good to talk about your past more, and to get absolutely clear for yourself how you feel about it exactly."

With a puff of air from the nose signifying amusement,"body language." "he would be amazed how much it tells." Shinta said. "Alright. What would you like to hear." "anything you want to share. Maybe the first thing that comes up in your mind."

"I know it is counter productive, but I am unable to recall anything in particular." "close your eyes." She said. And waited until he did so. "Breathe deep and regularly." Again she gave him the chance to do so. "Now tell me what comes into your mind."

"What I previously mentioned." "don't give up yet, just relax." "Wait....yes. A Time when Stil and myself argued into a fist fight." "do you want to tell me more about it?"

In a dry attempt to joke. "Which one?" "Bah....ok. There was this one instance. I was on Leave from the Stellar Navy, and my brother and I were watching something on the Holo-net." she just nodded and made small noises so he would continue.

"We were watching Yala. A sport similar to a mix between Earth Rugby and Golf. One would have to see it to understand. Turn Based." He stopped for a moment, recalling. "We were drinking, but you likely gathered as much, hopefully not in a negative way. But Yala is divided into teams from regions and cities. I was an Unsik fan, Stil was a Chik fan. Two rival teams between brothers. It was a cliffhanger in the Final tier."

"sounds familiar." She said smiling. "It was a simple arguement over who was the better team. At first it was totally intellectual, through statistics and other estimates and such. Needless to say, the more liquer we consumed, the more idiotic the arguement became. The next morning, we awoke, heads pounding, bodies aching, to our father who came and told us that we had knocked each other out before the end of the game, and we found out that it ended in a draw. Yala does not have overtime. If there is a time at the end, it is marked in both the team's records, and a rematch is scheduled. In the end, I'm still an Unsik fan, and Stil is still a Chik fan.....but both teams have lost their best players, specifically the Command Coaches." she nodded. "Don't tell anyone, but I have been hacking into the Kless Holo-net in recent months. They're really been faltering as of late."

"I won't tell." She smiled again. "Why do you think that memory came up?"

"Simple. I miss my brother. But I suppose you have another reason my friend?" "the simple reasons are often the best ones. All I'm saying is don't push the memories away, don't push your feelings away. You are making a good start now."

Stel nodded. "My father always said, 'Always Listen to your Psychiatrist.'" she laughed heartily. "Very good advice. And I will be wanting to see you regularly."

"I'm not so sure I like the sound of that." Stel twiddled his fingers nervously." "why, you hate being with me so much?" "I don't hate you! And I never would want you to think that! It's the act of Psychiatry that I hate. But the end justifies the means, and I'd not have any other counselor than you anyway." "trying to suck up." She said laughing. "try to talk to your friends as well. its what you need right now, talking, sharing emotions." Stel nodded knowingly. "Yes. Yes, of course." "make an appointment for in a few days time. And you know the drill, if you need me before that the door is always open. Here or at my quarters."

"Alright. I'll be back."

OOC: Reposting for archival continuity.

~Dandelion, Part I~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

"Computer, begin personal log, entry ... uh ... today's date. This is my fifth such log. I may have said this already, well, it seems reasonable that I would have, when I began this, but I'll say it again, in case I haven't - I've started this log at the urging of my associate, Daniel Scarborough. He, and many other humans, apparently, as encouraged by Starfleet for reasons beyond me, keep a personal log regularly. Helps him keep track of his thoughts, he says, as well as help him remember things. To date, I have found my log useless in both respects, though I can see the long term benefits of a personal log for those goals, well, memory in particular. I think it is more of a human quality, to want to hold onto one's past as much as they do. Arkedi would think it a amusingly rediculous idea, furthur evidence indicating humans subscribe to an unhealthy philosophy. Though I tend to agree with Arkedi, I must admit that after living among them for over five years, they are far more complex creatures than Arkedi realizes. Most people are, though, I think Zan would agree with me. She's a much better anthropologist than Arku.

"At any rate, this is my fifth entry, and probably close to my last. I will probably continue them, however, until I return to the Galaxy. Ah, yes, the point of this log. Due to my physiology, both the medical and counselling departments agreed it would be good if I took some vacation, on planet's surface. I imagine Daniel might have had some influence in the matter; he's often expressed concern at my long working hours and neglect to my personal health ... perhaps with some justification ... I don't know. Well, with very little choice in the matter, here I am in a shuttlepod more claustrophobic than a Jeffries' tube, on my way to VSC 38-D-29365 b, I think, I don't remember. An M class planetoid orbiting a failed T3-type star, that for some reason or another has not only not been colonized, but barely explored. The Galaxy's computer had only a low resolution cartographic map, an atmospheric scan and a minimum-level life-form scan - plant life only. So, very little is known, only that I can breathe there and I won't even be able to pack-raid any herds. And, funnily enough, despite this being a vacation, I've been suckered into setting up and maintaining a number of scans by Geology, Climatelogy, my own department and Xenobiology. Xenobiology - bah, an archaic human term that no longer has any meaning. The study of foriegn biology, that's the only thing there is to do! They should shave off the two syllables and just go back and call it biology.

"It's just as well, I suppose. I don't know what they think I'm going to do all this time alone. I can fly, sure, but humans don't go walking by themselves all day for a week. Hmmm .... I hope its windy there ... All right, I, uh, I don't think I have any thing else log-worthy, not that any thing else I said was, but, um, I'm going to stop now, since I'm essentially talking to myself."

Indeed, he was talking to himself, Cutter noted as he shut off the recording. Throughout his log entry, he had been staring at his reflection in the shuttle porthole. Best to comment on his narcissism another time, he thought. But, what else was there to do? He had been sitting in this damn shuttle for six hours, now. He had read two books, and, though he had brought more, he couldn't concentrate on any more text after several straight hours of reading. He had listened to music, bellowing along with his own mediocre voice - mediocre at best - until his throat was sore. He ate. He tried sleeping, but he can't sleep sitting up, even after the exertion of masturbation. He spent some time trying to play some of the computer games, though that seemed to make him more bored than he already was.

Cutter sighed and stared at his reflection for another few moments. He lifted his hand and let it fall on his chest and began lightly stroking in an attempt to arouse himself. Eventually, his hand moved downwards and his other took its place on his chest. He sighed again, realizing the futility, letting his hands fall and knocking his head against the back of his seat in his frustration.

"Computer, how much longer?"

"Estimated time of arrival - two hours, forty-seven minutes."

Despite how pleasant and comforting the voice had been programmed to sound, the news made Cutter want to cry.

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

But, inevitably, despite how slowly the time seemed to move, despite time having seemingly slowed to an utterly frozen halt, he reached the planet. VSC 38-D-29365 b. Not an appealing name, most definitely. Nothing about the planet, its beauty or lack there of, its color, its personality (not that Cutter believed in such a statement, as a scientist, that a planet had a personality, though he could understand and appreciate the idea in a poetic sense), nothing about the planet could be conveyed in such a name, other than it was the largest planet orbiting the 29365th star in the fourth subsector of sector 38, according to the Vulcan Star Catalog. But, really, that could be anything.

The computer beeped, interrupting Cutter's thoughts. It was alerting him that the time to abort the preprogrammed landing sequence to a geosynchronous orbit was approaching. When the chance passed, the computer beeped again, a low, slightly grating tone. Within the next few minutes, the chance to abort into a standard number of lower orbits would arrive and pass. Standard safety precautions, in case something highly unexpected occured, but nothing ever did. Cutter was no pilot, he had only a rudimentary liscense, the same as any other standard Starfleet officer, despite his species natural gift for arial flight, not that a natural understanding of the mechanics of flight through air would help control a technically complex shuttle in space. Even if it did, even if he was as talented a pilot as Savoie, computer technology had advanced so far that this complicated procedure, landing, traversing from zero pressure, zero atmosphere, zero current, to one-and-some-odd-thousand millibar pressures, dense atmosphere, few to large kilometer-per-hour wind speeds and slowing to zero horizontal and vertical speed, despite the pushes and tugs of wind and gravity, at a point exactly coincident with the surface, technology made it so that this amazingly complicated procedure was automatic. No effort from a lifeform at all. It was a luxury that was banned from most of Fruna'lin space and industry, since it completely destroyed the highly respected, very historical art of navigation and sailing, sea, space or otherwise, a legal move that happened several decades ago, but which is still very strongly supported, despite attempts by other members of the Federation and Starfleet to import such techonology. Again, evidence, Arkedi would argue, that humans follow an incorrect life philosophy, replacing fine art and skill and drama and excitement and sensuality with technology. What would he think of the sex-bot androids that had invaded the Galaxy and Cutter's life some months ago, Cutter wondered?

Despite the pros and cons of the automated technology, it allowed Cutter to fully absorb the sights of the planet as he descended upon it. In many respects, it was like any other Menshara class planet, blue and green with water and life. That, of course, was to be respected, because a planet can only become a Menshara class planet after many millions of years of hard, arduous, unceasing element-transforming work by algea-like plant life, and then by fern-type plants, and then the enviornment is just so that a wide variety of flora can, well, flourish. Only the lucky few sprout fauna. This planet was no different, green covered most of the visible land masses like the weeds it was composed of, purple covered the rest, oceans reflecting the blue skies and black space mixed with the red dwarf sun it so closely orbited above. It looked to Cutter that the planet, or at least the side facing him, was at least 80% water, though he knew he could look at the computer and get a far more accurate estimate.

Then the thought struck him, he had forgot to initialize the cartographic scans for Geology! He glaced over at the sensor control panel attached to the ceiling to his left, but, it had started automatically, running smoothly without errors. And again, he realized his own superfluousness. The computer had even picked his landing spot, obviously, since it was heading near the edge of a long strangle of a continent. Cutter judged that it would set him down in a region of wooded plains, but close enough to the ocean and a low mountain range so that the shuttle could perform a low energy, hopper flight to the coast if he wanted to go to the beach or up into the rocks, if he wanted to go there. He had no choice in the matter, seemingly, but at least the shuttle's computer was considerate.

The last part of the landing was always the quickest, both in shuttle and in arial flight. Cutter would rediscover the phenomena he normally took for granted on occasion, how things, although appearing very small while one was airbourne, would not shrink much as you got higher, and of course, the opposite if you were descending, things did not grow, until you hit a critical point, and things exploded in size as if you were falling ever faster and faster, though, you would have reached a terminal velocity long before. But shuttles could propel themselves beyond their terminal velocity, however insane it would be to do so. And so it seemed to Cutter, as the ground grew larger at exponentially increasing speed, trees and forests sprouted up from the ground towards his face and even blades of grass became resolved in his eyes as his craft descended, waving in a brisk wind like crests in a lake. This always bothered Cutter, not the landing itself, that would be rediculous, of course, considering his physiology. No, it was the lack of control, he could not flap his wings in a shuttle, he could not slap down the wind in gravity's face here, he could not angle his body and curve back up on regained lift, he had no control, none at all, and that fact tensed his stomach and throat and his tongue so that it inflated in his mouth until it felt like it was wedged between two rocks trying to split his jaw and his head apart. A stupid phobia, and one Arkedi never seemed to deal with when he was flying the glider pod of his solar sailing vessel down to the surface of Kenara, one of his seemingly infinite hobbies and talents, but he did have control, Cutter remembered, he was steering, he was lifting and lowering the flaps and the ailerons and the spoilers and the slats, he was initializing and shutting down the rocket decelerators and stabilizers. Maybe it was the concentration nessecary to fly a suborbital glider, he didn't have room in his head to realize that he was still at the mercy of a machine that could fail, that a flap could stick and drive him into a spin, to his death. Or maybe that was the drama and excitement and sensuality Arkedi was talking about. Or maybe Arkedi was in fact a fool. Certainly at this moment, that seemed the more likely of the choices.

But it was a fleeting moment, his fear, the landing, it was over before he knew it, like a shot given to a child, like his first plummet and hard landing when he was two years old, and he was on the ground. Air component percentages were displayed on the primary screen before him, all in green, and a yellow organic spore counter. Good thing he didn't have the hystamine of Daniel. The hatch in the back of the pod opened automatically, hydrolics hissing in his ears, and his seat back lowered, startling Cutter somewhat when it started, until it was flat and he could crawl out.

It was windy. He gasped a little bit as he climbed out of the shuttle as the first gust hit him, as if someone had just touched him sexually. That, of course, was what it was - sexual. As much force as a light stroke of a tickling finger or a sweeping feather, except it was across the entire body at the same time, a soft caress against his entire frame that lasted far longer than a finger or a feather; this wind, in fact, was very steady, fluctuating slightly only in strength, but constant in its existance, a sexual embrace that wouldn't stop, driving you wild beyond your control, but this was control Cutter gladly gave away. And the way it flapped your clothes, teasing your skin, it was like you were with two different women at the same time. He sighed, a moan really; Cutter loved the wind.

After many many moments, Cutter relented to his responsabilities. He would need to start the scans for his colleagues and set up his tent. He moved back towards the craft that brought him here, and poked his head beneath the flattened seat. His tent, an inflatable matress, a couple of other tarps, a stove, food and his clothing and other supplies all neatly packed, even a water pump and purifier and shower head! He stood back up and glanced out again at the planet, taking in some more of the wind before he started setting up. This was his vacation.

OOC: Reposting for archival continuity.

~Dandelion, Part II~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Cutter blinked at the dim light of dawn as it radiated into his open tent and shined through both eyelids. He yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and then ... continued to lie there. The wind had died down only a little bit during the night, to a soft breeze, ni?asadcha, in Mika'kardi, but now, it was picking up again, blowing in the open face of the tent and out the back. It was the dawn, Cutter thought, heating the air as it rose and the air retreating to the colder areas of the planet, like all things, resistant to change.

He lifted his head and peaked towards the east, a happy coincidence, that the sun on this world would rise in the east. The orb was only one-fourth of the way up, Cutter wondered how long dawn lasted here, the star was so cold the planet had to be so close to have 300 degrees Kelvin, the sun took up a good third of the sky.

He yawned once more and then began to climb out of bed. The sun was brighter outside the tent, or seemed to be, causing Cutter to squint, though it was the light that reflected off the other areas of the sky that caused the effect. He let the wind wash over him, pure pleasure, as he scanned his campsite. The grass in the meadow was on average two feet tall spotted with large puffs of cottony flowers; occasionally, the wind would blow off a piece and it would fly away like a bit of feather down, alien dandelions, Cutter realized. He had to smother down quite a large area of them with his ground tarp in order to set up his tent; the grass was resistant to the punishment, pressing against the tarp and the bottom of the tent like bed springs. The effect was a really comfortable natural mattress, he hadn't needed to inflate the air mattress from the shuttle. He glaced back at his tent, the white fabric roof, which was all it was, a roof with two walls, was glimmering in the sunlight, the red star giving it an orange glaze. It contrasted wonderfully with the dark blue night that was receeding into the west.

The camp stove was set up between the tent and the shuttle, which was now serving as his pantry and closet. The stove was small, but could still fit two pots on it, or a frying pan and a pasta pot, which Cutter had used the previous night to cook his dinner. He hadn't cooked anything since he had rejoined the Galaxy, at least a year ago now; he couldn't remember how to tell when his chicken (his bubuk, actually, which was very similar to Terran chicken) was done, he hadn't let it cook long enough. After he had finished his pasta and layed out his plate and began to eat, he cut into his meat and realized it was still raw. He had to go back and cook it some more, letting the rest of his meal get cold. He knew better, now, though. It was odd that Starfleet had supplied the pod with a stove, rather than a replicator; everyone in the fleet was so dependent on the technology, no one knew how to cook anymore. Another difference between humans and his own culture, and something else Arku would harp on about. Replicators were everywhere in the Fruna'lin systems, of course, the Federation had brought them in when they made first contact, not that they were needed, nor wanted by many people. There was a large fear on Ukun, Fruna's largest moon, that the technology would drive the whole moon out of business. Over the twelve hundred years the moon has been occupied, they had constructed greenhouses across the surface and engineered agricultural plants to grow and produce a crop within one orbital period; Ukun provided most of the food for both Fruna and Kenara, as well as all the other terrestrial bodies in the system. Replicators gave them a big scare, so they started a number of varied propaganda campaigns, not that that was nessecary. Cooking had always been a long cherished art in Kardi and Katojo, and therefore, most of Kenara, if not other places as well; plus replicators don't taste as good, and so, even though everyone owns a replicator, most food is grown, bought and cooked.

Off to the north a bit was a stream, where Cutter got his water and had set up the shower head from the shuttle. He stretched, again, before shucking his shorts and walking nude towards the stream. This was a fantastic luxury, Cutter thought as he turned on the water and the purifier and pump began to hum at their work. He hadn't considered his hygene as he left for this planet, what would he have done without it? He can't bathe, otherwise his wings would absorb the water, and that was bad. The water splashed onto his wings, running down them like they were plastic, rinsing away the surface dirt, the oils and powders they secreted made his wings lightly waterproof, but the water would creep in if they were immersed like in a bath. He splashed his wings and his hair, then shook violently, flinging the drops off in every direction, then repeated several times until he was satisfied and then began to actually wash his skin. The shower was lukewarm at best, the heater was not large enough to satisfactorily handle the job, but warmth and the cool, relentless wind tickling his skin were fighting each other, shocking any remaining sleep from his body with the rapid switches from hot to cold. It was slightly arousing, in fact; a body can find pleasure in so many places.

Cutter shut off the water as he finished rinsing off the soap, and walked the short distance back to his camp, letting the wind pluck away the droplets from his skin. It was a quick process, he was completely dry when he reached the shuttle. He considered putting on the clothes he brought, but was struck by the needlessness. He was the only living thing on the planet, there was no demand for modesty, so instead, he just pulled out supplies for breakfast -- eggs and bacon, the best thing humans introduced to his culture, Cutter thought, well bacon, at least, they had eggs, though they were not commonly eaten in the morning.

He glanced at the telescope set up behind his tent as he stepped to the stove. It was not clear who had packed it, Daniel perhaps, but whomever it was, Cutter was rather pleased with it. Astronomers, such as himself, often forgot the thrill of seeing something through a telescope with your own eye, without any specialized spectroscopic optics or a computer analyzing the image for you. Last night, he had spent a lot of time staring at VSC 38-D-29365 c, the highly cratered planet further out than the one he was on. Hmm...that's odd, Cutter said outloud as he noticed the telescope was not standing up. It had fallen over onto its side, the leg of its tripod jutting up into the air. How did it fall over? The wind? There wasn't any problem with it last night, it was as sturdy as a brick when he was using it, and the wind had actually lessened a bit since that time. Someone would have had to push it over. A stray gust that he was oblivious to as he slept, perhaps? He set his food down onto the pan resting on the surface of the little electric camp stove and moved to erect the telescope again, shrugging off the curiousity.

As he began cooking his breakfast, Cutter reflected on the science he would do today. He needed to check on all the scans in the shuttle, essentially to make sure all the sensors were functioning correctly. At some point he would need to collect geological samples and an atmospheric sample or two, and Xenobiology wanted a number of samples of the native vegetation. He could get the living samples later, he wasn't aware of the affect of stasis on the science, but he would collect those before he left, in case there was any. He could get the geological samples though, he would have to fly to a number of areas and drill down in the to ground. Someone had supplied him with a corer and five core slice containers. Work could be done later, though, he thought. First he would eat, then he would take a long, relaxing morning flight.

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

The edge of the large red disk had just set down to rest on the horizon as Cutter sat down to read. He had had a pleasurable day, lots of flying, it felt good to fly again in real wind, in real sky. He was able to gather all the geological samples, flying to different areas around his campsite pretending he knew geology; the corer got stuck in one area, a large rock out cropping, Cutter had to spend some time trying to de-stick it, jiggling it, pulling the sample out by hand, drilling forward and back, forward and back. He thought he was going to break the machine; it was actually quite fun.

It was evening now, though, there would be about another four hours until it was fully dark; he had four hours to read, so he had set himself against a large tree at the edge of the field. Curtis had given him a book about his culture's mythology before he left. They were very interesting, actually. One myth was about a great Kerelian singer, Fahlsieto. He had a voice that no other man could rival, he could make the hearts of kings kinder, soothe the voracious beasts of the wild and, of course, greatly please the gods. One in particular, Vibirotine, was so thrilled by Fahlsieto's voice that she blessed him with a wife. Not just any old woman, though, the most beautiful creature to walk on the face of Kera, a stunning woman made of cystral that radiated light where ever she walked. Naturally, Fahlsieto immediately fell in love, Vibirotine had given him a wife that was like the living sun. There was another god, Sopranino, who was the lover of Vibirotine. He grew jealous when she created a wife for Fahlsieto, thinking that he had stole her affections away from him, and like all vengeful gods, he wanted to punish Fahlsieto. He disguised himself as another singer and claimed to be the best singer in the land and challenged Fahlsieto for his position. Fahlsieto, who was very prideful, accepted, and so, they sang. They both sang the most beautiful songs ever heard, they challenged each other see who could sing the longest, who could sing the loudest, the softest, and lastly, who had the greatist pitch. Fahlsieto knew he would win, he could sing so high, no one could hear him; this is what he was dared to do by Sopranino. And so he sang, he was so caught up in himself, in his singing, in his own talent, in his own arrogance that he would win this contest, that he did not notice the pain his wife was suffering. She tried to get him to stop, but he did not listen, until he heard a crack. Fahlsieto looked to his wife, and she shattered, exploding into a million pieces of radiant light. Fahlsieto was bathed in light, the beauty of his wife, as the pieces flew past him and up into the sky. They became stuck there and have never fallen, they lay embedded in the night sky, small points of shining crystal. It was the Kerelian origin myth for stars.

Something suddenly startled him, Cutter jerked his head to his left on reflex, not sure why. A noise, a footstep, a cracking twig, he thought, but it didn't matter when he noticed what the cause of the noise was -- who the cause of the noise was. A woman was peeking around a tree, some five yards away, blonde hair, bronzed skin, lot of it, she was naked. Cutter opened his mouth to speak, to say hello, to ask who she was, how she got here, but he didn't get a chance. She ran away at his discovery, darting back into the forest.

"Tak! Ynelbe!" he yelled in his native tongue, "Wait!" But, she did not. Cutter scrambled to his feet as quick as he could and began to chase after her, on foot. He thought momentarily about flying, but flying through a forest was difficult, taking off in one was even more difficult; he had to run. Whoever she was, she was very quick, much faster than he was and Cutter was pretty fast, certainly compared to humans who were much heavier than he, but even compared to other Fruna'lin, he was fast, but she was out pacing him, darting behind trees zig-zaging around, randomly changing directions. "Wait! Ynelbe! Hana! Tia!" he shouted in a number of languages, "Wait!"

She would not. The forest was thicker here, Cutter could no longer see the field, but they were running south, mainly, or whatever direction felt like south on this planet. He could barely keep sight of her, she was so far ahead now. Why wouldn't she stop? Why was he chasing her? She jumped through a large wall of ferns, out of sight. Cutter followed, of course, dashing through the cloud of plants, leaves fingering his body, and then he was through - another field, another meadow full of tall grass and cottony dandelion puffs. He stopped, confused by the quick change of scenery and looked around. There was no one here, he turned back, looked at the fern hedge he passed through, no one. No one anywhere.

"Saradwen jaynriRe?" Cutter asked himself, confused. Where did she go? But his only answer was a gust of wind carrying an army of dandelion parachute seeds.

Chad Vicenik Caberation@aol.com Lt. Cutter Kara'nin USS Galaxy - A

OOC: Reposting for archival continuity.

~Dandelion, Part III~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Previously on Star Trek Galaxy, the Next Generation,

Something suddenly startled him, Cutter jerked his head to his left on reflex, not sure why. A noise, a footstep, a cracking twig, he thought, but it didn't matter when he noticed what the cause of the noise was -- who the cause of the noise was. A woman was peeking around a tree, some five yards away, blonde hair, bronzed skin, lot of it, she was naked. Cutter opened his mouth to speak, to say hello, to ask who she was, how she got here, but he didn't get a chance. She ran away at his discovery, darting back into the forest.

"Tak! Ynelbe!" he yelled in his native tongue, "Wait!" But, she did not. Cutter scrambled to his feet as quick as he could and began to chase after her, on foot. He thought momentarily about flying, but flying through a forest was difficult, taking off in one was even more difficult; he had to run. Whoever she was, she was very quick, much faster than he was and Cutter was pretty fast, certainly compared to humans who were much heavier than he, but even compared to other Fruna'lin, he was fast, but she was out pacing him, darting behind trees zig-zaging around, randomly changing directions. "Wait! Ynelbe! Hana! Tia!" he shouted in a number of languages, "Wait!"

She would not. The forest was thicker here, Cutter could no longer see the field, but they were running south, mainly, or whatever direction felt like south on this planet. He could barely keep sight of her, she was so far ahead now. Why wouldn't she stop? Why was he chasing her? She jumped through a large wall of ferns, out of sight. Cutter followed, of course, dashing through the cloud of plants, leaves fingering his body, and then he was through - another field, another meadow full of tall grass and cottony dandelion puffs. He stopped, confused by the quick change of scenery and looked around. There was no one here, he turned back, looked at the fern hedge he passed through, no one. No one anywhere.

"Saradwen jaynriRe?" Cutter asked himself, confused. Where did she go? But his only answer was a gust of wind carrying an army of dandelion parachute seeds.

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

That was last night. Cutter had looked all over for this naked woman, this strange guest interrupting his vacation - not that a naked woman dropping by was a bad thing., but it was uncommon at least. By the time he had gotten back to his camp, the large sun had fully set and he put off any other attempts at investigation until the morning.

He dreamt of her that night, or his memory of her, his perception, he never really had a chance to study her. Several times he awoke with a start thinking that he had heard voices, more than one, but there was no one outside. Perhaps it was wind, the undying wind on this planet that constantly filled his ears with a soft hush. How erotic it had been just a few hours ago, now he only wished it would be still and quiet and stop teasing him. As the night progressed and he woke again and again, clouded by the irreality of his dreams, teased by the imaginary voices and the cold wind, isolated on an insignificant planet, Cutter began to wonder whether the girl was real at all. Maybe she was a dream, she certainly was just as vivid as the fantasies that were startling him awake, why not? This was only his second night here, was he already desperate for personal contact?

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

"I can't decide if I'm crazy or not," Cutter spoke out loud. No one was around, he was directing his ramblings to his personal log through his comm badge attached to fresh shirt, a sign of bitter rejection to his aerial lover. "The shuttle's sensors had no records of any other lifesigns besides me, well, it actually didn't have a record of me, its been programmed to filter me out so as to not interfere with the science scans. Maybe she was filtered out as well? That seems highly unlikely, certainly a bigger problem for science than for me. Maybe she wasn't real, maybe I imagined her? Why she would run away in that case, I don't know. It seems that if I imagined a nude woman the last thing she would do is run away. But I don't know. I had all those dreams last night, I guess they were dreams. I could have sworn I heard voices and things. Footsteps. I think I'm crazy.

"Well, whatever I am, if another visitor stops by, I'll know. The shuttle's sensors are all tied up, I don't want to kill an experiment and have to explain why. I wanted to look for imaginary nude women, I'd probably say, wanted to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. That would get a fast ticket to the counselling office, I've managed to stay out of there for this long, I'm not going to let this break that record. No, I'm a scientist, I'm smart, I came up with a better way. Inefficient, perhaps, but undocumented. Triangulation. Tricorder triangulation. Hah. That needs a third tri-word, then it would be funny.

"What the thekh is tricorder triangulation you may ask? And by you, I of course mean me, since I'm talking to myself here. Well, not really myself, I suppose, but no one else is going to ever hear these, so, uh, yeah, myself. So, me, what is tricorder triangulation? Well, me, since you came up with it yourself...myself, thats a stupid question, but I'll explain it to myself in case me ever forgets, I ever forget, and I need to remember .... me remember, me, I, me...

"All right, this is getting rediculous, I'm putting an end to this," Cutter said, then promptly stopped talking. He sat silently, wrapping string around a tricorder and tree branch, around and around, fastening it securely. Finally, he shrugged. "Well, me, tricorder triangulation is a simple technique, hardly original on my part, actually. I've set up three tricorders, working on the third now, at three points around my camp. Each tricorder has a scanning range of 800 meters, each tricorder is then placed 1500 meters away, to allow for some overlap, giving me a sensor trap of slightly over five square kilometers. Actually, now that I explain it, its really not triangulation at all, is it? Its just a multi unit sensor trap. A tri-tricorder trap. That even sounds better than tricorder triangulation. Triple the alliteration. Hmmm....

"Well, its almost done. I just have to set up this last tricorder," Cutter continued to explain to himself. He paused for a moment, thinking more about the parameters he needed to set on the tricorder than his external internal dialogue. Immediately, as the last button was pressed, the button to initiate the scans, the tricorder alarm went off. The loud siren Cutter set echoed from the tricorder and from his own comm badge, which was set to pick up the alarm signal where ever he may have been. Panicking and cringing at the doubly loud wailing hit, Cutter wildly struck out at a number of buttons attempting to shut the noise off.

Had he set the tricorder wrong? Cutter examined the tricorder screen more closely. It displayed a chart on the small square-inch screen, layed out in polar coordinates - the scanning area. There was a blue dot in the center, Cutter himself, and a red dot, an anomoly, about 300 meters from him, towards his camp. "Is that her already?" Cutter asked himself aloud. The tricorder was going to tell him little more, so he decided to fly over and check for himself.

He lept from the tree, giving two large flaps to set him airborne above the short trees and glided on his eighteen feet of wings the short distance back to the clearing where he was staying. There she was, he saw as he dropped silently to the ground, the nude woman he had chased yesterday was looking at his telescope. Was it her? This woman had raven hair, long, down below her shoulders. Yesterday she was blonde. And this one's skin was darker, like those of the Falkon penninsula on Fruna. Two nude women on this planet? Well, things could be worse, Cutter thought to himself.

"Tola," Cutter spoke quietly. The noise startled the woman, she jumped knocking the telescope over again. She stared wide eyed at Cutter and looked like she was going to run. "Wait, don't ... don't run away," Cutter said holding out his arms and wings in the most unoffensive position he could think, "I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't speak, she seemed unable to understand him and she was still visibly frieghtened, slowly backing away as Cutter slowly approached. Why was she so frieghtened, surely she could tell before he got there that there was someone else on this planet with her, tents and shuttles don't spring forth from the ground. Maybe it was his appearance, the wings tend to scare some species for some reason. Maybe it was the fact that he chased her friend yesterday.

"Can you speak?" he asked. He lifted his hand to his mouth and withdrew it as he opened his jaw, trying to symbolize vocalization, "Speak?"

She stared for a moment, her fear and apprehension becoming replaced by confusion and curiousity. Slowly she lifted her hand to her mouth, mimicing his actions, but she made no noise.

"Yes," he said, performing the action again, "Speak. Can you speak? Make noise?" This time he gestured to his throat, his vocal cords. "Aaaahh," he sang, "Noise?"

Again she mimiced him but produced no sound.

"So, uh, no, I take it. You can't speak," Cutter said but mostly to himself. He began to move towards the shuttle craft; the movement again striking fear into the guest, but Cutter gestured it was okay and continued to slide slowly over to the open craft. There was a crate resting on the open back hatch, the cooler containing his food. Cutter opened it and rummaged around until he found a wrapped bar of chocolate, Starfleet's all purpose calorie boost. She was watching him with intense curiousity, curious enough to approach him slightly.

"Do you eat?" he asked her, opening the chocolate and holding it out to her. She didn't understand, she simply stared at it, confusion covering her face. "Eat. Good. Yum," he said again. He broke off a piece of chocolate and stuck it into his mouth, exaggerating his movements so she could see what he was doing. "Mmm....Lene. Good. Bani, Bani wey."

This got her. She stepped towards him, towards the chocolate, and he backed his mass away as much as he could while extending his hand forward. She reached out and took the chocolate from his hand, looking at him before she did, silently asking if it was all right, and she ate it. She liked it. She must have, Cutter laughed to himself, she stuck the whole half bar in her mouth then immediately licked her fingers. Still no noise, though. Perhaps she was incapable of speech.

When she chewed up and swallowed all the chocolate she reached out and pried open Cutter's hand, searching for more candy, he assumed. Clearly, she was no longer afraid of him. So, he has a new friend. Now what?

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

~Dandelion, Part IV~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

"So, is there any chance you're going to tell me where we're going?" Cutter asked. The nude woman, the alien that had stumbled into his campsite on this otherwise abandoned planet, had been leading him for the past half hour, alternating between simply walking in front, beckoning him to follow, and grabbing his hand and tugging him forward. He was still clothed, wearing an open shirt and pants that cut off just below his knee, and he felt awkward following her, her being devoid of any garments.

"No?" he asked, answering his first question himself. "Of course, why would you, how could you? You seem to be incapable of speech, of any sound production, or I assume you are at least, since refuse to respond. You know, I, uh, I no longer really feel comfortable doing this, following you, I mean. I don't know who you are, I don't know what species you are. I catch your blonde friend spying on my yesterday, she runs away, I set up a sensor net to look for her, I find you, you knock over my telescope, eat my chocolate and now lead me who knows where on this alien world, no one knows where I am, no one will come looking for another week. You could be taking me back to your home for several hours of passionate alien mating, which I'm hoping for, by the way, or to eat my brains, which I'm not really hoping for. Or sex and then brain eating, oddly, I'm more comfortable with that one. Wow look at me, I've become quite the chatterbox. Oh no, I'm turning into Arkedi."

She slowed in her walking, turning back to look at Cutter, her face pleasant and confident, but clearly she was not understanding anything he was saying. He paused, any nervousness calmed by her beauty and that soft, safe smile. "Ka nen kedra," he sighed. She turned back and her pace picked up again, resuming her lead in this hike.

"Hey. Hey, um, hold on for a second," he said, but she was not listening. "Hey, ynel, taka! Tak tak!" he called, ending the cries with a loud click. That sound caught her attention, she stopped completely this time, turning all the way to face him, curious as to the problem.

"Oh, good, you stopped. Huh. Hey, I, uh, I don't want to be too forward or anything, you know, I don't mean to assume that we, you know, I mean, that I'm going to get..." he stuttered, waving his hands awkwardly in front of him. She squinted slightly, puzzled. "Its just I feel a little wierd, you being .... um, naked, and me .... um, not. I'm going to take off these cloths, okay?"

A pause. "Right, obviously, you have no idea what I'm talking about. Okay," Cutter stated, beginning to slide off his clothing, slowly, so he wouldn't scare his skittish friend. She watched him, her head craning forward slightly in investigation; he noticed her stare as he finished removing his pants. Now he was confused, following her stare and looking down at himself. "What? What?" he said, slightly defensive, "There's nothing wrong here. I'm attractive, I'm lot more physically appealing than any human you'll meet!"

Not surprisingly, she made no reaction to his claims. Instead, she crept forward, pouncing on the pants and shirt he had just removed. "Oh. Right. Yeah, those are clothes, maybe you're not familiar with them," Cutter explained as she lifted the garments, held them out, felt them, placed them against her skin and inspected them. "You know, I think I'm very interested in meeting your society."

He watched her until the amusement had worn off. Slowly, he reached out and took the cloths away from her, folding them slightly and laying them on the ground. He lifted his wing, pointing behind her with it, "Lead on?"

She jumped, startled slightly, turning her body to view the extended limb. When she had turned back forward, she seemed to either gather Cutter's meaning or remember what she was doing initially, and then, tilting back and giving a 'come along' glanse, continued forward.

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

This woman, this obviously alien woman was driving Cutter insane. She was so attractive, a perfect body, Cutter kept going over the many words for beautiful in his language, kedra, nara, leuna, aluRa, zhel, and a dozen others refering to particular areas of the body, shiulai, rdatsa, kasairi, none of them seemed to fit quite right. This must be why there are so many words to begin with, because there are so many different types of beauty, each unique, unlike any other. He wanted to create another, for the girl in front of him, one he would follow forever, keuzeheren, one who captured his gaze and would not let go, zhemtsador, the silent beauty, kedrisiuk, isiukai or zhelisiu. Zhelisiu. That one fit, and even sounded dark, black, silok, capturing her hair and eyes and complection.

"Zhelisiu," he said, tasting it. She paused and looked back briefly, was she responding? Probably not, he rationalized, he hadn't been talking for a while, lost in his own lusty thoughts, the noise may have simply caught her off gaurd. The logic made him sad, because as much as he wanted her physically, as much as he wanted to grab her, kiss her, lick her, penetrate her, mate with her, be with her, breathe with her, beat hearts with her, he still wanted more. He wanted to know her, to hear her passions, to joke with her, to impress her, to hear her opinions, to talk with her. But he was incapable, she could not talk, she didn't even make a sound and she certainly didn't seem to understand him. Even Mudd's androids could speak and understand, they may have been simple minded, but at least they could cry out during sex. This one, Zhelisiu, it would be like mating with a doll, a living, breathing, intelligent, most perfectly beautiful doll.

Arkedi would have no concerns, even Zan, if the genders were switched. Elodreor, take it for the pleasure it was, as long as you both recieve it, any extra connection is a luxury, especially in this case, when you have to go back to the Galaxy in two days. Part of him agreed with this; of course, it was such a fundamental belief, common sense, but, another part, a foreign part, said that was cheap, shallow, to take advantage of her like that, to use her, even if she was willing, was somehow amoral? Inhuman? And that realization sent a paralizing wave of confusion across his body. Human? The thought made him sick.

She ceased her hiking at this moment, turning back again and giving Cutter that empty, but stunning smile, immediately drawing his mind back to its former track. She dropped to her knees, kneeling at the bank of the stream they were following and reached in. Her cupped hands pulled out a small bit of water and she sipped it, then offered the now only moist hand to Cutter.

He knelt and took her hand, placing his lips upon her palm, kissing her. When he looked up again, into her eyes, her face was expressing amusement. She pulled her hand away, cupped them again and reached in, demonstrating a second time. She let the water fall after the second sip, then reached over, grabbing Cutter's hands and forcing them to perform the same action. When she had fished out another gulps worth into Cutter's hands she let go, content with her lesson.

Cutter laughed. "Good thing you showed me, I don't think I would have been capable of thinking of that myself," he said sarcastically, then took a drink after a moment of empty silence. She stood, tugging on his white wing, signaling it was time to go. Cutter rose from the edge of the stream and followed her away from the water and up a slight incline.

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

"What? We're going to climb up that?" Cutter asked, looking up at a steep rock crag. They had been heading toward this for the past hour, Cutter thought they might be going to a cave. But that idea was nixed when they had reached the wall and Zhelisiu hooked on and began to pull herself upwards. The climb look liked a couple hundred feet.

"You know, I have wings," he stated, unfurling the large feathered appendages as she turned and looked down at the sound of his voice. "I can easily fly us up to where ever we're going. I could have easily flown us there from my campsite, I would have if I had known we were going this far."

She, of course, gave no response, but gestured for him to follow with her free hand. "You're sure?" he asked again, knowing full well that there would be no answer.

"All right," he shrugged, watching her climb. "Well, I suppose this won't be so bad, certainly have an interesting view," he said, looking up at her as she reached out with her leg for a foothold. Like a carrot on a stick. Cutter looked down at himself, "But this could be a bit of a hinderence."

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

"Oh, hey, where did you go?" Cutter called up as he climbed. He looked away for a moment, in search of the nearest foothold, when he glanced back up, Zhelisiu was gone. He paniced, looking around, up, the sides, down. He sighed relief, confirming that she hadn't fallen, but then where was she? He looked back up again and jumped, nearly falling off the rock at the site of a hand reaching towards him.

"Ka," he cried, "you startled me." They had apparently reached the top, she had climbed up and over the ledge and was now reaching back down to help him. "Ih, I think I can get it," he said, climbing up on his own. She reached out and helped him over nonetheless, using the base of his wings as handles. Cutter quivered at the touch, that spot was an erogenous zone.

He eyed her with lust, once up, and she just smiled, that beautiful, beautiful smile. Ka, he wanted her, but now was not the time apparently. She walked off, following another stream on the top of this rock. "We're not there yet?" Cutter exclaimed, moaning at this prolonged tease. He sighed, following reluctantly, keuzeheren, he would follow her forever. It was the end of the day, he noticed. They were walking towards the sun, the crimson orb filling most of the forward sky, shrouding Zhelisiu in shadow. He was following a silhouette.

After another section of walking, Cutter could guess where this long trek was winding up. The stream they were tracing along was beginning to flow faster and he could hear a low rumble grow louder the further they walked. He was walking along side Zhelisiu now, and had taken her hand in his; she didn't seem to mind, only flashing that smile whenever he looked at her. The sun was halfway set now, meaning they had another hour or so until dark.

"Ka wow," Cutter said when they stopped. They had reached the edge of the cliff, the stream falling over the side in a waterfall. They were a couple hundred feet up, they could see the entire forrest below, the otherwise black shadowed foiliage highlighted by the setting sun. The setting sun had lit the sky on fire, casting off hues of red and pink and orange, contrasting sharply with the dark ground below. Nature's way of confirming the glory of flight over ground walking, part of Cutter wanted to join it, to burn in the sky, surprised that he still had the energy after the days hike. But another fire stopped him, the incredible desire burning inside him for his guide.

She sat down, first taking a drink from the stream, then reorienting and setting her feet in the water. A tug on Cutter's arm had him down next to her, his six toed feet bathing in the cold water along with hers. He looked at her, she was staring at the magnificent scenery, her hair fluttering in the wind. "This is a nice place, I'm glad you took me here. But I still could have flown us here."

She didn't repond, her gaze still locked onto the view before them. And he was staring at her, sad again that she couldn't respond. He was wondering what she was thinking, if she was thinking, but he pushed the thoughts away and lifted his eyes to the tableau of the setting sun. They sat that way for many moments, until a cloud of dandelion parachutes blew by, breaking the scene.

"Hey," Cutter said, causing her head to turn. He didn't say anything, just moved closer and began to kiss her. She seemed confused at first, and began to pull away, but then she discovered the pleasure in the act, Cutter assumed, since she began to mimic his actions and kiss back. Slowly, he laid her back on the ground and climbed on top of her. She surprised him then, wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him closer and he was awash with pleasure and joy and complete contentment as they mated in the setting sun.

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

~Dandelion, Part V~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

Cutter sighed silently as he lied in his tent. The eternal wind on this planet was blowing through, tickling his skin and extending his afterglow. He let his head fall to the side, taking in the site of his mate, the mute, alien woman who had stumbled across his campsite. She was napping softly, her head resting on his left arm, her leg wrapped around his, her arm laying across his chest. A feeling washed over him, a type of happiness, he wondered if this was what humans called love. Despite how rediculous they made the concept sound, if this was love, it wasn't all that bad.

Zhelisiu, he had named her, since she couldn't speak and give out her name herself. Silent beauty. Did she even have a name of her own, he wondered as he watched her sleep. Who was she? Where did she come from? Was she native to this planet? That was unlikely, there was no animal life of any sort, no beast or birds or frogs or insects, a humanoid couldn't just sprout up from the ground, even a flower as pretty as this. She must have come on a shuttle like him, but where was it at? Earlier today, after thier night of elodreor on top of the waterfall, he flew them back here, taking pride in her thrill as she was carried across the tree tops. He cooked them breakfast, but as the bacon sizzled on the stove, he had set the shuttle to scan for any unnatural phenomena. It found none, no shuttle anywhere besides itself, nothing in orbit either. The really curious thing, though, was that it couldn't read her, either. In fact, the shuttle couldn't detect anything but the native plant life. Was her species immune to sensors?

His stomach began to rumble, it must have been lunch time already. Slowly, he removed himself from the sexual entanglement and stood outside the tent. It was well past lunch time, he realized, noticing the sun was blotting out the western sky in its slow decent. They had wasted the day together, not that Cutter was complaining. Another grumble from his tummy reminded him of his current purpose and he stepped across the high grass to the shuttle, his kitchen. He pulled out a pre-replicated bag of spice, kezhun i ke|ewk mix, which translates roughly into sweet and sour (or rather, 'like honey and citrus') and a few breasts of bubuk, the base food that all of Kardi meals were designed around, like Italian pasta or Asian rice and noodle or Telerite mold cheese.

He carried the food over to the camp stove where he began to prepare the meal, hydrating the mix and cleaning the bubuk. Suddenly, he felt two hands wrap around his waist; it was Zhelisiu, mimicing a move he pulled earlier today, he noted. His wings wrapped back around her, pulling her closer. "Good afternoon," he said, turning his head back, "Are you hungry?"

She stepped away, craning her head forward, past him, sniffing the food as he prepared it. She did this this morning, too, Cutter had to fight her away from the stove, else she would have gotten burned by the grease splatter. She was absolutely fascinated with food, but she seemed to eat very little, though she did eat very quickly, like she was constantly starving but had a small stomach volume.

Suddenly, the pan popped and she jumped back, her hand rubbing at her nose, a look of pain on her face. He only had a stove, so that meant anything Cutter cooked had to be boiled or fried. Though the grease wasn't anywhere near as dangerous this morning, it was still bubbling and popping around the meat. "You got some on your nose, didn't you? I tried to tell you this morning, it hurts if you get to close," Cutter chided. The effort was, of course, meaningless, as he had realized by now that she had no understanding of his speech.

Having learned her lesson, Zhelisiu moved a few feet away from the stove and sat on the ground to watch. This was a relatively quick meal to make, she only had to sit for a couple of minutes before Cutter transfered the meat to two metal plates and carried them over to where she sat. He handed one of the plates to her and then sat down to her side. She reached for the meat with her hands and Cutter made a sound stopping her. When she looked up, he was holding a fork and a look of realization crossed her face. Cutter had taught her to use this earlier today for breakfast and she learned quickly by mimicing his actions. But, they had had eggs and bacon this morning, now they were having meat. Time for lesson two: slicing. He held up the second utensil, a knife, and slowly and carefully demonstrated to her how to use them. She watched with some amount of awe until he stuck the first bite in his mouth and then immediately attacked hers. She had quickly taken three bites in the time it took Cutter to eat his second; he laughed at her ravenousness.

Halfway through one of the slabs of meat, barely a snack in Cutter's eyes, she stopped eating and set the plate and silverware down onto the tarp on which they sat. Cutter shrugged and continued to eat as she silently watched, eventually finishing his serving and moving on to the remains of hers. "Are you sure you don't want anymore?" he asked, looking up from her plate. She sat still, looking at him with a somewhat pained face.

"Are you all right?" The pain seemed to grow right before his eyes, her breathing quickened and one of her hands moved to her bare stomach. Cutter immediately became concerned, was she allergic to something? Worse, was his food poisonous to her? She had had no problems with the chocolate yesterday or breakfast this morning, he had just assumed that she could eat the same things he could. Assumed. Fear crept up his spine. He was a scientist, he should know better. Never assume. Now she was suffering, she was sick, she could die and he will have killed her.

"Wait, wait. Its, ok, its, just, um, lie down," he stuttered, trying to speak while he was thinking about what to do. He took her shoulders and gently laid her down; she was no longer paying any attention to the sound of his voice, her hand had moved up to her chest. Cutter jumped to his feet and dashed to the shuttle and pulled open a side compartment. Empty. No tricorders. They were still tied up in the trees, his alarm was still armed. His gaze jumped back to Zhelisiu, still suffering. He thought about the shuttle, but that wouldn't do any good. Its sensors couldn't read her. She didn't exist. Of course, the tricorders would likely do no better, they were set for motion, they would likely be as blind to her lifesigns as the shuttle.

Cutter ran back to her side, kneeling down and holding her. She was convulsing now, her breathing raspy. Anaphylaxis? If it was the food why was she not vomiting? He reached with two fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. Not that he would have anything to compare it to, he thought, he never checked when she was normal. His heartrate was fast, abnormal compared to humans, but normal for his species. No pulse was definitely abnormal, where was it? She was still conscious, she had to have a pulse, but he couldn't find it. What to do? Ka, what should he do?

"Hold on, its okay, en lene, en lene biyi," he mumbled, a feeble attempt at comforting. But she couldn't understand him, now it seemed she wasn't even hearing him. If it was anaphylaxis, she needed epinephrine. Assumption, his mind screamed. That could make it worse, Tellerites don't have epinephrine, and it was poisonous to Ardanites and Haliians, and they were very close to humans in physiology. But, he couldn't do nothing.

With a quick sigh, he decided, standing and again rushing to the shuttle. He pulled the med kit from beneath the folded seat, flinging its lid open. With one hand, he yanked the hypospray from its glove, with the other, he pulled out and tossed a way a number of chemical containers until he found the one he needed. With a simple press of a button the hypo was loaded and he hurried back to Zhelisiu.

"Dwa?" The word slipped from Cutter's mouth in shock. She was standing, the pain on her face partially replaced with confusion. Her hand had moved up to her throat, but she seemed to be breathing fine again. Cutter looked down at the hypo, relieved that he wasn't going to have to take the risk, but as he looked back up at Zhelisiu, he became very confused. How did the shock just go away, how did she magically get better? "Zhelisiu," he asked.

She was looking towards him, but her eyes were unfocused and shifting around, as if she was trying to internally analyze a new sensation. The wind started to pick up, a strong gust trying to replace the personal tension that had suddenly vanished with physical tension. Slowly, she started to step backwards. Cutter was afraid she was going to run. "No, wait, I, I didn't, I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't know it would.... wait, don't."

Amazingly, to Cutter's great relief, she stopped. Her eyes narrowed, staring directly into his, and she smiled. Then she struck again, sending a wave of fear and shock and awe and confusion through Cutter's being; she opened her mouth slightly, and a small sound errupted. Quiet and meek and nothing more than a small moan or squeak, but a sound from an otherwise mute being. Cutter laughed, small breathy laughs, each knocking his tension down, he smiled and his eyes began to tear. "You spoke."

Suddenly her smile faded as the wind picked up and she looked downwind, carrying Cutter's gaze with her. The dandelion parachute seeds, a whole cloud of them was being carried with the wind, and as Cutter moved his eyes back to Zhelisiu, he became filled with disbelief. They were coming from her; she was disentigrating. She looked once more into Cutter's eyes and then, with a poof, she vanished, exploding into a giant cloud of parachute seeds. In moments, the wind had carried them all away. Zhelisiu was gone.

Chad Vicenik
Caberation@aol.com

EPILOGUE

"I still can't decide if I'm crazy or not," Cutter spoke. He was staring at his reflection in the shuttle porthole as it flew itself back to the rondevous point with the Galaxy. The shuttle's computer was recording his voice into his personal log.

"The alien I met...Zhelisiu... I still can't believe it, how she just...disentigrated...into those dandelion seeds. I don't understand...how is that even possible? Was she real? There's no evidence of her, no way to prove she existed, the shuttle has no records, nor do any of the tricorders I set up. Even the one that I thought...that I thought was detecting her... It was a pair of my shorts being carried away by the wind. Hah. I didn't know until I packed up, I never found them. I cooked for her, but I did eat most of it for her. I even...an hour ago, I... I desperately wanted proof, I dusted her plate and fork for prints. Only mine. But I'm not...I'm not delusional, I was only there for... I was only away from people for a couple of days, surely I didn't need to generate a whole... She had to have been real. I mean, there were two of them, that first girl that ran away, why...hah, why would my fantasy run away from me? And I was looking for her, why would I make up another? She *had* to have been real, she *felt* real. That sex was *real.* *She* was real, she had to have been. Zhelisiu."

He paused, watching his jaw quiver in his reflection, trying to control his emotions. It wasn't just fear or concern over his sanity, he wanted her. He had never felt that before, he didn't know any of his species who has. And as artistic as his particular culture was, feelings were well publicized. Ka, what was wrong with him?

Many more moments passed before he spoke again. "I was able to finish, um, I was able to finish all the experiments I asked to, um, to do. I even...hah, I even got some of the dandelion seeds. I'll mark an interest in them, maybe Botony will tell me if they find...anything unusual. I don't know if I should tell anyone about...about...her. Danu is already on the verge of reporting me to Dallas, I don't need to give... I don't, I don't think I'm going to tell anyone. And I don't think I'm going to keep these logs. I..." Cutter's voice trailed off, no longer able to find the words.

"Computer. End log and era-- No. Seal. Seal all previous logs and lock."

"Training to the Real Thing"

By:
Lt. Cmd. T'Chani Darion,
Hazard CO/Hazard One
Major Pete Shaw, Hazard Team XO/Hazard Six
Commander Gail Dawson,
Generalist/Hazard Three
Ensign Imanol Harinordoquy,
Generalist/Hazard Nine

NPCs:
Lieutenant Randall H'nter,
Combat Specialist/Hazard Eight
1st Lieutenant Matt Freedman,
Insertion Specialist/Hazard Four
2nd Lieutenant Tomas Voltine,
Demolitions Specialist/Hazard Five
Gunnery Sergeant Jack Malloy,
Recon Scout/Hazard Two

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

Pete walked into the holodeck and looked around. No one was there, 'perfect,' Pete thought to himself. He was hear early and it would give him time to set the program up. He wanted this training mission to seem as real as possible, cause you just never know.

"Computer, make a recreation of the Hazard Team Mission Briefing room," Pete ordered the computer. Pete watched as the Briefing room materialized around him. He walked up to his podium at the front of the room and started compiling the information for the "mission".

Pete started setting the mission up as he waited for the rest to get there. This mission to Breen had him worried, and his choice of training mission must show it, or else some of the team members would need to be changed.

T'Chani was the first to arrive. While she'd given Shaw some definite *must have's* to incorporate in the training scenario, all other details had been turned over to her 2IC. Her concern on this went well beyond just major distrust when it came to the Breen.

"Good day Major. Are we ready to go?"

Pete looked up not hearing her come on. "As ready as we will ever be," Pete replied. "Our Intel is not the best. I had to make up a few things, but it should work for what we need."

The second to enter was 2Lt. Tomas Voltine. He entered the holodeck and found himself in the Hazard Team Briefing room. 'Must be a training mission, from start to end,' he said to himself. 'The Major is going all out this time,' Troll thought as he sat down.

The big French man arrived and took his seat without preamble. Fixing his eyes firmly on the screen at the top of the room he ignored the gawking eyes of several officers. The Marines, the Rangers, the Hazard team, they all had a way of playing on your failings. 'One weak link and the whole chain falls apart' he thought recalling a quote from the Hazard manual. There were no dead weights or handicaps in a department where you put your life so easily in some one eases hands. Imanol was keen to prove himself all over again and was expecting a huge test of his character from all the distrusting sets of eyes.

Gunnery Sergeant Jack Malloy waltzed in next taking up a seat at the very back of the room. He glared at the officers around him until he recognized the officer beside him as Ensign Harinordoquy. "Oh, I think your mistaken, addicts annonomous meets here on a Wednesday" the man sniggered but Imanol refused to retort. It had begun already.

Gunnery Sergeant Jack Malloy waltzed in next taking up a seat at the very back of the room. He glared at the officers around him until he recognized the officer beside him as Ensign Harinordoquy. "Oh, I think your mistaken, addicts annonomous meets here on a Wednesday" the man sniggered but Imanol just glared back.

The charismatic Lieutenant Randell Hunter arrived patting Voltine on the back. He nodded to Shaw and Harinordoquy who was surprisingly in attendance. He had quite an amount of nerves being so close to Breen but a hard, demanding exercise should put those nerves at ease. That is if everything goes according to plan.

"Attention," T'Chani called the group to order. With a quick look at her 2IC she continued, "I'm now going turn the briefing over to Major Shaw."

Pete nodded at her. "Okay, this will be a standard extraction mission," Pete started. "The Captain took down a diplomatic team to the Breen homeworld. During the talks some of the Breen took the Captain and his Team hostage. As you know the Federation does not negotiate with terrorists of any form. By order of Commander Brax we are to go in, get the Captain and his team out, and get back out. We are ordered to minimize the loss on both sides, especially ours." Pete looked around the room. "Are their any questions?"

"Who are the members of the team?" Troll asked.

"The team includes the Captain, Legates Pryce-Randall and Curran, Counselors Dallas, Navarre, and Lywhyn, Commander Smith, Commander O'Grady, Lt. Commander Corgan, Lieutenant Kreighoff. This is a mix of both the Miranda and Galaxy."

Malloy pipped up. "Skis or snow mobiles?"

Imanol cut in before an answer could be formulated.

"How *exactly* are we getting down there? There must be some field inhibitor preventing a beam out and in for that matter and their batteries would just blow a transport out of the sky."

"We will be taking down two Runabouts while being covered by Rogue Squadron. We will go in fast, a step decent. We will land as close as we can, and then walk the rest. We will be in snow and oxygen gear. As soon as we get our crew we will have the Runabouts come back in with Rogues, and they will drop in again as close as possible and we will high tail it out of there. Any more questions?"

Malloy looked considerably more serious now, "what kind of facility is this?"

"Truthfully, we don't know. Intel and Tactical has been trying to get some information, but we have been trying to stay a step ahead of the Breen, as they are chasing us all around this system." Pete then scanned thr room waiting for another question.

Imanol had an amount of questions but in the worlds of Led Zeppelin 'All will be revealed' in the next few hours.

"Sorry sir," Troll spoke up. "Why exactly did the Breen take the Captain and his team?" No one had asked it, and he was wondering just why they had been called in. If it was a local terrorist group, why couldn't the Breen take the lead as a show of good faith.

"We don't know," Pete replied. "It could be any number of things. They want some bargaining chips or something completely different. We do know that the Breen government was behind it, so we will have no support from them." Pete then scanned the room once more.

Briefly T'Chani took one last look at her team. "If there are no more questions lets get to the main reason why we're here."

Pete noded and brought up a schematic of the building, well as good as they could get. "This is what we are going into. We don't know a lot about this complex, hell we don't even have a full schematic of this place. We will enter vie a service door on the south side and then work from there. As we don't know the exact layout we will have to play it by hear."

‘Sounds good’ Imanol thought to himself examine Shaw's projection. It seemed the embassy on the surface had no counterintelligence worth talking of, could’nt even offer up a schematic of the place, it made Imanol wonder what exactly they had been doing all this time. As far as the mission went it was as straight forward as they come.

Voltine nodded, appreciating what was being asked of the team. This scenario was’nt exactly far fetched under the circumstances.

Pete finished the briefing with just a little more information. They didn't have a lot information, so it wasn't much longer. Pete ended the meeting and the team got up to dress.

About 30 minutes later they were on the ground taking up position just outside of the complex. One of the team members was working at the controls trying to hack in, while the rest covered. The Breen were putting up a good fight, but it was nothing they couldn't handle.

Once the team had reached the designated building they prepared to breech it. The Hazard Team had just finished searching a second room when Miranda's Red Alert klaxons sounded.

Malloy was in the process of sliding in a heat seeking mine to the adjacent room when the simulation paused and the room flashed with red. Turning to Harinordoquy he listened intently to Darions conversation.

'Great,' Pete said to himself. He put the program on hold till T'Chani got a hold of the bridge.

"Darion to bridge. Hazard Team is on standby." From the moment those alarms sounded, T'Chani knew something more was going on. Briefly she addressed her team, "Training exercise is over. We're on standby for a real mission."

"Commander, I would recommend you being on the bridge. They may need all the help they can get up there," Pete suggested. "I can keep the team ready down here, and that way we have a constant stream of information."

T'Chani nodded, "Thats just what I was going to suggest. I want the team ready to deploy on very short notice. Major run a full equipment check I don't want us walking into this unprepared."

"Will do," Pete replied. As she left he turned back to the team. "Okay, everyone suit up, this is for real. I want you to be ready for any and everything. NOW MOVE!"

On the Majors command the Hazard team double timed. As Malloy joined the line he soon found himself face down on the black canvas floor of the holodeck, with the impressive stature of Imanol Harinordoquy grinning over him. "Mind yourself Gunny, someone might think you were on drugs". He lifted his face from the floor and ran a finger down the bridge of his nose. "Basterd Frog... " Jack grumbled.

The rest of the men filed in and suited up. "Okay, everyone spread out to your to assigned location." At that the men moved out.

"Deployment"

Major Joral Anton,
Acting Squadron Leader/Rogue Five
Pilot Seryn Rhone,
Rogue Three
Pilot Richard Wilder,
Rogue Seven
Pilot Cole Slaton,
Rogue Twelve

Major Rena Starburst,
Acting Squadron Exec/Rogue Nine (PCC)
Major Veronique St. Melisande,
Acting One Flight Lead/Rogue Ten (PCC)
Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari,
Rogue Eight (PCC)
Flight Officer Pikarr Ekrayn,
Rogue Two (PCC)

Lieutenant Solranth,
Rogue Four (NPC)
Pilot Gunner Ross,
Rogue Six (NPC)
Pilot Jeffrey Clemons,
Rogue Eleven (NPC)

with... Var'dyrr, T'Kith'Kin Elite Triquadrant Commander

--Rogue Squadron Offices, Fighter Country--

Joral sat at the desk in his tiny office, still feeling decidedly out of his element doing paperwork. He was fairly sure that Hammond's absence wouldn't affect him too much, seeing as it was technically a diplomatic mission, and any fighting to be done would likely occur after all teams were recalled.

Of course, the instant the Hydrans and T'Kith'Kin showed up, that plan was basically shot to hell.

The Red Alert klaxon sounded, jolting Joral from his red-tape induced stupor. He tapped the bridge monitor and took one quick look at the situation. The Breen he understood. He hadn't been with the Miranda anywhere near long enough to fight the T'Kith'Kin (though he'd heard the stories), and the Hydrans were a serious shock to him.

He stood and ran full tilt out the door into the pilot's ready room, tapping his comm-badge along the way; "Rogue Squadron, scramble; you have five minutes to get to your fighters, or we leave without you."

The doors to the deck opened and Rhone hopped the railing that would have led to the stairs. He hit the plating with a loud thud, and sprinted for his fighter. His crew chief tossed his helmet as he leapt for the cockpit. He put it on in a hurry, and settled himself in, doing his mic check and strapping himself down tight. He looked around the bay where a few others clambered for their craft. Good, everyone was hurrying. It was a good sign. It meant everyone was edgy, and excited. Even fear was overrun by excitement. The canopy closed with a hiss and then a thump, which told him he was on his own life support now.

Cole had been relaxing in the crew room when the red alert sounded all around him, he wasn't alone in the crew room, there were several others pilots doing their own thing to relax, Cole was half way through a nice game of solitaire with a deck of cards that had naked women on the backs, it had already turned heads when he started dealing them out in front of him. But as soon as his ears caught the klaxon he instinctively shot up out of his seat knocking the table over, the cards spilled out carelessly over the floor of the crew room completely forgotten by the pilot.

He was running along the corridor untying the arms of his flightsuit that were around his waist when the announcement came through his com-badge, for Rogue Squadron to scramble! This almost seemed like a dream, or a nightmare. He'd been onboard five minutes and he was being called out to fight, typical!

The door opened with a hiss, it hadn't even opened fully before Cole burst through his arms now through the sleeves of his flightsuit, he grabbed the zip pulling it up sharply. He already had his phaser in its holster on his thigh, not what many would call standard issue but if he was going to be stranded behind enemy lines he wanted something with a bit more 'umph' than those Federation phasers. The flight engineer stood beside his fighter and tossed him his helmet, Cole grabbed his just as he was dropping down into the cockpit placing the helmet on the control stick in front of him as he closed the canopy.

He felt the thud of the canopy hitting the cockpit creating the airtight seal around him, he slid the helmet over his head pulling the visor down as all the systems started powering up. Holographic screens appeared in his visor showing power levels, a 3D hologram of his fighter showing everything was in the green as well as the blue circle of his shields.

"Testing-testing..." he said checking the mic was working, and it was.

Pikarr Ekrayn knew fear. It was her constant companion, the numb, gnawing feeling when she was alone. And you could never be more alone than in a fighter in combat. Since accepting Hammond's challenge to join the squadron and fill the vacancy left by Major Jaxom's transfer, Ekrayn had been slowly building her confidence back. to the level it had been at when she'd last flown fighters.

That had been on the USS Dallas, or the Big D as they'd called it then. Before HE had died. She'd never really gotten over that. Ekrayn had always hoped somehow that after the Dominion War that there had been peace. When the Breen had attacked the Dallas in 2379, she'd been unprepared to have her wingman and lover killed in the same battle, leaving her alone.

Alone with her fear. Fear that had carried her out of the fighter corps and into helm, away from the Dallas, and eventually to this day.

She always felt fear before she flew.

Major Rena Starburst was pulling her flight gear on even as she ran to stations. "Joral, what's going on?"

"T'Kith'Kin." the Bajoran replied. "And apparently some people called the Hydrans."

The red-haired pilot swore rather loudly. "The T'Kith'Kin's little biofighters are hell to go up against. They've got this little creatures that create gravitic anomalies that suck your shots into 'em before you even hit. You've got to pepper them with fire to take anything out."

"Noted." the Bajoran replied. Joral by then had his flightsuit on and his phaser strapped to his side and was hopping up to the cockpit of his fighter. As St. Melisande and Starburst moved past him, he stopped her a moment. "Major St. Melisande, I need you to command First Flight. Starburst, you're XO this run. Sorry I'm leaving your flight short by one; I'll try to get Galaxy to lend us their number thirteen if you need him."

St. Melisande nodded while Rena nodded. "We'll be fine. Vanguards probably need him more than we will, if we take on the T'Kith'Kin, and they go after the Hydrans."

Nodding curtly, the Bajoran hopped into his craft and strapped in, sweating profusely and looking nervously over at Medea. This was the first time he'd ever commanded anything in real combat, and it had to be the whole fucking squadron. Go figure. Silently cursing Hammond for slipping off, he powered up.

"Deployment" pt 2

Major Joral Anton,
Acting Squadron Leader/Rogue Five
Pilot Seryn Rhone,
Rogue Three
Pilot Richard Wilder,
Rogue Seven
Pilot Cole Slaton,
Rogue Twelve

Major Rena Starburst,
Acting Squadron Exec/Rogue Nine (PCC)
Major Veronique St. Melisande,
Acting One Flight Lead/Rogue Ten (PCC)
Lieutenant Medea Sinistrari,
Rogue Eight (PCC)
Flight Officer Pikarr Ekrayn,
Rogue Two (PCC)

Lieutenant Solranth,
Rogue Four (NPC)
Pilot Gunner Ross,
Rogue Six (NPC)
Pilot Jeffrey Clemons,
Rogue Eleven (NPC)

with... Var'dyrr, T'Kith'Kin Elite Triquadrant Commander

Activating his comm, he gave the situation report. "Ok people, we have four T'Kith'kin and four Hydran vessels headed our way, and they don't look too friendly. The Breen are already moving to intercept, and Miranda and Galaxy are about to lend a hand." He paused, trying to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth as he thought about the idea of actually HELPING the Breen, then continued, "We've been fired upon, so rules of engagement apply. You know the drill, folks. Everybody had damn well better come back in one piece. Launch on my command."

Starburst keyed a private line over to the Acting Squadron commander. "Nice speech, Major." she noted cheekily, imagining the Bajoran glaring back at him.

Rhone's fingers danced across the keypads and controls, and he gripped the throttle with one hand, his control stick with the other. He gently lifted his ship off the deck and pointed his nose at the launch deck. There wasn't even much radio chatter except the quick briefing over mic. After they launched, they would all switch to their secure channel and the only other person who could hear their chatter would be whoever was monitoring communications on the bridge. He did another quick check on his weapons systems, which weren't allowed to be brought online until after they cleared the radius of the Miranda's shields, and he checked his defense systems. He looked down, the only movement were more ships pointing toward the launch vector. "Rogue Three, all secure," he called. "Honestly, I can see why everyone would be pissed at the Breen, but why attack when two of Starfleet's best fighter squadrons are in the area?"

Subconsciously, he checked the phaser attached to his thigh, ensuring it was in place...

Ekrayn closed her eyes and offered a prayer to the prophets, that they bring her and those she cared for, especially Hammond who remained on a potentially hostile vessel, through the fight without injury.

The bay doors began to open, and Joral added, as a brief afterthought, "I don't suppose anyone knows what kind of fighters the T'Kith'kin have, do they?" He knew that no one knew about the Hydrans.

"This is Twelve, all secure and ready to rock!" Cole called out already feeling the adrenaline flooding his body, the anticipation was killing him as his clicked his fingers while stretching his arms out in front of him.

"I only know what I've heard from /friends/ of mine, they're similar to ours, both two and one manned, plasma based weapons which will eat through shields and once they've knocked them out they cut through your hull with phasers. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine."

The fighter rose off the deck creating a strange distortion around the spacecraft, Cole slowly moved her into position ready for launch while he watched the large doors opening revealing the blackness of space beyond.

"Home sweet home..." he whispered with a smile at the sight of space.

The Major smirked sardonically at Slaton's whistfulness, then relied to what little information he'd given on the T'Kith'kin; "That's a start. Starburst, were you here last time around?"

["Every time so far."] Red replied, ["These bastards are tough."]

****

T'Kith'kin Fighter
Vavquor A

Var'dyrr, Elite Triquadrant Leader of the T'Kith'kin Hive's battle fleet, entered into combat completely conflident that his Triquadrant would come out of the fray without incident. After all, this Rogue Squadron was composed of mostly newer pilots, and was missing it's leader.

He face twisted into a fascimile of a human grin. True, his part of the battle plan was but a minor role, but to watch the Miranda, which had recently uncovered their agents in the Gamma Quadrant, be humbled was reward enough.

There was no chatter among the T'Kith'kin pilots as they streaked inward, tasked to destroy Rogue Squadron, and there would be none. His pilots knew their duties in the careful, deadly dance among the stars.

"Balls to the Wall"

Lieutenant Corran Rex,
Vanguard Leader

Pilot Kell Tainer,
Vanguard Two

Two pilots light, as Jazz was aboard the Breen vessel, and Forgehammer was off of active duty, Vanguard Squadron's eleven fighters launched screaming from the fighter deck of the starship Galaxy. Everyone else checked off. He, Spots, was of course present. Wraith was on his wing. Fuzzball was acting as Exec, with Jazz unaccounted for. Blue, Starbuck, Angel, Prophet, Sunshine, Diamondback, Tex, and Dead-Stick were all present and accounted for.

One his scanners, he could see as the Rogues exited the Miranda, and made a beeline for the oncoming T'Kith'Kin biofighters. ["Rogue Five to Vanguard Leader."] came the voice of Major Joral Anton over his cockpit.

"Vanguard One." he simply replied, as his fighters automatically formed up on him.

["We aren't going to get more than one shot at this, so play it right. The T'Kith'Kin appear to be veering for the Rogues; Vanguard Squadron, cut starboard to 075 mark 13. The Hydran ships are launching some kind of fighters. Try to draw them away from Miranda and Galaxy. Rogues, stick with the T'Kith'Kin. Everyone knows the drill; don't leave your wingman behind, and keep your asses from getting fried. Good luck."]

["Acknowledged."] Corran replied. ["Don't worry about us too much, though. We'll be fine. Vanguard One out."]

There was no chatter, no games this time around - all of his pilots were aware that this was deadly serious and that they were more than slightly outnumbered. The Hydrans, the last time anyone had encountered them, had relied heavily on starfighters for vessel defense. The more experienced Rogues would be going after the T'Kith'Kin fighters, which would be much tougher kills. For the Vanguards... Well, they only had to fend off what looked like six Hydran starfighter squadrons.

"I wanted us to live up to our name." Corran muttered to himself. "I really didn't mean it so literally."

Taking another peek at the scanners, Corran opened the all-squadron frequency. ["You heard Rogue Leader, Vanguards. The Breen have deployed orbital defenses, so we might get some help from that arena. Don't count on it though. We're in Balls to the Wall mode now, so do as much damage as you can, and don't get killed. Break by wing pairs, surgical strikes."

["Y'know lead, after this, you want us to go take out a Dyson sphere or something?"] came the voice of Pilot Tainer over the comm.

"Can the chatter, Vanguard Two. All fighters, go."

And they did. The Vanguards broke apart like bats out of hell, diving straight into the oncoming swarm of Hydran starfighters. A few well-placed shots from the Galaxy's phaser banks had stirred the cloud of fighters up like a hornet's nest.

Vanguards One and Two streaked in, pulse phasers firing, unleashing awesome displays of power. The Hydran ships were nothing special, but there was an awful, awful lot of them. Corran had entered the mode of flying almost on automatic - years of experience guiding him through the cloud, keeping his aim true.

Not every pilot in his squadron had that advantage, though.

Pilot Kell Tainer was a relatively inexperienced flyer. He was a good kid, and could have been a fine pilot someday... If his second spacegong combat hadn't been a headlong dive into multiple squadrons of Hydran starfighters.

["There's... Too many of them!"] Wraith started to exclaim before weapons fire from a trio of Hydrans on his tail effectively shredded his craft.

Corran watched the young man's fighter explode, and set his eyes, deciding that he certainly knew who his next target was.

"Orbital Ambush"

Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
Galaxy

Commander Brex,
Acting Commanding Officer,
Miranda

Commander Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer,
Galaxy

Commander Jaal Jaxom,
Acting Executive Officer/Operations Manager,
Miranda

SubCommander Savar tr'Khellian,
Chief Tactical Officer (Exchange),
Galaxy

Lieutenant Circidon Yashanti,
Security/Tactical Officer,
Miranda

Lieutenant Ven'r Nong,
Tactical Officer,
Galaxy

Lieutenant Cernu K'rn,
Miranda

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Main Bridge

****

Cassius Henderson stood to one side of Captain M'Kantu and watched the chaos unfold. He'd been keeping an eye to the sensors himself, from the screen next to his chair, though he left all the actual analysis to Savar, who was manning the Battle Bridge at the insistence of the Breen, and Nong, at the arch. It still felt uncomfortable, after several months as Executive Officer, to not be the one standing behind the arch.

However, he knew that feeling would pass with time, just as the feeling of displacement he'd felt after leaving SFI had passed. And that was another odd thought for the space born officer. With his commission recently reactivated by SFI, he had now come full circle with the agency.

"Enemy fighter movement, Mr. tr'Khellian?" Cass asked, calling down to the Battle Bridge, where the Romulan patrician worked, coordinating with Ven'r Nong. The familiarity with which he had once addressed tr'Khellian had long ago faded as Cassius had settled into his new role. And the longer Savar ir-Aihai tr'Khellian was onboard, the more unsettled Cass found himself by him. Usually an exchange program would have been concluded by now. Instead, the senior staff of the Galaxy found themselves embroiled in an assassination attempt on tr'Khellian.

"Both the T'Kith'Kin and the Hydrans are launching fighter craft," tr'Khellian's voice boomed over the comm. The irritation and frustration in his tone was clear for all to hear. Stuck down on the Battle Bridge and denied permission to return to his rightful place, despite the perilous situation, he felt an almost irresistible urge to tear the hair from his head. "The Hydrans will rely heavily on their fighters," Savar advised. "We should launch what is left of Vanguard Squadron." The sudden reminder that several of its pilots were trapped on the weak Breen vessels ran icily down the Romulan's spine. He had expected a trap, but not like this: the involvement of the Hydrans and T'Kith'Kin had the tactician's mind whirling.

"Scramble Vanguard Squadron, Mr. Nong," Henderson ordered, then turned to M'Kantu, watching the older man's reaction.

Ven'r tapped on his console and spoke quietly into an open channel knowing his voice was echoing across the flight deck and in the ready rooms, "Attention Vanguard Squadron: scramble, scramble, scramble. Move to defensive posture around base."

Savar interrupted again then. "Negative, Lieutenant Rex. Hydrans are sending multiple squadrons, dash in, and Galaxy will provide covering fire."

["Acknowledged."] came Rex's quick reply over the comm. it was a tactical assessment h could agree with - by putting his people on an offensive mode instead of a defensive one against superior numbers, they'd do much better. Avoiding being hamstrung was always preferable.

Daren had been watching the display with a frown for several seconds. "Number One, get everything the Miranda has on the T'Kith'Kin -tactics, weapons, whatever they've got - and transfer it to the Battle Bridge for the Sub-Commander. If memory serves me correctly, the Hydrans relied on squadrons of heavy fighters and their long-range fusion beams tactically the last time they were encountered on the battlefield; they don't like to close with their opponents. Signal the Miranda, and tell her that we'll take the Hydrans unless they feel the T'Kith'Kin are too great a threat."

"My suggestion, sir, would be to close the range, where their fighters will be as much a hindrance to their weapons fire as an aid. As of yet, Starfleet Tactical has seen nothing to indicate that the Hydrans are willing to fire into their own men," Henderson offered, "Closing the range would also limit the effectiveness of their fixed mounted weapons."

"Very well, Commander," Daren nodded. "Take us in. Signal all civilians to the battle shelters. Sub-Commander, if you've got anything, your insight on the Hydrans would be appreciated."

On the Battle Bridge, Savar glanced up at the viewscreen from his vantage point in the centre seat. He had swung a large console from beside him and was reviewing the available data rapidly. "The Hydrans have two main weapons," he replied over the comm. "The Hellbore and the Fusion Beam. The Hellbore is the more dangerous, because its energy surrounds the opposing ship's shielding and drains power from its weakest shielding, allowing the fighters in. The Fusion Beam has a pathetically short range. We must attack from long-range and let the fighters move in for close attacks: they will be able to evade the slower Hydran weapons."

"Sirs - I have a suggestion while we are still at range and the Hydrans are in such close formation," Ven'r spoke, bringing up his ordinance profiles. "The Hydrans are in close enough proximity that an explosion of sufficient force would effect them all, bring shield efficiency down. A quick follow-up would perhaps overload their shields, giving our phasers greater effect." He brought up the diagram of the quantum warhead package surrounding the tricobalt charge, appearing to all intents and purposes as a "sierra pattern" spread.

"I concur," Savar snapped over the comm. "Make it fast."

Ven'r keyed up the attack and waited for M'Kantu's order to fire his special package. The 3C warhead would create a shockwave a mere second before the quantum warheads shattered against the shields of the Hydrans vessels, hitting their fighters and main shields with a four-to-eight isotonne shockwave. Most starships class six and higher could handle that kind of force but the fighters would be shattered. And then the follow-up with the quantums would be very effective.

At least, he hoped it would.

"Fire as soon as we come to bear, Mr. Nong," Daren ordered with a frown. "We don't want the Breen vessels and our fighters caught in the attack. Sub-Commander, as soon as the cannon comes online you are cleared to engage."

"Firing now," Ven'r called a moment later as Galaxy altered her path and Ven'r made sure the fighter we not in the flight path of the attack. On the tactical display, the four Hydran vessels were in a rather unsafely tight formation, less than ten klicks apart. If they used Hellbores and fusion beams in that formation they could pretty well eliminate Galaxy. But if they expected Galaxy to sit still and let them, well that's what they get.

From the forward torpedo turret, a cluster of white torpedoes arced out, streaking towards the center of the Hydran vessels, closely followed by another cluster of shining blue warheads. The Hydran ships began top split apart even as they realized the vector of the initial volley, trying to dodge the tricobalt cluster-bomb he'd thrown at them.

There was a flash of white light, casting the Hydran ships in the fore into shadows so deep they merely became silhouettes and snuffing out the images of those behind the blast-event, a visible white shockwave spread out slamming into the visible ship's shields and flaring them red and pushing the ships a few kilometers away.

Then, just as the energetic storm of the blast began to quickly dissipate, the blue cluster reached their target point and split, putting three quantum warheads into each of the still relatively-close ships.

The tactical display showed shields that had been green status, now flickering yellow, red and in two cases completely down on one orientation. "Initial volley successful. Shield integrity averaging twenty-two percent on various facings. Main power is offline on two-," his report was interrupted as one of the ships burst into raging plasma fires and began to break apart, ONE ship now shows main power offline. The remaining escort and the heavy cruiser still have main power but it appears warp capability is now offline. Subspace fluctuations indicate the escort may also be fighting a core breach. The heavy cruiser class has light damage across six decks and four minor breaches with all shields intact, somewhat. Threat assessment is now moderate against the remaining Hydran vessels."

"Firing phaser cannon," tr'Khellian's clipped-accented voice informed them over the comm. A few seconds later, a glowing bolt of phased energy blasted from the unwieldy cannon slung beneath the saucer section. It slammed into the prone escort vessel, breaching three decks of its hull, the explosive methane which constituted Hydran air blossoming into a deadly orange flower. This was enough to tip the Hydran warp core over into full breach. The lead vessel began to limp away from its stricken colleague, and tr'Khellian fired a glancing shot off its stern when it had cleared the immediate blast zone, knocking its impulse engines offline. Still intact, the main Hydran vessel was going nowhere.

Savar glanced at his display panel at the carnage. Nong's recommendation had proven successful; but tr'Khellian was now aware that the ship's tricobalt devices, which Nong had undoubtedly been modifying for potential use against the Breen, had been expended. Even with the use of the tricobalt/quantum weapons, the Hydran ships had yielded too easily. They weren't out of the woods yet, but tr'Khellian still smelled a rat.

"The remaining three Hydran vessels have been disabled," the Romulan patrician reported. "But we have forty Hydran fighter craft coming in hot, and the T'Kith'Kin are closing in."

Daren nodded; his eyes still on the plot. "Good work, gentlemen. Reconfigure 25% of the phaser banks for point defense, Sub-Commander. If they seem to be avoiding Federation point defense protocols, shift to a different set -try the Andorian Defense Force's or something they're not likely to have encountered before. Mr. Nong, I want you to keep an eye on the Hydran vessels *and* out erstwhile allies - they've been letting us do far too much of the fighting for my tastes."

"Sirs- I am receiving data from the Science officer on the Miranda, one Lt. Seernu Kurn," Ven'r advised as he spoke up tapping commands to relay the data appropriately. "He is presenting the likely subspace emitter arrays being used to cause these effects. The arrays are not as armored as other portions of their hull."

"Orbital Ambush" Part 2

Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
Galaxy

Commander Brex,
Acting Commanding Officer,
Miranda

Commander Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer,
Galaxy

Commander Jaal Jaxom,
Acting Executive Officer/Operations Manager,
Miranda

SubCommander Savar tr'Khellian,
Chief Tactical Officer (Exchange),
Galaxy

Lieutenant Circidon Yashanti,
Security/Tactical Officer,
Miranda

Lieutenant Ven'r Nong,
Tactical Officer,
Galaxy

Lieutenant Cernu K'rn,
Miranda

****

USS Miranda-B
Deck 1
Main Bridge

****

Circ was going to give Faraday a wedgie to remember after this was done. But then again, Brex had said three of her favorite words: fire, at and will.

Truth be told, this was only her fourth time at the tactical station. Most of her duties were security oriented, and she had just become certified on the equipment seven days before. Circ wasn't used to being a newbie, but like everything she did, she had practiced hard. And she had called in some favors too, having gotten the training programs from Captain Bretta on Starbase One. Pinq had been the best tac officer of the last decade by many accounts, so Circ had followed her recorded instructions as best she could.

A few more weeks would have been nice, but the stupid universe never did listen to her calendar.

Miranda had a lot of weapons, but you couldn't just point them all at the same thing. You had to prioritize. One thing Pinq had told her was not be proud. Use the computer, because your opponent probably was. She set the aft weapons to automatic first. Any enemies from behind would get a face full of photon torpedoes. Next she broke the ships into threat levels, prioritizing her resources. She fired at the opportune targets as she did this, a task that made her sweat and squint in concentration. This was not like soldiering at all.

"I need feedback on our kill ratio from the fighters" she said finally. "Every few minutes, please. The Hydrans are attempting to swarm us.., Jaal, how are our shields?"

"Holding steady at ninety-five percent," he replied tersely knowing Circ would understand he meant percent. They 'could' have been one hundred but some power needed to be saved for phaser fire. He deeply wished Taalis was at helm, on the other hand, Faraday was doing an admirable job avoiding enemy fire for the time being.

"Well they are small but concentrated right now, I say we use our bulk to scatter them ... sir, we need to MVAM soon or commit to a unified attack strategy."

"We may not have time Brex," Jaal's eyes were glued to his console studying the enemies tactics, "I'm sure their attack posture is showing they're expecting that."

That seemed consistent with what the Bolian first officer was thinking too -the last time the Starship Miranda engaged the T'Kith'Kin, and triumphed, was using that very strategy. It seemed reasonable that they would expect the Miranda to initiate multi-vector attack mode. Did that perhaps suggest why the Hydrans were there? Was there something they could do to tip the balance of the engagement?

"Jaxom is right," Brex finally responded. "They'll expect that." Commander Brex entered something in to the small console to his left. Glancing across to the Yashanti, "What's our analysis of their tactical strengths Lieutenant?"

"Inconclusive" Circ said, stress and annoyance playing at the edge of her tone. "Overall, the Hydrans are a fighter-based fleet. Their general tactics mimic aircraft carrier fleets in less developed civilizations. The T'Kith'Kin on the other hand have shown near Klingon like ferocity in previous conflicts. The Hydrans are following what little tactical experience we have with them to a tee, while the Hive is...." Circ's mind raced to see the pattern her subconscious was telling her was there. Mentally she replaced the ships with soldiers.

It was like zero-G warfare, you had to think in four dimensions... She didn't want to say it, being the least experienced in her position on the bridge right now, but Circidon always followed her gut. "Sir, I think the Hive is holding back, but I am not sure why." Circs hands flew across her panel. She was calling up historical that the computer had failed to include in its analysis, due to their unsubstantiated nature. Right now she needed anything....

The Bolian gave a nod. "Keep on it."

She had a plan now, her weapons were targeted. A quick look at her chrono showed forty seconds since the start of the fight. Damn, this happened fast. She was slower than some, but at least she was prepared.

She had been firing up until now, but as Miranda swerved to avoid another blast from one of the organic T'Kith'Kin ships, Circ opened the hounds of hell from within the bosom of the mighty ship she served.

Brex watched as the ship he was temporarily in command of fired once more on the enemy vessels - even he could not deny a certain degree of exhilaration. "How are our fighters going?"

~Commander~ Cernu offered from his position at Sciences, ~analysis indicates the attacking vessels are generating the subspace effects. Based on energetic scans I have been able to profile where to target weapons to bring down their emitters~ So saying he tapped his console and relayed the diagrams to Tactical and the Command consoles. They were less defended than the engines and weapon placements but it would be a good place to start, perhaps.

"Cernu, pass it along to the Galaxy as well," Brex added.

The Bolian executive officer noticed the T'Kith'Kin ships closing in on the Galaxy-class starship. "Yashanti, concentrate fire on the approaching T'Kith'Kin vessels."

Still hating hard tech and still not as facile with it as even a secondary-school Federation child, Cernu fumbled his way through do so. In a moment, the Tactical officer on the Galaxy responded with text only =/\= Acknowledged. Appreciation =/\=

"To the Battle Shelters"
Tyrone Miller, Civilian Reporter
Federation News Service, Attached to USS Galaxy

With the space battle going on outside the ship, all non-essential Galaxy personnel had been ordered to get to the battle shelters. Protecting the Civilian Population seemed to be a priority for the Command staff, and Tyrone couldn't blame them. Heading through the corridors that would take him there, he had his dicatphone with him. This would be another part of his story, it'd get headline coverage. Speaking into it, he said, "There appears to be a combat situation going on at this moment in time. The Galaxy and the Miranda have engaged an enemy and I can only assume that it's the Breen. However my current assumptions are unverified."

Arriving an an area that had now been crammed with civilians Tyrone found himself somewhere to stay. As a former Starfleet Officer, he felt he really could have been providing his expertise, and doing something. But Starfleet had screwed him over once, and he wouldn't let that happen again. Going back to the dictaphone, he once again began to speak for his report, "With the Galaxy's Civilian population now being crammed into this, and indeed other, battle shelters, so to speak, we have no real way of knowing how this battle will turn out. Hopefully we'll live to tell the tale of this intricate story of distrust, misdirection and large scale intergalactic politics."

Roaming around the shelter, Miller could see people who were worried; worried about there children with them, worried about their husbands on duty, or wives even. Worried about whether they were going to make it out of Breen space alive or were they going to fall to an un-confirmed attacker. "The other civilians here with me," he continued, "are in a state of uncertainty, as the combat rages on. I'm not sure what to say to any of these people, but it would seem that their family members are at teh forefront of their minds here. Perhaps I should speak to some of them."

Approaching an young woman, he knelt down beside her. "Ma'am," he began, offering his hand to her, "I'm Tyrone Miller, FNS. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

She took his hand, shaking it. "I'm Anette Bradley."

Before speaking into his dictaphone, he asked "Do you have a serving Starfleet Family member on this ship?"

"Yes, my Husband, Ensign Cornel Bradley, he's in the Tactical Department." She replied.

Speaking into the Dictaphone once again he said, "I'm now with the Wife of Tacticals Ensign Bradley, Anette, can you tell me what your feeling right now?" Putting the dictaphone towards her, he began the interview; another portion of the story that would have the Federation gripped.

"freezing, inside and out"

Counselor Karyn Dallas
Counselor Ammanalyn Llywhyn

So there was a battle being waged in space at the moment, which was really just great. It was the perfect development. Ammanalyn Llywhyn wasn't quite sure where she would rather be at the moment: upon on the Galaxy being shaken and stirred by weapons made by those who had no idea what the Dust was or the answers it held, or upon the Breen planet where she would be frozen solid if she stepped outside and even inside, had to wear the heavily lined jackets. The Breen had made compromises, of course; they'd put on their little refrigerated suits, but would only go so far as the lighter incantations, and in exchange, Starfleet agreed to lower the thermostat, so to speak.

They were, at the moment, playing the waiting game. There was little else to do, everyone seemed to be occupied. The more militarily minded of the group were exchanging ideas as to who it could be and what they would be doing, who was attacking, who would want the Breen dead. While she wasn't exactly a political or historical mind, Ammanalyn had one real question: who didn't want the Breen destroyed? But she knew well enough to bite her tongue or else be thought 1) sarcastic or 2) stupid or 3) a general pain in the ass. In instances such as these, people often forgot that she had grown up in an isolated environment on her home planet and really, honestly, truly had no idea sometimes.

So she sat in the corner, alone for all intents and purposes because frankly, Tampatiaen didn't really count. Not in her mind at least. He was in the shape of a tiger cub and lolled on her lap, head back, tongue out, eyes closed as she rubbed her stomach. She knew the Breen had no idea what the make of her. She could feel that, it wasn't very hard. Same with Karyn Dallas.

Ammanalyn looked at the other counselor. Her boss. The woman was in her grav chair as usual, and Ammanalyn had a sudden realisation as to why Dallas was brought. One of the many reasons, perhaps, but one just the same: she was a liability. In the end, she wasn't as capable. They were showing trust.

Oh dee, Ammanalyn thought, the woman was coming over. Just what she needed...

At this point in her career, Karyn had experienced true impotence several times in her life, and although she never found it pleasant, she was less inclined to deal with it today by rushing headlong into danger as she would have done in her youth. Of course, she wanted to believe this reflected maturity rather than cowardice, but trapped like a fish in the proverbial barrel, it didn't much matter.

In the absence of being able to do a whole lot about the situation outside except to pray she didn't die of anything other than humiliation, she turned her attention to caring for her people. As much as she admittedly wished she could turn to Shinta, Karyn knew that meant seeing to Am. Under these circumstances, she could hardly focus on what had caused such a rift between them. Naturally she still believed she was right, but she regretted the way she'd handled things.

So she made her way over, and despite the gravity of the battle being waged overhead, or perhaps because of it and her general contempt for her purpose on this team, she chose to open with levity. "So I was thinking," she spoke quietly, "since it's already below freezing out there, I see no reason for things to remain cold in here...between us. I'm sorry, Am. You deserved better from me."

Ammanalyn released a soft sigh and nodded slowly. "I'm sorry too. I was just a little overwhelmed by everything. I hadn't been on board long, I was stll trying to adjust and was thrown in the middle of something far greater than I could understand. It was frustrating for me. Maybe I just didn't know how to express myself correctly. I don't know." She shrugged slightly. "But these things happen, I suppose. Humanoid interaction is ripe grounds for hurt feelings."

Karyn smiled wryly. "It is indeed. I still have some reservations about Tampatiaen and how his presence will affect how you conduct sessions, but we can discuss it together. I can start by asking the right questions, and being more sympathetic to what you're going through. You were confused and overwhelmed, feelings I of all people should understand.... I didn't intend to make you feel unwelcome or alone, Am."

"The problem is, without Tampatiaen's presence at sessions, I cannot be present at sessions. I don't know how to make you understand that Tam is not just a talking pet or something I can leave behind. He's a part of me, like my skin, my hair, my mind. I'm used to feeling alone. I'm not used to being disliked. Or feeling as though I am. I'm also not used to being pressured to tell about sessions. That's not the way I've ever operated."

"And honestly, I can see why you'd be reluctant, but I've never been kept out of the loop." Dallas admitted. "Just to clarify, I'm not asking for anything more than you'd normally be required to put in your weekly reports. I'm not looking for a word for word transcript, just a basic update, so that if something were to happen to you and you were no longer able to see your clients, someone was up to speed. I like to know that everyone is making progress. And as for Tam, I'm learning to see him as a part of you. I guess the reason I saw him as an 'extra presence' was because he chose to come to your aid as he did. I'd like some assurance that if pushed like that by one of your patients, there'd be more control. I'm not sure how others would handle Tam were he to suddenly shift into a more aggressive form or respond to them as he did to me."

"We expect that sort of thing from patients, Karyn," Ammanalyn said. "With patients, especially the variety with which I specialise, I expect things like that. The eruptions, the frustrations. We know it's not against us, though with you... that instance... you were acting less like our commanding officer, which we were expecting, and more like a patient who had endured a great trauma... one she had not yet dealt with. We were taken back. We acting... and Tam acted... as we felt we had to in such a disturbing situation."

Karyn didn't so much as blink. "I'm afraid I don't understand. We've all experienced trauma in one form or another, you specialize in Trauma Counseling, and yet my reaction surprised you? Disturbed you? That's not the reaction I expected from someone who deals with people's traumas every day."

Ammanalyn paused a moment, then laughed under her breath. "Why don't you just give up the charade, Karyn?" she whispered softly, leaning in toward the other woman. "There's trauma and then there is *trauma*, and you have definitely experienced the latter and, if I had to guess, Mr. Curran was involved somehow, and probably Victor as well." She narrowed her large brown eyes slightly in study of the other woman. "You're right, I do specialise in Trauma Counseling. That is why your reaction surprised me. I wasn't prepared for my commanding officer, a senior counselor, to be acting as though she was had been severely abused and perhaps, even so sexually." Her voice had slowly grown softer. "You wear it like a book, Karyn, if one knows how to read it."

And the tiny voice inside Karyn said there was no way she could be that dead on. She'd done nothing, said nothing, said nothing! to make her think anything like that. Karyn forced herself to speak, and speak quickly, "My past isn't exactly a secret, Counselor. My father was a drunken son of a bitch. Yes, you've done your homework. I respect that. But the Legate and Lt. Krieghoff aren't interested in me that way, I assure you."

"And Karyn," Ammanalyn responded, slowly, her voice soft and gentle, as though she was speaking to one of her patients, because, while this may not be an official session it was probably as official as it would ever be, "please realise? I know what that looks like too. Your pain? Your immediate, in the now pain, is from something far more recent than your childhood and far more traumatic than a drunken father. And it looks so different." Ammanalyn reached forward the touch the other woman's hand. "Karyn, I can see your fear." Ammanalyn's eyes were almost liquid. She felt for the woman, she really did. She knew she'd hit it on the head, pegged it straight. There was a fraction of a second where Karyn's defenses almost fell and she hurried to put them up: higher, stronger. "And it's okay to be afraid. But it's not okay to hold it against yourself, or against others."

Karyn did not pull her hand away, as much because she didn't want to as because she didn't want to give something away. "I really appreciate your concern, Am, I do. I'm alright. Nothing happened between the Legate or the Lieutenant that I can't handle, so there's nothing to hold against myself." She offered a wry smile. "And I'll have you know being John Dallas' daughter was no picnic. You should ask my sister, Katie."

"I believe you on that," Ammanlyn said. "But you cannot hide behind it. Considering you have achieved as much as you have, I believe you know how to deal with that. But, I do not believe you know how to deal with this event between you, the Legate and the Lieutenant. Even if this event, which you said had not taken place, is nothing you cannot handle." Ammanalyn presented Karyn with a small look, not dissimilar from one a mother might offer a child who had gotten tangled up in a small lie. "You're not alright, Karyn. No where near the alright you're trying to think you are. And more than that, you know it."

Dallas smiled. "And you got me to admit something happened today... See? Progress." They were the words of someone who'd admitted exactly what she'd wanted to and nothing more. "I am curious, how'd you clue in on something so particular. And don't tell me it's instinct, I know better. There are a million traumas. Give me my red flags."

"I pay attention," Ammanalyn said. "You display all the signs, Karyn, and your attempts to hide them just make them all the more apparent to someone who knows what to look for. I thought something... unusual had happened based on how you acted around and at the mention of one another, and how you've continued to act around one another. The three of you. We should talk, Karyn, during a real session. You can't handle this on your own, no matter how much you would like to believe the contrary."

"I'd be happy to make myself available to you if you think it will benefit Victor and the Legate, but I doubt very much the Legate would be interested."

"Not for them, for yourself," Ammanalyn said softly.

Dallas chuckled. "I'm not ready for that, trust me."

"You want to know what I think, Karyn?" Am questioned. "I think you need to make yourself ready because otherwise, you could lose everything you've worked so hard toward. You need to trust yourself again, and you can't get there on your own."

"I could die on this frozen rock, or I could survive and live happily ever after. Lots of things could happen, Am, but nothing has. Trust in myself was the first and only thing I did have for a long time."

It was very, very clear that nothing would be accomplished at the moment, or perhaps ever, between them. Perhaps there wasn't anything there, but there had to be, from the way that Karyn had reacted. Ammanalyn sighed mentally, closing her eyes a moment, tired of the run around she was falling victim to. She hated trying to counsel counselors. They were the worst patients.

"Okay," she said, all the while thinking: if you ever come to your senses and realise you do need to talk because you're on the edge of becoming a traumatised mental case... But she had enough training to keep all that to herself. Instead, she said, "If you ever need to talk, Karyn, I'm around, okay? I just want to help."

Karyn smiled and nodded. "Then you're in the right place, Am."

Ammanalyn smiled thinly. "That remains to be seen," she whispered. "Time will tell."

"A Cacophony of Color"

by
Cmdr. Jerri Wolfson

-------

[Main Engineering]

The flashing red of the alarms and the soft blue glow of the warp core cast conflicting shadows against the ceiling in a duel that would have inspired Van Gogh. During any sort of alert, she tended to notice the colors as they inter-played along the ceiling, the decks, the bulkheads, and the consoles. They, far more than the flashing displays, told her how serious the given battle was.

On Jerri Wolfson's scale of 'battle colors' this one rated a seven point nine. Sure, there were the inevitable consoles that fizzled and sparked, the flashing colors on the master situation display that indicated hull breaches, power failures, and other such undesirables in Technicolor. However, the dueling colors had yet to reach the frantic pace that indicated imminent system wide failures on the core and the perception of those in the heart of the starship Miranda. This was merely the calm before the storm.

Pulling out her Swiss army knife, she worked on restoring power to one of the master system display panels. Team of engineers were scattered around the ship, fixing what went wrong at any given time. Jerri directed the teams to where they were needed the most, but while that direction changed at any given moment it still did not negate her desire to get some 'hands on' work in the process.

She never would admit it out loud, but she found that when she had pressure upon her she performed all the better. This was, literally, what she thrived on. Battle, dangerous situations, warp core instabilities...

Suddenly, the Van Gogh turned into a cacophony of colors that would have done any modernist proud. While beeping and a violent rocking punctuated the color display far more poignantly than any thing else could have done. Cursing under her breath, Jerri sent other engineers to handle the various emergencies while she dealt with the one thing that worried her the most - the shields.

She seriously hoped that the people upstairs realized the situation and decided to go to MVAM. That, at least, would provide a more efficient distribution of power. Then again, maybe she could link the different cores together to provide a boost to the power systems specifically for weaponry and shielding

That required some thought...Her thoughts turned inwards as she continued to work, ignoring the color display around her. They would survive this encounter that was definite. But was not definite was in what *shape* they would survive it. That depended solely on Tactical and Helm.

Pilot Tyten
Vanguard Five
USS Galaxy

"Just A Few Questions, Comrade"

Cursing his bladder, Tyten stepped out of the bathroom, well at least, what the Breen considered a bathroom. Their ideas of waste extractment had something left to be desired, but then again, most likely, other races generally were not welcome on their ships, hence the lack of Federation comforts. He laughed mentally at that thought. He shouldn't expect Federation comforts from a race that was anything other than Federation.

"Well, looks like I'm ready to return to the others," he said to the escort that had waited outside for him. That too had taken some explaining as the escort had wanted to follow him into the bathroom. Finally after about the tenth time of explaining that what he would be doing was a rather...private matter, the escort had relented.

With not so much as a word, the escort simply nodded and turned to lead the way. He couldn't wait to get back on the Galaxy. The first thing he planned to do when he got back was to jump into a nice warm sonic shower and stay there for at least an hour, which was probably how long it would take for his blood to return to its normal temperature again. He had a feeling that this was how those sides of beef felt in that boxing vid that Jasmine had shown him.

It was with that thought that Tyten suddenly realized that it was taking a long time for them to meet up the rest of the away team. He had a sickening feeling that there was something terribly wrong. "Hey," he called up to the escort, "where's the other group?"

His question received no response and somehow that didn't surprise him. The Breen soldier kept walking at the same pace and had he heard Tyten's request, he showed no signs of acknowledging it.

"Hey! Hey, I talking to you! Where are you taking me? HEY!" he shouted, this time grabbing the alien by the shoulder and spinning him around. If the action had annoyed him, there was no way to tell as his helmet hid any emotion. Instead, he just turned and continued to walk, leaving Tyten behind.

Tyten slapped his communicator. "Tyten the Jasmine."

No response.

"Tyten to anyone."

Again, no response.

A door hissed open behind him and before he knew what was happening, strong hands grabbed him and pulled him inside. The atmosphere was instantly different. He found himself gasping for air and a frigid cold ripped through his body. The world around him started to swim and he found himself loosing consciousness. The same hands that had pulled him into the room brought him back and forced him on a table. He tried to struggle but felt the strength leaving him. Looking at his attackers, he saw nothing more than distorted images of monstrous faces. "Please...don't..." he coughed out.

They tightened straps over his legs, chest, and arms and he was done. This is how its going to end, he thought to himself. I'm going to suffocate and freeze at the same time. He felt his life ebbing away when a mask was placed over his mouth and nose. Instinctively, he gasped and to his surprise, found the air breathable. Obviously, he wasn't expecting that, but soon, he felt his head starting to clear yet something about the air was not right. His eyes darted around the room, but he could see nothing of importance that might give him some indication of where he was or a possible means of escape.

Out of the shadows, a dark figure emerged. Tyten's eyes went wide as a sudden feeling of deja vu swept over him. In front of him stood the dark figure that had plagued his dreams for as long as he could remember. He could hear the sinister laughter and the sound of his mother's (at least, he thought it was his mother) screams filled his ears. He had to be hallucinating. This wasn't real, but yet, it seemed so. He couldn't tell anymore.

"Noooooo...." he managed to say through the mask. In reality, it had been muffled and he sounded groggy. "Moooooommmm...."

"Relax," the figure finally said. "This will be over shortly and we will return you to your friends. For now, we have just a few questions for you."

"Ambassador studies"

by
Turan Trelan,
bored juvenile Quentite "ambassador"

Timeline: before the vessels arrived at the Breen home world

Turan looked out of his quarter's window. The Galaxy seemed to almost have arrived at her destination, a solar system called Breen. The constant flow of pale lines changed into a slow moving curtain of distinguishable bright stars against the dark nothing of space. The two giant spaceships had slowed down to impulse speed and were now escorted by a much smaller totally different designed third vessel.

The tension, the third vessel's arrival was to strong to be denied - even to a civilian like Turan who was locked out of any information, the Galaxy's crew seemed to share. Nevertheless anybody who used the name Breen seemed to freeze for a second or more.

What was wrong with this species? The Quentite student switched his PADD on. Few days ago, he was granted limited access to the Galaxy's database. Most of the files he was able to open were meant for educational purpose - technical data sheets, schematics, formulas, but a also a few biological and political informations.

Turan touched the "search for"-icon.

<enter keywords to search for> asked the Padd.

Turan entered the word "Breen" and hit the "start"-icon

The fact the interface to the Galaxy's computer used a standard Starfleet charset was no problem anymore. Turan learned to pronounce the languages phonetic structures good enough to if he was not able to understand a text by simply reading it silently, he read it again loudly and his universal translator took the job and translated the sentence to Quentinarish.

"1276 matches found. Most recent match download: Who is who: Opponents of the dominion war"

Turan scrolled through the text obviously meant for primary school pupils. The file was split into paragraphs, any of them dealing with a different species - allied, dominion, neutral ones - arranged in alphabetical order.

Amongst the dominion related species, Turan found a paragraph about the species Breen. Just few year ago, the Breen were one of the most feared species amongst the members of the enemy alliance.

Guessed from the rather vague description of the Breen, their culture, technology and even physiognomy, the Breen were not only one of the most feared species, they were one of the less explored species, too. No wonder, the nerves of the Galaxy's crewmen were strained almost to the limit.

Turan scrolled down to have a look at the next paragraph:

"Cardassians"

Like the Breen, Cardassians were listed amongst the former enemies, although to a certain time they seemed to have changed their mind and switched over to become a member of the star fleet alliance. The Cardassians were described as opportunistic, sly and not really trustworthy.

The picture next to the paragraph showed a Cardassian Gul. Prominent features of the race seemed to be a reptile like skin a forehead bone formed in the shape of a spoon - (which by the way gave them the nick "spoonheads") and protruding neck muscles and tendons.

Amazing, the female helmsman, who sat at the table next to his belonged to that species. To collect all facts, the Galaxy was sent to the territory of a former evil enemy, steered by a "not trustworthy" helmsman and himself still kept away from duty. Didn't they even trust him enough to offer him a job at botanic or sick bay?

Turan switched his PADD off and turned towards an array of small, neatly arranged flower pots, any of them hosting a strawberry plant - descendants of the dying plant he saved from the arborethum short after his arrival. The small plants developed well. Soon they would have to move over to a much bigger field ... back to the arborethum.

Commander Jack Dawson
Asst. Chief Engineer
USS Miranda

"Old Friends"

The T'Kith'Kin Hive. The mere mention of the name made Jack's blood boil, enough to melt the frozen tundra of the Breen homeworld. He doubted that anyone on the ship would fault him for his ill feelings towards this particular race, well, at least anyone who knew of his experience with them. It had been almost a year since his release from the POW camp, plenty of time to overcome such feelings of resentment, yet Jack found himself in conflict.

In all honesty, it didn't surprise him to see them here. He had heard several rumors while he was imprisioned that there were plans to seek out negotiations with the Breen. Initially he had scoffed at the idea. As far as he knew there was no word in the T'Kith'Kin language for negotiate. His cell mate, who had given him the information had felt that it meant they were planning an invasion of Breen. In hindsight, it appeared he may have not been far from the truth. Then again, as the saying went, hindsight is 20/20.

The ship rocked and groaned at the blasts of phased energy that slapped against its failing shields. Jerri had sent out teams to handle problem areas where relays were blowing due to the added stress to the ship's systems. Currently, he was on his way to Junction 41-Alpha, a critical junction in shield control. Running through corridors with the heavy relay replacement had not been an easy task and it was a heck of a time to take a trip down memory lane.

Truthfully, he probably need to see a conselor about it. He could probably fill Conselor Navarre's schedule for the next six months with some of the issues he had still. Oh, sure, the Federation counselors had tried their best shortly after his return, but even now, he still woke up in the middle of the night only to find himself sleeping on the floor in a corner. He never told Gail because he didn't want to worry her. She had plenty to worry about with the twins. His precious children. There had been times in the POW camp where he thought that he would never experience such joy.

His hands worked deftly as he repaired the damaged junction. Acidic smoke hung in the air left over from when the relay had blown. A few burnt fingers later, the new relay was in place.

"Dawson to Wolfson, junction forty-one alpha is done, let me know where you need me next, boss lady."

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