"Learning While You Sleep"
Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineering
Cernu & V'rlu from the Miranda

~We may begin when you are prepared~ Cernu told her with an odd bow and a graceful fluttering of the hands.

Nara thought a moment. It seemed silly to take the long way when the short way was just as accessible. She assumed she would have to get used to it either way. Question was, did she prefer a long gradual adaption or a quick charge? Well, like a bandaid, except it likely wouldn't hurt either way. Question was, which was more convenient for Cernu? She looked at him letting the question float without "speaking" it knowing he could read her inner ponderings. But then another question came up, ~How do you mean IF successful? Why would it not be successful?"

~Some minds resist the implantation~ he told her frankly ~some minds cannot absorb the bulk of the data and the kinesthetic knowledge that comes with the implantation. Sometimes other complications occur as well with partial assimilation of the knowledge- but in that we just train the rest normally~ He cocked his head and his crest flared, she sensed curiousity ~You have plently of time to consider. It will take three weeks for us to arrive at my homeworld~

Nara looked at him. Was she curious or was he? She still had trouble with that. She did know she felt impatient. She wanted to get this dealt with.
Yet she felt calm. She wondered if not only Cernu could read emotions but could influence them as well. Which so far hadn't been a bad thing since all he ever seemed to give was calm. ~Partial assimilation...a trial run...seems practical.~

It may not be possible to have Cernu as a mentor once they went back to their respective ships. She wasn't sure where the Galaxy was headed next.
She did know she'd likely have to get used to a few new systems since they were basically rebuilding the Gal. Nara wasn't sure if anyone else called her that or if she coined the nickname. She suddenly felt neglectful. She knew about ship design and she could had been there helping, but instead she was on some quest for... No. Aside from any selfish motive or fear of intimacy, it was for Starfleet's good she know how to put some wall up over her now awakened telepathy.

~We may begin when you are prepared~ Cernu told her with an odd bow and a graceful fluttering of the hands.

Nara looked at his actions. Perhaps the "grapes" didn't agree with him? She took a deep breath, "What do I need to prepare?"

~Simply to be relaxed and ready receptive~ Cernu told her gesturing that she might wish to lay back ~I can prepare a relaxing beverage, if you wish?~

Nara sighed. Receptive. Meaning open. If it be necessary to let these two in so to learn to block others out, so be it. She really couldn't think of any two people she'd rather have to do this with. She knew neither would judge for whatever they saw in her. If they saw anything. They were giving something to her, but did that mean they'd have to look into her? No matter. These two could see her. They would likely be the only two to see the real her. After this, she would go back to being closed and hiding away that horrible memory from herself. She nodded to Cernu, "I'm ready." She decided lying back was a good idea and shifted a moment getting comfortable.

Cernu stepped around her and with his fingertips encouraged her to lay back on the couch. Placing his own claw-sheathed fingertips on her forehead and closing his eyes, he gently sought access to her mind.

He didn't have to do either of those things, actually, but it seemed a good idea at the time. It seemed to comfort some beings to think that there was more visible sign of "effort" applied to a telepathic skill. He had learned this particular skill before he had escaped his parents' care since it had been used on him often enough to give him basic skills not covered by genetic programming.

Softly and gently he proceeded into the darkness of her mind, seeking the parental control that one's progenitors installed behaviorally during childhood. Accessing those controls would give him easier access to her mind and memories and automatically make her receptive and accepting of the new information. But, as he found, like Shinta she had little in the way of controls.

Nara lay somewhere between calm and tension. She tried to "clear her mind"
and be open, but it's one of those strange things where you try to hard and it defeats he purpose.

~Attempt memory cascade implantation~ Vr'lu whispered in his inner thoughts.

~Agreed- that technique has a far better chance of success~ Cernu replied after briefly considering the ramifications of the technique.

Tapping into Nara's autonomic brain functions he triggered a light sleep state, sending her into a more suggestive mental condition in which memory implantation could more easily be achived.

All muscles suddenly went limp as she gladly fell to sleep. If she had time to think about it, she would had agreed this was the best method for her.
Though perhaps his reasons were different than hers. Her's being she was just too tense to relax and let it happen.

Carefully, he crafted the new images and memories, taking the kinesthetic data he had on the techniques and the memories of practicing them and altering them so that she was the person practicing and he was the one sharing the training. The images and the memories themselves were thousands of years old; early developmental training memories for young Qlrn and the most basic training young telepaths are given in a telepathic species.

And so he filled the gaps in her mind, times when she slept outside of dreams, times when she was unconscious for various reasons. And with it, he implanted the suggestion that the training occurred now removing the time tag automatically associated witht he times the memories filled up. At once she would know she had just received the training and also that she had the experience of using the training, though as if she had done so in dreams.

And so to her dream-self he showed how to erect a light mental barrier, enough to ward off casual contact and keep her mind quiet on Galaxy and left her that way, giving her a moment to awaken naturally. She should have the knowledge how to shield defensively, lightly, to entrap and attack a mind that invaded her own, how to send and receive telepathically and how to perform a light probe to detect particular thoughts and/or emotions (the latter was very useful to detect enemies or other presences beyond the range of her other physical senses). She had other latent skills yet to develop and so he had also included basic techniques for meditation and how to delve inside and touch those other areas; clairvoyance would be particularly useful for her in her line of work.

He leaned back with a sigh and took the cup of sweet tea Vr'lu had thoughtfully prepared and set at his elbow, awaiting his emergence from the trance.

He stunk; like an old musty pillow.

Nara smelled as well, like most Humans and Bajorans, she smelled like spoiled hrs'k spice, sour and olfactorily arousing at the same time. He sat back a little further and made sure her favorite tea was also nearby, for when she woke she might have a light headache and fee a little..."full".

"Rendevous with Dinner"

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Controller

Ensign Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer

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

On a ship with a skeleton crew, Gamma shift seemed to be even more dead than usual.

Saul Bental sat alone in the Defiant's mess hall, which was somewhat more crowded than the Galaxy. Two renegade balls of replicated Falafel rested orphaned on his plate, next to the last slice of Herring.

The dimmed lights fitted Saul's mood. He was still trying to set up his Intelligence center, but it wasn't an easy task when you were a one-person-department. Also, thoughts of what expected to him on DS9 troubled him. He'll have to juggle between the AWOL officer, selling his cargo, and dealing with Rosenthal. And if that's not enough, his 'name on this manifest', the person he first met when he was like - what, twelve years old - was apparently dead.

The day had, as far as Miramon had been concerned, a severely tedious one. That they were headed back to his home planet had of course increased the pre-occupation he'd felt since they'd managed to escape from the Breen thanks to the intervention of their Fleet. And since the Galaxy wasn't going anywhere for a while, he'd actually been thankful to get away. It'd been such a long time since he'd even so much as seen Bajor from orbit.

Not really paying significant attention to what he was thinking, the Bajoran headed to the Mess Hall to pick up a bite to eat. This ship was so small, and actually really quiet, compared to the Galaxy. He figured if there was anywhere he could find people to talk to, it'd be there.

The doors to the mess hall hissed open as he approached, and the Ensign looked over the room with a tired smile. there were a few people around, which was good. He headed over to the replicator and ordered a late dinner - tonight it was going to be steak pie with mashed potato. He didn't really eat much Bajoran food these days - since his days aboard the K'Lyn had he really eaten food from his native planet regularly. Merchant frieghters travelled a lot, so they inevitably got access to more types of food than was normal for Bajor. Not to mention his time at the Academy...

Turning away from the replicator, dinner tray in one hand and a hot cup of camomile tea in the other, the Bajoran looked for somewhere to sit.

In the silence, Miramon's approach was as loud as churchbells in Saul's ears. He turned his head toward the newcomer, and couldn't believe his luck. The Bajoran! He saw the man before, but never had the chance to strike up a conversation. And since he had cargo to sell on the pilot's home system, perhaps he could give some good advice.

Besides, after spending the last hour alone in the middle of the night, he could use the conversation.

With a smile, he gesture at the Bajoran to join him.

Miramon smiled in appreciation at the gesture, then nodded and moved to sit opposite the Intlligence Officer.

"Good Evening. Couldn't sleep, huh?"

"Yes, high levels of adrenaline... that's what happens when you take an eager ensign and give him toys he only dreamt playing with. I've been working around to clock to get Intel running, and I just don't feel tired."

He extended his arm. "Saul Bental, the entire Intelligence department."

The Bajoran took the human's hand and shook it as was the custom both and Earth and, at least these days anyway, in Starfleet, too. He smiled politely, then released Saul's hand, sitting back in the comfortable chair.

"Miramon Terrik, your pilot for the flight." The Bajoran's smiled.

Saul tried to recall if he saw the flight controller on the Galaxy before they arrived to Starbase 212. "You weren't on the saucer during the Havras battle, right?", he asked, recalling the Andorian flight controller who took the helm during the combat. "Were you on the battle bridge?"

Miramon nodded. He had indeed been on the Battle Bridge, though he'd never sat in that particular chair before then. It had been an interesting experience, but on reflection, he'd been safer than his counterpart on the saucer section, since the stardrive section had better shields, more weapons and, of course, the warp engines.

"Yes, I was. Sh'laran had the helm on the main Bridge, if I recall rightly. It was a good thing we all mostly managed to get out in one piece - shame that the Galaxy really didn't. Still, they're in the middle of repairing her now, and here we are, on the way home to track down an AWOL officer. Great, huh?"

"Why not? I rather be on this amazing piece of spacecraft than on the Galaxy while they repair it. Let me tell you a little story."

Miramon smiled, but nodded. "Sure, I've got time to kill. I'm not due back on duty until tomorrow morning."

Saul told him in detail about his encounter with Dhani and the problems with his temporary quarters' climate controls. "... and here we are, almost freezing to death after we almost got dehydrated because of the heat just minutes before. The room looks like someone locked in it ten drunk Klingons who dislike eachother... and this amazingly beautiful Engineer asks me for a drink. And you know what? Not only that I said no, I didn't even ask the girl's name..."

Miramon's eyebrows raised considerably. "Either you were drunk or severely depressed. What was with that?"

"I hate to admit it, but I was simply stunned after what happened, plus I was... distracted by other things at the time." Saul added, thinking of his conversation with the Ferengi and about Naranda.

The Bajoran shook his head, but privately he was amused, and said so, too. "Well, frankly, it amazes me that you'd see a beautiful woman and still be thinking of other things. From what I know of most human men, that kind of thing would never happen unless the guy in question was being preoccupied by a life or death situation. And even then, history suggests that they usually go google-eyed and get themselves killed in the process."

Saul nodded with a grin. That was one of the most accurate description of 'Human men' he ever heard.

"So..." He began, after swallowing one of the two lonely Falafel balls still waiting on the plate, "You're the only one of us who is actually coming home on this trip... are you going to spend some time on Bajor while we hunt for the XO's lost sheep?"

"Actually, I think Tarin is Bajoran, too. So I'll not be the only one going home."

"The Operations officer, right?"

"Right. Though, that said, she is part Betazoid too, so maybe she might not think of Bajor as home. Who knows? But if the Commander lets us take some shore leave, I might just do that."

"I believe we'll probably end up searching the missing officer on the planet. A station with Starfleet presence is just not the place of a runaway Starfleet officer to hide." Saul indicated. "Assuming we'll have some time to go planet side, where are you going to go?"

MIramon had been giving that particular question some thought since he'd found out where they were headed. His feelings towards his family had always been very cool and distant, since they'd never really agreed upon or acted appropriately regarding the Occupation years ago. They'd started reconciling a little when Miramon had returned to the planet following the end of the Occupation in order to assist with the rebuilding efforts, but their relations were hardly superb.

"To be honest with you," the Bajoran spoke with a slightly apologetic smile, "I can't say I'm sure. I could go home, but after all this time of being away, I kinda wonder if it's worth doing. You know, whether I'm willing to dig up some old feelings and throw them into the fire again."

"I understand that. If we would've searched her in my home planet..." Saul considered his own words for a moment. Returnning to Utrecht III with the Valkyrie could open some oppertunities, but it probably not the best way to pursue his agenda. "I would probably go visit my mother and that's it. An ugly planet. I was just thinking that... if I'm going to go sight-seeing with Bajor, tagging with a Bajoran would be the best idea. No?"

Smiling, Miramon nodded appreciatively at the comment. "Good idea. I could probably do with some company myself. Going home is hardly going to be a comfortable experience. Besides, unless you've been before, you won't know much about the customs. Some Bajorans are fussy about such things, you know."

Saul nodded. Miramon had no way of knowing that his first assignment as Starfleet officer was on a disguised civilian ship, which he and his crewmates used to travel among non-aligned worlds and 'sniff around'. He was accustomed to adopting the locals' customs quickly, but that experience only taught him that the best way to gain an entry ticket is if you have someone with a free backstage pass with you.

Or something like that.

Saul looked around carefully, and lowered his voice. "Tell me please... do you have any idea why we're spending so many resources on an AWOL Tactical officer? I've got a feeling there's a story behind it..."

Miramon took a bite out of his steak pie, savouring the flavour, then lowered his voice to match the Intel officer's tone.

"Well, let's face it, if there weren't a story behind this one, the Commander wouldn't be going personally - they'd have maybe sent a small group of Marines to apprehend our missing officer. Sounds like there's something in it to me."

"And the A.I., and that ho-- that Andorian pilot, she looked like she was going to split either AMIE or Cassius in two. I'm the intelligence officer, I'm supposed to know those things!" Saul raised his arms in mock defeat. "Don't tell me there aren't any rumours..."

Miramon smiled in amusement, then shrugged. "Lets just say that if there were, you'd have heard about them long before me."

"Oh, I doubt it." Saul shook his head. "I'm came on board right before we took off to Breen, and Dobryin had us working around the clock so I didn't get the chance to meet with people outside the department."

"Good point," Miramon conceeded. As CONN officer, he met a lot of Bridge officers, and had to co-ordinate with a officers from a lot of different departments, especially Ops, Engineering and, of course, Command. "Well, it's a mystery to all of us, I guess. Except Commander Henderson and the Andorian. And that hologram. Ever seen anything quite that strange?"

"I saw my share. Seeing the show on the bridge, I just felt like I've started reading a holonovel from page one-hundred. At least I'm not the only one in the dark."

The Bajoran chuckled. "About that. Sounds like me jumping into the piloting manual at the Academy."

The final ball of Falafel made its way to Saul's mouth. He picked up a napkin to get rid of a stray crumb. "Anyway, Commander Henderson trusted me enough to give me a bridge post during the Havras battle, and the Intelligence officer's post here. I like being trusted. I think that for now I'll just say 'thanks' and keep my eyes open."

"I hope that only keeps on going. The more often you get the opportunity, the more likely they are to keep doing it, if you do your job right. Though I can hardly talk - I'm pretty much a permanent bridge officer anyway. That said, care for dessert?"

"Mika"
By Lieutenant James Lionel Corgan

Guest Starring:

Former Ambassador Mika Sh'Sonora
Courtney Fiona Corgan, CEO, Corgan Media

Location: Papa Shango's Pizza, New Orleans, Earth.

"Mika!"

For the moment, James forgot about his excitement about trying, for the first time, the Earth cuisine called pizza. He was enthralled by an odd turn in his conversation with his sister, where one factoid led to the other… and brought about a rather puzzling chain of events.

There was Mika Sh'Sonora, former Federation Ambassador to Lanjep and of the Gryphon Coalition, holding out a tray with two slices of pizza on synthetic paper plates, and two large cups of a clear carbonated beverage that cloyingly bubbled.

Mika Sh'Sonora? A fast food employee?

Other than dealing with the diplomatic relationships between the Federation (and the occasional dirty deed that came when she was the assistant of a person who dealt with the diplomatic relationships between empires), all she knew was based on a masters degree in political science… and pizza. Pizza was what put her through college, when a rich family wouldn't. Now pizza appeared to be her last refuge.

Not that it couldn't surprise James. Last he knew, Mika Sh'Sonora was under duress about the Gryphon Incident, one which saw a regime change in the former Federation ally, one that had a revolution she didn't see coming. Last James remembered, Mika having a penchant for fine clothes, especially Andorian kimono's and parasols. Last he remembered, Mika had a graceful, fluid movement that complimented her compact, lithe frame, where even her antennae drifted and swayed like wind caressed long grasses. He remembered Mika as a meticulous beauty, one who kept herself dressed in finery to impress.

This was not as James remembered Mika. Miss Sh'Sonora was a haggard specimen, her once short, white and blue tinged hair bedraggled and confined under the prison of a brown hairnet. Her beautiful clothes were now the brown and orange slacks, shirt, and smock of a Papa Shango's pizza creation artist. Her grace was all gone, replaced by a hurried pace that whipped her antennae like a reed in a strong gale. Her cheery face, before a beacon of happiness, was now downcast and exhausted.

It occurred to James that she took quite a fall from grace, but it never occurred to him that she would land this hard.

James' sister decided to break the silence. "James, you know Meeks?"

"Do I?" James answered, "We meet before. Mika…"

"James." Her face turned tense, as she dropped the food tray onto the table. "Why are you here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" James fired back. "You haven't called back. I… didn't know what happened to you after Gryphon. Why didn't you…"

It was then that her face scrunched up in a mask of anger. He saw from the corner of his eye a blue streak, identified as her hand.

Then her palm so hard, that it nullified any surprise, or even joy, at seeing her again, hit him. Martial arts trained, Mika had a very hard slap, jerking James' head back and leaving a small, Mika sized hand welt on his right cheek.

Astonished, James said, without malice or hate, "What the hell?"

"James, how could you… lead me along like that?" She spoke in a choking whisper, before loping off in a contained rage to the kitchen area.

This left James confused…

And her sister with a sheepish look on her face. James caught his sister, and asked, "How long have you known her?"

"Hey…" Courtney said defensively, "I meet her a couple of months ago. She talked about losing a good job… talked about a handsome knight of man… how was I to know it was you?"

"Sis… you're avoiding my question." James growled testily.

"Hey! You led her on! Don't get angry at me!" Courtney snapped back, "You talked to me about that Romulan you were dating and that redhead you had a crush on. Come on, how was I to know? She didn't mention your name! And when I talked to her about my brother, she didn't say a word. I didn't know you didn't tell her about that stuff."

"It was none of her business unless I made it otherwise."

"She thought you accepted her advances."

"I tried to resist them!"

"That's beside the point!" Courtney snapped, "The point is, you didn't let her know that you were unavailable. She had such hope for you. She was head over heals with this 'handsome knight' of hers, and thank to me talking about my big brother, that was totally ruined. And it's not my fault! I think you owed it to her to tell her about Tekri or Rebecca… and by the way that little messed up affair wasn't without it's own faults, she heard about that from me too."

James' heart leapt to his throat, "You… WHAT?!?!?"

"Sorry bro, but it does make you look bad." Courtney reasoned, "You're just too damn nice to people sometimes. You don't have a clue how to say, 'stop' or 'go away' at times. Bro, you should have let her know you were off limits…"

"Yes.. but…" James sputtered, "That's the thing… I… suppose I do like her."

"Come on James! You can't just cop out like that!" Courtney heckled, "Like is for kids! You're being silly. Can you say you love her?"

James thought long and hard, sitting down, mulling over the question while he barely gave passing notice to the pizza he consumed. His sister's aggravation simmered down to exasperation while James pondered the question.

He enjoyed Mika's company.

But did he love her? It wasn't like a friendship, not by far. At times it was too intimate to be a regular friendship. But did he love her?

How could he love her when he loved someone else? Did he not love Rebecca, though she was long gone, though he still had in his heart an affection for? Did he not love Tekri, though it was more of a physical relationship that turned into begrudging admiration and respect? And what of Mika, who felt so right with him at times that he did not have to worry?

Was it not in his moral code that he could only love one woman? Then what was with loving so many?

It was a question that bothered his moral code, and put into question the entire meaning of love. If he could only love one person, and he loved these three women in their own way, then did he really feel 'true' love or any of them?

He asked this question before with Tekri, and found that their relationship was for the wrong reasons. With Mika, that question was more nebulous, but still he saw no way it could work for them. The difference was Tekri could be rejected, and did because of her actions. As for Mika… he had not the heart.

And instead created more of a mess that blew up in his face.

"You know sis… I don't know." James sighed.

James Corgan's little sister looked thoughtfully at her big brother, and sympathetically told him, "I should apologize. If I didn't gossip with her, she wouldn't be so mad at you.
Let me talk to her, you won't be able to say anything to make it all better tonight, but I might be able to. I'll let her know you're sorry."

"Wait a second, sis. I didn't say I was sorry." James said, confused.

"You're sorry." Courtney reassured him. "I can tell. Let me talk to her. And James…"

"Yes?" Corgan responded during her pause.

"Sort your sh*t out, and make it soon." She said frankly, an underlying seriousness in her tone hurried and impatient, "Or something like this… or worse, will happen."

James nodded, and left the pizzeria in silence, feeling more like a scolded dog than a man. The New Orleans streets were unsympathetic. They offered no condolences or advice, but did bring on the feelings of guilt and isolation.

He wanted to find the nearest transporter padd, and continue on with his 'training' holiday, and not think about Mika, his sister, or any female. They were all such a bother now, where even a slight act of kindness was misconstrued and picked apart.

What a change since Tekri. All acts of kindness were selfish motivations for attention. No nice deed came about without another person being hurt by his actions.

And he still didn't know who he loved, and if he did.

But his sister was right. He had to sort things out, and find out exactly what page he was on with everyone else. But where was he to start.

The streets of New Orleans couldn't tell him. There would be no answers that night.

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

The pizzeria's manager allowed Courtney to shortcut through the kitchen and into the back area. Weaving past the ovens and preparation tables, she spotted the spritelike Andorian leaning against the door, opened outside to allow the cool night air to breeze through. Her antennae and hair were free from their hairnet, as they slightly swished in the wind. She was obviously agitated, but kept an angelic, bluish glow.

"Hey Meeks!" Courtney announced her presence. Mika kept back a lashful tongue and let out a weak smile.

She would not snap back at Courtney. "Hello, Courtney."

Courtney ventured to ask, "Meeks, why didn't you tell me it was him? I mentioned his name plenty of times and you didn't say a thing. What's up with that?"

Mika turned back to the outside alley, letting the night breeze cool off her overheated emotions. She said, with a mournful tune, "I am angry at him. Maybe I am jealous. I overacted. I'm sorry."

"Heh." Courtney snickered, "Relax. It's my brother. He'll beat himself up for it… blame himself… it's all good. You're golden, girl. Totally safe."

"Yes, but…" Mika sighed, choking up, "I don't know why he tell me any of this before. I could have handled it."

"Girl… it's a guy thing. It's not exactly an easy conversation to start." Courtney reasoned.

Mika shook her head, "It was not just that either. I… didn't want him to see me like this. It is such a harsh thing… to be all that you wanted to be… and have it taken away. And worse, you never see it coming. It was as if… I was being set up for the fall. And now… her I am… and the last good thing to come out of that time turns out to be a bastard. How could I not slap him?"

With a bemused look on her face, Courtney patted Mika on the shoulder. "Tell you what. After your shift, we'll go out, have a few apple martini's, and we'll b*tch about men. Deal?"

Mika agreed with a nod to her head. "Deal." She responded chipperly.

"Practical Magic" Pt. IX

Senator Ramir Omar,
Ambassador USS Galaxy

Lt. Brianna O'Shea,
SCE
USS Galaxy

The next morning, Ramir Omar awoke early. Back in the safety of the Omar estate, it took him several seconds to realize what had transpired last night.

He immediately went downstairs in search of his father, and barked at Tal louder than usual when the general could not be found.

“Apologies, my lord,” the butler said. “But he left early today.”

How early can that be? The senator thought: it was early now, not even mid-morning.

Omar sat down and let Tal prepare him some breakfast, while he contemplated what his father would do.

While it might have seemed like a minor thing – just a few insults, after all – General Omar wouldn’t see it that way. In fact, he might be motivated to get Anna just as much for his safety as for anger – it had been in a public place, the general had been humiliated by a human insulting him, and then had been further embarrassed when she had escaped, just after he had told everyone in the restaurant that she was a spy, and that he would deal with the situation.

Plus he must be enraged.

Omar suspected his father would rather tear down the Federation embassy (thereby starting an interstellar war) than lose face with the politicians and subsequently lose his new position. Basically, he had to get to the Federation embassy.

Having finished the delicious breakfast, he departed in his transport towards the capital city. Some thirty minutes later, he arrived at the embassy and was promptly searched by Starfleet personnel before being allowed in. Finally, he was allowed to see Anna, in her temporary quarters.

When he saw her, he meant to apologize for having involved her in Romulan politics, but the only words he could manage to say were –

“Anna, what have you done?”

Brianna hadn't gotten any sleep last night, she had laid awake and thought about everything that had transpired last night with Ramir and his father. Be labeled a spy hadn't bothered her as much as Ramir just sitting there and letting his father say such things, only to be silenced by his father. That broke her heart. She was hoping there was something with Ramir, but last night showed her that Ramir didn't want that or wasn't able to even try for that. She was sitting at desk, having nothing more to do until Starfleet could get her off Romulas. When she heard Ramir's voice she stiffened, when she heard his question she just relaxed and rested back against her high back chair and closed eyes. "There will never be a peace between the Federation and the Romulan Empire as long as your father sits over the Senate, after last night there can't even be a you and me together... " She whispered then opened her eyes and turned her head to look in his direction.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. “Look, I’m really sorry, I tried to stand up for you, but my father is a powerful person. Not only that, but I didn’t want to offend him after not having seen him for so long.”

“I’ll say sorry as much as you like,” he said, admitting he was wrong – he should have stood up for her more last night. “Just tell me what to do for you to accept my apologies.”

"Nothing that anyone can say, you father is wanting me tortured and killed, Starfleet will probably have my career and whatever I thought I had with you.. doesn't even seem possible anymore." Anna said then stood up, now wearing a uniform. "This is why I never take vacations... next they'll book my trip into little city north of Breen capital." Anna said then sat down again in a chair. "You don't even have to apologize, I knew better then to come here.... so I take responsibility for whatever happens."

“Look, no,” Omar blurted out words, not sure what to say. “It’s not your fault – it’s the fault of myself and my father’s.”

“Please, Anna,” he fell down on his knees, bowing lower than he had for even the Empress herself. “Don’t say there isn’t a future for us. Up until yesterday night, we’d had a wonderful time – please, I’m sorry.”

Moving her hands to his face she looked down into his eyes. "I want so much to believe you, Ramir. I really do." She said then leaned over and kissed him. "I don't know where this is going to end up, you know if you stay around with me, your position could be taken from you cause people will not like you being involved with a labeled spy."

“Anna, while I care about my political position, I care more for you, and less for what the people of Romulus think,” he replied. “It’s-”

The chief of security had arrived at the door. “Excuse me, senator, but your father is in the embassy reception. He demands to see you, sir.”

Omar immediately stiffened, all the emotion leaving his face. “I’ll be there at once,” he said, sounding much more mechanical than he had a few moments ago.

“And,” the chief of security said, facing Anna. “He requests your presence, lieutenant. You don’t have to accompany the senator here, but the general is no threat – he’s been thoroughly searched by Starfleet personnel.”

Anna nodded. "Show the General into the waiting area... we'll be right there." She said then once she and Ramir were alone she leaned over and brushed her lips against his. "I so think I could fall in love with you, that it scares me that I could and we can't be more then we are right now." She said then caressed his face. "We should go down though, not afraid of your father." Brianna said as she stood up and then helped Ramir up.

After a few moments they walked into the lounge, Brianna didn't look anything like what Ramir's father had seen before. Dressed in a Starfleet uniform and hair pulled back and braided into a French braid, she looked the perfect officer of Starfleet. "General..." She said as she nodded to him then walked over and sat down. "You asked to see me?" She asked then as she looked at him.

General Omar smirked at her uniform. “So, we really did have a Starfleet spy in our midst last night.”

He suddenly whirled on his son. “How could you allow this, Ramir? How could-”

But the senator had had enough of his father’s petulance. “Silence father!” he snapped, finally having the courage to stand up for Anna.

The general’s nostrils flared. “How dare-”

“People!” The chief of security broke in. “Is there a constructive purpose to this meeting? As much as I enjoy this family drama, could we get to the point?”

“Of course,” the general said briskly, paying full attention to the security officer. “This lieutenant you’re keeping here was suspected of being a spy on Rihannusu soil. That gives us the right to punish her, and you are interfering.”

“Father, don’t be ridiculous,” Ramir Omar interrupted. “Anna isn’t a spy, stop involving her just for the sake of your bruised ego.”

His father’s nostrils flared once again, but the senator didn’t care – he felt good finally standing up for Anna..

Brianna was surprised that Ramir had said what he did. She then looked over toward the General, seeing that he was so angry, probably thinking now she was controlling his son now.

“Do you have any evidence for this claim?” The security chief asked. “If not, I must remind you that this lieutenant is a legitimate Starfleet officer-”

“Enough!” General Omar suddenly roared, smashing his hand into the nearest wall. The metallic wall shook with the impact, but when the general withdrew his hand – it was bleeding badly.

But he ignored the pain and continued to speak. “I am the chairman of the Romulan Senate, and a general of the military. I will NOT have Federation spies hiding away on my planet, and at the same time manipulating my son!” He was practically shouting.

"General, you have no proof of what you are accusing Lt. O'Shea for... her record testifies that she is not a spy." The chief of security said.

“Can’t you see how she’s manipulating my son?” The general blustered with rage, literally breaking down in front of the security officer. “Look how she’s made him turn against his father! Nothing but a spy can do that.”

Commander William Todd looked at the elder Romulan. "Sir, to be it bluntly. Lt. O'Shea doesn't have the education or training to do what you have insisted she had done. Nor is she a telepath, controlling your son, the good Senator." Will said.

At those words, General Omar seemed to recover from his fit of rage.

“Fine,” he said, with less rage – but just as much maliciousness as before. “But your lieutenant, or should I say Federation spy, can’t stay here indefinitely. Any attempt to take her outside of the embassy, and onto Romulan territory, will be considered an act of aggression.”

“Father!” His son shouted. “Don’t be a fool! Just-”

“Silence, Ramir!” General Omar pointed accusingly. “Look at what this human is doing to you – you haven’t been this argumentative with me since you were five years old.”

He stared at Anna. “Can’t you see that you are a poor influence on my son?”

"I assure you there is a Federation ship coming to pick Lt. O'Shea up, she will be removed from Romulas within the day." Will said as he looked at the elder Romulan. Will had already told Brianna to remain quiet as possible or else he would recommend that Starfleet give her a official reprimand for coming to Romulas to began with.

“In that case,” the senator put in. “I’ll go back to Starbase 212 with Anna.” He looked at Anna, hoping she wouldn’t mind him coming after the bad time she’d had on Romulus.

“What!” The general practically screamed. “My son, you’ve just arrived on Romulus. You’ve been here less than a day! And now this veruul is taking you away, how-”

“No, father,” Ramir Omar said. “You are presently being the veruul. Now be silent, before you sink into complete senility.” He just hoped it wasn’t too late to salvage his relationship with Anna.

Brianna at this time stood up and fixed got a raktijeno from the replicator. Anna then turned and looked at Ramir. "I would very pleased to have you go with me, Ramir." She said softly then smiled. She then looked at the General. "Sir, I know my presence has hurt you on this world because of what I said, and the thoughts that I'm taking your son away from you. Neither of which is my intention, I came to Romulas to see how your people lived. I realized that your people isn't so different from mine. You old strong to the values you know, as do I. we are so much alike that's what makes us feel so adversarial... same strong passionate people, wrapped up in different packages.... my only regret about leaving Romulas is that won't get to come back here."

The general stared at her for several seconds, after she said that, his eyes bulging and his nostrils flaring – but saying nothing.

Suddenly he collapsed.

“Hnaev!” Ramir Omar swore in Rihannusu as his father hit the metal floor with a loud clang. He immediately rushed over and checked the general’s pulse, before looking around wildly at all the Starfleet personnel in the room for help – including Anna.

Anna rushed over. "Get a medic or doctor" Will said as he to hurried over toward the Romulan. Anna checked his pulse and couldn't find one. "I think your father is having a heart attack." She said to Ramir.

"He's not breathing." William said.

Anna tilted the General's head back, cleared his air way and breathed into his mouth. Then began to pump his chest, "One, two, three..." She counted then again breathed into the General's mouth. Before going back to pumping onto his chest. "One, two.. three." Anna counted.

“What?” Omar frowned. “He’s always been in perfect health.” Suddenly he realized something, and jumped away.

“Hnaev,” he said again, but this time with fear.

“You don’t understand,” he tried to explain his concerns to Anna. “My father, he’s head of Section 10, in the… Tal Shiar, dealing in biological warfare.” His hesitation got the better of him and he went into a choked silence.

"What are you saying, Ramir?" Anna asked, as medical officers took over the elder Romulan.

“He…” Omar struggled to find the words. “He has many enemies, some in his own section, in his midst. They could have…” He trailed off.

After a few moments the medical officer looked up. "I've got a pulse, looks like he was poisoned. I've given him neutralizer that should stop the effects. He needs rest." She said. "Good work, Lieutenant, had you not keep his heart pumping and air in his lungs...." She said then trailed off.

The chief of security then chimed in. "Senator, would you like to make preparations for him to be cared after by your people or would you like him to remain here?"

Omar chuckled for a second. “I’m glad he’s alive, but keep him here. It’ll teach him a lesson to be cooped up in a Starfleet embassy, of all things, for days on end.”

The Chief nodded and then got with the medical and transported him into the small infirmary.

"Devil In The Details" Part 3

(Takes place four hours after the end of Part 2)

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Imperial Attendant K'vala Mahask

Secondary Characters

Phnel,
Denobulan Weapons Collector
and
Merchant Dhlur,
Phnel's First Wife Dhbin,
Phnel's Second Wife

****

Denobula
New Juhak City
Residential District 712

It had taken Victor longer than he'd thought it would to do the shopping he'd assigned to himself. Finding food that he could prepare and eat wasn't the issue, he could, if pressed, have continued to eat the Federation Survival Rations. That was, of course, as long as he was able to secure something besides the dreaded Plankton Patty menu pack. Even the cetaceans in Starfleet wouldn't eat those things unless they were starving, and that was saying something since the patties had the dubious virtue of being made from one of their primary food sources.

No, it had been the foodstuffs for the Attendant that had caused the problem. Victor had drawn the line at installing a Targ pen on Deck Four so that there would be fresh-killed meat for her - secret mission or not, he wasn't mucking out a targ pen unless a direct order from a Starfleet Admiral was involved - and his options outside that had been limited. On his fifth stop he'd found something that would do, and had arranged for it to be delivered to the hangar bay, along with enough freshly flash-frozen meats and other items that her digestion shouldn't be unduly impaired.

Considering how often she felt compelled to threaten him as it was, the idea of what the Attendant's disposition would be like while constipated - or the reverse - was not something that he thought a topic for hours of pleasant speculation.

Having dealt with provisions, at least until their next planetfall, he'd made a few purchases for himself, mostly additional clothing and the like, and then splurged and bought a number of plants to place around the ship. Victor felt calmer when there were plants around. Maybe it was because they didn't ask questions or scream and run - they just sat there and were green. It must be easy, being green. You blended in with so many other ordinary things.

All of the purchases made, he'd turned to the final task at hand: securing the weapons they'd need. As the first shadows of night crept out of their daytime hiding places, he'd used a public transporter to go to the planet's southern continent, where the man he was looking for lived. And who was, if the noise and guests moving about were any indication, hosting a costume party.

This, Victor decided as he started inside, most of the party-goers inebriated enough that by the time they reacted to him he was already past them and lost in the mob of colorful costumes, must be what it was like to be green. It was, as he'd thought it would be, easy.

****

Denobula
Phnel Mansion
Rear Garden

It had taken him another forty minutes, two frightened guests, and a short conversation with a somewhat baffled Vulcan dressed in something that looked like a pink bunny suit with three horns added between the ears for Victor to find his quarry. All things considered, not too bad a time given that he was trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Phnel was, as usual mediating a dispute between his First and Second wives, and in doing so, providing at least as much entertainment as the band and the Green Orion dancer inside the house. Victor watched for a moment to see what the latest mediation was about - something to do with who stood closest to him while he called someone on the com as it turned out - and waited for the inevitable ending.

They all ended the same in Victor's experience. Not, of course, that he had seen all of the arguments that had taken place since he first met Phnel a decade earlier, but everything he knew from his father, who had known the Denobulan for thirty years, suggested that this was the case. Like many husbands, perhaps even all of them, Phnel always lost to his wife. Specifically, his first wife, Dhlur.

Which was, in Victor's estimation, not surprising since Dhlur had started all the arguments he'd seen personally in the first place. The woman was, to put it politely, a bitch. Without the even partially-mitigating factor of being able to present Phnel with puppies.

Victor supposed that she hadn't always been, otherwise Phnel would have never married her, but she certainly occupied that niche by the time he'd first met the triad. She was loud, domineering, vindictive, and utterly without any scrap of a redeeming quality that would have prevented a less enlightened society from allowing her to be drowned in a sack in the nearest body of water. Preferably polluted - or at least stagnant - water. There was less chance of passing on contamination that way.

Eventually, as he had assumed, Dhlur had her strident way and stalked off to savor her victory, leaving a miserable pair of spouses in her wake. Victor took that as his opportunity to start forward, brushing past several indecisive guests who hadn't made up their minds if it was safe to approach the couple yet.

At three meters, Phnel looked up from the ground at his feet where he'd fixed his attentions on during Dhlur's rant, eyes slightly wide as he looked for the source of his growing unease.

At two meters he located Victor and his eyes widened further in a disturbing mixture of hopefulness and fear. Victor wasn't used to anyone being glad to see him, it was a violation of the way things were, and that meant he was entering territory he didn't understand again. At least, he decided before shoving the thought aside, after all the time he'd spent with Grey, he knew the way.

"Lieutenant..." Phnel began hesitantly, uncertain if he should smile or recoil, Victor's changed appearance appearing to confuse him.

"Captain," Victor cut him off with a shake of his head. "Captain Todeshändler. Erik Todeshändler. We met a few years ago on Deep Space Nine, remember?"

Phnel frowned for a second, and then his face cleared somewhat and he nodded, as if a sudden understanding had come to him. "Ah, of course!" He offered a hand hesitantly.

Victor shook it once and then released it. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember me or not, sir," he offered to fill the silence.

"I remember, Lieu - Captain," the Denobulan nodded quickly. "I don't think I could forget you." He hesitated, realized what he'd said, and added, "I mean..."

"I know what you mean," Victor interrupted quietly. "I know what I to people, it's all right, sir."

Phnel relaxed slightly. "Good... I mean..." He made a face. "I..."

"Is this your wife, Dhbin?" Victor changed the subject with a nod to the slender Denobulan who had retreated behind Phnel at his approach to peer with wide, frightened eyes at him. "You told me so much about her the last time we met, I'd like to finally meet her."

"What?" Phnel blinked and then smiled as he drew the younger woman inside the circle of his arm with a smile. "Yes, this is Dhbin. Darling, this is... Captain Toadstool... err... Erik. He and his father have been friends for a long time."

The look in his eyes as he spoke to her confirmed what Victor had already suspected for years: Phnel was a Denobulan in love. The problem was, of course, that it wasn't Dhlur that he was in love with any more, assuming that he ever had been.

Instead, the object of his affections was, as it had been for the last ten years, his second wife, Dhbin. Victor assumed that for Phnel, she was the One, as he was the One for her. He could conceive of no other reason why the two of them would tolerate the abuse Dhlur heaped on them without being driven apart.

The skittish Dhbin nodded nervously to Victor. "Hello," she whispered in a mixture of apprehension and natural shyness, hands firmly gripping Phnel's arm.

Victor nodded without smiling. It wouldn't do to make the girl faint. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last," he said softly.

Eyes still wide, Dhbin nodded once and shrank back against Phnel a bit more.

At least, Victor reflected, she hadn't screamed and tried to jump put a window yet. "Is there someplace we can talk?" he asked Phnel. "In private?"

The Denobulan looked around nervously, and nodded towards the far side of the attached gardens. "I... would that be... all right?"

Victor looked. There was a small structure that on Earth would have been called a gazebo there next to a small pond. The structure was open-sided, which meant that everyone would be able to see hem, but far enough away that as long as they didn't rise their voices, they shouldn't be overheard. "That will be fine," he responded. "I'll wait for you there." He nodded to Dhbin again, "Ma'am," and started that way.

For the first few steps Victor could hear Phnel speaking quietly to his wife in Denobulan, but after the seventh he'd lost their conversation - not that he'd understood it in the first place. He hadn't had to though, not really. It had been plain enough that Dhbin thought Phnel shouldn't be anywhere alone with him for any reason. Victor supposed that it was part of being the One for someone, the unwillingness to see your other half place themselves in danger.

If he'd been willing to allow himself the luxury of self-pity, he might have indulged in it, but that would solve nothing. There was only what was - wishing for something that wasn't, or worse yet, feeling sorry because you didn't have it, was pointless.

The gazebo - or whatever it was called locally - wasn't empty when Victor arrived. Thirty-seven seconds later it was, as the couple that had been taking advantage of the seclusion to indulge in the preliminaries to an assignation panicked and scrambled out over one of the low sides in a rush as he reached the two low steps that led into the structure.

Victor watched the two thrash their way through the undergrowth, shedding bits of their costumes along the way, and shook his head. If sex made people act like that, then it might be just as well that he didn't have anyone who was the right kind of family to have it with. He didn't think he'd enjoy acting that way.

It took Phnel almost ten minutes to make it to the shadowed gazebo, time Victor spent thinking of ways to broach the subject he'd come here for and discarding them. In the end, he decided to just say what he had to say and be done with it. Phnel would either agree or he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry," Phnel said nervously as soon as he reached the gazebo. "I'm being a poor host. Here you've gone to all the trouble to dress up in a costume and pretend to be some shady figure to add a little spice to my party, and I haven't even thanked you for the effort." He shook his head. "I apologize, Mr. Krieghoff."

"No need to apologize," Victor told him evenly. "I understand."

Phnel retreated a step and placed his back against one of the supports along the wall. "Yes, well, I feel like I should. Your family has been good friends and the business we've done together has always been first-rate. I feel I owe you more than that." He looked back across the garden at the slight figure of Dhbin as she stood and watched him. " I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I'm just not having a good night tonight."

And just like that, he presented Victor with the opening that he'd wanted.

"Would you like to?" Victor asked quietly.

Phnel turned back, confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Would you like to have a good evening?' Victor repeated carefully.

"A... good evening?"

"Yes," Victor nodded towards Dhbin. "I need a favor - a big one. In return for it, I'm willing to do you one."

"A... favor?' The Denobulan blinked, confused. "You need a favor?"

Well, it wasn't quite the way Victor had envisioned it going, but that wasn't a bad thing. "I need weapons," Victor explained quietly. "Enough for several people. Weapons that can't be traced back to... the people I work for."

"W-weapons...?" Phnel's face brightened. "Oh! You're... underclothed!"

Victor decided that explaining the correct terminology was really more effort than he wanted to go to. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I know you have a lot of weapons in our collection that you don't display..." He was interrupted by a soft tone from the jacket pocket he'd secured his comlink in as someone - K'vala he assumed - pinged it to determine his location, and kept speaking, "...and I was hoping that I could... acquire... enough to outfit, say, three people."

"Three people?" Phnel thought a second. "I think I could do that, but what did you mean about...?"

"A favor?" Victor picked up. "Simple. I need the weapons. In return for them, I'll give you something you want more than any weapon you've ever seen or commissioned. The thing you asked me for back on DS9 when we met there a few years back."

Phnel's eyes went wide with something other than fear. "Y-you'll...? He whispered.

"I'll give you a divorce," Victor nodded. "Here. Tonight. There are enough witnesses, and I assume her family is here, eating your food?"

Phnel just nodded, the amount of sheer hope in his eyes almost painful.

"You say the words," Victor told him. "I will stand for you."

Considering the reaction that Phnel normally had to him, Victor found it... odd... when the Denobulan threw his arms around him and hugged him fiercely. Not unpleasant, but... odd.

Maybe he should offer to divorce more people if this was the way they reacted.

1921