"Welcome to the Galaxy"

Principle Characters
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lt. Abaddon

***

Abaddon's Transport
Arriving Starbase 212

Abaddon's ship dropped out of p-shift, exiting the quantum continuum into n-space near the system he was to rendezvous with his new ship and crew. Likely, since the assignment was so fresh, it would be a few more weeks for him to acclimatize to the ship and the crew to him.

It had been one of the reasons SFI had asked that his people keep a low profile. ::Well:: his FP "Reno" offered sardonically ::THAT and the temporal Prime Directive::

::You are, as ever, so much help:: Abaddon rejoined. His FP was more "alive" than most of the others he made contact with through the Link; it likely had to do with how dry he, the Member, was. Since Gabriel had been destroyed... since Gabriel had been taken from him, there had been little love and humor left in him. And Reno had assumed what he had lost- at least he imitated it well enough.

That had been decades before, or later, he mused on the quantal ramifications of the events. Hovering on the edge of melancholy, he expertly evaded it by considering peripheral ramifications and conjunctive interstitial relationships. Temporal mathematics was not his strong suit but bending his mind to the physics of cross-temporal engineering ate up a lot of conscious processing power.

And it kept him from thinking about his Abyss.

Even Reno never mentioned it on its own, knowing what track that could lead them and religiously wishing otherwise. At least, as much as a fragmentary persona could want something.

Speaking of ::We are entering the system and making standard approach. Defensive measures are active and we are as yet, undetected. Which final protocol do you wish to enable?:: Reno was interfacing with the FP within the Crossbow, his interstitial scout, flying the vessel now that they were in n-space and on approach.

::Enable Achilles protocol:: he ordered and watched as the ship changed vector, arrowing straight into the system and making a beeline for the Starbase the USS Galaxy was ensconced within. A telltale display tracked the exact time to penetrate their near-space radii and registered defensive perimeter values based on color. Currently they were in amber and preparing to graduate to orange- close enough to attempt grievous harm on the defenseless ship with medium-range moderate yield devices. Idly he contemplated making an attack run on the facility (with negligeable armature) to determine responsiveness. But such an operation had not been authorized and this was not a Consensus facility.

If it had been he would have been challenged before he entered the system.

::<warm support/greeting> You have arrived near-space proximity to the Galaxy; this is good. See Captain M'kantu or Commander Henderson:: Jez' voice floated through the Link to him.

::<dry greeting/recognition> I am on approach now Jez'U. I will make contact as prescribed:: he advised in return. Jez'U must have some concern to make the appropriate impression. If that was so, he wondered at his choice of Members to post to this assignment.

::<wry humor/admonishing support> You are the correct Member in the correct co-linear development. Your presence will affect the latti significantly, regardless of success of individual missions. It is the character of your being that is required, not your tremendous good humor or impatient spontaneity:: The Jez'U was obviously poking fun but there was a lesson involved. Abaddon chose, as usual, to turn a deaf ear to it.

::<derisive modesty> The Jez'U is too kind- my character is anything but spontaneous:: he chose to ignore the remark about his sense of humor. He had none now; Reno took care of all of that. He knew dedication, duty and pride as well as rage, cold fury and vengeful sorrow. He functioned, so he must have enough.

::<Attentive imperative> Such emotions and thoughts have sustained you only because your loss is so fresh, so new. But soon, I think, such things will taste of ash as the embers of this self-loathing fade. Sooner or later you will have to face this:: Jez' Link-voice was strident but calm, imperative. ::But I pray you do not face THIS challenge alone::

::<Irritated frustration> You are not my parent Jez!:: he reminded his leader and sometime-friend forcefully. ::I will face my challenges as I see fit and I will prevail, or not, as I deem appropriate. You may order my service in many things but in this, you overstep yourself::

::<Contrite sorrow> I did not wish to offend you, my brother. I simply meant that the Link is always thre for you and I will always remain accessible as long as the Link remins:: Jez' Link-voice was a mere whisper.

::<Grumpy contrition> Ah- it is well between us Jez. I could never remain angry with you, even as 'Probates:: Abaddon was irritated he had lost control with his best friend and only real family, despite the Link. ::But you MUST let me handle this. If I am to have peace and to release this darkness, something must fill the Abyss. And despite the Glory of the Link and the Song, it simply pours into the void and never wins it over::

::<Meekly alert> When you are ready to allow it, the Light will banish the void and fill the Abyss. Until then, I will simply remain a Source for you::

::<Resigned affection> If I MUST::

::<Surprise/teasing> Was that a JOKE?::

::<Long-suffering tolerance> FareWELL brother::

::<Teasing humor> Light, Brother::

And Jez' presence in the Link faded away, leaving only the background Song and the flow of data through the PQ core. ::Beginning flyby:: Reno advised Abaddon, directing his attention to the external sensors as they looped the hull. They had slid in through the open doors easily enough, undetected by sensors.

::The data was accurate:: Abaddon observed as the damage-specs rolled in through the sensor arrays. ::T'Kith'Kin, Hydran, Breen- the weapon signatures are all over the hull. That is...Federation phaser signature at the base of that pylon?::

::Affirmative- the phaser signature matches that of a Federation fighter. Likely matching one of those assigned either to the Miranda of Galaxy:: Reno confirmed. ::Do you wish analysis?::

Abaddon was curious, very curious, to understand why a Federation fighter pilot had fired at the pylon base on an allies ship. He suspect an external boarding or tactical demolitions team, but the documentation was sealed and the regressive analysis was not complete at home. ::Please:: he asked with uncharacteristic polity.

As he watched the analysis began and the localized are of the pylon was scanned and the temporal-latti was determined. Once done, the regressive core ran the signature backwards along the interstitial latti until the moment of the phaser impacts was detected. Slowly an image built.

::Hydrans should never attempt EVA:: Reno observed, seeing the turnip-shaped aliens' EVA armor erupting and spilling their methane-breathing plasma-disrupted physiologies into space.

::End analysis and save for later tactical review:: Abaddon ordered Reno while opening a com-link to Starbase control. ::Starbase 212 Operations, this is Consensus scout-ship Crossbow requesting permission to dock with Galaxy secondary hull::

Pause. No doubt trying to find out where THAT had come from. Reno was amused; Abaddon was concerned.

::Er- scout-ship Crossbow, Starbase Operations does not have your position. Can you provide us with your vector?::

::Vector one-one-oh-mark-six-two at one-eight-four-by-sixteen-four-by-eight-nine-five relative zero:: he replied.

::Um, Crossbow that puts you inside the spacedock facility approximately ten meters off of the Galaxy's primary shuttle bay and relative zero velocity. Is that correct?::

::It is correct:: he replied and wordlessly commanded his ship to shift out of primary defensive posture. To their sensors and anyone looking there physically, it was as if he just popped into being. There was no shimmer, no delayed visibility; one second there was nothing and the next, a tiny ship floated there. ::I am sure that it is a great comfort that a cloaked vessel can not only get very close to the station but even come into the very berths of the starships housed here, undetected. I know I find this immensely pleasurable:: The derision translated well through the com-link. ::Recognize Abaddon-sigma-sigma-chet'ku::

::Uh- recognition codes are accepted...'sir':: came the appellation, a bit late. The officer was obviously young and on gamma, meaning he was low but on command-track.

::Thank you Operations. Is clearance given?::

::Opening bay doors via remote now. Commander Henderson is on duty at the moment- do you wish me to alert him of your arrival?:: the young male Ops officer asked diffidently.

::That is protocol, is it not?:: Abaddon answered.

::Uh, yessir::

::Then please follow protocol and I will meet with Commander Henderson when he is able to see me. Thank you Operations Control, Crossbow out::

And he closed the channel on the hapless officer before he could make any more mistakes. For himself, Henderson and/or M'kantu might have a few things to say about his own stunt. And if so, he would accept whatever observations they had to offer.

He passed through the force field without incident, noticing that a security detail and a man matching Cassius Henderson's profile were already waiting. With negligible ease he set the tiny craft down, spinning it around and into secure-station in the position for a shuttle pod near the same size. Tiny landing-gear unfolded from the smooth pewter hull, balancing the wings with the rounded oval in which he was housed. The entire 3.1 x 1.4 x 5.5 meter vessel was a flattened delta-wing with a featureless shell over it. It had no nacelles, no ports for weapons or sublight drives and no markings other than some odd pearlescent swirls in the hull that appeared to move slowly if you watched them long enough. In size it often reminded him of the old-earth superlight gliders humans used to employ as a sport vehicle.

Inside, he was cocooned in armatures, neuroptic synolinks and the tiny area that held the visual displays. Of course he used the mostly-internal displays and direct neuralinks but for those who preferred the manual feel, these ships were designed with interface panels at your fingertips. Disconnecting the primary interface and support linkages, the armatures retracted and the neuralinks popped out of their plugs, retracting back into his armor as he sat up. Without pause, he snatched up the PADD and stood up *through* the hull and interface panels of his ship, passing through the metarial and energy conduits as if they didn't exist.

They didn't really; not at that moment. They appeared solid but in fact, the entire section had phased immaterial at his mental command, allowing him egress.

He was met with stares from a number of workers, a half-drawn phaser from the security officer stationed on the hangar deck, and a nod from M'Kantu.

::This doesn't look enterprising:: Reno quipped as Abaddon stepped down to the deck, not stepping forward until invited to do so. But the PADD *was* held up and away from his body and he was apparently unarmed.

"Lt. Abaddon?" M'Kantu nodded. "Welcome to the Galaxy." He waited for Abaddon to approach and then offered him a hand.

'Surprised' was adequate to describe Abaddon's reaction to the Captain but he had been at this too long to betray that with any expression. He had expected reservation or outright hostility and the truth was far more pleasant. He instead smiled slightly to cover his hesitation and stepped up, taking the human's hand carefully. "Captain," he greeted the other man, "a pleasure to meet you aga- er, at last." Inwardly he shook himself and turned all of his attention to the situation; he'd almost made an influential mistake. He knew sooner or later M'Kantu would find out; he'd be told by somebody. But this was not the time for it. "It appears Galaxy has seen better times, yes?" He handed over the PADD with his orders and a short bio.

"She's had a rough year so far," M'kantu observed as he took the PADD. "But she's far from done." He skimmed the orders. "Nothing new here, Lieutenant, but then I didn't really think there would be." He nodded. "Before we take a walk, have you got anything to unload from your shuttle? We've got heavy traffic coming through all the time right now, and we need to keep the flight deck open. Have you made arrangements at the Starbase for long-term storage?"

"I have some equipment and a few personal effects," Abaddon replied, a little off-balance from the diffident manner the Captain continued to display. So very different from everyone else in Starfleet; even the Intel officers that knew about the Consensus for the last decade or so. "With your permission I'll move my things to my quarters?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

Abaddon nodded and after a brief pause said, "Thank you sir. And as far as Crossbow is concerned, storage isn't necessary. I can put it out of the way," he advised and made a small hand gesture at which point, the small vessel shimmered from view and detection.

Daren watched the shuttle vanish and frowned. "Exactly where did it go?" he asked.

"Much of our technology is based on phase-shifting sir," Abaddon replied easily, "crossbow is 'here' but no longer present in any of the phase nutations the Federation uses." So saying he stepped into the space that had been, and supposedly still was, occupied by his vessel. "Like this."

"And bringing it back is no problem?"

"If required, no." Abaddon frowned slightly as he said that. "Among my people, the use of a personal craft is neither necessary nor is it considered an appropriate use of resources. It is because of this mission that I am given a craft and it's resources."

Daren nodded, his frown slowly working its way out. "What, exactly, would cause it to return, Lieutenant? Subspace phenomenon? Interference from the warp field? Anything? Because I have no desire to see the craft rematerializing at an awkward moment - say, when another craft occupied the same space."

"Even were it to suffer a cascade synchronous-failure, when it materializes it merely pushes other matter out of the way or is in itself pushed out of the way, based on the mass in this phase it is entering." He assumed a slight pose, unconsciously, as if lecturing, "It also will not partially emerge within an object because of the law of cohesive constancy. Until such a time as those laws are suspended, which we do in certain cases, then matter can be brought through phase partially in one and partially in another. A warp field is a similar, if far less defined or technologically advanced, version of a partial-phase field." He stopped, looked a bit uneasy at his discourse and smiled sheepishly. "I apologize sir."

Daren shook his head. "Nothing to apologize for, Lieutenant." He looked at the space around Abaddon again. "It's carried along with the ship, correct? Not anchored to this specific spot in space?"

"That is exactly correct sir," Jez replied with a relieved smile and a nod. "We will carry it anchored to- well anchored to the Galaxy itself," he finished, trying not to proselytize his CO again.

"Good to know," M'kantu replied. "If you're ready?" He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Of course," and he stepped to stand beside the dark-skinned human, "at your leisure Captain."

"As you saw on your flight in," Daren began as the two started out of the shuttlebay, "we took a pounding on our last assignment. Starfleet and the ASDB decided to accelerate the refit to the Galaxy III Class based on what they learned from our performance thus far, which is why we're going to be here as long as we are, even counting repairs. We've got a new saucer section on the way, and a number of internal refits ongoing even before it arrives." He paused at the turbolift. "If nothing else, Lieutenant, I can promise you that, based on the year so far, you'll stay busy."

"I do not doubt that sir," he replied diffidently, "based on the logs, missions reports and repair specs I've read, the Galaxy has seen a greater share of battle and catastrophic events in the last year. A refit of this magnitude a year after launch is... dramatic. I will undertake the repair and reintegration of the new phase-variance designs Starfleet has approved. I am," he waved his hand as if to put off something, "somewhat knowledgeable with the technology."

Daren waited until they had arrived at his temporary office before continuing the conversation on a more than casual level. "I realize that you've already thought about the situation, Lieutenant," he began after they were seated behind a closed door, "but I'd like to know what your plans are for dealing with the possible... negative reactions and perceptions... that your appearance may engender in some of the crew."

"It is an unfortunate association," Jez replied with a nod, standing to one side, "but my resemblance to the Borg is only superficial. It is up to me to prove I am not a drone through my actions and how I conduct myself. As every being much prove itself on its own merits so must I prove myself on my own. There are inevitably some who will not believe and there are those who will not accept. I can do nothing than to be what I am and that will have to be enough."

It was, Daren reflected, as good a plan as anyone was likely to come up with given the circumstances. He hoped it would be enough. The Federation was built on the idea of tolerance and acceptance, but even among its founding members there were those that failed to live up to the ideal.

"Good enough, Lieutenant. Let's hope that everyone else is as reasonable." He leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Out of curiosity, Lieutenant, why the Galaxy? You could, unless I am mistaken, have selected any ship in the fleet and been assigned there." Except, perhaps, the Big E - Daren didn't think that Jean-Luc was, or might ever be, up to a Borg officer. "Why choose her?"

"By and large I have found Starfleet personnel to be reasonable," Jez prefaced his explanation. "Galaxy is an assignment sir," he explained hesitantly, "the Consensus has determined that we, and the Federation, are both served best by this assignment." And he paused, looking pensive for a moment. "Can I speak to you privately Captain?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," Daren nodded. "My door is always open - at least metaphorically."

"I assume you know that we have actually been working for the Federation and Starfleet for nearly a decade now?" He used a tone that indicated Daren should have known and should have been told but he was unsure. "I know what I was told, Lieutenant," Daren conceded. "And I can deduce a bit more from what I wasn't. Does that have some bearing on the reason for your assignment to the Galaxy?"

"It does," Jez nodded firmly. "Our first contact scenario with the Federation happened when an Intel interdiction cruiser entered orbit and made contact. Of course they knew we were there since Jean-Luc Picard had obtained permission by Command to leave us alone there. But this was only two years following their departure and they had detected our power signatures. One of our technologies is a prediction matrix that based on adequate data can predict trends and likely terminus. I have been assigned to Galaxy because of some undisclosed predictions."

"Unspecified predictions." Daren shook his head. "Not a good word set that. It can mean just about anything that one decides to make it mean. Am I to understand that you know what these 'unspecified predictions' are, but cannot discuss them until, or after, the moment they refer to has arrived and passed?"

"As in all situations in which the Tee-Pee-Dee is invoked," Jez replied apologetically, "I am not privy to all of the information though some of the data is available. Not to be the typical enigmatic alien but... 'upgrades are good'."

Daren frowned for a moment. "Our last experience with the TPD was enough for, oh, two lifetimes. I don't see any reason to add to that experience again - so I won't be asking anything else. You can tell me what you can, when you can and that will be enough for me."

"Of course," Abaddon replied with a nod, "Plus, much of the data forms based on the actions of thousands of beings and those results. Certain things we are specifically on alert for and will warn Starfleet Command as soon as probabilities indicate movement in those directions." He gazed at his own gauntlet thoughtfully for a moment before adding a paradigm, "The future is mutable."

Then he snapped out of his reverie, "Do you know if our new Primary will have the phaser lance already built on or will we have to do so in dock? Or is Galaxy to even continue with the weapon? I know only that the decision was being discussed."

That at least, Daren thought, was familiar ground. He'd been over it a number of times with everyone from his engineering staff to Starfleet Command. "We will retain the phaser cannon," he confirmed. "The new saucer section already has a redesigned version of the cannon installed. The ASDB claim that they've refined the design to remove some of the problems."

Jez snorted, actually *snorted* derisively, "I'll believe that when I've scanned it, taken it apart and put it back together and fired it at least twelve times. Starfleet has many great minds," he spoke laconically, "and I am proud to serve with them. But I would prefer not to find out in battle that the phase-coils were to be delivered 'next Tuesday'."

That would awkward, yes," Daren nodded. "There are fewer modifications to systems than there were in the last refit as a whole, which I consider a good thing. Just the removal of the third nacelle alone removed something like a half-dozen layers of complexity to normal operating procedures. If they managed to remove even one layer with regards to the phaser cannon, I'll call that a victory."

"I will endeavor to make sure that the phaser-lance is as reliable and a useful as possible then," Abaddon replied seriously. "With your permission and the assistance of both engineering and the Tactical department, I believe we may be able to maintain an extremely efficient defensive system. I will take some time to examine the specs and the current system and create an overview and prospectus of the predicted efficiency models. Then we'll see if we can overcome them." He grinned at the challenge, responding to the competitiveness of the situation and the lack of safeguards he would be facing on a non-Consensus ship or facility.

"I'll give you what time I can, Lieutenant," Daren replied with a shake of his head. "But I make no guarantees as to how much that will be - we've been short on that commodity when we really needed it for the last year, and I expect that will not be likely to change any time soon."

"Of course sir," he nodded formally, "my reports will be short with details for you to look over when you have time. And speaking of, it is likely I am taking up much of what precious little you have. With your permission I will retire to quarters and become established and go on duty shortly thereafter?"

Daren nodded and offered his hand again. "Once the new saucer section arrives we'll get you situated there, but with most of the crew missing, the quarters assigned in the Secondary Hull will, I hope be satisfactory." He paused, and then offered, "Welcome to the Galaxy, Lieutenant."

"Letting It Go"

Nara & Lee

Naranda grumbled before she pressed the chime. She was in that place between knowing you need help and resisting with every fiber of your being. She had things to deal with, and she knew she needed to or she would damage her psyche. But she really didn't want to be that vulnerable. She pressed the chime and crossed her arms like a child being told she had to go to bed early.

Lee sat at his desk in the counselling department. The department unlike most other's on ship had a few counselling rooms with facilities for the on-duty counselor's to do their work and see patients in the same area. Though the office's were not personal it was some private space, especially on gamma shift, when most of the counselors floated around the ship waiting to be required. As he worked he was listening to some music he had chosen, some slow rock, a 20th century artist called Phil Collins.

The music was interrupted by the sound of the door chime. Lee got to his feet and walked out of his office into the reception area.

"Computer end music..." he instructed. "Come in."

The doors slid open to allow access to female, human in appearance wearing an engineering uniform with her arms folded. Lee could immediately see something was troubling her.

"Hello," he offered. "What can I do for you?"

Nara looked at the man. He looked young. She wasn't sure he would understand. In fact she just realized she'd rather talk to a female. But she'd been putting this off for too long. She sighed and dropped her arms feeling defeated, "I'm not sure. I've been avoiding this for a few years."

Lee had been trained to deal with 'historic cases', a few years was quite common for victims to hold things and try to resolve them without assistance. Clearly something had triggered her into coming here, no doubt Lee would find out soon.

"Ok, come through, and have a seat wherever you're comfortable," he gestured towards the office he was using. "Can I get you a drink?"

Nara nodded and instead of sitting paced. She thought of how to bring it up. She thought, ~I'm not sure how to start....just ask me something.~ She considered mind speaking it to him, but thought better of it.

Lee went over to the replicator and ordered himself a coffee, kenyan blend. He looked over his shoulder and saw the woman pacing.

"What'll it be?" he asked. "I'm Lee by the way...you are...?"

Nara muttered her nickname, "Nothing thank you. Nara."

"So Nara," he said as he sat down in the armchair. "I can see there's something on your mind, it's never easy to talk about personal things to a complete stranger, but what you say, as I'm sure you're aware, is in the strictest confidence..."

He paused for a moment, she was still no more forthcoming.

"Whatever it is, I think the easiest way is probably just to tell me straight out and get it off your chest...but that's up to you..." he waited.

Nara stopped and looked at him. It was the typical "orientation" speech she heard her mother talk about. It was obvious something was on her mind. DUH!

"My mother is a counselor. Besides any intelligent being understands the etiquette of patient doctor." She paced again and spoke her earlier thought, "I'm not usually so open with information. Just start asking me something." She thought about something to give him a hint, "It happened in the Academy."

"Ok, when were you at the Academy? How old were you then?" he began.

"I was a year from graduating." Nara sat down then. "There was an instructor..." She trailed off.

Lee had a feeling he knew where this was heading, it was obvious the pain was very deep.

"And what happened with the instructor?"

Nara glared at him. What made her think she could trust him. She didn't know him until now. "He broke some serious laws." It was the truth, but not too much of it.

"What kind of laws?" Lee was trying to sound calming and comforting. "Does anyone else know about this?"

Nara sighed. "Cernu knows. I need to send a message to the captain, but otherwise no." Nara wasn't sure how to explain what laws. "The kind that strip a person of all dignity."

"I believe I know what you mean," Lee said calmly. "Firstly you should understand that before we continue I may need to pass this information on to the Captain, my duty as a Starfleet officer means I must do that. If you intend to tell him than this will remain between us at this time, and I can assure you it will go no further than you and I and the Captain should he need to be aware."

He waited, to see if she wanted to continue.

"I know I need to report it, but I'm not sure how."

"Ok, let's keep talking about what happened and then I can give you my best advice, or even take action for you if you'd prefer. What did the instructor do?"

Nara couldn't bare to say the words and she wispered, "He raped me."

Lee nodded, he had known from the start that it would be something so traumatising and serious. His first few week's aboard the ship and already he was going to be using every last ounce of his training.

"Do you want to tell me what happened? It's entirely up to you, take as much time as you need."

Nara frowned. When she "told" Cernu, she had simply let him see it. She looked at the young man, "I can allow you to see it using telepathy. It would be easier than trying to spell it out."

"Whatever's easiest for you," Lee replied. "Just tell me what I have to do."

"Nothing." Nara tried to think. He was sitting. There really wasn't a way to warn him. She thought back to the memory and to ease him into it, started a few moments before the class ended. She had to project to him as he did not have the ability to seek it out. The event unfolded.

Lee closed his eyes and could see the events unfold. He had only ever experienced a telepathic link twice before, one was with his previous counselor on earth, the second was at Med School, simply to 'get a feel for it'. He could feel the pain Nara felt, it was amazing, yet awful at the same time.

As she slowly pulled out and put the mental wall back in place, she remained still looking at the floor, not sure how he would respond.

"Ok..." Lee sat silent for a few moments, contemplating the things he had just witnessed. "How would you like to proceed with things Nara?"

"The only thing I can think of is to let the captain know and he can advice what to do next. I'm not really sure WHAT to do." She still hadn't looked up.

"That would be my advice," Lee replied. "What you must consider is this was not your fault at all, this man needs to face the consequences of his crime..."

"What if he keeps his word? I just began my Starfleet career." Nara brought her legs up into an indian sitting style. "People keep saying it's not my fault. I know it's not, yet I cannot ignore the fact that I could had fought harder." She let out a breath exasperated, "I'm a warrior! I can't believe I let someone do that to me!" She was near yelling now, but she ended and slumped her shoulders. Thinking about it brought quite a bit of defeat to her.

Lee thought back to his training before answering. "The reason you didn't fight is what's known as 'rape trauma', although it can be associated with anything which is a violent traumatic experience...basically your body goes into a state of shock and even if you wanted to you wouldn't be able to fight back, it's a sort of fail safe, a shutdown mechanism..."

He paused for a moment.

"And regardless of what he says, he doesn't have any defence against the traumatic memories, and I believe there are races in the Federation who believe in showing memories in evidence, and I'm aware that the biological effects are able to be traced even years after."

He allowed her to contemplate what he had said and waited for her to reply. Nara simply nodded. She wasn't sure what to do.

"Do you want to continue?" Lee asked. "Or do you want to see the Captain first and we'll continue later."

Nara looked at him feeling silly. Like a child asking her mother to hold her hand. "Will you come with me?" She didn't know this fellow, but just having him know this information she felt like hiding behind him when it came time to deal with it.

"Yes of course," Lee replied. "Anything you need."

It was more than he was required to do, but Lee felt the service he provided would not be complete without him helping Nara.

Nara nodded and stood. "I will message him and ask when an appropriate time would be."

"Do you want to do that now? I'm sure he'll still be awake," Lee offered, looking over to the computer terminal. He realised that if Nara put this off she may not in fact contact the Captain.

"Practical Magic" Pt. X

Senator Ramir Omar,
Ambassador
USS Galaxy

Lt. Brianna O'Shea,
SCE
USS Galaxy

"I'm really sorry about all this, Ramir. Not what I wanted to happen." Anna said.

“It’s alright,” he nodded with understanding. “Look, my father’s stabilized, and it looks like he won’t be awake for a good half day. Do you want to come back to the Omar estate until he’s better, stay on Romulus? You did save his life, after all.”

"Not sure that's such a good idea, Ramir." Anna said as she walked over to him and took his hands. "I mean your father has done labeled me a spy, really don't think it would be a good idea. Besides, the Federation Ambassador has stated for me not to leave the compound."

“Yes, you’re right,” he sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back to Romulus after all this. A few days ago, I was missing the luxuries of my home-planet, but now I’ll be glad to stay on the Galaxy for a long time.”

“Are you sure you can’t leave the embassy, just for a bit? There’s so much of the planet you should see before we go.”

"I'll have to check with the Ambassador." Anna replied. She then walked out of the room and then came back a moment later. "He said I could go if he the embassy could maintain a transporter lock on me, and if we could be transported to your estate."

Omar smiled with relief. “That’s great. Shall we go?”

Anna nodded. "We'll need to come down to the transporter room. There you can key in your estate and then we can transport over." Brianna said as she took his hand and began to walk with him. "So what are you wanting to show me that you think I really should see?"

Omar smiled. “Just Romulus, in general. Messy politics aside, it’s an absolutely beautiful place – whether you’re in the cities or out in the jungles.”

Anna and Ramir walked up onto the transporter pad. "Just tell the transporter chief where you want her to send us, and she'll do it." Anna said then smiled as she smiled.

The senator turned, and handed the transporter chief a sheet with a set of coordinates.

“We’ll have to transport some distance away from the house, somewhere on the estate’s surrounding land,” he explained to Anna. “Since we have transport scramblers installed all around the house.”

"Okay." Anna replied as she took his hand. "When your ready, Ensign... " Brianna said. She then felt the tingle of the transporter and soon she and Ramir where whisked away.

They re-materialized in the middle of a grassy plain – vast jungle on one side, the imposing Omar mansion on the other.

“Come on,” the senator said with a smile. “It’s a five minute walk.”

Brianna nodded and began to walk with Ramir. "So you used to play here when you were younger?" She asked as they walked through thick grass.

“Kind of,” Omar said. “I had a efw’khelh who taught me as a child.”

Seeing her confused expression, he explained. “It means defender, he was employed by my father, and he taught me many things – philosophy, mathematics, science, but above all: Rihannusu self-defense arts, hence his name. We used to train out here.”

"My father taught me martial arts.. said I needed to know how to make men respect me." She said then grinned. Taking Ramir's hand she stumbled into him the grass was so thick.

Caught by surprise, the senator fell into the foliage, dragging Anna with him. Thankfully, the ground was soft and he felt no pain when he landed. He grinned at Anna, wondering how she was.

Anna had landed sprawled out on top of Ramir, she smiled and looked at him and then smiled once more as she caressed his face. "Sorry about that.." She said laying on him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled back. “I kind of like this new position.”

hearing his answer her lips turned up into an even bigger smile. "Kind of like this position myself as well." Anna said then leaned down and kissed him softly, brushing her lips against his lips.

The senator immediately responded, bringing her closer. Yes, he thoroughly liked this position.

Suddenly there was a rustling behind them, and the Omar family butler appeared. On seeing them in such a position, his face reddened and he tried to back away.

“Apologies, apologies, my lord and my lady,” he stammered incoherently. “I, saw you both fall and thought you might be in trouble but…” He trailed off.

Breaking the kiss she looked over and then moved off Ramir to stand up and offer him her hand to get up. "Not a problem."

He took her hand and stood up, brushing himself off.

“Don’t worry, Tal,” he said, being nicer than usual to the elderly butler – he was in front of Anna, after all. “Just announce your presence next time. How about you make us an afternoon snack?”

“Yes, my lord.” The relieved butler bowed low and scurried away.

Omar looked at Anna with a grin. “So, where were we?”

"Well I think we were embraced, and I was wishing you would kiss me again." Anna said then grinned.

“Sure,” Omar said, moving closer to her.

Brianna smiled and looked at him as he felt his hands rest on her hips. "You could make me fall in love with you, Ramir... hope you know that." She said then grinned.

He smiled back. “The same applies to you, too. I’ve been glad, all along, that you came to Romulus.”

“Especially,” he added with a grin. “Right at this moment in time.”

"Then shut up and kiss me..." Anna said grinning into his face.

Omar did exactly that. “My pleasure,” he smiled.

After a long and savory kiss the two broke but remained in each others arms. "So, think we should go find Tal before he walks back up on us with the snack?" Brianna asked as she looked at Ramir.

Omar shook his head. “Nah, he won’t dare bother us again. Besides, I told him about my father just before we left the embassy. He’s probably bringing him some stuff now. They say my father’s going to make a full recovery – whoever tried to kill him made a rather pathetic attempt at it. No doubt my father will be after them very soon.”

"What would you do if your father told you never to see me again?" Anna asked.

“I don’t know exactly…” Omar pondered that question thoughtfully. “You’re right, my father is rather controlling – hence the Galaxy probably being a better place for me – away from all the troubles of my home-planet.”

"As long as your doing it for yourself and not just because of me." Anna said then smiled. She then kissed him once more then turned and looked around the high grass they were in.

Omar turned to her. “So, what do you think of Romulus so far? Politics aside, I mean.”

"I think it's not all that different from Earth. Colorful people, beautiful land and pride." She said walking beside him now.

Omar chuckled. “Yes, pride there certainly is.” He looked out, across his family’s estate, admiring the mansion’s hundreds of acres of grassland, lakes, jungle and forests – all surrounded by near-impenetrable tetryon energy fencing, and protected with the latest in transporter scramblers.

No, nobody would interrupt them here, at least.

Except for Tal, that is.

The senator sighed as the mansion doors burst open, and the middle-aged butler again trekked across the land to reach them.

“My lord,” he panted, exhausted from his frantic journey. “I have just concluded a talk with the Federation ambassador, and your father is recovering excellently. I have dispatched a hover-limousine to pick him up, and he will be here within minutes.”

“Would you mind coming inside, my lord, my lady? The general would like to speak with both of you upon his arrival. Also, I have prepared the snacks you ordered.” Tal finished.

Omar looked over to Anna.

"Stumbling In"

by

Dr. Tizarin Lias [Ensign] - Medical Officer,
USS Galaxy

Special Advisor Madison Amandine- Civilian,
USS Galaxy

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

Tizarin put a hand to her stomach. It was a habit more than a necessity. Lias had been inside of her for nine months now. She was used to the physical sensation of having the symbiont inside her. But during the early weeks she had served as a host it had been a bit of an unusual sensation to say the least.

Now, as a doctor, she simply reflected that she had carried Lias inside her as long as a human woman carried a fetus before giving birth. An irony ? Possibly. Just something her mind was reflecting on as she bent over a public food replicator in the food court on Starbase 212. Her left hand was stretched around four or five PADDs, and she was running a finger of her right hand over the menu, trying to find something hot, sweet, and relaxing to calm her nerves.

She had a lot to do to get ready for her new assignment, and the Galaxy was set to disembark from 212 very soon.

There was something about a Starbase food court that fascinated her. Madison Marie Evette Amandine sat at the table, leaning back in her chair, long fingers wrapped around the coffee mug, her large eyes surveying the people around her. She loved just watching, thinking about them, wondering. Were they coming or going? From where? To where? What did they want? Did they know? She sighed and sipped the steaming liquid, closing her eyes a minute, just relxing, feeling those around her. In the matter of a few days, she would find herself on a ship -- the Galaxy. She'd been on numerous ships over the course of her life, some big, some small, but never before had she been a part of the crew. Though, she supposed, she wasn't really. Merely a civilian advisor. Her security clearance was slightly elevated, but beyond that, she was a glorified passenger. But it got her away. It kept her moving. That's all that really mattered for the time being.

Not too far away from where Madison was doing her sipping, and thinking, Tizarin had finally made her decision. She pulled the cup of steaming liquid from the food slot, and lifted it to he rmouth to take a sip. Her eyes diverted for a second as she turned around, and she did not see the lumbering lurian that walked directly into her.

Hot liquid went everywhere, and Tizarin dropped her PADDs. She tried to turn to avoid the man's path, and ended up stumbling into a table. The same table where Madison Amandine was sitting. Tizarin fell flat on the table and rolled off onto the floor. Madison could hear a stream of profanity coming from the floor at her feet.

Madison opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow as she looked at the blonde Trill attempting to levy herself off the floor. "That has to be embarassing," Madison said, smiling slightly as she slid her mug onto the table and bent to look closer at the other young woman. "Are you physically injured, or is it just pride that keeps you down there?"

Tizarin stuck her head up so that her chin was even with the tabletop. "No... neither. I just have to collect my work. Besides if I get up I'm gonna smash that blubberhead but good. Not looking where he's going !" and then she stopped herself. Her eyes locked on those of the woman at the table- Madison Amandine. And she smiled.

Madison had a very pretty face. And there was no hint of anger in her eyes as Tizarin would have expected. The Trill relaxed. "Sorry... didn't mean to just blow off like that." her head dissapeared as she went back down to the floor to retireve her PADDs. "It's just that I've got this new assignment, and I've got to get ready... this guy comes along, and just bowls me over... " her voice trailed off. Madison could hear the sound of small items knocking togehter; Tizarin was retrieving her handful of PADDs.

"That's a vasta number of padds you have there," Madison said. "And if that is what you call to just 'blow off' then you have never spent time in diplomatic discussion. You missed one, it scuttled over there..." She gestured about a metre beyond the edge of the table.

Tizarin looked up at her, an amused smirk on her face. "Thanks." she said. She crawled to the PADD, picked it up, and then plopped the whole collection on Madison's table. "You expecting anyone ?" she asked, as she sat down across from Madison.

"Only my solitude," she stated. "If you need a moment to collect yourself, please take it. I shall be leaving in a moment anyway, and if you take the seat, it ensures it remains in your custody once I depart." She offered a smile, feeling the cold, diplomatic formality creeping up and overwhelming her personality. She couldn't help it. Whenever she was confronted by a slightly uncomfortable situation in a public place, that's what happened. She became a friendly ice bitch, as large a contradiction as that might seem. "My name is Madison Marie Evette Amandine." She extended her hand. "My father is Mathieu Amandine."

The Trill sat looking ahead with cold eyes as Madison spoke. "Dr. Lias. Tizarin Lias." she replied, offering the other woman her hand. "That name is familiar. Amandine ? The Ambassador ? Didn't he run for Federation President a few years back, or something ?"

"They tried to convince him to run in the last election, but he declined," Madison said. "Though it was something quite public, he was a favourite for quite some time and surely remains such. My father is an amazing man. The Federation would be fortunate to have him at the helm. But he believes that he... well. You don't want to hear the politics, few people do." She hesitated a moment. "Lias. I knew a Trill woman named Lias once. Several years ago. We met at a diplomatic dinner on Batazed honouring the closure of the war. Would she be a relation?"

"Small universe." Tizarin replied, a little less surprised seeming than one might expect. "I'd be willing to lay odds you're talking about my previous host. Mirana Lias. She was a Federation envoy. She negotiated early relations with the Daedryn. An unusual race. Very reclusive. I'm.. well, if I were a computer I'd say I'm searching my memory bank. But... you probably know I posses all the memories of my previous hosts. Some are muddier than others, but I'm sure I'd recall your face."

"Mm, maybe not," Madison replied, a small sly smile playing across her features. Her eyes danced playfully. "I'm sure you'll recall. Eventually. When the moments hits you right. That's unfortunate though, I'd not heard that Mirana had passed. I was hoping to... run into her again. But at any rate. I apologise, but I must leave you now. Places to go, things to tend to, people to meet, all that jazz." She winked as she stood and then leaned down, offering a hand, her body very close to the other woman's, so close they brushed, very slightly, and Tizarin could feel the warmth of the human woman's skin, the brush of the ambassador's daughter's breath. "It was very nice to meet you, Tizarin Lias, perhaps we shall run into each other again."

"I hope so." Tizarin said, without thinking of how it would sound. "But..." she took the other womans hand and squeezed it, trying to do so warmly, and not forcefully. "I'm shipping out on the Galaxy in a few days."

"What luck," Madison stated, pushing herself up and away. She glanced over her shoulder, pausing a step or two from the table, "so am I."

Tizarin blinked. Her only facial show of surprise. "Then... I'll see you aboard. Like I said. Small Universe."

But Madison couldn't say that she'd heard what the young Trill woman had said. All she could think was that maybe, this stint-on-a-ship thing could end up even more interesting than she'd initially thought.

“Her Arrival”

Ensign Miranda Sanchez
Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

Location: Starbase 212, Docking Bay 4
Time: 1300 Hundred Hours Two weeks prior to Galaxy’s docking on Starbase 212

~~~~

The last five hours had been quite ghastly. The young woman wasn’t sure what the fetid that had field the shuttlecraft after the last three crewman had entered, had stayed with them the whole trip to Starbase 212. When the shuttlecraft had finally docked, there was a pleasant smile on the half Betazoid’s face. Exiting when her time came, she tired not to bump into anyone, the smile staying to her rose color lips nodding her hello to the different crewmembers.

Once outside the shuttle, she stretched her back out, hands pressing at the lower back causing a few pops to come forth. Curls falling into her eyes, she nodded towards the approaching officer. By the ensign rank on his collar the man could be no younger than twenty-two, though he could pass for someone no older than fifteen. Hands crossed behind her back, she greeted the fellow officer with a warm and friendly “Hello.”

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. Name?” He however was not pleasant, and seemed to have much on his mind. Not many emotions came forth from him, this caused an arch of the brow from the woman standing in front of him.

“Ensign Miranda Xerx Sanchez. Arriving for the USS Galaxy. Medical.” Her name came out with a roll of the tongue, though she held no accent there. Miranda was a small woman the officer had a good nine inches on her.

“Yes, of course.” He was preoccupied with the small PADD that was in his hand. Miranda guessed he was looking her name up, and information to make sure her bags was transported to the correct location. He hadn’t once made eye contact with Ensign Sanchez, and this unnerved the woman.

“Sir.” Sanchez cleared her throat. When he glanced at her, she smiled “If you are going to be holding me up, I would at least prefer you for you to look me in the eye when talking to me, and allow me to know what you are doing?” It was a polite statement, level and soft was her voice.

“I do apologize ma’am.” The PADD went behind his back, “Ensign Etienne Ilguaskas. I am security personal for Starbase 212.” His smile was pathetic in Sanchez’s option, but he had tired and that mattered to the officer. “I am just making sure everyone gets comfortable, and things are taken care of.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ilguaskas.” Sanchez nodded, “I take it my bags have been placed in temporary quarters, until the Galaxy arrives?”

“Yes, and our Chief Medical officer is awaiting for you to check in with him. Your orders are to serve in our sickbay until they arrive.” Handing her a PADD that had been placed under his arm the whole time, he seemed to bring up her information on it, before handing it to her. “Your quarters are on deck twelve. All other information is on here for you, Ma’am.” His arms folded behind his back, “Is there anything else I might assist you with?” Though he stood there looking quite pleasant, and polite, Sanchez could sense the inpatients growing with him, he desired to move to the next arrival.

“No, Mr. Ilguaskas. Thank you for your time.” With a nod the ensign had moved on to another arrival, reacting the same as he had with her, not learning anything with their conversation.

Sanchez glanced over the PADD that was placed in her hands moments before, then glanced around the docking area. People were being seen to, and then leaving to do whatever it was they planned to do. Nodding to no one, but herself, Sanchez headed out into the corridor and towards the nearest turbo-lift. Wishing to settle somewhat into her quarters before taking care of everything else, she had had an unpleasant trip here, and wished to clean herself up before interacting with other crewmembers.

~~~~

<< Sickbay, 1430 >>

“Ensign Miranda Xerx Sanchez, reporting for duty, Sir.” The ensign was standing in the doorway of the Chief’s office. fresh and clean, with a pressed uniform on. Hands placed behind her back, she had been admiring sickbay before she was shown into the Chief’s office. Everything was in order, though they had quite a few patients in that afternoon, though their sickbay was far too large for anyone to believe them to be ‘busy’. Now standing halfway into the Chief’s office, she couldn’t believe how large his office was alone.

“Ah, yes. Here for a short period until Galaxy arrives, correct?” He was a polite man. The small wrinkles around the eyes, and mouth showed his age, though his eyes were bright blue; they were want cling to his youth. Piles of paperwork on his desk, he didn’t seem the least bit bother by this. When she replied to his question, his hands pointed towards the chair in front of his desk when he asked to enter and have a seat.

“Thank you, Commander.” Noticing his brow wrinkled at this response she realized he didn’t like being called by rank.

“You should know we medical officers don’t care to be called by rank. Kirk is what I like.” He lifted a coffee cup that was hidden behind paperwork and took a drink. He was half human, that she could tell, but his other species was not easy to tell.

“Thank you, Sir… Kirk.” Sanchez smiled, “I’m not quite sure how long it will be, before the Galaxy will be arriving, but I do hope that I fit in, in the time being.”

“Ah, yes… You are half Betazoid, correct? Therefore you are telepathic?” He did not seem bothered by this fact, only curious.

“I am half breed yes, but my telepathic abilities are very weak. I am an empath, which means I am able to read peoples feels, emotions, desires…”

“Ah, a man has to be careful around you, young woman. You’re beautiful, and I’m sure that embarrasses a lot of officers when they are around you!” He laughed; it was deep and cracked some.

“I find that more people are uncomfortable around me…”

“This upsets you?”

“Well, some, yes. I am a doctor, as you know, Kirk, most people already don’t like to be near us, add being an empath and it only makes things worse… Though, please do not misunderstand me. I am proud of who I am, and do not wish to change for any reason, I only wish people would give me a chance… Though, they tend too after being around me for some time.”

“Well, I can see why. You’re honest, pretty, and nice. You’ll fit in around her, and don’t worry no one will think anything of your empathic abilities. There are other Betazoids on the ship, and they are telepaths, so I believe he this crew is use to them, you will be no problem.” He winked, and she smiled.

“Thank you, good to know.”

“Well, I don’t think you should spend your first day on this beautiful Starbase. Get yourself settled into your quarters, though not to comfortable you could be leaving tomorrow. See the sites on the station, unless you would prefer to work today?” He asked with a high brow at the expression of confusion she was showing him.

“I do not mind either way, Sir…”

“Well, then you’ll spend the day off. We are covered for the day, no need for you.” Smirking, he looked down at his paperwork, than glanced back at the woman. “You may go now.”

~~~

Two Week After Arrival
Location: Starbase 212, Sickbay
Time: 1015

~~~

“Well hello.” The voice was higher pitched, and took on a different tone, a baby tone. “Aren’t you getting so big?" Laughing, Doctor Sanchez picked up the two-day-old Bajoran child. Her smile showed off her white teeth as she held the child close to her chest, supporting his head, Sanchez walked over to the bio-bed where his mother rested. “Say hello mum.” Sanchez supported the child by one arm, keeping the baby close to her body so nothing would happen, while she raised the bio-bed, so Lieutenant Groban could set up a little better. “Here you go.” Sanchez placed a pillow under the new mother’s arm, then placed the baby boy in her arms. “He is so beautiful. I think you did well.” Smiling, “I’ll leave you two alone together for a short time… Is there anything you need?” The doctor asked, as she helped pull the Bajoran’s hair from her face, so that she could look at her baby better.

“No, thank you Doctor Sanchez…. When are you leaving?” Groban asked as she placed her child to her breast, preparing for him to feed.

“Well, I believe the Galaxy docks today. I’ll report in some time today, though I believe the ship will be on leave for a short time, therefore I’ll probably still be around, just no longer with the Starbase’s sickbay.” The smile that came forth wasn’t that best, and almost seemed more like a frown for a moment.

“You will be missed. The Galaxy is lucky to have you. Not everyone is cut out for a Starbase, but you seem to do just fine, Ensign.”

Patting her arm, “Thank you, Lieutenant. Everyone has been so kind to me while I’ve been here. I hope the crew on the Galaxy is just as great as this crew is.”

“It’s a good ship… You’ll be in good hands, I know.”

~~~

<< Ensign Sanchez’s Quarters, 1300 Hours >>

The past two weeks had been great for the Ensign. The crew had taken right in, unlike the Ireland had. Not everyone feared those with empathic abilities, and that though helped the Ensign. Knowing there were a few other Betazoids onboard the Galaxy, Ensign Sanchez had no fear about joining the ship, she was just going to miss her posting on the Starbase, though she knew she would be here for a little while, since the Galaxy would be on leave, that placed the Ensign on leave. Part of her thought about seeing old friends back on Betazed, though she wanted to see what all would take place in the next few days, before setting any plans in stone.

Throwing herself down onto the blue couch, she watched ships go into warp from her quarter’s window. Space was a piece of art that Sanchez enjoyed. The stars, the different moment of the ships, and activity had cause and effect, and though it was always black, it just seemed to say something different every time she looked out on it. Running a hand through her curls, “tea, hot.” Standing and retrieving her drink, the warm liquid felt good down her throat. She would need to go and report in to her new Captain soon, as well as her new Chief. Looking forward to meeting her new crewmates, and Captain, the Ensign wanted to also make sure to give them plenty of time before she went reporting in, and what not. They had just gotten back from a mission, and she was sure there were lots for them to take care of, before they were ready to meet new doctors.

The music that played in the back came to a stop as the track ended. Sanchez stood, and moved into her bedroom to retrieve her uniform jacket before heading out of her quarters. It had been a couple of hours since the ship docked. The Captain new she was onboard, and would probably be wondering where she was at if she waited too much longer to go and check in. The quietness of being on a Starbase was kind of nice, though the Ensign looked forward to time on a Starship again, seeing different systems, and the adventure that came with it.

<< 1325 Hours, Outside Captain’s Ready Room >>

Sanchez had been outside of the Captain ready room for about ten minutes now. The bridge was just as beautiful as she imagined it would. The crew had been far to her, security seemed to watch her a little, until she was able to prove who she was, and so forth. The Captain was a busy man, and she understood that, though if he had the time she wished to speak with him briefly, and let him know she would be with his crew from now on.

“The Captain has about ten minutes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Miranda kept her arms crossed behind her back and she entered the Captains ready room, “Ensign Miranda Xerx Sanchez, reporting in…”

~~~

Present Time Frame
Location: USS Mustang, Captain’s Quarters
Time: 1015

The hot coffee glass sat cupped in the palms of the Ensign’s hands. Her brown curls covered half of her face, legs pulled up to the left of her on the couch, tucked over a couple of pillows. She had been in the position for a little over an hour now; the coffee had been refilled four times now. Tomorrow she would be going back to Starbase 212 to meet up with her new ship, and go from there. Her thoughts were focused out the large window, watching the stars fly by. The past few weeks had gone by rather quickly, after deciding to spend her leave on her father’s ship. It had been some time since she had spent time with her father, as well as her little brother and Elizabeth. Everyone had been gone most of the day, her father doing his duty, as well as her stepmother, Elizabeth. Thinking about it, she wasn’t quite sure where her little brother, Jose had run too.

Drinking the hot coffee down, she came from her trance and glanced around the quarters seeing if anyone had entered, and she had just failed to notice, but she was alone, or at least in the living room area. She had forgotten how nice her father’s quarters were. The blues, burgundies, and woods were rich and beautiful. The Mustang was a bold ship, and was one of the best-decorated ships she had seen, but it also had more to it than a beautiful appearance, that was for sure. Her head felt heavy, as it fell backwards, resting on the back of the couch.

The doors slide open.

“Hello?” Sanchez jerked her head up, almost slipping coffee on her white cotton pants, and tank. Mumbling to herself, she sat the cup on the end table, and twisted her torso around, placing her arms on the back of at the couch, her white teeth showing as she smiled brightly at her little brother. “Where have you been? I’ve been stuck in this place all by my lonesome for the past couple of hours.”

“I have school, remember. I’m only thirteen, Miranda.”

“Ah, don’t get smart with me…”-She patted the seat next to her-“Come sit with me! You know I’ll be leaving tomorrow….” She arched a brow, “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, you know I hate it when you do that.” Jose tossed his backpack on the floor and headed towards the kitchen, the raise in his voice upset Miranda, as the anger she sensing wasn’t helping the situation either. Her hands gripped the back of the couch as she lifted herself over it, and followed Jose into the kitchen. “What is going on?”

“You, instead my head… It gets annoying you know.” The reply was harsh as he moved things around roughly.

“You know I don’t raid peoples minds… I can feel your emotions, yeah, but I can’t help that Jose… You know that.” Miranda walked over and disheveled his hair, “What’s wrong, Jose?”

“Nothing…”

“Don’t lie to me, it’s pointless. I can read when someone is lying to me, they emotions are off, and…”

“Okay! Gees, anyone tell you to lay off the knowledge books?” Sanchez laughed, her black eyes searching her little brothers baby blue ones for answer. “I just don’t get along with everyone in my class. Plus, dad is so busy with this dam”-the curse word caused an evil look from Sanchez-“stupid ship, and when you’re around his attention is even more stretched… Plus, I hate being in a starship all the bloody time!” Sanchez sighed, wrapping an arm around her brother, which pulled him in front of her for a hug. His back rested against her, head leaning back on her shoulder. “You’re special, plus you remind dad of his first love… I’m just…”

“Human?” She finished his sentence. “You’re special in your own way too, Jose. Listen, dad loves you just as much as he loves me, just in a different way. I’m a female, you’re male, that causes differences, plus I was conseaved with his first wife, I’m all he has left of her.” Sanchez frowned, trying to figure out the best way to put it.” Dad gets to see you all the time, he keeps comfortable with that, and tends to forget, I know… He never gets to see me, and what when you go into Starfleet.”

“Yeah, right! Like I would do that.” He pulled away from his sister.

“What does that mean? You don’t agree with what we do for a living?” Her arched brow wrinkled forward, her expression hard to read, though he had been around her long enough to know his was disapproval. “We all work hard at what we do. We help people, Jose, if you can’t agree with this…” “You risk your lives every day, for what? People you don’t know? Different speci….” His sentence dropped, noticing the color of red in his sister’s cheek, “Listen, I just don’t…”

“I’m half Betazoid, Jose! You don’t agree with Starfleet, is that it? You know, I wouldn’t be around if it wasn’t for Starfleet. My mother’s home world was almost destroyed in the Dominion war, but Starfleet helped that, if you don’t agree with any of this, than…” Her voice had risen slightly, though she had still managed to keep it level, and not quite as forceful as one might be at this point. Her breathing had been slightly harder than normal; she was upset, more for the fact that her brother had just told her he didn’t agree with anything she believed in. Didn’t believe in helping other races. Basically didn’t believe in her.

“Randy, your lunge…” Jose glanced over his shoulder, hearing the quarter doors slide open and the sound of Captain Sanchez calling for the two of them.

Sanchez brushed the curls from her eyes, and stared at her brother for a long while. “We’re in the kitchen dad.” Her voice was soft, as normal, no sign of anger, or emotions. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and claimed herself, her breathing slowing back down. She wet her lips and smiled brightly at her father as he entered.

“What are you two doing?” He crossed the floor to kiss his daughter on the forehead, and run a hand through his boy’s hair. Glancing from one child to the next, “Everything all right?”

“Of course, Daddy. What would be wrong?” Her smile brought forth her teeth, kissing her father back on the cheek. “Jose and I were just changing thoughts on Starfleet is all.”

“Speaking of Starfleet, I have an important dinner tonight with some guest who will be arriving shortly. So, if you guys can hold out on your own. Miranda, I know it’s your last night…” “Don’t be silly dad, you’re the Captain, duty calls. I’ll fix Jose something to eat, we’ll be fine.”

“Good to know. Elizabeth with be with me, so it shall be just the two of you.”

“We’ll be just fine, wont we Jose?”

“Yeah…”

~~~

Location: Starbase 212, Docking bay 4
Time: 0500 Hundred Hours

~~~

Space didn’t seem to have the same affect on Sanchez as she glanced out the window of the shuttlecraft she had been on the past three hours. Part of her was crushed from the night before. Jose had said he was sorry a dozen times, though she could feel he was speaking from his heart. He hated Starfleet, and disliked species outside the human race. Wetting her lips, she glanced around the shuttlecraft. People were sleeping, or doing their best to. It was around 0500 she guessed. She had decided to take the early craft, telling her family goodbye the night before, wanting to get back to the Starbase as soon as she could, and get boarded on to the Galaxy. She knew Jose loved her, and she forgave him, but she was still crushed. She was different from her family, and all this time she didn’t think it mattered, but now, now she couldn’t help but search her family feelings, seeing if anyone else felt it, or if it was just Jose. Her father loved her for her mother, which she knew, but sometimes wondered if that was the only reason. Scuffing at herself, she was a happy person. She would never let herself get upset over such petty things…

The shuttlecraft had just docked. Smiling, she ran a hand through her hair. Nodding towards the other passengers as they exited, she waited to be last and then stepped off. Smiling at Ensign Ilguaskas, she headed checked out, passing through security and making her way towards her quarters on deck ten. It was good to be back on the station, smiling at familiar faces, saying her hellos, after a little while she had forgotten her worries, and once inside her temporary quarters, she smiled softly, her troubles passing her by.

Entering her sonic shower after being back for a couple of minutes, she wanted to take a small nap before she had to be aboard the Galaxy. She had much to prepare for, and much to do boarding the new vessel. The Ensign was looking forward to it. Leaning back against the shower walls, she closed her eyes asking the computer to wake her in thirty…

{{OOC: The 'Bajoran Noon' series of posts takes place once the Valkyrie arrives to Bajor, an event which wan't posted yet in-game.}}

"Bajoran Noon – Homecoming, part I"

Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Controller,
USS Valkyrie

Ensign Saul Bental,
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

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

Bajor.

I always felt that the Bajorans are much like my own ancestors, the Jews.

People of an ancient legacy, proud and intelligent, religious and stubborn. People who were suppressed under the boot of a conqueror, held in concentration and internment camps, but never lost their faith.

People who rebuilt their homeland.

People who can make you both nod in admiration of their achievements or shrug with despair when facing their weaknesses and internal problems, far more dangerous to them than any external enemy.

Thank goodness Jews don't have to walk around all day long with these Bajoran earrings!

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

Bajorans knew a thing or two about riverboats.

The Bajoran culture had used Riverboats and sail ships as a central mean of transportation across the planet for a much longer timespan than the Terran culture. The boat Miramon and Saul were now operating was a great example of how more experience leads to better boats.

It was manually operated, just like Saul preferred it, and the central engine was two sets of pedals which reminded Saul a little of the bicycles they had in the Galaxy's gym. The boat's design was very sleek considering the fact that most of it was made out of a material not unlike wood, and it translated Saul's pedaling into an impressive speed.

Beads of sweat rolled down Saul's forehead and arms, but despite the exertion he smiled broadly at Miramon who was now standing on the deck, his hands rested on the railing. "The only way to go!"

Miramon looked slightly amused at that, especially since he'd rarely if ever used a riverboat in his childhood. Yes, it had been a means of transport used by his people to cross short distances, but it was hardly something commonly seen during the Occupation. After all, these had been an oppressed people, and expression of their own culture was suppressed as much as possible in order to prevent significant gatherings of Bajorans - especially so at things like religious gatherings. And if a Bajoran was heading downriver in a boat, where might they go?

Still, the Bajoran had been strangely quiet since they had arrived on planet. It was not lost on any of the crew from the Valkyrie when he had disembarked in casual clothing, as all of them had done, but now wearing the traditional ear-cuff of the Bajoran people, which was a symbol of their religious faith. Frankly, if he wasn't wearing it while on Bajor, he'd be looked down upon by most of his people, since it was also a sign of solidarity for their people, importantly so given the end of the Occupation and the resurrection of their culture and rebuilding of their home.

He looked over at his companion with a gentle smile, then nodded at the pedals. "Want to switch over, Saul? Shouldn't let you do all the work, and you're not trained to steer. I'm the pilot, after all."

"You're the pilot, but I'm the sailor." Saul indicated, retorting with a grin of his own. "But sure, one can't have all the fun."

With that, Saul gently decreased the speed of his pedaling, then stood up and allowed Miramon to take over. He sat down on the deck, allowing the Bajoran sun to bathe him with its warm rays.

Despite the years of the devastating Occupation, Bajor itself had not been significantly damaged in any ecological sense. It still had plenty of greenery and unpolluted water ways. Admittedly, the Cardassians had almost completely mined the planet dry of most of it's natural resources, but most of the landscape remained as beautiful as it had before the Occupation, at least as far as many of the older Bajorans and, of course, the history records suggested.

Of course, as some of his people had wryly put it, the air was all the cleaner for being free of Cardassians, though to be honest, that was expressed more by the free action of the people rather than by anything in the atmosphere.

All in all, Miramon had never really spent much time on his home planet after he had left home at 16 to join the crew of the K'Lyn. He'd stayed for a few years after the Occupation to assist with the rebuilding of their world, but he'd never felt comfortable on planetary soil. Still, it was nice to be back now. As they floated steadily down the river, the Bajoran had pondered what it would be like to see his home again - his family. He had never got along well with them, and seeing them again was not likely to be easy. He was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea, but the Commander had taken time to prepare some things before they went hunting for their missing officer, so he had given everyone time to take some brief shoreleave.

His companion, Saul, seemed to be fascinated by the terrain. He eyed the river banks eagerly, and waved at any person who watched them from the banks. Most of them returned the wave.

Eventually, Saul turned back toward him. The intelligence officer instinctively reached for his nose, but forced his hand back to its proper place next to his hip. Saul used the Valkyrie's medical facilities to slightly alter his appearance by adding a Bajoran nose ridge to his face.

Sufficed to say, the Bajoran with him hadn't been happy about that - given that the Emissary was human, no human had the need to disguise themselves amongst friendly Bajorans - not to mention that it would be dangerous if anyone found out about it.

Saul claimed that it was in order to avoid raising suspect or unnecessary attention, and he also told Miramon that this camouflage is going to serve a purpose he'll be told about later.

The two of them decided that Saul's cover story would be that of a Bajoran adopted by Humans. This way, his lack of control in the Bajoran language will fit in with the disguise.

"That's our dock, isn't it?" Saul pointed at the distance. Several hundred meters ahead, a small man-made construct invaded the river, and several masts could be seen rising above it.

Miramon glanced over his shoulder to where Saul was pointed, then nodded a moment later. "Yeah, that's it. That's about as close to home as we'll get from here by boat. Are you ready to go?"

"Certainly. So, we're going to pay your home a little visit, or not?"

The Bajoran nodded. "Sure. I guess we might as well, while we're here." His face looked somewhat resigned to the idea that they were doing so - after all, the arrival of a Federation ship in orbit of Bajor didn't happen everyday, and it wouldn't take a genius to get a copy of it's crew manifest, since such things were registered when the crew were given permission to beam to the surface.

The two slowed the boat to a complete stop, and activated the clamps. Two mechanical arms extended from the boat, grabbed sturdy poles which were fixed onto the banks for that exact purpose. Saul picked up a bag from the deck, and gracefully leapt out of the boat. Miramon quickly grabbed his own satchel and followed suit beside Saul, though he felt somewhat less confident about stepping off the deck than did the Terran, more because it was familiar ground that had it's own memories. Still, he didn't want to keep his new friend waiting, and nor was it very becoming of him as an officer to bawk at simply going home either, though the pit in the centre of his stomach was happy to disagree with that.

The two began walking at a slightly slower than usual pace towards the obvious settlement, which was a little further away from the docking area than most would have suspected for a town. The reason for that was simply so that anyone arriving at the dock would be seen by someone in the town long before they actually got there, which allowed the inhabitants to prepare to receive some guests, since most Bajorans were, or at least had been prior to the Occupation, kind and always happy to extend their hospitality to anyone who chose to visit. Things like that had diminished somewhat since the Occupation, with most Bajorans more than willing to pick up a phaser and shoot you rather than welcome you with open arms. Of course, once they'd been accepted as a Federation protectorate and with Starfleet maintaining their constant vigilance aboard what was now Deep Space Nine, the majority of Bajorans had begun to relax more and concentrate on building their society rather than jumping at anyone that came in view.

The town itself was not one of the larger Bajoran settlements - it had always been a quiet little place. Miramon marvelled as they walked through the relatively peaceful streets at how it had all changed - gone was the tension of earlier years when it was rarely safe to step outside your front door without a hand on your phaser, all to be replaced by a more...spiritual atmosphere. The town felt peaceful and relaxed, the first time he'd ever felt that here at his own home since he'd learned to understand exactly what such a thing was. It only really served to increase Miramon's discomfort, since it made him feel more like an outsider than any thoughts of family ever could.

He was well aware that all this was probably not lost on his companion. The peacefulness of the place and the Bajoran's clear discomfort were really obvious anyway, though he was doing his best to keep himself calm and relaxed. It really wasn't all that surprising when the two of them came to a dead stop, Miramon reaching out with a hand to point at a particular building a little further down the street.

Saul watched the house quietly, with interest.

It was a mediumly sized place - not too small for only one or two people to live there, but not big enough to look obvious or out of place amongst the others that were there. As with the other buildings in the town, it was built from the same warm stone, a rich light gold colour which was excellent at absorbing and storing heat, which was often useful if you were living in a home overshadowed by trees or other buildings and where the shadows overcast the sunlight pouring through the sky. And more than that, it was a beautiful looking colour - natural. The stone was curved in the traditional style of Bajoran buildings - a far cry from the large corrugated metal shelters that had been built as homes in many of the refugee camps when the Bajorans that had fled the Cardassians became scattered across the Quadrant. Somehow it felt more reflective.

Outside the house was a relatively well-kept garden - more than proving, as Miramon had suspected, that people were still living there - his family. His father had been a tall man, slightly taller than Miramon himself, and had always been a very stern man, very much a complete adherent to his principles - stubborn, as far as his youngest son was concerned. Miramon's mother was shorter than her husband and two male children, but very much as stern as her husband, so her presence tended to belay her smaller stature. That said, though, she wasn't an unkind woman - just very set in her own ways and a great supporter of traditional Bajoran ways, which in itself was understandable given the Occupation, but since the rest of the family had always supported the Resistance movement during that time, Miramon and his mother had never really agreed with one another, and their conflict inevitably led to the younger of the two leaving at 16.

His older sister was slightly taller than her mother, and she'd always been the one that tried to help resolve the arguments and keep a lid on the tempers of the household. She was very solidly grounded, and of everything he'd wanted on returning, she was the only person Miramon was truly looking forward to seeing. His parents kind of overshadowed that, though. As for Miramon's older brother, he was living away from home as well, though he had been initiated into the religious orders years ago, and was a monk in a temple some distance away. He'd never understood Miramon's wish to join Starfleet after he had returned home once the Occupation had ended, but since he was also very non-violent as a person, he had sympathised with his younger sibling's feelings regarding the Resistance, but inevitably stayed completely loyal to his family as much as to his home and the religion of his people.

"That's my home, Saul. Or rather, it's where my family live. My parents and my sister should still be there, so we'll stop there for a while. Oh, and I know I don't usually take to this, but my Bajoran name is always reversed to what we're both used to, so unless we're alone, I'd appreciate it if you'd call me Terrik. It's my family name, and it's considered polite and traditional to address me that way first. My parents are both quite traditionally-minded, and they'd not understand if you didn't. Is that okay?"

Saul blinked. "Sure it is, but I must say that I was certain that your given name was Terrik and family name was Miramon. That's why I addressed you as Miramon, even though I just a crewmate and not a close friend... I apologize if I insulted you."

Miramon smiled in a warm manner, negating the possible feeling of negativity the comment brought around. Saul wasn't to know, after all.

"Well, my name is actually used differently to most Bajorans. Our names are formed the wrong way round. My actual name on Bajor is the other way around to how you'll have seen me use it before - it's Terrik Miramon. Hence, Terrik is my family name and Miramon is my given name. However, since I joined Starfleet, I changed the order of names to suit human custom, since it's less confusing for my crewmates."

The Bajoran smiled slightly, the first time he'd done so since arriving on the planet. "So, no, you've been calling me by my first name all the time, which is fine, of course. Especially since you've been addressing me without a title - no 'mister' or 'ensign'. So you're doing exactly what I intended when I switched my name around. Unfortunately, that custom isn't observed here, so that's just a warning."

Saul nodded, respecting the man's wishes, and began to walk toward the building.

The two didn't take long to reach the modest house, and as Miramon opened the gate, he winced in anticipation of the gate screeching on un-oiled hinges, which would alert people in the house to their presence before he was ready, but fortunately it opened in the way he'd always remembered it doing so. Nodding, he motioned for Saul to follow him through the small garden along the stone path that wound it's way towards the door.

Like so many things on Bajor, the house was maintained along very natural lines, so it didn't have all the gracings of large scale technology, other than basic things like a power generator and the replicator. The door, as a result, was made of wood, as opposed to being the bland metal constructs the two were used to seeing aboard Federation starships, so it made quite a contrast, though the Bajoran had seen this door so many times before.

He took a deep breath, then knocked lightly on the wood, listening to the ringing sound his knuckles made as it struck. The two waited a moment, and Miramon could have sworn his heart was beating hard enough to make the knocking sound as loud as a small breeze of wind would have over a grassy knoll.

The door began to open slowly, though Miramon could well remember when the door would never have opened without an inquiry as to who was present and his father's other hand holding onto a phaser as he opened it, in case the visitor happened to be unwelcome. But this was no longer the period of turmoil and danger it had been under the Cardassians, so he couldn't say he was overly surprised that the door was simply being opened.

As it swung gently on it's hinges, the door slowly pushed back to a right-angle from it's earlier position, the two were able to take a look at the person that was opening it. The woman was about 3 or 4 inches smaller than Miramon, and only really slightly older in appearance. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a relaxed fashion - not too strictly, but not so loosely as to make it appear unkempt. Her normally gentle eyes widened as she saw the two standing at the door, her eyes first looking at Saul - who by all appearances was just a normal Bajoran visiting the area.

It was the real Bajoran that caught her attention. Though it had been almost 7 years since the two had seen each other, it was clear that she knew Miramon, and that was obvious in her blue eyes, a gleam of recognition clear on her face. The woman couldn't have been older than in her late 30s, as indeed she was, being all of four years older than the man that stood taller than her - her younger brother.

It was only after a silent moment had passed between the two that she smiled at them both and nodded her head in greetings. "Miramon. I hadn't expected to see you for a while. It's been such a long time."

The Bajoran nodded, returning her smile with one of his own. "Yes, Ilana, it has." For a moment, Miramon wasn't sure how his sister would react to having her given name spoken outloud in the presence of a stranger, since Bajoran custom suggested that it was an honour to be allowed to speak a person's given name outloud in their presence, hence why it was something generally given only to close friends and family, but for some reason, his sister didn't appear perturbed by it. Or maybe she hadn't noticed.

He stirred and half-turned so that his sister could get a better view of his companion. Raising his hand and gently clapping Saul on the shoulder, he nudged him forward slightly. "This is Bental, a friend of mine from the Galaxy. Bental, this is my sister."

It likely wouldn't take Saul long to notice that he was being addressed by his surname in place of his first name - Miramon had literally only just remembered that Saul was disguised as a Bajoran - and his first name was a clear one, not one that could be construed as ambiguous amonst Bajorans, who would realise he was either shirking their traditions or not quite what he seemed. Nor had the Bajoran named his sister in introducing the two - while it was fine for Miramon to speak it, unless she allowed Saul to do so, he was not permitted to refer to her by it.

Saul resisted an urge to extend his arm, the shook his head. He hesitated a moment before openning his mouth, knowing very well that his first words would lead to a first lie about his origin. "It is a pleasure to meet you." he said simply.

Miramon suddenly became aware that Saul had an accent foreign to Bajorans, who always spoke with a slightly lilting emphasis on their words, whereas few humans ever did so. Thinking about it, and noting how quickly his sister picked up on the same thing, the Bajoran tried to do what he could to cover for it.

"Bental here was raised by humans, though he's taken onto Bajoran customs rather quickly."

His sister appeared somewhat perturbed by this, but didn't express her thoughts, instead speaking the only other thing truly on her mind.

"Where have you been, my brother? Mother and Father have been anxious about you for some time now. Still, you're here now, so you ought to come in and talk with them."

The way she said it made Miramon feel both guilty about having ignored his family for the most part and also somewhat reluctant to enter the house. Trying to cover his feelings, he turned to Saul with something of a trapped expression.

"Do we have time to stay awhile?"

"Sure thing, we're on call, the... Captain will let us know once we're nodded." Saul assured him. He wasn't sure whether Miramon was looking for a way out of the situation, or just asked a sincere question. Either way, he wasn't going to make the decision for the Bajoran pilot.

He glanced at Ilana. "You'll be glad to know your brother did some good while travelling around space in this funny uniform. Just recently we were involved in a dangerous situation where his piloting skills were one of the main reasons the ship wasn't grinded to radioactive dust."

Miramon's eyebrows raised at that one - the only thing he'd done of use with the Galaxy is steer her clear of a mine during their engagement with the Breen, and that had been using a standard manueaver he'd learned aboard the K'Lyn. Still, he smiled appreciatively at Saul, then turned back to his sister.

"May we come in, Ilana? If you've no objections to us staying here."

The Bajoran's sister nodded, then stepped aside, motioning into the house.

"Come on in."

<To be continued...>

"Welcome Back, North"

Attaché Richard North

Music: The Leisure Suit Larry Theme by Al Lowe (http://www.thedierks.com/allowe/midi/LSL1%20Theme%20SCI.mid)

Hart Senate Office Building
Washington, D.C.
Four weeks ago

"Ahh, Richard, come on in," Senator Martinson said as he extended his hand to the man who used to have his job a year ago. Richard North grasped the Senator's hand with his right hand and leaned on his cane with the other hand. "Good to see you, Alec," North said with a wink. "How's the leg?" Richard shrugged as he followed the Senator into his old office, "Same as always." North was surprised to see that Senator Martinson had primarily kept the office the same way that he had when he had occupied it during his term as a Federation Senator from the United States. A United Federation of Planets flag draped the left corner of the office and an American flag draped the right corner of the office, with a POW-MIA flag in the center. "Richard, I know I owe you a few favors after what you did for me and my team. Up until the time you showed up with the Minutemen...well, I thought we were goners." North put his hand up in the air to silence him, "That's all in the past, Alec. Besides, it was worth it. I saved the lives of three very good men and women." "Yeah, but we could have damn near bought it on the return trip, and you know it," Martinson thrust his finger towards North to emphasis his point. North shook his head, his cane tapping the ground in a nervous pattern. A small smile danced playfully across his face as he studied his old friend closely. "The reason you asked me here...is to talk me out of it." Senator Martinson glanced away for a quick second, then looked back at him. "No...I mean....well...yes...yes, that is why I asked you here." "Forget it, Alec. It's not going to happen. I made a promise. As part of my original campaign for Senate I promised that by 2384 I would have served two years in the Diplomatic Corps." "You should run again. Senator Jefferson from Maine's seat is going to be uncontested next year. You should run for his seat." North leaned back in his seat. "Do you really think I want to get involved with that again?" Martinson looked at him with a perplexed look. North stood up and started on his way out. "The pork barrel projects, useless bickering...oh...and I forgot my personal favorite...the back stabbing. Alec, the next time you invite me over to your office, tell me up or down whether it is a lecture or not, then I might listen to you...until then, good day, Senator."

Starbase 212
Lounge
Present Day
Music: Maine Stein Song (http://www.umaine.edu/stein.htm)

"Don't you miss the excitement?" asked the bartender. North sipped his bourbon and looked off into space. "No." "You don't miss lacing up your skates, taping up your stick, putting on your pads and jersey and going out there for the home town crowd? What happened to that stuff about 'fill the steins to dear old Maine' and 'shouting until the rafters ring'?" North placed his cane up on the bar in front of him and quaffed his bourbon back. "That was a life time ago. I'm not a hockey player anymore. Hell, I can't even skate let alone play hockey until someone does some more corrective surgery on this leg." The bartender shook his head as he wiped down the counter and placed another glass of bourbon in front of North. "Two time Frozen Four MVP...Starfleet Hero...Federation Senator...you're more impressive than you think you are. People care about you." "Look, yes, I am a two time Frozen Four MVP, a 'Starfleet Hero', and a former Federation Senator...but I don't go around broadcasting my resume to anyone in a ten mile radius. It's stupid. I'm not a has-been, I'm not a never-was, I'm just me. And if you don't start talking to me like you would to an average officer, I'm going to bop you on the head with my cane." The bartender winked at him. "Yeah, but you're not the average officer that comes in here. A lot of these boys and girls, well...they might work the day shift in engineering, or they might be a flight controller. But there is one thing that seperates them from you." "And what's that?" "You got more experience in ten years than they have since they've gotten out of the Academy. Some of them have been there for fifteen or twenty years. And you! You're a ROTC graduate. You're not supposed to have gotten all the publicity you did. They reserve that crap for the San Francisco kids. You were supposed to do your six years, get your schooling paid for in full and then go off to some stupid government job. Oh, but not Mister Richard North!" "Would you stop all ready? Jesus Christ...you're starting to get on my nerves." "No, Mister Richard North decided that he was going to get the most out of his time in Starfleet. With your Silver Star, your six Purple Hearts, a Starfleet Medal, and a couple others that you performed missions so secret that they've got them locked in a little room where you can look at them until those events become unclassified." North quaffed another bourbon. "Is there really a point to this public airing of my resume? Because if there is, I'd like to know..." "Oh, and by the way, after that daring rescue operation as commander of the Lexington Minutemen, where he was wounded three times and received three purple hearts, Richard North gets promoted to commander...when he suddenly gets a medical retirement from Starfleet. He runs for Senate...makes a campaign promise to return to Starfleet before running for office again and now he's here." North shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?" "My point is...you really miss Starfleet, don't you?" "I should have left your ass back in that prison camp we busted you out of. Would have saved me a lot of trouble. The courts martial would have been worth it. They probably would have promoted me to Admiral instead..." Tim Matheson leaned in close to North. "Look...you really don't have to do this...I think any bad things you've ever done in your life were cancelled out when you saved our necks. You're making a mistake, Richard. You really are. You're not cut out for the diplomatic corps and you know it." North got up from his chair. "Yeah...well, Matheson...at least I can get up and look myself in the face every morning and say that I enjoy what I do." "You don't enjoy it, Richard. This is one of your silly campaign promises that you made. Campaign promises were made to be broken." North continued his fast hobble out of the lounge. "Yeah, yeah, blah, blah. And who said an honest man couldn't get elected to a higher office?" North was about to exit the lounge when someone ran smack into him and knocked him on the ground.

"Bajoran Noon - Homecoming, Part II"

Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Control Officer,
USS Valkyrie

Ensign Saul Bental,
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

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

Miramon and Saul both stepped into the house, following Miramon's elder sister at a slow, relaxed pace. They both placed their satchel bags just on the inside of the door, since it would be impolite to carry them further into the house without being certain of what their arrangements were likely to be. Miramon looked particularly thoughtful as they walked inside, having seen this same house so many times before as a child and now, eight years since he'd last stepped foot in here, he realised just how little anything had changed. Of course the house was a little brighter than he remembered - the privacy filters weren't dropped, so natural sunlight entered through the windows. Back in the days of the Occupation, the house was almost always filled with artificial lights, since privacy filters allowed nobody to see in the house, and the occupants to see out. It was usually best to keep them up when there were Cardassians around, or so his parents had always felt.

But inevitably there were so many things that were the same. The paintings, the position of the plants that his mother had always kept around the house to add some colour - even though these were definately not the same plants. Miramon was beginning to think his sister lived elsewhere - she was always one for changing things around, which was especially true since she was the only person in the family that had a really artistic sense, so she was always doing something to make things look more aesthetically pleasing. At least in their rooms, anyway. His parents had always kept things the same, but his sister was always painting things and had usually shared these with her younger brother. Actually, he still had one of her paintings in his quarters aboard the Galaxy - a river scene overlooking the Bajoran capital.

The Bajoran was jolted out of these thoughts when Saul nudged him and they entered into the main sitting room - essentially the largest room of the house. Like the rest of the building, it too was covered in sunlight, which in itself gave the room a completely new perspective - when everything else seemed to have remained unchanged by the years, the sitting room looked completely different. The room was in itself empty, at least of people. There were two large sofas in the room, perfectly matched to the colours of the carpet. At least there was consistency there. His father's old wooden desk was still pushed up against the far wall with that little blue lamp sitting on the top of it, just as he remembered it.

The two were inevitably surprised that there was nobody else there, but it was clear they were supposed to wait here. Miramon felt like a stranger, almost appropriately at such treatment, though in reflection, he'd not seen any of his family in years, and he had changed significantly as a result of Starfleet and the five years he'd spent in the Academy, which was enough to change anybody - turning you from the person you had been into a responsible Starfleet officer. Was that what he was now, he had to wonder? How did he seem to his family, or to other Bajorans? True, there were plenty of members of the Bajoran Militia serving in Starfleet now, but most of them remained on Bajor as part of their assigned security force, or on Deep Space Nine in orbit of the planet.

Even Saul seemed to be more at home than he did. The disguised Intelligence officer rested his back against the wall, closely inspecting the room with his eyes. He flashed a reassuring grin at Miramon, knowing how nervous the man must be after so many years away from home.

Within a moment, a somewhat tall man walked into the room, looking directly at Illana. He was taller than Miramon, though to look at them both, it was more than obvious that the two were kin, since they both had a very similar facial profile, though that of the taller man was slightly pinched by age, since he was approaching his mid-60s and his hair was permeated by streaks of grey, though his eyes remained vital and bright. At his entrance, Miramon almost made a start, but controlled himself so as not to appear quite as out of place within the room.

"Illana, I heard someone at the door. Who was it?"

It was only then that the man noticed the two standing in the doorway. He almost completely ignored Saul for a moment as he took a look at the person he obviously recognised, since he'd lived in the same house as him for 20 years in total numbers, and obviously saw some similarities whenever he looked in then mirror.

"By the Prophets...Miramon, that is you?"

The Bajoran nodded and made a slight bow from the waist. He wasn't really sure of the appropriate way to greet a man he'd never really gotten along with, especially after so many years of having not seen him. Frankly, he wasn't at all surprised at the appearance of his father - even with the Occupation, the man had always been hard working, rather than one of those who hid in constant fear of the Cardassians knocking at the door. Things clearly hadn't changed since then, but this in itself was in keeping with anyone's general impression of both the house and the man, if they'd known them prior to this.

"Yes, Father, it is. My ship is currently undergoing repairs, so we've been dispatched on a mission with our Executive Officer, and we've arrived here. I...thought it would be appropriate to take some time to come and see you."

Miramon motioned for Saul to step forward and looked back at his Father. "This is Bental, father. He's a friend of mine assigned to the same mission, so he's with me to visit Bajor in some familiar company. He was raised by humans when his parents were killed away from Bajor, so he's never actually seen it." Whether or not this last bit was true, he wasn't sure, since the Bajoran was simply repeating the cover story the two had discussed earlier to explain Saul's surgically-altered appearance, but it seemed like a good cover to explain the way the human had been acting for most of the day, as though he was a complete stranger to the planet, which he probably was, though he'd not had chance to actually ask him.

Saul repeated Miramon's gesture, hoping it wasn't a gesture kept only for family members. Judging from the pilot's body language, Saul assumed that it was a mild gesture, one that is used when meeting an acquaintance. It didn't take an observant Intel officer to see that there's a gap between father and son.

"Thank you for your hospitality, sir."

The older Bajoran nodded at his guest but said nothing, which really didn't surprise either of the two Starfleet officers. Miramon stepped up to his father, refusing to be intimidated either by the man's height or his age. He wasn't a child now, and it wasn't appropriate to act like one.

"Where is Mother?"

"Your mother isn't here at the moment, Miramon. She's away visiting your brother. Like you ought to do once in a while."

Miramon's internal emotions took this as a personal move, since he'd been verging on nervousness and irritation all day. He was angry he could feel like this about people he'd not seen in years, or that they were making him feel guilty for doing what he felt was best in life.

"So my career has to be put on hold for my family once again? I know you didn't approve my leaving, which essentially remains your problem, but I've done what my conscience dictated. I'd be lying to myself and to you if I didn't. What more do you expect of me?"

His father noticed the sudden aggressiveness in his son's posture, something he'd never seen there before. Sure, there'd been a very intense change in his son when he'd come home from piloting aboard the K'Lyn years ago, but there'd never been this confidence or sheer boldness to the Bajoran's expression.

"I don't expect anything of you, Miramon. I would have preferred it if you'd never left Bajor, stayed here like your brother and your sister. You could have a family by now, a home of your own and be doing something useful with your time. Instead you go galivanting around the Galaxy with barely a word."

Saul twitched a little at the man's scorn toward what they were doing, which was essentially keeping him safe. He took a step back, trying to be as invisible as possible. This rapidly escalating argument didn't need audience.

"Well, Illana is still here, isn't she? She's not married, has a home of her own, but I know damn well you'd never pressurise her into doing so. And she carries the family name, not I. I took it as a point that my presence here wasn't necessary, so I decided to go do something with my life that didn't revolve around what YOU wanted."

The anger in Miramon's tone was now quite unmistakeable. In hindsight he was amazed at just how quickly his father could provoke him.

"I never understood you, Son. You claim to love your people and yet you left them for Starfleet. You refuse to live among us, to do some good here. And even during the Occupation, you preferred to see our people die in camps than die trying to free ourselves from the rule of the Cardassians."

"Yes, you're damn right I did. I'd have preferred for them not to die at all - I wasn't going to be part of any movement whereby people would be going to certain death against an adversary better equipped, better trained and frankly less inclined to preserve life that isn't their own. They circumvented us quickly enough when they invaded, and you think we even stood a chance of fighting back? You're as naive as you are stubborn."

At this point Illana stepped in and took Miramon's arm, tapping him lightly on the shoulder with his right hand.

"Miramon, stop this. You too, father. We've had these arguments before. Father, Miramon is back for a while and you'd drive him away with harsh words. And you, brother, why come all this way to simply argue?"

"We didn't." Saul interjected. He glanced at Miramon's sister. She was pretty, in his eyes, but it was a bad habit to make moves on a friend's sister. Especially when she was much older than you and when you weren't quite sure what the 'moves' are supposed to look like.

"I really don't want to get involved," Saul added quietly, "but as... even as a Bajoran with no ties to Bajor other than my genetic heritage, I still felt that as a Starfleet officer I was doing my part to help our people by being part of an organization which helped protecting Bajor and bring it out of the dark age of the occupation and into the galactic community. Perhaps... perhaps it would be easier to look at Starfleet service from that point of view."

Miramon nodded. "Right. In case you'd forgotten it, Father, a large quantity of our own militia are now members of Starfleet. I serve with several other Bajorans aboard the Galaxy. We do our duty by protecting everyone we can, including the interests of our own people. Since Bajor is a Federation member, you ought to respect that decision."

"Very well. I presume you intend to stay here?"

Saul glanced at Miramon. He couldn't read from the man's face if he's interested to stay or not. However, the way things were going, he assumed that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"We're expected back on board by night-time. And after that we'll probably be needed for our... assignment... until the we leave Bajor. However..."

Once again Saul shot an awkward glance toward Miramon. "We could ask the Commander to allow us to stay the night, if it's possible as far as he's concerned, and if it's not a liability..."

Miramon nodded. "Okay. We'll contact our Commander and ascertain what our situation is. If you've no objection?"

The taller Bajoran nodded. "As you want, Miramon. You can stay here if you are able to. Your room is still empty, so you can stay there if you want. Dinner is at 2100."

"Same as usual. Bental, shall we?"

"We shall." Saul picked up their bags, and allowed Miramon to lead the way.

The Bajoran nodded at his sister and the two headed back the way they came to the stairs which led to the next floor of the house. The stairs were of the same stone which formed the walls and the exterior of the building, with another of his sister's painting being the only adornment. As they reached the top of the stairs, the Bajoran indicated that they should walk a little further on, before turning to the first door on the left.

As he opened the door, he noticed that the old wooden-designed door didn't screech when it was opened, so the hinges were clearly well oiled. The room was definately familiar, though everything he remembered having been there other than some of the ornaments and, of course, the furniture had been removed - now aboard the USS Galaxy some distance away, sitting in his quarters.

There was only one bed, but Miramon removed a sleeping bag from his own satchel bag and dropped it onto the floor along with the bag itself.

Saul placed his bags on the sleeping bag, and looked at Miramon. "Now I understand why you were so reluctant to go home."

Miramon nodded. "Yeah, no kidding. This happens pretty much every time I come home, so I don't tend to visit often. How about you? Get this much trouble from your family?"

Saul chuckled. "I wouldn't know. I didn't come back to Utrecht III ever since my escape."

Miramon raised his eyebrows curiously. "Escape, huh? Sounds like you have more problems than me."

Saul opened one of the bag, and pulled out a hypospray. He took his medicene, then returned it to the bag before continuing. "Yes, my escape. I was born on an industrious colony which is on the rim of the Federation in more than one way. Eventually, after dropping out of school and later after joinning and retiring from the planet's domestic guard, I just took a shuttle heading toward Earth and never looked back."

Saul surprised himself. He didn't tend to share that story with anyone, even in this laconic form where so many important details were left out. However, after finding himself in the middle of the Terrik family's argument, he felt that he should somehow 'pay back' for witnessing what must've been a moment Miramon probably preferred to keep private.

"Didn't have any objections from my close family, though." Saul added. His distant family, on the other hand...

The Bajoran smiled. "Well, I think I can empathise with you on some points. You can't go home, and I kinda wished I couldn't. But we shouldn't worry. Do you want to contact the Commander, or should I do it?"

"About Henderson, well... I was acting." Saul admitted. "Wanted to leave the choice in your hands. I spoke with him before we beamed down. Basically, we can stay here until tomorrow mornning. I have some work to accomplish about the AWOL officer, but I can do it from here."

"Well, let's get to it, shall we? We've got a lot of work to do before we return to the Galaxy, and I for one want to be ready to go."

Something Miramon said bothered Saul. "About not returning home... in my case, it's choice. I have nothing left there." Except for things which still chase me, he added internally.

The Bajoran smiled. "Well, in that case, you and I have something more in common."

Saul shook his head, agreeing, and the two of them began to unpack. Within an hour, the room became a small outpost of Starfleet. The two of them connected to public Databases, using SFI's advanced face recognizing software to try and compare Rima's face to the faces of every single Bajoran citizen. They also used software to go through the passangers' logs from recent month, checking if Rima or anyone with appearance similar to Rima's came in or out of the planet recently.

Saul knew it would take them days to locate her that way, and even then chances are she is not on the Databases available to them, but it was a start.

By the time they'd had dinner and finished off their work for the day, Miramon and Saul were pretty much exhausted. They didn't have much longer on Bajor on personal business, since Commander Henderson was expecting them back so they could return the Valkyrie. The meal had been a tense one, with very little conversation, except between Illana and Miramon's travelling companion. A pity he was here under cover of being a Bajoran, otherwise the two might have got along a little more famously.

When the rest of the house was retiring, the two had said their goodbyes to Miramon's family, since they intended on leaving early in order to get back to the Capital and rendevous with the rest of the team. All that remained was a little sleep, and they were away.

Miramon couldn't have been happier.

((OOC: Hi, I'm Katherine, and I'm glad to be back. This is an intro for my guy, and it starts earlier on in his life and moves on through to the current timeline, so each section will have when it happened at the top...I hope it makes sense and works! LOL))

"Tapestry." Part 1

Ensign Airaul Taern,
Tactical Officer

:: Aubis, Temple of Weovna, 21 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 16 years old) ::

Despite the cold making his fingers feel like heavy, clumsy weights, Airaul hummed as he added another two drops of Naril to the vial of medicine. False energy was still flowing through the 16 year old boy from his initiation ceremony...he was on the first step to becoming a Priest of the Temple, something that he had worked for his entire life. As the youngest child of the family, he was given over to be trained for service by the Temple at the age of ten, and although being a rigorously disciplined lifestyle, it made him proud to be on the way to completing the training.

The young man ran a strong hand through a mop of long, sandy coloured hair in an attempt to tame it out of the way of his hazel coloured eyes. They were colourings similar to most Southern Islanders, and the still growing youth was already of a good height. A little slender perhaps, but the strength was already there and it was clear his chest would broaden with age...and certainly if he continued on the physically routines as well as the studious, scholarly and religious duties of the Priests.

The amount of homeless and sick seeking sanctuary and help in the Temple had increased severely at the bout of cold weather afflicting the Southern Islands. The climate was usually hot or warm, and so the people reacted badly to the unusual chilling conditions, creating an even higher work load than usual on Airaul and the other Initiates and Priests who looked after them all amongst other demanding obligations. A shiver ran up Airaul's spine; cold weather was usually a grim omen or warning.

"Airaul, are you finished?"

He glanced around to the man in the doorway, quickly grabbing up the vial to shake. Pressing it into the wide syringe like instrument, he turned with a smile, pulling up his robe just enough to run gently to him without tripping over the traditional garb. "Yes! I apologise, I was just..."

"Dawdling." The Priest replied, but with a fond smile, gently messing his hair up. "Take the medicine to Castor, he has need of it for..."

"No time for that!" A strong voice echoed down the large, stone corridor in the old part of the temple. Both Priest and the first initiate hurried out to see Castor running toward them, a very unusual sight indeed. "We have a new young man seeking asylum... he is cold and hungry, and rather shaken. Airaul, you will see to him...find him some new clothes and take up a meal and sleeping aids. You will find him in the Panel Room." The darker haired man talked quickly and firmly as always, authoritative in both voice and stance.

Airaul watched with mild confusion for a moment... the Panel Room was usually reserved only for important visitors to the Temple, not those seeking sanctuary or simply a bed for the night and a meal or medical aid. Nonetheless, Airaul nodded, moving quickly to do as told. He yawned as he gathered the new clothes, hooking them over an aching arm...he'd been on his feet for sixteen hours, making rounds for the sick and homeless as was part of his duties on his time off from studying. Honestly, he couldn't wait to get to his own bed, so as he took the tray of food and drink from the kitchens, he hoped it would be the last he had to take up.

Knocking politely, Airaul slid gently into the room, carrying a tray to the table by the window that now only let moonlight into the softly lit chamber. "My name is Airaul, I have been sent to..." he glanced up, looking to the young man on the bed. The sight stopped his usually fluid and well practiced introduction. He must have been about the same age as him, but rather than having sandy coloured hair as most of the Southern Islanders, the long hair was black, and his eyes a violet colour. His skin was pale, although Airaul couldn't tell if it was a natural thing or from travelling in the cold, and his body tall and slender. He looked vulnerable... so very vulnerable, and a deep hurt and melancholy had settled both in his eyes and in his face.

"You look chilled to the core..." Airaul frowned, moving to kneel in front of him, taking his hand to rub between his own as he gently blew on it. "Have you been travelling long?"

"Twenty-four days." He replied quietly, his voice gentle as he watched him with a frown. "Is the food for me?"

"Yes." Airaul gave him a warm smile, moving to take the cup of stewed herbs. He pushed it carefully into his hands, urging the cold, slender fingers to wrap tight around the cup for its warmth. "I have new clothes for you here also, yet I think you would benefit from a night's sleep."

The dark haired young man took a grateful mouthful of the hot herb water, letting a shaking breath out at the way the powerful herbs relaxed him. He swung his legs up on the bed, setting the cup aside to pull the cover over himself. "I think you are right..." he said with a weak smile. His head settled all too easily against the pillow, having not slept for nights.

Airaul nodded with approval, sliding a cover over the cup to keep the liquid warm if he should wake in the night. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, you've been very kind," he replied gently, watching with eyes that were dull from grief and exhaustion.

Airaul gave a soft nod, standing to make his way to the door, his own bed beckoning.

"Do..." the voice from the bed was stronger than it had been before, yet strangely hesitant, "...do you have to go?"

Airaul paused, looking back over his shoulder to him with surprise, concern pulling him back to his bedside. "I have nothing further to do tonight," he said softly, watching him.

"Would you stay with me?" The visitor looked up at him with hopeful eyes, his warming hand reaching out for Airaul's.

The Initiate looked down at his hand with surprise, for a moment lost for words. It wasn't often he was asked to stay longer past his duties...in fact, many couldn't wait to get rid of him for some privacy and rest, and if they *did* want to speak to someone they would ask for one of the real Priest's of the Temple. "If you like." He knelt down by the bed, keeping the hand as he gave him a gentle smile.

The other youth smiled back to him with relief, pulling closer to the edge of the bed to be nearer to him. "Thank you, you must think me..."

"I think nothing of it." Airaul squeezed the hand, searching his features with a reassuring gaze. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Sylaen," he replied gently, his eyes lowering at admitting it. "Not that it means an awful lot anymore. They tell me I should change my name...I won't."

Airaul gave a weak smile, rubbing his hand. "A name is an important thing...sometimes, it can be all we have."

Sylaen nodded in gentle and tired agreement, watching him with a shaking breath. "I don't know what to do..."

"Shh..." Airaul frowned with compassion, reaching out to gently stroke his hair back. "Things are never as bad as we think. One day at a time. A good night's rest and things will look better in the morning. You are safe here."

Sylaen closed his eyes bitterly, shaking his head. "It's too late to be safe...it has come too late."

Airaul watched him with concern, touching his neck. "Sylaen?"

Sylaen licked his lips, tears escaping even his closed eyelids. "He killed my brother."

Airaul searched his features with surprise and regret before gently brushing the tears away with a thumb. "Who did?"

"Lord Pasral." Sylaen turned his face closer into the pillow, shaking his head with denial and pain. "He was younger than me...and Pasral had meant to kill both of us. I managed to get away...some friends helped me run away from Malania and brought me here, to be safe..."

"Sylaen..." Airaul whispered, shaking his head with pain for the other man's grief. He moved to lie carefully on the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around him to try and comfort him. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Sylaen gripped him tightly, burying his face against his shoulder as he shuddered with silent tears. "They slit his throat, but I ran...how could I have run?"

"Because you were protecting yourself," Airaul whispered to him before kissing his hair, stroking it soothingly. "There is nothing wrong in that."

"But he is dead!" Sylaen's fingers dug painfully into Airaul, but the Initiate didn't say a word. "He is dead, and I live...why him and not me? It's not fair...I feel so guilty. I should have died too..."

"And what good would that have done, hm?" Airaul said softly but firmly, even as he felt out of his depth. It was usually the Priests that dealt with such things, that comforted the people who sought help at the Temple, and so the only thing the young Initiate could offer the other youth was common compassion and empathy from one sixteen year old to another, even if Airaul's training made him feel a lot older than he truly was. "Where would be the sense in wasting your own life? You won't see it now, but... later, you will."

Sylaen shook his head against his shoulder, but didn't argue. He bit his lip gently, closing his eyes as he tried to calm himself. "Please, don't go..."

"I won't," Airaul promised, holding him tighter with a pained frown. "I would never..."

***

Airaul tried to stifle his yawn as he read allowed from a document to Castor who was his assigned tutor for the academic side of his training. He failed miserably in hiding the yawn and so decided he may as well rub his eyes as they desperately seemed to need.

Castor arched an eyebrow, watching him with surprise. "Rather unseemly, Airaul..." he chastised lightly.

"I'm sorry, Castor." Airaul sighed, reaching out for the glass of water he was allowed during his study hours. "I didn't sleep last night."

"You're not unwell are you?" The older man immediately reached out to touch his forehead, for despite the firm and formal manner he often treated Airaul with, he was fond of him.

"No, no..." Airaul chuckled weakly. "I sat up talking with Sylaen. He was upset, and...well he asked me to stay." He hesitantly met Castor's eyes, knowing that he was likely to be rebuked, as technically he should have called a priest to do such a job. "I know, I'm only an Initiate, but he asked, and I couldn't say no... he was crying and upset, and..."

"I understand." Castor held up a hand to halt him. "He is about your age, is he not? It is natural he would speak to you. Actually, I am relieved to hear this...the people that came with him were concerned at his silence during their journey...although that is hardly surprising after all he's been through."

"Yes, he was very close to his brother," Airaul said softly, feeling a pang of pain for him again.

"He has lost more than just a brother." Castor looked down at his hands with a regretful sigh. "To lose a father, and then a brother, and then his kingdom? He must be spinning..."

Airaul's head suddenly snapped up and his eyes narrowed. He leant forward with curiosity, prodding Castor's hand. "Kingdom?"

Castor lifted his gaze to Airaul's with surprise. "Yes, didn't he tell you?" He shut his mouth quickly, shaking his head. "If that is the case, it is not my place to say..."

Airaul frowned, and in a moment of irritation he kicked Castor's foot under the table. "You can't say something like that and then not carry on! It's unfair. Besides...you have me worried now. He has become... a friend."

Castor sighed, looking over at the stubborn student opposite him. "He is the son of the dead Revalis of the Malanian Emperor. He is the heir and the true ruler of Malania, as chosen by the gods..." he shook his head with anger. "However, Lord Pasral, the most powerful Lord on the Malanian Council has taken the throne for himself in an act of sacrilege, and tried to kill Sylaen and his brother to make sure they couldn't claim their rightful place as heirs to the title of Revalis. Sylaen managed to escape though, and some of the noble Houses loyal to him helped him get here to seek refuge in this Temple and under the neutrality of the Southern Islands."

Airaul had lifted a hand to cover his mouth in shock from the words. The young man he'd held all night was in fact the true Emperor of the Malanian Empire? The god appointed Revalis? And chased away from his home and empire by an ambitious Lord? It was horrific to think about...not just on a personal level, but on a religious one. It was believed by all those who worshiped the Aubian gods that the ruler of the royal families of the Ilikan and Malanian Empire were touched by the gods, and so each heir appointed to rule by the gods themselves...in fact, the line of the Revalis were seen as near demigods, and so the thought that an arrogant Lord had dared taken the throne away from a god appointed ruler as Sylaen was, and then tried to kill him, was a blasphemy of unthinkable, sickening corruption to the young Initiate who was devoting his life to the gods. "That's...that's appalling."

Castor nodded with agreement, reaching out for his hand. "And that is why we must help him all we can. One day, the time will come when he will be strong and wise enough to reclaim his throne and empire. Until then, we must keep him safe...and if he has found a friend in you, then all the better, for he will need one. The gods will approve the comfort and support you offer their chosen Revalis, even if does mean you yawning through your lessons..." He gave him a playful wink to lighten the atmosphere.

Airaul gave him a gentle smile in return, nodding firmly to his words, having already decided that he would do all he could to help Sylaen before taking the hint from Castor to get back to his reading.

"Tapestry." Part 2

Ensign Airaul Taern,
Tactical Officer

:: Aubis, Temple of Weovna, 19 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 18 years old) ::

"Airaul!" Sylaen smiled warmly as he ran into Airaul's small chamber. It was the day after Airaul's eighteenth birthday, and so the eve of his second initiation ceremony. Sylaen knew that it would mean a lot to someone who had devoted so much time and energy into his training and so had come to find him to see if he wanted to have an early celebration. The two young men had grown close over the two years of their acquaintanceship, and were by now the best of friends and practically inseparable. Closer than even brothers, many had commented.

Airaul gave a weak smile as he tuned to him from where he had been washing his face in the bowl of hot water. "Sylaen."

Sylaen was momentarily confused at the downbeat voice and body language, but quickly gave a grin. "Come on! Let's go and steal a bottle of Castor's spiced wine to celebrate tomorrow..."

"There is nothing to celebrate," Airaul said softly, the same weak smile on his lips as he watched Sylaen with fond eyes.

Sylaen's smile became a frown as he moved closer, reaching out to touch his neck. "What's wrong?"

Airaul was silent a long moment, searching his friend's features. It was there that he found the strength to know he was making the right decision. "I...I am not taking the second initiation."

"What?" Sylaen asked with shock, grabbing his shoulder. "Why? You passed your work, the Priests approved you...why would you not take it?"

Airaul smiled softly as he looked down with a weak chuckle. "I have decided on another career."

Sylaen watched him with wide, violet eyes, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. He had spoken nothing of this to him before...and a man didn't just change his ambitions over night. "To what?"

"A soldier." Airaul lifted his chin stubbornly. "Or more, a guard..." He met Sylaen's eyes, taking a deep breath as he straightened. "I am going to train as a soldier, so that I may become your guard. The Revalis' Guard."

Sylaen was at a loss for words for several moments as various emotions battled through him. Disbelief... excitement...relief...guilt...horror...he couldn't quite grasp it all. "But...but what about this? You love this! You love serving the gods..."

"And I still will be." Airaul gave him a warm smile, reaching out to touch his cheek. "You are the rightful Revalis, no matter if an unlawful Lord sits on your throne. You are appointed by the gods...by serving you and keeping you safe, I serve them."

A small smile of awe came to Sylaen's confused features, even as tears came to his eyes. "You would do this? You would do this for me? What does Castor think?"

"He agrees." Airaul laughed softly, taking his hands in his own. "He says that the gods would be pleased that someone was looking after their chosen Revalis, one of their own. Don't try and talk me out of this, Sylaen. I've thought long and hard, and if I do not do this, I will never be able to live with myself."

Sylaen met his eyes for a long moment before leaning forward, wrapping his arms tight around him. "Thank you," he whispered with heartfelt relief and emotion, knowing his friend had just made one of the biggest sacrifices there was in life, and for him.

*****

:: Aubis, Weovna, 17 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 20 years old) ::

With another flick of his blonde hair, Lord Drako contemplated the pretty little brunette, with her wide eyes and quick hands, he had left in his bed to come and meet with the supposed Revalis, Sylaen Ervae, and his rabble of a council.

As he entered the large chamber in an abandoned Temple on the coast that Sylaen was using as a temporary base of command, the sounds of Drako's sharp, staccato, booted footsteps on the harsh, stone floor echoed mournfully around the desolate wasteland that could be said to make the Revalis' Council Chamber. He didn't so much as spare the other chosen representatives of Sylaen's Council a glance as he swept down the room to his place at one end of the large table.

"Ah...Lord Drako, how good of you to finally grace us with your presence..." The sarcasm almost dripped from Lord Breval as Drako took his seat, still not bothering to look at anyone as he opened his files on the large, oval table.

"Indeed," Drako replied as he pulled a particular sheet of paper out of his file, "it is truly amazing how quickly time flees when helped along by an eager little brunette..." He looked up for the first time then, a charm filled smile on his face as his eyes fell upon the Priestess who was the most recent member to join the Council. "...but forgive me my uncouth welcome, I had forgotten that I was in such fair, beautiful company," he said with a slight bow to her.

Airaul had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the sickening display of charm from the Lord. He stood behind Sylaen's right shoulder, a clear gesture of guarding him, but also so that he may contribute to the Council as Sylaen himself had insisted.

Drako cast an almost calculating glance around the room to see whom he would be manipulating today out of the Council. He had always had a sly wit, even from a young age, and he used it to his own advancement and advantage...and all with a well practiced, charm filled smile and silver coated, well picked words to distract from the metaphorical knife in his hand ready to bury in a back or two. 12 out of the 15 of Sylaen's hand picked Council had turned up...must be important.

Sylaen turned to the longhaired man on his right-hand side with a small smile. "Continue, Greve."

Lord Greve cleared his throat before casting his eyes back down to the document in his hands. "...And so the conclusion of our as yet unsuccessful dealings with Lord Pasral is that he refuses to relinquish the throne of Malania back to you, the rightful Revalis."

"Come now, Greve." Drako smiled as he leant forward on the table. "We're all friends here...let us not waste time with politeness. We've walked in there, given them a list of demands we want, and not surprisingly, they've turned us out and laughed at our naivety."

There were various murmurs from around the table, some in agreement, others disapproving of his tone.

It was then that ‘Revalis' Sylaen spoke up properly for the first time. "We have been polite, we have been insistent, we have been patient...and we have been laughed at. I think it may be time for a more forceful approach."

"The Revalis is right..." The man named Usborne chimed in. "We shan't be laughed at."

"Hold on now..." Trelin suddenly interrupted. "We can't be so hasty...this is serious! If we act, it will be a decisive action, and shan't go by without retaliation from Lord Pasral. We're talking of war...Lord Pasral stole the throne from Sylaen, but now that he has it, he is hardly just going to stand and watch as we march with soldiers to retake it...he will fight back. Aubis is already in civil war with the Ilikan Empire and Malanian Empire having fought for over one hundred and fifty years! Do we really want to complicate things by introducing ourselves as a third army and power into this war?" He tried to bring reason to the proceedings, however all it resulted in doing was breaking the room out into argument, men for and against raising their voices to try and get theirs heard.

It carried on for several minutes, loud and noisy arguing that just grew louder and louder. Airaul sighed, shaking his head. He knew Sylaen's question had been coming, that it had been playing on Sylaen's mind for a few months. After all, he was old enough now to head an army...and negotiations with Lord Pasral had proven worthless. Sylaen wanted his throne back...he wanted the whole of Malania to call him Revalis, as it should be, not just those loyal to him that had followed him into exile out of that loyalty five years ago.

Airaul walked silently out of the bickering chaos of the council and to the beach. The cold of the air sent a shiver through him. Cold. He shook his head with a sigh as he walked over the night darkened beach and down to the waterside, listening and watching the waves to calm himself from the unwanted stress of the council chamber before looking upward instead. Staring up at the clear night sky, Airaul focussed in on the group of stars they called Heclor, representing the god of battle and fortune. Stray wisps blurred his view as his breath hit the cold air. His mind was still spinning from too many bickering voices demanding attention all at once from the chamber, and the only peace he could find was out on the coast under the sanctity of the night. The chaos of the meeting had been too much to take in, and he'd just needed to break free for a while.

"You should come inside. It's cold out here." Sylaen said quietly where he had walked silently to him across the sand, his eyes shining in the dark.

"Yes. Cold. A bad omen." Airaul said with a soft, strangely calm voice, not surprised that he had come outside after him...however, he didn't shift his gaze from his watch on the stars.

"You don't believe in all the superstition, do you?" Sylaen tried a weak chuckle, watching him with near appeal. Anything would do...a look...a word...anything that showed his closest friend hadn't given up on him.

"It was cold the night you arrived at the Temple. Brotherless...throneless." Airaul pointed out, narrowing his eyes as he watched the central star of Heclor's crown.

Sylaen looked down at the waves with a slight frown at the words. He clasped his hands nervously behind his back, a silence settling between them that was as heavy and dank as the night air.

"If you go to war, thousands of people will die in your name." Airaul broke the silence without warning, yet with a soft, philosophical tone.

"Airaul, I..." Sylaen began, ready to defend himself.

"If you go to war..." Airaul's voice interrupted him, yet gained no strength. "...I will gladly be one of them."

Sylaen's head snapped up as he fixed a gaze of shock on the man. He moved to him, a hand gripping his shoulder urgently. "Is that your support? Airaul, I can face down every man in that meeting if they speak against the idea of my moving to take back my empire, but not you...you are the one I need to say *yes, do it*."

Airaul finally turned to watch him, his eyes warm and his smile gentle. He carefully reached up, taking the hand on his shoulder to trap between both of his own. "Your hands are cold." He rubbed it gently, blowing on it. "Like the first night I met you. I felt sorry for you, but you soon blew that feeling away; I realised you were too strong to be felt sorry for, and that instead, you were just momentarily down and pressed upon. Two years after that first meeting, I gave up my pursuing a priesthood to the Weovna Temple..."

"I never asked you to d..."

"I gave up more than just a place in the Temple that day, Sylaen." Airaul met his eyes firmly, to tell him he hadn't finished. "I gave up my life...and I gave it up to you. I have already sworn my loyalty to you, dedicated my life to you, what more do you need?"

"I need you to tell me I am doing the right thing." Sylaen said quietly with a frown, moving to sit in the sand, his fingers teasing it.

"You don't need to hear my blessing." Airaul chuckled, kneeling in front of him with a fond smile. "You just want me to put your own doubts to rest."

"Maybe I do." Sylaen lifted his gaze, meeting Airaul's with an almost defiant look.

"And there is nothing wrong with that." Airaul chuckled, shaking his head. "I would be worried if you were willing to go to war without having doubts, or considering the consequences." He sighed, settling down as he thought through the best way to explain. "Sylaen, you are not just a man. You are the god given ruler of the Malanian Empire. Your vulnerability as a youth was taken advantage of by a savage, cruel man. It is sacrilege. It is about more than just you, the man. It is about you as god's appointed ruler. It is about Malania, and the gods, and the people. The war between the Ilikan Empire and the Malanian Empire has raged far past one hundred and fifty years. Now is the time to strike the Lord that sits on your throne, as he will be weakened under the pressure of attacks from two fronts...and the people of Malania will welcome you back with open arms, cheering you in a triumphant procession to have their true Revalis back "

"But as you said, thousands will die." Sylaen reminded softly, watching him with a weak smile.

"Have you not seen the death lists that the Lord Pretender that abuses your throne creates? He throws wave after wave of poor men at the Iliks with no tactics, thinking that numbers will win the day...and he does not care about the high death rates because they are not of his kind. That is not soldiering...it is slaughter. You would change that. You would reclaim the Malanian throne and fight a war as it is supposed to be fought. And who knows, maybe once you take back the power that is yours, you will find a way to bring peace to Aubis once and for all." Airaul gave him an almost playful smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"But the Ilik Empire is also mine by rights," Sylaen said firmly, meeting his eyes with a determined look. "As is the cause of this whole war...the throne of the Ilik Empire should have passed to the Malanian ruler, but the Ilikan council refused...hence, after I have reclaimed Malania, I will also take Ilik. I will not stop until I have what is rightfully in my guardianship."

"Then I think you have just answered your own questions brought up by your conscience, hm?" Airaul gave a small smile, squeezing his shoulder gently before getting up and walking past him. He moved all the way to the council chamber, pushing the large doors open and striding in. "The Revalis has made his decision. We will demand Lord Pasral relinquish the throne he has stolen to its rightful owner, Sylaen Ervae. If he refuses, we go to war."

Lord Breval shook his head with a sour look on his weathered features, the palm of his hand beating down on the table. "You cannot just declare war on your own Kingdom! The people will not accept him if they think he has slaughtered his way in...it must seem to have been done peacefully..."

"We are not declaring war on Malania, we are declaring war on Lord Pasral," Airaul said firmly, his voice strong as it carried through the chamber. "And the Iliks...as they are technically part of the Malanian Empire."

"We cannot fight a war on two fronts," Priestess Lynea said tiredly with a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Neither can Lord Pasral, so we should have no difficulty on our first task, should we," Airaul replied easily, arching an eyebrow at the woman he respected greatly.

"This is foolishness..." Lord Aosque said with flushed features, turning his face away.

Airaul's hands turned to fists as he pressed them on the table top, leaning heavily on them as he narrowed his eyes, staring down the table at the supercilious man. "Are you not loyal to your Revalis?"

Aosque turned his head sharply to look at Airaul with a surge of anger. "I voluntarily exiled myself from Malania to follow my Revalis in order to give him what support I could...so don't you *dare* speak to me of loyalty, boy."

"Well I see very little of it from you now!" Airaul countered sharply, as if rebuking a child himself. "He is your Revalis. You will obey his orders and respect his wishes."

"His orders?" A smooth voice came from the end of the table. Blue eyes watched him steadily from a regal set of features, a small, arrogant smile on the equally egotistical Lord Drako. He was a sly man, too intelligent as far as Airaul was concerned, and anything but trustworthy. A dangerous man, Airaul was sure, but as Drako had followed the Revalis into exile, Sylaen refused to hear a word against him. "Oh yes, I would *happily* follow my Revalis' orders... but the words I hear now do not come from him, but his guard..." Lord Drako arched an aloof eyebrow, running his eyes disapprovingly down Airaul. "A... mere soldier. You are not even a Lord...by what right do you sit upon the council, let alone speak for the Revalis?" His tone had become cold, and underneath the false, over placating smile, a touch of his well hidden poison briefly showed itself in his overconfidence at Sylaen not being in the room.

"The Revalis may choose who he wishes to sit on his council." Lord Greve interjected with a quiet sharpness. He was older than Airaul and Sylaen, and had always watched over them with a fondness for the young men, as well as being a sapient advisor...and one that had advised Sylaen's father before his untimely death. He too didn't trust Lord Drako...as far as he was concerned he was a young man who spent far too long admiring himself and worked for his own advancement rather than anyone else's. There was always another agenda to Drako's words or actions...however, he knew better than to speak against him to Sylaen, knowing he'd only push the stubborn young man into defending Drako and so making his influence all the more. "I think it is a good idea..." Greve pushed himself to his feet, looking around the others gathered. "Lord Pasral is not a man that can be reasoned with. The only way Revalis Sylaen will regain his throne is, however unfortunate it may be, by force."

"I agree." Ineol clapped his strong hand on the table in firm support. "We have sat and talked for far too long...it's time to bring the words to reality." He glanced to Airaul with a grin. "Perhaps a soldier's spirit is what we have needed."

Priestess Lynea gave a slow, considered nod, meeting Airaul's eyes. "We shall have to plan well...but it is a start."

Airaul gave her a warm smile, chuckling as he pulled himself back up to height. "We should start by uniting the Southern Islands as an Empire. We are a religious people here...we will support god's chosen Revalis and his cause. Using the combined strength of the Southern Islands, we can create ourselves a base from which to operate."

The tone of his voice signalled that there was nothing else to say until the next day when plans would begin, and that the tired supporters of Sylaen could go and get some rest. The people filed out of the room, talking amongst themselves, and it was only Lord Drako that hung back.

"It is amazing..." Drako drawled, moving close to Airaul as he met his eyes, a small smile on his lips that could also be described as a smirk. "...that they do not even question your words as being Sylaen's."

"That is because they trust me," Airaul replied pointedly, moving to walk past him.

Drako caught his arm on the way past, so halting him as they were pressed close together. He let his head drop forward a little so his lips were close to Airaul's ear. "No one is ever completely on your side."

Airaul turned his head to face him, the closeness unsettling. He could feel the other man's breath on his lips and skin, and it unwillingly made him tense, no matter how determined he was that he wouldn't let Drako intimidate him. "I am completely his."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." Drako used his arm to tug him even closer against him. "You can't hide behind him forever, Airaul."

"I don't need to," Airaul said through gritted teeth, searching his eyes with anger. "And I certainly don't need to hide from the likes of you."

"I'd watch that mouth of yours if I were you," Drako whispered with a mocking smile. "Sylaen may appreciate it, but I do not...and you are nothing. A glorified whore is all..." Drako ran a thumb over Airaul's bottom lip. "I would be careful playing your games if I were you, or you may be caught out..."

Airaul grabbed his wrist, ready to hit out against him before a voice from the doorway halted him.

"Airaul!" Sylaen strode in, surprise on his features as he moved to them, pulling them apart. "What are you doing!"

Airaul glared at Drako. "This Jalik was just..."

"Leaving," Drako interrupted, sweeping a low bow to Sylaen, his well practised charm firmly back in place. "It seems I inadvertently offended your honoured guard. My humble apologies, Revalis...I only mean to serve you well by asking sapient questions..." He flashed a charm filled smile to Sylaen before walking out.

Airaul stared after him, breathing heavily from anger that fumed in him. "That man is a sly, vicious Jalik..."

"Airaul, this has to stop!" Sylaen frowned, gripping the back of his neck as he met his eyes. "Calm down. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding..." He gently touched his hair, trying to soothe him. "He wants nothing but to be better friends with you, he has said so himself to me, and yet you push him away."

"Because I do not wish to swallow his poison, no matter how sweet he tries to make it seem." Airaul pulled away, walking out as he shook his head to himself, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he cursed both Drako and himself

"Tapestry." Part 3

Ensign Airaul Taern,
Tactical Officer

:: Aubis, Weovna, 16 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 21 years old) ::

Sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, Airaul leant down to do his boots up, a slight frown on his features. Things were getting complicated...and tense. Too many things hung in the balance for his liking, and he knew far more than the other soldiers in Sylaen's newly gathered army, due to his close relationship with their leader. In many ways, he envied the others who didn't know what went on behind the scenes...it was healthy for them to fight oblivious to the politics... and it hindered Airaul.

A slender hand slid up his naked back before lips brushed over his shoulder. "Come back to bed, Airaul..."

Airaul closed his eyes, swallowing back the nausea the woman's voice brought to him. He pulled away, standing up to find his belt. "No. I'm going."

The woman watched him from the bed with confusion, pulling the sheet a little higher up on her naked body. "You're leaving so soon?" A frown came to her...she wasn't stupid, she knew what that meant. "You're just going to run out on me?"

"It was a mistake, Alnia," Airaul said quietly, keeping his eyes down as he worked on getting his belt done up with almost aggressive hands.

"A mistake?" Alnia sat up with a laugh of disbelief. "Why?"

"Because I don't love you," Airaul said bluntly, turning away with frustration. He moved to the mirror, running his hands through his hair before looking at himself, leaning on the sink as he tried to keep dark thoughts pushed back. "I can't. I can't love anyone."

She stood up from the bed, unaware or ignoring her naked state as she moved behind him, staring at him in the mirror with an arched eyebrow. "And you decide that now? After you have had me in bed..."

"If you recall, it was you that virtually dragged me there," Airaul said sharply, keeping the gaze without backing down. "I didn't want it. I got pulled along and was too weak to stop. Stupid, I know..." He shook his head with a sigh, looking away.

"Yes, it is," she said sharply, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"My life is too full for love...or for women," Airaul replied with a frown, moving to grab his shirt, pulling it on roughly.

"Always about that bloody man..."

"That ‘man' is the rightful Revalis, and you will talk about him with respect!" Airaul suddenly spun back to face her, pointing with anger. "I swore my life to him, and now I fight for him in his army. Seeing him back to the throne of Malania is my duty and my life...I don't have time for distractions."

"The loyal dog..." Alnia muttered, moving close to him with angry eyes. "You think he thanks you for this ridiculously blind devotion? He cares so little that he sends you out into the common army to die with the others! If he really cared about you the same way you do of him, he would have you beside him, not under him!"

Airaul pulled close to her, anger flashing through his eyes and colour rising to his cheeks at the words. He stared a long moment before forcing himself away, grabbing his uniform jacket on the way to the door. "Don't ever contact me again..." he snapped, slamming the door on his way out.

*****

:: Aubis, Weovna, 13 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 24 years old) ::

"Pass the Jintz, will you?" Airaul stretched an arm out at the side of the campfire to the soldier lounging to his right. The fire was more for light in the mild night air rather than heat. His Section had been camped out for three days, waiting for the attack that would come from the Malanian army...the attack they weren't supposed to know about, and yet knew, but pretended not to, even as the Malanian's knew they knew, and also pretended not to know that they knew........

Airaul shook his head clear of the confusing train of thought with a small chuckle, taking the bottle of strong alcohol with a dirty hand. He took a large swig, moaning at the glow that came form the comforting liquid.

"What are you thinking about, Airaul?" Geovna asked with a grin as he turned to lay on his side so he could watch him.

"Me?" Airaul let his head rest on his hand, stretching out on the soft grass himself. "Thinking about how glad I am you're so good at brewing this stuff." He watched him with a grin before lifting the bottle in a toast and taking another mouthful.

Geovna chuckled softly, turning onto his back to look up at the sky. "I'm thinking about when they will come to attack us."

Airaul glanced across to him before respectfully looking away. "You're...anxious?"

"No." Geovna sighed, giving a wide smile as he tucked his hands comfortably under his head. "Just wish they'd get a bloody move on...I want a bath."

Airaul laughed warmly, shaking his head with a fondness that had grown for the other soldier. "Geovna, we've been doing this for months now...I'd have thought you'd be used to the lack of something so silly..."

"Silly?" Geovna threw a stick at him with a laugh. "Well, it suddenly becomes clear why you're not married yet..."

"Hey!" Airaul threw the stick back at him with a chuckle. "Marriage is not part of my plan."

"Oh?" Geovna rolled onto his side, watching him with sudden curiosity.

"It gets in the way when you're a soldier." Airaul gave him a small smile.

"But one day, this will all be over, and what will you do then?" Geovna asked with confusion, taking the bottle off of him.

"This won't be over for a long time." Airaul gave a weak smile, looking down at his hands as he gently picked at a blade of grass. "The war has been manic for near to 200 years...do you really think that our army will make much difference? A third side will only complicate things further, my friend..."

"Well, aren't you a bloody cheerful bastard!" Geovna laughed, offering the bottle back over. "Here, I think you need this more than me..."

"Taern!"

Airaul looked over his shoulder to see the Commander standing outside the tent, motioning for him to join him. He gave a sigh, pushing himself up, letting his hand lay on Geovna's shoulder as he walked past him. "Have fun, soldier..." He carried on past to his immediate commander, second in command of the Section himself having been pressed into Officer training on Sylaen's wishes. "Sir?"

"Come inside," Commander Olbak replied with a rich, stern voice, already leading the way. He sat himself behind his desk that had been set up for him, sipping wine. "Do you always drink with the soldiers?"

"Mostly," Airaul replied with mild confusion.

"Do you not think it better if you got to know the other officers a little better instead of hiding amongst the enlisted?" Olbak asked without looking up, shifting a computer slate across the table.

"No," Airaul replied simply, folding his arms as he watched his superior. "I doubt that's all you wanted..."

Olbak gave a small, wry smile as he glanced up at him, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. "Of course not, sit down, Airaul."

Airaul gave a hesitant nod, moving to sit in the chair opposite. He adjusted his collar uncomfortably, unable to get comfortable in the officer's uniform. "Sir?"

"My intelligence agents tell me that the Malanians are on their way. They want to take control of Weovna to try and split the Southern Islands." Olbak watched him with sharp eyes.

Airaul sighed heavily, nodding with understanding. It made sense after all...the Southern Islands had been united into one Empire under Sylaen's rule. They'd even been renamed the Sylaen Islands. "For all the good it will do them. One moment one of us makes a gain, the next moment it's taken back again. We're moving a footstep at a time and making no clear gains...that goes for all sides."

"I need you to get the men ready, it will be a difficult battle...they have sent large numbers, more than usual." Olbak looked back down, pressing a button on the computer slide, clearly having dismissed him.

"Yes, Sir." Airaul pushed himself up, eagerly walking away.

"Airaul..."

Airaul paused, cursing under his breath...he should have known it wouldn't be that easy, especially when he just wanted to get out of his uniform jacket. "Yes, Sir?"

"After this battle I will be leaving the Section." Olbak looked up at him, his dark eyes meeting Airaul's in an intense gaze. "I have been promoted. I will take up a place as one of the Revalis' Generals."

"Oh..." Airaul blinked with surprise, watching him a long moment before giving a slight smile. "Congratulations, Sir."

"Hm." Olbak chuckled, almost as if to a secret joke. "Quite. It means that after this fight you will no longer be my Second. You will be the Commander of this Section."

Airaul's eyes widened as he watched him with shock. Him? So soon? Already? "Sir?"

"Well, you'd better get a little quicker before then, or the whole Section's in trouble..." Olbak commented lightly, looking back at his work with a small smile.

A grin spread across Airaul's face as he watched him, excitement welling up through him. "Yes Sir..." He swung himself outside of the tent, running through the camp and barking orders with a new enthusiasm and energy.

****

:: Aubis, Weovna, 8 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 29 years old) ::

Airaul watched himself in the full length mirror, gently trying to tug the uniform jacket into place...and then not so gently trying again. It had been three months since he had been promoted to General, earning one of the places at Sylaen's side to advise him in battle and direct the army where needed. It still made him smile, to know that Sylaen trusted him enough to the position. Unfortunately, however, this particular night was dedicated to a feast of celebration at the taking of a Malanian Island...and it was the social side of his new position he wasn't used to yet.

He ran his hand over the front of the jacket, chuckling slightly...he had broadened out across the chest from a mixture of natural growth and the largely physical training required for the close combat with blades in battles. A knock came at the door of the chamber that had been given to him at the top of the large fortress that had been built in the honour of Sylaen to serve as his command base on the Sylaen Islands. Airaul glanced to the door in the reflection of the mirror, arching an eyebrow with curiosity. "Come in!"

Much to his surprise it was a female figure that slid into the room, and Alnia watched him with uncertain eyes. "It's been a long time."

Airaul's hands stopped what they were doing, slowly dropping as he turned to face the woman that had once been a friend before their brief encounter of one night years before. "I told you I never wanted to see you again."

"I know." Alnia looked down a long moment, licking her lips before taking a breath. "Airaul, I'm sorry for what I said. I shouldn't have said it...I knew it would hurt, and well...that's why I said it."

Airaul watched her with confusion for a moment, searching her features...that couldn't be it. "Why the sudden apology? It's been years, Alnia."

"Because there's more than just us involved now." She moved past him to the window, looking out with a frown.

His eyes followed her curiously, and for as much common sense as he had developed during his years as a soldier and then officer, he didn't understand what she meant. "What?"

"Oh for goodness sake, Airaul, I have a daughter," Alnia exclaimed with frustration, turning sharply to watch him with shining eyes.

Fear chased shock across his features as he searched her eyes, shaking his head. It took several moments for him to not only take the words in, but to accept them as having been spoken. "And...I am..."

"Yes," She said impatiently, waving her hand. "For a General, you're not all that quick, are you." She sighed, looking away with a frown.

"But...but you can't..." He watched her with something close to panic. "I told you, my life is too full for anything else...I have my cause, and that is the Revalis..."

"Oh, I don't want you to be a father." She gave a weak laugh, watching him with eyes that spoke of defeat. "But she asked about you, and I think you should meet each other."

Airaul watched her with horror a long moment before turning sharply back to watch himself in the mirror, busying himself with trying to get his jacket straight. "Oh, you do? You suddenly decide, and so it must be so? Why didn't you tell me this when you gave birth to her!"

"You said it yourself; your life is too full for a child." She watched his back, taking the chance to catch her breath. "If you didn't know about her, you couldn't reject her. Simple."

"You have a twisted sense of logic..." Airaul muttered, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror as he struggled to take it all in.

"Look, I'm here now." She moved to him, taking hold of his arm to make him face her. "I don't want you as her father...I don't want your money, and I don't want your pity. All I want is to give her the chance to meet you. She's asking questions...a seven year old wants to know these things."

Airaul met her eyes, a look of awe coming to his features. "Seven already?"

"Yes." Alnia looked down with a soft smile. "Doesn't seem that long, does it."

He shook his head numbly, moving to sit down. His head dropped into his hands before they pushed through his hair. "This is unfair...that you just push this onto me with no warning or preparation..."

"I know," she confessed, her hand rubbing nervously against her waist. "I had no idea how to break it to you after all this time, and...well...you always did like to be blunt yourself."

"I cannot be a father," Airaul said quietly, frowning with near pain as he rubbed the palms of his hands restlessly together.

"She doesn't need you to be a father. She just needs a name and a face...a contact." Alnia watched him with hopeful eyes. "She has written lots of letters to you already...she just wants to see you, talk to you, learn about you...and perhaps write to you now and then. I don't expect you to play the role of a real father. I wouldn't ask that of you."

Airaul watched the ground, his breath shaking as he reached for the flask in his pocket. Shaking fingers opened it up, and he took a good mouthful of the burning alcohol. "Fine."

Alnia watched him with surprise before giving a happy smile. She ran to him, wrapping her arms tight around him with gratitude. "You'll make her very happy."

Airaul gave a silent nod, closing his eyes tiredly as he looked away with pain, almost unable to accept what was happening to him.

The woman took it as a cue of dismissal, thanking him one more time before moving hurriedly away, her steps quickened with fresh energy that surged through her at her success.

"Tapestry." Part 4

Ensign Airaul Taern,
Tactical Officer

:: Aubis, Weovna, 6 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 31 years old) ::

Blowing smoke up at the night sky, Airaul's eyes followed the winding whips until his gaze was drawn to the stars instead. He was laid out on the sand, the sea just a stone's throw away. He spent many of his evenings with Sylaen, but his friend had taken an early night. Airaul sought his comfort on the beach instead.

"My my, I didn't realise you were so... lower-class these days..." Drako drawled from where he had halted near his head, looking down onto him with an arched eyebrow. "But then, I am forgetting...those are your roots after all."

Airaul sighed, sitting up as he ran his hands through his hair. "Can't you just pick up on my hints and stay out of my way?"

"Now where would the fun be in that?" Drako chuckled, moving to stand in front of him, gripping his cane with both hands.

"You are one sick bastard." Airaul pushed himself up, turning to walk away himself seeing as the other man wasn't about to leave himself.

"You know, you have had some very interesting correspondence," Drako said with an affectedly casual voice, tracing the cane in the sand. "That little girl really dotes on you."

Airaul turned sharply, glaring at him. "You have been reading my letters? How dare you!" He started to advance on him.

Drako lifted the cane a little, pointing it in warning at him. "What better way is there to find out what is going on around here. It is strange though...you profess such a close bond with Sylaen, and yet you haven't told him about your daughter..."

"It is none of your business!" Airaul snatched hold of the cane, yanking hard on it to pull it out of his hands.

Drako moved close against him, grabbing the cane and struggling with him to get it back. He pulled on it hard, and so pulling Airaul to press tight against him. "Not such a perfect brother now, are you!" He hissed, grabbing for his jaw. "I swear it, Airaul, I am going to pry you away from him like the parasite you are! You are nothing, and you speak as if you own the Empires, *and* him! Arrogant initiate who crawled his way up into the Revalis' favour and into his lap! Just wait, Airaul, I will have him under *my* influence, and when I do, nothing will stop me from achieving my potential...and I'll have you knocked back down into your proper place!" He pulled his face closer with a cold smile. "Perhaps I will even take you as a slave, how would you like that, *General*..."

Airaul suddenly pulled the cane back into his own control, using it to hit Drako hard in the jaw and so forcing the man away. Airaul rubbed his own jaw, breathing hard with adrenaline and anger. He pointed the cane at the shocked man, his eyes narrowing. "You! If you *ever* even *look* at me in a way I don't like again, I will tie rocks to you, take you out there, and drop you into the sea!" He threw his cane at him, turning and striding away from Drako and the beach, thoughts racing through his head and clouded by anger.

*****

:: Aubis, Weovna, 5 years previous to current timeline (Airaul 32 years old) ::

"Please, Sylaen...don't make me do this. I'll do anything you want me to, but not *this*..." Airaul watched the man lounged in the throne, frustration building quickly inside him. Despite the two men being the same age, the Revalis looked younger for his slender build and pale skin that was made to look even paler because of the long, black hair hanging down over his shoulders.

Airaul still couldn't quite grasp why his friend would ask something this...cruel of him. With the whole of Aubis at war, Sylaen needed all his officers and advisors around him...and yet, it was Sylaen himself who told him to leave and join Starfleet.

"If you'd do anything for me, then you will do this." Sylaen said firmly, watching his General and closest friend with tender eyes...he could see the confusion and hurt in the green eyes watching him, but Sylaen had his reasons to ask something so difficult of his friend.

"Sylaen..." Airaul watched him at a loss, his hand half held out in both protest and appeal. He walked up the stairs to the throne, kneeling at his feet. "You are my Revalis, the rightful leader of the people so invested by the gods; I will serve you well...I will follow orders you give me. More, you are my closest friend, my loyalty to you is unchallenged by anything else...but as such a friend, I beg that you let me stay here..."

Sylaen gave a soft smile, leaning down to him to touch his face. "I have my reasons for asking this of you...I don't do it just to be cruel."

"I know that." Airaul nodded firmly, watching him as he took the hand in both of his own. "It's just...you ask me to leave my home, and my position as General...and you. You ask me to leave you when the battle is becoming more difficult than ever! I would never forgive myself if something should happen to you whilst I'm gone."

The Revalis gave a sigh, getting up to stand, and pulling Airaul with him. He met his eyes, lowering his voice despite no one else being in the main hall of the fortress that served as a throne room. "Airaul, it is *because* the fighting is getting so tight that I ask this of you. I have considered asking the Federation for aid in winning this civil war in the future. It will look far better when I have been seen to send not only a group of soldiers to serve Starfleet, but also one of my most trusted Generals..."

"But Sylaen..."

"And you *are* one of my most trusted Generals..." Sylaen took hold of the side of his face firmly, as a gesture of control that said he would listen to him. He met his eyes with both compassion and resolution. "And as such, I would send no one else there to get to grips with their culture, and work out what makes them get excited and what they are all about so I can better know how to appeal to them effectively and what use they may be to me, Hm?"

Airaul gave a heavy sigh, looking down. He knew he was right. He understood. Of course he did...but that didn't mean he had to like it. And besides...he could be asked to do something that didn't make any sense at all, and he would have done it, just because it was Sylaen, the Revalis of the Sylaen Islands and by all rights the Malanian Empire, who told him to. "Yes, my Lord."

"Don't be like that," Sylaen whispered, resting his forehead against Airaul's with a pained frown. "I need you to do this for me, and I would trust no one else. We will talk regularly, and I will send you our progress reports as often as possible. Nothing will pass you by, you have my word."

Airaul pulled his head back a little to be able to search his eyes. To the people of Aubis, the royal line of the Empires were believed to be divine themselves, to have something of the gods about them. As a religious man, Airaul had no doubt of it himself, and as he watched the Revalis, he felt the same spiritual lift as he always did. Even those who did not believe in it could not explain the aura around the Revalis, always giving calm and awe to others. Airaul drew on the strength of it, giving a small chuckle and one of his trademark grins. "I expect a banquet in my honour every time I return..."

Sylaen gave a warm laugh of both relief and fondness, clasping his shoulder gratefully. "Anything you want, it's yours. Anything."

"Hm..." Airaul sighed with a weak smile, moving to look out of one the large, arch windows, his hands almost caressing the smooth stone it was crafted from. "They will expect me to attend their ‘Academy', where I'll have to sit lessons in things I've been doing for years. I will have to give up my rank as General and start at Starfleet's lowest rank, you know...what is it, anyway?"

"Ensign, I think..." Sylaen replied with a slight frown, reaching out to pour a drink.

"Ensign." Airaul gave a snort, shaking his head. "I'll be terrible..." He glanced back over his shoulder at him with a small smile. "I sometimes think my life would have been so much simpler if I'd never met you..." he said playfully, knowing that Sylaen would realise he didn't mean a word of it.

"Yes, you would have been a priest," Sylaen pointed out with an arched eyebrow, violet eyes dancing with amusement as they watched him. "Which would have meant no drink, no banquets, no bars, no promiscuousness...so really, I saved your life."

"Hm..." Airaul watched him with a fond smile even as he narrowed his eyes playfully. "I'll hold onto that thought when I have to endure target practice with a class full of children..."

****

:: A few weeks previous to current timeline ::

His fingers gently ran over the stitching of the uniform as he pulled the jacket on. He watched himself in the mirror, the fingers questing further to brush over the pin on the collar of a single circle.

Ensign.

As Airaul met his own eyes in the mirror, he couldn't help but chuckle. From General to Ensign. If he didn't laugh, he'd cry.

The Academy had been torture for him. Lessons in things he'd already been taught or had found through the experience of life, and surrounded by ‘children' half his age. He had thought camp life at home had been testing...it was the most appealing thing in the world in comparison to Academy life.

Still, it was over and done with. Out the way. Just service to the Federation for goodness knew how long to look forward to. Airaul couldn't help a slight grimace.

He had nothing against the Federation or Starfleet. He found the ideals admirable and the achievements creditable. It was just...just that...

"I should be looking out for Sylaen..." Airaul whispered to himself, searching his own features. He turned sharply away, having to remind himself that he was doing this for Sylaen in the first place. He reached for the bottle of Jintz, taking a large mouthful with a sigh. He'd been using it more and more to see himself through the night; it reminded him of home.

*****

:: Starbase 212, current timeline ::

"So what is this new ship's name?"

"The USS Galaxy." Airaul looked at Sylaen on the monitor, giving a small smile to him as he sipped his drink.

"Quite a name to live up to." Sylaen chuckled as his hand reached off screen, picking at some food.

Airaul nodded with agreement, shifting to get comfortable in his seat. "I board soon, until then I'm free to enjoy the Starbase's offerings."

"Really..." Sylaen arched a playful eyebrow at him, laughing softly.

"Don't look at me like that...they're civilised offerings," Airual assured with a grin, shaking his head as he glanced down. "I miss the offerings of home."

Sylaen watched him a long moment with a guilty frown before leaning forward. "Airaul, I *do* appreciate this," he said in a low voice. "You may not think so, but I do."

Airaul lifted his gaze to watch him with surprise, a slow smile making its way to his features. "I know." Airaul watched him for a long moment. "I miss you too, you know."

Sylaen laughed warmly, looking down as his violet eyes shone. "Don't worry. Greve is looking after me...as well as Drako."

Airaul sighed, shaking his head wearily as he looked away. "That's what I'm worried about..."

"Airaul, I don't know *what* you've got against him, but he's only ever been loyal to me." Sylaen arched an eyebrow as he tilted his head thoughtfully to one side. "You have nothing to worry about, brother... nothing..." His head turned suddenly as background noise came through. "I have to leave you, Airaul. The meeting it about to start."

Airaul nodded with understanding, smiling warmly to him. "Good luck. I'll speak to you tomorrow, Sylaen, keep safe." He laid his hands horizontally, palms facing each other and close to offer a prayer to him.

"Goodbye, Airaul...I'll send you the notes from the meeting," Sylaen promised with a warm smile before leaning forward to the controls.

Airaul watched as the screen went black, his smile weakening as he watched it a moment. He had to force himself into movement away from the desk, pushing himself up and moving to the viewport with determined features. The USS Galaxy? He hoped it really did live up to its namesake...he needed a good distraction.

Bajoran Noon – The Naked King, part I"

Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Controller,
USS Valkyrie

Ensign Saul Bental,
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

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

Rosenthal was an obvious target.

Most of the Bentals, both young and old, had business with him at one time or the other. He was 'a friend of the family', yet not an actual part of it. When you dealt with him, you knew he's not going to backstab you – he had an interest in keeping a good working relationship with the Bental family, and obviously if you had problems with one branch, the others aren't going to remain indifferent.

Saul knew that if Rosenthal would be taken out of the game, it would cause trouble to most of Saul's family. It would be unexpected – since Rosenthal was a very careful businessman, and didn't take chances with the law - and the damage to business would be distributed across the family equally. Yet it wouldn't be troublesome enough for someone to suspect.

Perfect.

Saul finished going through the contents of a small bag he carried from the Valkyrie. The bag contained some of the more sophisticated equipment he found on the Intelligence center. The gadgets wouldn't shame the most cunning and stealthy SFI agent. By both testing them and trashing Rosenthal's plans, he would hit two birds with a single stone – just the way he liked it.

The art of combination, you see, was the pride of all Bentals.

Saul lifted the bag, and strapped it around his shoulders. He wasn't worried about the bags' contents being discovered, since the bag was designed to disintegrate if anyone who doesn't have a specific Genetic signature – Saul's in this case – would touch it.

Chirps of early-morning bird-like animals came through the window, and the sun's first rays dimly lit the room. Saul approached Miramon, who was sitting down in one of the chairs, thinking through the encounter he'd had with his family yesterday. Hadn't precisely gone to plan, but it could, inevitably, have been a lot worse.

"How would you like to do a good deed?", Saul asked Miramon.

Miramon looked up with a slightly curious expression. "Good deed? I'm no boy-scout, to put it into human terms, but I don't suppose we've anything better to do right now. What do you have in mind?"

"There's a priest in this province that is selling relics related to the emissary, and gives blessings. However… my sources tell me that he's actually a fraud. No offense, but since this province is rather backwater and its people have strong religious faith, it is an easy pray for such an imposter."

"That would be obvious. I wonder why nobody else noticed. Anyway, what's your plan?"

"I was thinking about tearing the mask off the faces of this imposter – Leen Derim, he's called – and his assistant, who is a Human I'm afraid to say. I don't like people being taken advantage because of their beliefs, and I don't like someone from my own people exploiting the weakness of another race for his own profit. What do you say? Are you with me?"

The Bajoran nodded, but narrowed his eyes slightly. "Kinda unusual just to jump in and take effort to do that kind of thing without a motive. What's going on?"

Saul shrugged. "Usually, when I have a mission - in our case, finding the AWOL officer - anything like that would be considered secondary. However, the Human assistant is a man I know personally. He was born on the same planet as me, Utrecht III. That makes it kind of personal.. but in the end, it's just a good deed."

The Bajoran nodded, beginning to understand, and realizing that it was probably best not to ask any more questions. The glint in Saul's eye wasn't as friendly as it had been for the past day or two, and frankly, the human had been really helpful to him recently, so it was only polite to return the favour in kind.

"Anyway, I heard two people talking in the town square when we first came, and it seems that Leen making an appearance at an auction of heavy agricultural equipment that will take place this afternoon not far from here. A place called 'Ramatasha Ron'. Familiar with it?"

Miramon smiled. "Of course. I was born here, after all, so you can hardly expect me not to. I went there a few times when the Resistance ended. Not a bad place to go if you're not inclined to stick around home, if you know what I mean. Anyway, go on."

"Now.", Saul proceeded, folding his armed. "I reckon that if we just march in there and declare that the good priest is a fraud, we won't get any results."

"So you have something a little more subtle in mind, right? I can see why you went into Intelligence."

Saul smiled lightly at that comment. "I had something thought out, but I'm open to ideas. After all, you're more familiar with this territory than I am."

"Well, territorial knowledge won't be much help for this venture, I suspect."

"Here's what I had in mind." Saul began after taking a moment to arrange his thoughts. "There's a Terran children's tale about the naked king which can help us."

"The naked king?"

"Oh yes." Saul's voice turned a little more dramatic. "Once, in a remote kingdom, there was a king which sought the most beautiful cloths, to distinguish him from the kings of other realms. Tailor and weavers from across the world came, but no one manages to weave an outfit which the king found satisfactory. Monarchs, you know."

Miramon nodded.

"One day two crooks came to the palace, and said that they can make the most beautiful outfit. The king gave them one month and a bag full of gold to purchase whatever materials they needed. At the end of the month, they came to him and the elder 'tailor' gave him... air. The king began to rage, but quickly the two 'tailors' explained to him that the outfit was very unique. Only smart people could see it, and it was invisible to stupid people, that's what they explained to him. The king didn't see the cloth - which wasn't there - but didn't want the others to think that he's stupid. To cut things short, he went on a march to display the new outfit to the commoners, and in the middle of the march a small child shouted that the king is naked. The king's stupidity was revealed, the frauds were caught and hanged, the end."

"Clever deception, all in all. But how does this relate to the plan?"

Saul quickly explained Miramon the details of his plan. The Bajoran chuckled as the outline came into his mind and he saw how it would formulate.

"Okay, I like it. I just hope my people are co-operative - since what you plan to do is slightly....risky for our friends out there, I don't necessarily see how you intend to prevent them getting shot as opposed to arrested. Some tensions here still run high, you know."

"You see? I told you I needed a local point of view." said Saul. "I read that no weapons are permitted on the fair's grounds except for stun weapons carried by the local police. I have some other tricks in my little 'surprise bag', and a backup plan. The guy isn't going to get hurt. Well, maybe bruised a little, but heck - he deserves it."

Miramon raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. It might have surprised Saul to know that most Bajorans would show very little feeling about killing someone if they made any particular aggressive moves, given the sheer intensity of the Resistance and the militaristic lives forced upon them as a result of the Occupation, but he kept his peace and said nothing overtly to disturb the Intel officer's train of thought. He just hoped things would go as smoothly as Saul's optimism suggested. The plan sounded simple enough, after all...

"Right, well, okay. Let's get to it, then."

With that, the two silently left the house, doing their best not to disturb the rest of the sleeping household. After all, they'd already said their goodbyes the evening before, and the two had indicated an early start, so it was best not to force Miramon into further discomfort by waking his sister or, the Prophet's forbid, his parents.

*****

The sun already peaked in the sky and began to descend as the two men reached the front of the line that lead to the main entrance to the auction grounds. The auction fair was held once a Bajoran month during that particular season, and attracted people from across the province. It was very colorful, just like fairs should be. Here, a little girl in silky robe sold earrings and other jewelry. There, an elderly man whose face were painted with vivid orange and purple colors told a story to a crowd of fascinated children. A young man holding some sort of farm animal bumped into Saul, then nodded and apologized. Miramon dismissed the apology with a smile as Saul's bags were searched by the guard at the entrance.

Amazingly, Saul passed the check without his toys being revealed.

Miramon, who carried nothing, passed the check even faster and joined his friend, who was now examining some fine vases displayed by a member of the artistic caste.

Saul already purchased an earring and a scarf, and for a moment there he made Miramon think that he forgot about the original reason of their visit.

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

"According to the schedule I saw at your parents' house, we have fifteen minutes before priests starts his show. He's going to appear there." Saul pointed at a stage next to a tent in the middle of the auction fair grounds, "Five minutes after the auction ends. When it starts, give me ten minutes, then operate this."

Saul pulled an innocent-looking black box from his bag. The box could fit into a pocket, and was warm to the touch. Perhaps it was an illusion, but Miramon was sure that it hummed.

"This is the projector. I'll sneak into the priest's trailer, look for incriminating material, and prepare the back up plan in case things goes wrong. Worst case scenario, a tap of the ole' commbadge and we're back on the Valkyrie."

Miramon looked somewhat puzzled at that one. "Uh, Saul, you're not wearing your commbadge and neither am I. That'd be as good as announcing ourselves as Starfleet officers to the rest of Bajor, wouldn't it? Oh, and you're ear-cuff isn't on straight" he said, reaching out to adjust it properly on Saul's left ear. The ornamental jewellry probably hurt a little, since Bajorans were used to wearing them, and their ears were slightly thicker than those of a human. The cuffs could be a little tight.

"Thanks..." Saul said, adjusting to it. "My own commbadge is in the bag, I set it on silent mode... at any case I don't think we'll need evacuation or anything, after all we're doing something very delicate and relatively risk free."

Stepping back slightly, the Bajoran looked down at the projector for a moment, then took the black object in one hand before slipping it into the inside pocket of the blue jacket he wore.

"Right. I'm ready to go for it."

Saul tapped on Miramon's back, then dashed into the crowd and vanished within seconds.

Miramon watched as the Terran disappeared, then turned to walk slowly towards the back of the crowd that was gathering to listen to this preacher. Several Bajorans in simple cloths helped to arrange a small stage in the middle of the field. They wore 'clod' earrings, marking them as the aides of a holy-man. In a tradition which lived in Miramon's province for years, they spread clods of soil on the stage prior to the holy man's arrival.

When Leen the priest finally stepped into the stage, Miramon was surprised when the Bajoran appeared wearing the robes of a Prylar - the traditional head of a shrine or temple of the religious caste of Bajoran society. How it was the Vedeks or even the Kai herself hadn't spotted this guy, he wasn't sure. Still, there were so many members of the religious order running around now, not all of them would have been noticed, he supposed.

The false preacher was now walking amongst the crowd speaking some blessings in native Bajoran - now he thought about it, the annunciation of the language didn't sound right. It was unlikely any of the other Bajorans in the crowd would notice - most of them never got to hear a person of another race pronounce their language, so they'd hardly know the difference. It was extremely amusing that this one chose to talk about the Emissary - not likely a guy he'd ever actually met.

The Bajoran had been somewhat skeptical of the claim that a Starfleet commander, no, captain come to think of it could be the Emissary of legend, especially since he was indeed a member of starfleet, and just that kind of mantle was mostly forbidden to be used by starfleet lest it contravene the Prime Directive, but even the Federation Council hadn't objected to it, and though the Emissary himself had been reluctant to take the title, many of the actions he had taken had been prophesised by previous religious figures on the planet, so nobody could really doubt it.

Glancing behind this prophet, the Bajoran tried to catch a glimpse of Saul, though unfortunately he couldn't see anything of him. What was he doing, he had to wonder?

"The end of the vacation"

****

They had been sweeping the planets in the system, not really expecting to find much but obeying the orders of the Attendant, when they had discovered the life signs. After that it had not been hard to discover the survivors or their camp.

The Klingon rescue party would later collectively frown by what they found there.

The Fruna'lin had been found pulling parts off of the wrecked shuttle, his wings flapping in either irritation or with the need to cool himself off. He had scowled when he had spotted them, cursed some in his native language, before greeting them in Federation Standard. "About damn time."

The Trill had givien the a tired smile when they had entered the cave. His charge, a bound Kerellian, had said nothing coherent, merely sat there muttering and working at his bindings.

"He should be put out of his misery." One of the Klingon snarled.

Corran stood then, barring the warrior from action. "I don't think so, Bekk." Rex replied, now fully integrated fro the first time in years. There were no more voices in his head, no more internal arguments. He was Corran, but mostly... he was just Rex. And the vial in his ragged pocked would see to it that he would keep it that way. "He's not well. When we get back to our ship, he will be fine."

"We should not carry such a .. defective." The bekk replied in a clearly disdainful tone.

"Don't make me kill you." The Trill said firmly. The Klingon met his eyes then, and realized that the smaller alien was wholly serious.

"What is he to you, Trill?"

"He's my friend." Corran replied quietly. "Cutter, stay with the Klingons and Curtis - I'll get Ella."

The avian science officer simply nodded.

Corran moved into the tunnels at the back of the cave, and began calling Ella's name. This would likely take some time. Though he and Cutter had stopped Curtis from.. well, they'd stopped him... Ella had only come out while the others were asleep since the incident.

Corran had been brining food to her - the various lizards and snakes and other assorted things they'd been eating for weeks now - and she had taught him sign language in that time.

With Curtis.. incapacitated, even Ella needed someone to talk to.

The human female had been difficult. It had taken nearly half an hour to track her down in the tunnels of the cave and only after much debate (gestures on her part), and threats by the rescue party, the Trill was finally able to convince her to leave her hiding place. She looked exhausted, dirty, and wouldn't let anyone touch her.

She also wouldn't meet the eyes of the bound Kerellian.

The long stay of the Federation officers on the unknown planet ended in two seconds as they were beemed aboard the Klingon ship.

“ Running North ”

Consular Attaché Richard North
Diplomatic Officer
USS Galaxy

&

Ensign Miranda X. Sanchez
Medical Officer
USS Galaxy

~~~

Location: Starbase 212, Corridors
Time: 1830

~~~

After the odd night she had had with her young brother, and the trip back to Starbase 212, she needed something to relax her mind, and get things back in order, before her first assignment with the Galaxy came around. A nice run sounded like just the thing to do it. Changing into loose cotton pants, and a tight fitted thank top, the doctor wanted to run for the next hour. The track was nice and large, having some curves to it, so one didn’t feel like a mouse running in circles. Ensign Miranda Sanchez stepped on the turbo-lift and made her way down the corridor, which lead towards the gymnasium.

Richard North hobbled down the corridor heading away from the gym...sort of. He wanted to go there and work his leg out so eventually it could get stronger. Unfortunately for him, his running partner had other plans. A sour expression played across his face as he realized just how stupid he looked in his t-shirt with the UMaine Hockey logo on emblazed across the front and his shorts, which proudly displayed his status as a former Senator in the Federation Senate.

Sanchez’s smiled at passing crewmembers, civilians, and whomever passed her by. Her mind wasn’t quite as focused, as she liked, so many things had happened in the past few weeks, she wasn’t thinking as clearly, which normally through her empathy off. Part of her was worried about her little brother, Jose, wondering what was causing him to act the way he was. Maybe she had done something to make him this way, had she been blind to the fact that he… Sanchez’s shoulder slammed into the other person, knocking herself off balance. She grabbed the wall, mumbling how stupid she was in Betazoid. Brushing curls from her eyes, “I am so sorry, I was not paying attention… Please forgive me” Her black eyes searched his, trying to figure out if he was mad or not.

"God dammit! That's twice in one day!" North collected himself and leaned a bit on his cane. He looked over at the woman who bumped into him. "But...two very pretty ladies have bumped into me today. I knew that campaign promise might have worked out well one day."

Sanchez had jerked at his reaction, feeling horrible for running into him. Arching a brow at his last comment, she sighed the tension leaving her. “Once again, I am really sorry. Normally I am more careful. It is not often for someone like myself to run into anyone.”-Realizing how that must make her sound-“Which me being an empath, I mean.” She cursed in Betazoid. “I apologize.”

"Don't worry about it. I'm a big boy; I think I can handle myself. It just surprises me that you know me being so tall, with cane and everything; people might actually notice me more. But it's all right. I'm sorry if I scared you there for a moment." He patted her gently on the shoulder. "You all right? I can be a little scary at times."

"By the way...you should watch your language. I speak Betazed."

“I am fine, thank you, and I will remember to watch my tongue in the feature, though if you are a ‘big boy’ as you should, the words I chose should not offend you, since they are nothing compared to the English language.” She smiled, now seeing how much taller the man was than her, she was quite surprised that she could run into someone who had almost a foot on her. *Surprising one much focus we lose, when paying attention* She thought to herself.

“Miranda Sanchez, to avoid being even more rude.”

"Richard North, two time Frozen Four MVP from the University of Maine Division One Hockey Team, retired Starfleet Commander, former Federation Senator, and now...because of a campaign promise...Diplomatic Attaché assigned to the U.S.S. Galaxy. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He winked at her. "Sorry to throw my entire resume out there, but, people get me confused with that actor. You know? The one that was in that movie about the Starfleet Special Forces? I get autograph requests all the time."

Sanchez smirked, stifling back a laugh. “Yes, I’m quite glad you straighten that out, the resume helped.” Crossing her arms over her chest, “Just simple medical officer, ensign rank here, but no one ever mistakes me for any actor.” Wetting her lips, she honestly wasn’t sure what actor he was talking about, but she went with it. “Well, I don’t mean to keep any more of your time…”

"No, you're not keeping any of my time. I was going to go to the gym, when I realized I didn't have anyone to run around the track with. My leg, well, it bothers me a bit. I don't know if you were ever aware of the Lexington Minutemen? That's how I came to use this awful cane. Did you ever hear about that? 2373?"

Thinking for a moment, she shook her head no “No, I don’t recall anything. I was in my second year of the academy, probably should have, but I don’t remember anything.” Glad to hear she hadn’t been keeping him from anything, though still feeling bad for running into a man with cane, she probably wouldn’t forgive herself for a little while.

"Yeah...it was big news for a while...sort of. I feel like I'm rambling on here. Where are you headed?"

The ensign smiled, “No, you are fine…”-Smiling-“ I’m actually headed for a run myself. You can join me if you are still wanting to exercise that leg of yours.”

"I think I'd like that. Are you sure you want to run with this old fart?"

Laughing softly, “I think I might be able to make an exception this time,” Holding up a figure, “But don’t get use to it.” She smiled, “I figure it’s the least I can do after running you to do.”

Richard laughed. "I dunno. I'm starting to like you all ready. But I think I owe it to you for me slamming into you."

“Yes, I do believe you damaged me more than I you.” She laughed with him, she wasn’t sure how it would be possible for her to hurt a man who was a foot taller, though he was on a cane, maybe it made a difference. “Come on.” She shook her head; she had been meeting interesting people in the time she had spent on 212, she thought as she started back down the corridor. Glancing over her shoulder, she waved for him to follow.

Richard quickly hobbled after her to catch up. "I remembered the name of the actor. It's James North. He's no relation to me. So, is this your first duty posting?"

Sanchez nodded to the actor’s name, though still didn’t know him; she wasn’t a person who kept up with old Earth actors. “I’m not that much younger than you, Mr. North. This is my second posting.” She replied, slowly her pace down just a bit.

"And you've been an Ensign for how long?" He tried to keep pace with her.

“Four years.” She slowed down a little more for him. “Late in getting into the academy, and then took advance medical, so… Have you been with the Galaxy long?” Sanchez nodded to a few people as they entered the gym area, leading him to the send track instead of the first, figuring it would be easier on his leg.

"Well, they sure don't promote 'em like they used to. It seemed like every time I turned around I was getting a promotion. Actually, this is my first time onboard the ship. I made a campaign promise when I ran for Senate that by 2384 I would have finished two years as a diplomat in the Starfleet Diplomatic Corps. And please...call me Richard. I don't like being referred to as 'Mister' North. Makes me feel like I'm more important than I am. And believe me, I don't think I'm that important."

Sanchez laughed, “All right, Richard. If it makes you feel better, wasn’t going for importance, more like old fart.” She winked at him. “Promotions don’t come around all that often, or at least not from what I’ve seen.” She smirked at someone who passed by her. Approaching the track, Sanchez moved over to a bench and started stretching her legs. “So, your leg has been like this since 2373” Sanchez asked in between breaths. Her foot propped up on the bench, she was practically laying on her stretched out leg, counting to herself.

North nodded as he started to stretch the leg muscles out. "Yeah. Ever since the Lexington Minutemen incident. They say with a couple more surgeries.... I won't need this cane."

“Okay, that was my real question. I was curious as to why you were still on a cane, when it has been quite some time since the incident.” She stated bring her body back to a stance after finishing her stretches, “Some things can take time to heal…” She didn’t agree with how long it was taking, but she wouldn’t say anything, for it wasn’t her business. “Ready?” She asked as she walked out onto the track.

"Yeah." North slowly began to work up into his run. Starting out with a bit of a hobble, then almost natural, with just a little bit of slowdown as his ailing leg lifted.

Sanchez kept a close watch on his leg, she did not wish to over work the gentleman, nor did she wish to add damage to his leg after all this time. “Take your time.” Sanchez was in more of a jog to keep at his pace, not wanting to out run him and make him feel like he need to press harder, that would be rude. He had a slight advantage this way, her legs were shorter, she they were able to keep pace, she waited till his pace picked up before she picked hers up a bit. Breathing controlled, “You know if you’re breathing right, if you are able to keep a conversation going while running.” She smiled, arms swinging side to side.

"Yeah. This is a nice pace for me. I'd rather be doing some hockey playing right now, though."

“Good… Hockey? That is an Earth sport, no?”

"Yeah, it is."

Sanchez nodded, trying to recall the sport, though nothing was coming around to her memory, though with his simple response she guessed that he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, so she figured time to change the subject, even if he was the one that brought it up. “So, how did you come to learning the Betazoid language, or why did you chose it?” The sound of her shoes slamming into the track was always a soothing noise to her. The track started to curve to the right, and for some reason the track seemed not quite as busy as it normally was, Sanchez noticed.

"I took a lot of language classes in college. I especially enjoyed Betazed. My professor was awesome she really enjoyed teaching. And I enjoyed learning it. It's a fun language."

Sanchez laughed, “I never thought of it as a ‘fun language’. Most Betazoids don’t use it, since they speak telepathically, is why I was curious as to why you learned it. As well as most Betazoids know the Standard Federation English language. I use it because, well it’s my mothers native tongue, but most people do not speak it therefore I can get away with some statements, though I can also do this in my father’s native tongue, Spanish. Not many know that Earth language, either.” She smiled, having to regain control of her breath.

"I don't know Spanish. Maybe you could teach me a few phrases sometime."

“Yes, I believe I could do that sometime. Do you find it easy to learn other languages, or difficult? Spanish is not real hard, but at the same time it is completely different from the English language. I find English grammar and what not to be quite difficult learning, but that is my opinion. “ She glanced down at his leg, and turned her attention back in front of her, so that she didn’t run someone else over.

"Languages are pretty easy for me. I find them to be interesting." North slowed down a bit. "Leg is starting to act up a bit."

“Okay…” Sanchez slowed her own pace down with him, glancing back toward the injured leg, “If you need to stop, let me know, I do not wish to over work you.” She smiled, hands moving to her hair twisting it around to keep it from her eyes, though after a couple of steps in her job her hair fell back into her face. “Well,” She continued with their conversation, ”We have something in common. I have an interest in learning new languages, and speaking them come naturally to me.”

"Yeah. Klingon was an interesting language to learn." North glanced down at his leg. "Yep...I think it's about time to call it for the day. My leg is about ready to have it."

“All right…” Sanchez slowed herself down, until she came to a stop. Jumping for a couple of seconds she tried to keep the blood from rushing all to her legs when she stopped then stood still and smiled. “Thank you for joining me, quite nice of you sir.” She winked. “And I agree about Klingon. I, myself, only know a phrase or two, but still find the language quite interesting.”

North took a few deep breaths and took a knee. "Yeah, it's a good language to learn. It's fun to get into a conversation with a Klingon." North stretched the muscles in his thigh out a bit more. "I appreciate you going for a run with me. We should do this again sometime."

“Yes, I do agree. It’s not often I get someone to run with me, keeps you breathing right cause you talk.” She smiled, “Well, make sure you drink some water, but not too much you don’t want to hurt yourself…” She laughed at herself; it was the doctor in her. “I’m sure you know how to take care of yourself.”

North chuckled. "With six purple hearts...sometimes, I wonder how I'm still alive...."

She laughed, “Someone is watching out for you.” Grabbing two towels, she handed one over and used the other one to wipe away sweat. “Well, I’ll leave you be. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I’m sure we’ll see each other around…”

North took the towel and draped it around his shoulders. "Yeah, I'll be around. Maybe we can get dinner some night. And I'm sure you'll be seeing me around sickbay sometime later when the leg starts acting screwy."

“Yes, maybe,” She smiled, “And I’m sure I shall. Sickbay is where I meet everyone, which isn’t always a good thing.” Glancing at some officers who passed them, almost running into Sanchez, they were excited about something “Well, I’ll see you around Richard.” Wrapping her towel around her, she made her way towards the turbo-lift.

Richard entered the turbo lift next to her. "I hate those gym showers. Rather take a nice shower in my quarters."

Laughing, “Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon… I agree. I prefer my own quarters.” She smiled, letting the computer know she would be going to deck 10.

"Yeah. I thought the same." He leaned against the bulkhead. "I'll be going to Deck 10 as well. To my own quarters..."

Sanchez nodded to the last comment, knowing that he would be, for it was only a run. Brushing hair from her face, she smiled as the doors slid open, “Now, I’m going to the left I would say good bye again, but you might be going the same way.” She grinned.

"Well, I guess this isn't good bye. I'm in room 1014."

“I guess not, Mr. North.” She followed him off the lift and towards the left. “1020 is me At least you know were to find me when you feel like going for a run.” She smiled.

"Yeah. Just a few doors down. I...uhhh...I had a good time..."

“Same here, once again thank you for the run.” Pointing towards his doors, “I’ll see you around.” She said, though she didn’t stop, but kept down the corridor towards her own quarters.

Richard watched her for a moment before heading into his quarters. "Real smooth, North....real smooth..."

"The Inner Demons of Andrei Vronsky"

Introducing Ensign Andrei Vronsky,
Medical officer.

Each stroke of the brush was like a knife cutting flesh, revealing red streaks over pale skin. Or in this case, crimson paint on white canvas as Andrei Vronsky let his soul and emotions guide the brush. It was angry now –but passionate as well- all the emotions he did not get to show as a doctor. This was his secret darkness, his secret obsession that both nurtured and slaughtered his soul. He was kneeling in his quarters, paint on his face and arms and cheeks. His hair hung into his face, no longer tamed by water and comb. He was as wild as a beast, un-composed as an addict and raving like a madman. All this was conveyed through his movements as he dipped a finger into the black paint, rubbing it over the edge of the picture glued to the canvas.

The picture was of a woman with green eyes and dark hair, her lips painted bright red and hair falling into her face. A female version of the man painting now, except from the colour of the eyes and the forehead. The full lips pouting on the picture echoed the moist lips parted as Andrei painted, and the slight frown of the woman was again echoed in the frown on Andrei's features. The picture of a mother that he did not remember.

It would have been any Freudian's field trip.

It was today 22 years since his mother had killed herself. 22 years since he had been sent to meet his father. 22 years. It had to be marked somehow, and why not like this? Why not lose himself into the feeling of this? He reached out for a bottle, taking a healthy sip of it. Not vodka. Drinking vodka like this would drive you into an early grave. This was something else. Something foreign.

He took another paintbrush, dipping it into yellow and allowing the paint to drip over the black. Like stars. Tiny stars and suns. He chuckled as he reached out, his finger smearing the paint. Madness. But he would never show this to anyone. This was his dark secret, as dark as a grave. As gloomy as well, with the limited light he had. He added the last of the red and black paint to the painting, letting the colours swirl together. When it had dried a little, he allowed his hand to sweep over it, a limited amount of paint smearing over the picture. He watched the picture for a long moment, until a drop if water hit it. He looked up, swallowing before looking down again. More drops of water.

More tears. He ran his hand over his face, smearing black and red paint on his cheeks as he sobbed. It felt so bitter, yet he couldn't for the life of him understand why. He didn't even remember her. Why did her death then feel like such a loss?

He awoke from a beeping on the computer screen, shaking his head groggily as he got up. He walked over to it, seeing an incoming call. Since they were still docked...he sat down, checking the number. Home.

His father.

He hesitated before allowing the call through, taking a breath as he saw the familiar face. "Dad..." he whispered, more tears escaping as he watched him.

Leopold Vronsky nodded, watching his son with a slight frown. "I know, Andrei," he said, his voice filled with sadness. He hated seeing Andrei like this. He had seen him like this on this very day for years now. It was a reminder of Vivacia, of how she had been. So alive, so passionate...and so disturbed.

The simple words in Russian was all that Andrei needed to start weeping, sobbing out his confusion as if he had been a child. All he heard was the soft words in his own language, lulling his pain down. It was all he needed.

A small reminder of home in the middle of the madness.

He calmed eventually, the sobs subsiding until he could finally meet his father's eyes. He forced a small smile, taking a breath. "Thanks...I...how are you doing?"

Leopold smiled weakly, sipping his drink. "Better than you," he said, watching him with a gentle smile. "Andrei...please. You have to let it go. I know I encouraged it when you were a youth, but you're an adult now."

Andrei nodded, taking a breath. "This is the last time, dad. I promise." He looked down, running a hand over his forehead. "I promise."

"You're drunk, Andrei. Go to bed and sober up. Tomorrow, burn the painting," Leopold moved closer to the screen, watching his son. "Destroy it, somehow. It's not healthy to keep it."

"Yes, dad," Andrei nodded again, smiling gently. "I love you...I'll call you in a few days."

"Good," Leopold said with a small smile. "I love you too...sweet dreams."

Andrei watched the screen go black and stood up, moving to his bedroom. He opened the closet, looking inside to the seven paintings lined there. Each were the same, a woman's face and the rest...

Chaos. Anger. Confusion. Hate. Love. Agony.

"Healthier than burning them," he whispered, before closing the closet, grabbing a bottle and sitting on the bed. It had to be healthier than burning the face of your mother. Because in burning it, he would burn a part of his soul. The part he did not show to many. The painter, a weaker echo of his mother's talent yet still there. And the last thing he wanted was to follow in her footsteps towards a tragic and painful death.

Bajoran Noon – The Naked King, part II"

Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Controller,
USS Valkyrie

Ensign Saul Bental,
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

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

On the auction fair ground of Ramatasha Ron, the false priest Leen Derim continued his sermon. Standing in the middle of the excited crowd, Miramon tried to catch a glimpse of Saul, though unfortunately he couldn't see anything of him.

What was he doing, he had to wonder?

The answer was simple, Miramon could've guessed it himself.

Saul was getting in trouble, of course. His heart was racing after he just narrowly missed a nasty encounter with one of the 'clods', who patrolled around the preacher's trailer.

The trailers' parking adjacent to the auction grounds supplied Saul with many hiding places, but it was still very hard to sneak into the trailer. Saul hid behind a small, maroon-colored trailer bearing some odd markings, and looked at the small device he was holding in his hands. He could see on the display that there were five life signs patrolling the trailer, and one of them was in.

As a child, Saul often sneaked into many places in the dark districts of his home city. Abandoned factories, shops, and other places where a twelve years old kid shouldn't be after sunset and even before it. He used that experience to quickly identify the patrol patterns, and waltz into the perimeter unseen.

He quickly slipped under the preacher's trailer. Lying on his back, and praying that the trailer won't start moving and run him over, Saul pulled a small laser scalpel from his bag. He activated it (All mechanisms had to be in dormant state in order to avoid detection at the entrance), and made a small hole in the floor of trailer.

Then, it was time for the fun part.

The next thing he conjured from his bag looked like a native Bajoran insect. It was a rather expensive insect, the kind that carries a miniature 3D camera and an ultra sensitive microphone.

Heavens bless Starfleet Intelligence's Technological branch.

The 'bug' spread its wings as Saul linked to it with his hand-held control device. A compact 3D image appeared centimeters away from Saul's face. It was the bug's vision, which right now consisted mainly of Saul's own waist.

Saul began to stir it. The tiny spy-robot buzzed silently into the room, transmitting back sound and images. Saul could see tables, some boxes, some religious books spread on the floor, and then…

Exactly what he needed.

Saul knew how Rosenthal liked to work. All the paperwork was spread in disarray on one of the tables. Transactions, meetings, plans, trade routes. The entire operation of the expanded Bental family on Bajor, all going through a single pipe called Rosenthal.

He took photos, then ordered the bug to spin so that he could see Rosenthal's face. The elder and fleshy Jewish man was sitting on a retracting chair, reading some book about Bajoran history. Well, you needed to know the ground if you wanted to stick a boot in the Bajoran door. That's how merchants, smugglers and criminals worked throughout the years.

Then Saul saw the missing piece of the puzzle. When he first heard on Sakaria that Rosenthal and a Bajoran were pretending to be a priest and his aid, he checked what kind of authentication the man needed in order to appear as a legitimate priest. The answer, 'surprisingly', was an authorization someone higher up in the hierarchy.

On a small end-table next to Rosenthal rested a small statuette. Half of it was uncolored. Obviously, somehow Rosenthal and the preacher possessed the technical ability to fake the statuette which represented the Vedeks' authorization. Next to it rested a complete, apparently authentic statuette.

Saul gently moved the 'bug' to the original statuette, set the bug's self destruct mechanism, and rolled away from beneath the trailer.

He just forgot to check if there were any patrollers around when he did so.

He found himself staring at a pair of dark green leather boots. The boots belonged to a rather tall cold, which eyed him from above with mixed surprise and displeasure.

Saul flashed a grin at the man, jumped on his feet and darted away – just like he did when he was caught breaking and entering as a child. Escape, his mind screamed, escape!

At that exact same moment Miramon glanced at his chronometer, and figured it would be best to activate the holoprojector. Okay, so Saul wasn't back yet, but it was more than possible that the Bajoran just hadn't seen him. He needed a completely clear shot of the false preacher, so moved slightly back towards the rear of the crowd and placed the small holoprojector on a small statue which actually didn't look all that inconspicuous. As he activated it, the ears of the preacher changed, flickering into more distinctive Vorta lobes, which were clearly NOT Bajoran, as everyone in the room would notice in seconds.

And now for the fireworks, he thought.

It took slightly more time than he expected. Some people were praying, some were talking to each other, and others were on a completely different zone. But, like in the tale, one five years old Bajoran boy sitting on his father's shoulders watched the preacher clearly and without distraction.

And he SAW.

"Dada, the Prylar is a Vorta!"

All of the sudden, the humming and glazed-eyed crowed broke into chaos. Someone was thrown against Miramon, who struggled to remain standing. Some people ran toward the stage, others shouted. The preacher himself seemed confused, unable to see how his ears appeared one moment to be a Vorta's, and the other a regular Bajoran's ears.

Two police guardsmen were the first to climb up the stage, since they were the nearest. Each one of them grabbed one of the Prylar's arms, and another one reached for his ear. The holographic projection was visual only, and the policeman could probably sense that the actual ears were Bajorans. He shouted something at his colleague, and then at a Bajoran in a farmer's cloths that ran toward them with a stick held in his hands.

The farmer stopped, then bowed. He probably realized that he was mislead by some nasty trick.

Miramon cursed slightly when he noticed that the deception had been revealed. Saul should have known that would happen!

A Bajoran militia officer stepped up the stage, holding a rectangular device next to his throat. It was a voice amplifier.

"We apologize for the inconvenience. The Vorta ears you saw were nothing but a lowly, ill-humoured prank. I assure you, we will find those respo-"

The officer couldn't finish that last word. His expression was not unlike the Human facial expression of a dropped jaw.

Miramon turned around to see what he was looking at. From the direction of the nearby trailers' park, a Bajoran police guard came in running. He held a semi-painted religious statuette in his left hand.

A fake statuette.

The police guards on the stage, which just a moment ago loosened their grip and whispered hurried apologizes in the priest's Bajoran ears, now tightened their hold, and scowled at him. You could tell by looking at the man's face that he knew that everything was lost. He lowered his gaze, all of his radiance and charisma fading away like vapors of breath in the cool autumn air.

The Bajoran smiled. They'd got their man, and the Security force knew it. Most of them were ex-Militia officers, and everyone remembered the Occupation of the Cardassians, as well as the more recent one by the Dominion. And since these conflicts had only increased the general feeling of being Bajoran amongst his people, he knew full well how this would go down. That said, though, Saul was also mascarading as a Bajoran, and if he were caught...

Miramon decided to blow the whole thing open and make the exposure in order to protect both himself and Saul, though nothing about the holoprojector was about to be mentioned.

He started moving forward to head towards the Security forces, preparing to grab one of them by the shoulder to get their attention in order to reveal what was going on.

Just then, Saul caught up with him. He was sweating, but grinned wildly just like a mischevious child after a succesfull prank. "And that's our good deed for today. I saw that they caught Rosenthal, and I even got the projector on the way." he whispered hastily, trying to catch his breath. Then, he saw that Miramon was heading to overtly make an appearance with the security forces, which wasn't according to plan.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought it might help we explained who we were and what is going on here - who your man happens to be."

"Why?" Saul frowned. "We're finished here, we can take off."

Miramon nodded, but his face showed only a frown. "You don't want to see this one through? I mean, that statuette could be explained away, you know. But if you're sure, let's go. We ought to report back anyway."

Saul's face turned cold, frozen. "I don't think that the police guards will take it well if you tell them about our little trick. they might take us to questionning in the local police station, and obviously we don't want anyone to question ME... I have some devices in the bag that can make me appear Bajoran to random scans, but if they scan me from up close they'll see what I really am."

He pondered about that for a moment. "Tell you what. I'll walk away, and meet you at your house. You can either join me or go ahead and talk to them, it's your call. Like yourself, I don't want them to get away with what they did, especially after the effort we gave."

He cleared his throat. "Just remember that we should keep our profile as low as possible if we don't want Rima Pennington to find out about a super-ship full of officers looking for her on Bajor."

Miramon sighed, but nodded all the same. "Alright. Let's return to the rendevous point. I've said my goodbyes to my family, so we needn't go back, since we brought our things with us. Let's just get outta here. The sooner we find Pennington, the sooner we can leave and go home. Okay?"

"Home." Saul nodded, rubbing the pilot's shoulder lightly. Indeed, it seemed that presently home was a Galaxy-III class Starship, not a house on Bajor or a rotting apartment in some skyscraper on Utrecht III. "I'll make sure the two of them get what they deserve, no worries."

And with these final words spoken, the two Starfleet officers turned away from the mayhem they initiated, and marched toward the Bajoran sunset.

"Somewhere hearts are light"

by

Lt. Ella Grey

****

Life went on.

The stars still remained in the sky, shining, fading, exploding, dying. Planets still rotated in their orbits and suns still set upon their horizons. The universe remained whole and she was neither numb or hysterical, and there would be no long reflective moments in the sonic shower.

Life went on.

Ella Grey told herself this as she sat in the middle of the empty holodeck. The idea of being stuck in there still unnerved her, to the point where she gripped the PADD for reassurance every two minutes, but she had needed a place to be alone.

Her quarters had been out of the question as Indigo and 8-ball would be there. She loved her friends, had missed them, but didn't feel like being social, at pretending to be happy. Engineering seemed almost like a different place to her these days, with the refit of the ship and the new quirks that she needed to learn. And the arboretum was definitely off limits now that she knew Jan was there. She knew she couldn't expose the child to the pain she felt now. Mostly because she wanted to. She wanted to share the pain, to let go of the secret.

But it wasn't going to happen. The pain was another burden she knew that she would have to live with and Ella was good at keeping secrets. She'd have to, for Curtis.

The black and orange grid surrounded her but she could imagine them fading away to the holo-creation in her mind. To the cave. To when Curtis had made his proposal and Ella had refused him. To when she had turned at the last minute to see the unexpected fist connect with her face. To when he had loomed over her and had crushed away the scream that had been building. To when...

Life went on, Ella told herself firmly. It was a good mantra, like "You can't always get what you want" and "There is no joy in Mudville."

She looked down at her hands, remembering afterward when she had tried to explain to Cutter and Rex what had happened. How after she had had to resort to crude finger gestures to get her point across, poking a finger through the 'o' she had made with the other hand, she had truly appreciated the gift of speech. She had divided her time after that between avoiding Curtis, foraging for food, and devising a plan to implement speech...verbal speech, back into her life.

Evolution, adaptation, momentum. Ella had once signed something like that to Victor. She knew now that she could not continue on as she had been, relying on sign and computer PADD's. She had to evolve, adapt, and move forward. It really blowed but then again life was like that, wasn't it?

You can't always get what you want.

The first part of her plan wasn't too difficult; she'd just have to find a doctor willing to help her out. A quick procedure and it would be done and no one would ever find cause to complain about her lack of speech again.

Ella wondered if anyone would ever know what it would cost her to give it up, would they ever understand what it was like to give away the one thing that she had control over? Ella laid down on the floor and stared at the checkered ceiling. Victor would understand. If he ever returned from where he had gone. He had left his things behind, and unpacked, so she was pretty sure that he would return.

She both looked forward to his return and dreaded it. Looked forward to because she loved him, which was becomming an easier concept to deal with day by day, and dreaded because she was going to have to lie to him.

You tell lies all the time, Ella thought. Even to yourself.

She wished she didn't have to though. She wanted to tell Victor everything, to have him hold her in a cliched moment of protection and comfort. It wouldn't go down like that though. She'd tell him, he'd hunt down Curtis, kill him, and maybe, after the brig time and court marshall and the mobbing by the coffee klatch, hug her afterwards.

She didn't want Curtis dead. He was her friend. Which was why she hadn't let him rape her. Why she'd given in and had wrapped her legs around him instead. Easier to screw a friend than be raped by one. Easier to be a participant than be a victim. Because if she had been a victim then she would have reacted like she had before and Curtis would have been dead long before Victor would have been able to get a hold of him.

It was better this way, Ella had decided. Curtis, who's brain had been so fried as to think that he needed to populate the planet, had yet to remember. Cutter and Rex thought that the Kerellian had only attempted something. Victor and Curtis' wife, Kiora, need not ever know. If she could keep herself in check, keep her emotions guarded when working with all those damned Betazoids, avoid Karen and Jan, and convince Victor, then it would be all right.

Why didn't it feel that way though?

~~There is no joy in Mudville~~ Ella signed, with neither heavy emotion or tired indifference. She wasn't numb or hysterical. She simply was.

And life would go on.

ooc: Being my birthday, I sort of felt the inspiration. Anyway. Backpost before current mission.

"Wrinkle"

Ensign 8-ball Hunter

Unauthorized use of Ella Grey

8-ball was having a spiritual crisis.

It had begun that morning. It wasn't really a special morning in any respect at all except the Dreaded Discovery. Just as always, she woke up exhausted and annoyed, ten minutes later than she really should have, and cursing her seemingly impossible ability to create a night life on a Starfleet vessel. She went through her usual routines of taking a sonic shower, running around naked in her quarters in an attempt to find a uniform that wasn't dirty or ripped from whoever had been over the night before, stomping on her teddy bear, brushing her teeth, all the normal, everyday things. Everyting was going fine. Until. Washing her face and brushing her hair back into a tight braid. She. Found. It.

The Dread of All Things. The Ultimate Evil. The Thing That Made Women Have the Need to Capitalize Every Word to Get Across the Correct Amount of Emphasis.

It was

The First Gray Hair.

The terrified shrieking of a woman in obvious pain and torment was heard through the corridor outside 8-ball's quarters. One ensign barged in, picturing his rescue of a lovely blonde officer from the furious grip of some evil, ooze-dripping alien, only to find 8-ball staring at the mirror in open-mouthed horror, her uniform still mostly unzipped.

"Oh, it's you," the ensign said, and 8-ball turned from her mirror to look at him. She remembered him, vaguely. He was that one guy who, a few months ago, had managed to walk in on her while she was rather scantily clad. It would have been more sexy and less weird if she hadn't just managed to flip a bowl of ice cream on her head. "Don't you ever go around wearing clothes?"

"Oh, kiss off," 8-ball said, and kicked him, literally, out of her quarters. She rushed back to her bathroom mirror and examined the single strand of gray emerging from her forehead.

"Jesus wept," 8-ball muttered and pulled the hair out. "I'm getting. . .OLD."

The spiritual crisis had begun.

****

After her shift was over, 8-ball did something that was terribly unheard of. She didn't go to the holodeck bar. She didn't eat ice cream sundaes in her room. She didn't go talk to random people about Borg sexuality. What she did was far more unseemly.

8-ball went back to her quarters and studied.

For three hours, she plowed through volumes of information, reading vigorously and taking notes. She allowed herself one quick, thirty second bathroom break, and then back to her readings. Never once in all her life did 8-ball focus so intensely at anything. Certainly not at school.

The door did it's little chime/twirp at her. "Uh-huh," 8-ball said, not looking up.

Ella walked in. She waved and came over to where 8-ball was sitting, pouring through her information. Ella raised an eyebrow.

"I'm studying," 8-ball said, and glanced up at Ella. "I have to find the cure."

Ella's expression spoke louder than words. ~The cure for what?~

"Aging," 8-ball said promptly.

Ella's eyebrows raised higher.

"It was horrible. It was a monstrosity. I got up this morning, innocently getting ready for another day of grueling work, and I found it. THE GRAY HAIR. I'm getting old, Ella. Soon I won't even be 8-ball anymore. I'm going to be some crazy old bat that rambles on about my glory days and hides out in isolation with my ten thousand cats and gives out dog food to random children. My hair's all going to fall out. I'm going to get. . .wrinkles." She slammed her face down on her desk and then said, "Ow."

Ella tapped her on the shoulder with an amused expression. 8-ball raised her face from the desk. Ella pointed at 8-ball and then gave her a thumbs up. This probably meant 'you look good' or at least 'you don't look like a withered old corpse yet'.

"Yes, I do," 8-ball mourned. "I look just like a withered old corpse. You can see where the beginnings of crows feet are starting. I'm. Going. To. Get Old. And. Die." She flung her head back on her desk again.

Ella ignored this and looked at 8-ball's research. Several of her notes included lists of scrawled home remedies to aging. Lots of different herbal medications and skin creams. Ella stopped on one page and tapped 8-ball again on the shoulder. She pointed at the so-called "New Miracle of Anti-Aging: Stopping Those Wrinkles Dead". It was called 'Cream of the Ages'. It was essentially the excrement of cow bottled up in a white jar, with a splash of lemon juice, presumably to make it smell nicer. Ella pointed to 8-ball and then back at the paper with an expression on her face that could only be surmised as 'Yuck'.

"No, I'm not going to use it. . .I don't think. I doubt that rubbing cow shit on my face is really going to reduce the mass amounts of insanity that frequent my life. Still. . .Ella, what am I going to do? There were all these things I was going to do before I died! I was going to, you know, do something worthwhile and go to Risa again and maybe fall in love or something stupid like that. Maybe I could even make lieutenant one day. Wouldn't that be the funniest dumb thing Starfleet could do, make me a Lieutenant. Still, you know, I had dreams. Or vague ideas. Whatever. The point being, my life's over. I'm dying and I'm not even 25 yet. And get that stupid smirk off your face," 8-ball snapped. Ella's amused grin only spread wider. "A true friend would care that I was going to be reduced to a Kibble-eating lunatic."

Ella shrugged. 'Oh well,' 8-ball read into that shrug, 'I guess I'm not a true friend.'

"Bitch," 8-ball called her.

Ella smiled.

"Go away," 8-ball said. "Take your perfect head of dark, wonderous, non-gray hair out of here and leave me to my misery." She looked at the paper Ella had been pointing at. "I wonder if it actually works."

Ella took out her PADD. ~YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY WOMAN TO GET A GRAY HAIR, 8-BALL~

"Yeah? You've gotten them to? What did you do?"

~ATE CHOCOLATE~

"That's supposed to be bad," 8-ball said seriously. "Chocolate only makes the aging process work faster."

Ella gave her a pointed look.

"Yeah," 8-ball sighed, "I know I could never give up chocolate. I'll just have to accept that I'm going to be a fat, old woman and die. It's a terrible life." 8-ball got up, threw all her notes into her trash can with her teddy bear, and went over to the replicator. "I need to watch a chick flick. Up for a chocolate sundae and Steel Magnolias?"

Ella nodded.

****

And thus the spiritual crisis of 8-ball's aging was deflected: by friendship, good cinema, and the cure for all evils, humanity's own attempt at reaching the heavens through the sense of taste: chocolate.

"And all that jazz" part 1

Dr. Tizarin Lias [Ensign] - Medical Officer,
USS Galaxy

Special Advisor Madison Amandine- Civilian,
USS Galaxy

[music selections: "autrefois" by Pink Martini; The "First Taste" by Fiona Apple]

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

Madison slid onto the piano stool and carefully lit a cigarette, glancing out toward the club floor where crew members were eating and laughing, intersperced with various holographic characters. Most were style of dress for the period. She'd recreated the jazz-scene of 1940s Paris, then opened it up to the crew that evening. More people than she had ever expected showed up, and it was more than a little exciting. She loved when her plots were a success.

For the moment, she was hidden there, in the black of the stage, the black of her clothing. But soon, the spotlight would hit her and they would know she was watching. For a moment, her attention was drawn to a figure coming in, a tallish young woman with short blonde hair and trill markings down her neck, along her face.

"You are beautiful," Madison murmured, inhaling on the cigarette, and smirked. She glanced at the table of friends she'd made earlier in the evening, and met the young ensign's eyes: Michael Connor looked at her quizzically and then followed her gaze across toward where the woman was slipping onto a stool.

"Her?" he mouthed. She nodded. "Such a lez!" he said, laughing, and then stood to do what he'd promised: that is, usher the young blonde as close to the stage as possible.

Tizarin Lias, the Trill in question, had done her best to garb herself for the period. After the inventory she had performed for Doctor Fineberg she needed a rest and she was in no mood for wearing a uniform. She allowed the man to escort her to a table, and found she had a table alone. That was to her liking. Too many men staring at her when she walked through the corridors.

There must be a thing with human men and Trill women. Because men always seemed to stare.

And, of course, they made Starfleet uniforms too tight.

Tizarin slid into her chair, comfortably, straightening the front of the freshly replicated evening gown as she did so. Her eyes trained on the stage, as she ordered a drink from a holographic waiter that looked like someone out of a Bogart movie. And then she sat, awaiting both the drink, and the show, and wagering with herself in her mind which would come first.

Madison took a drink of her martini and then pulled the microphone toward her as she pressed for the lights to come up on the stage.

"Hello," her low, one might even say sultry, French accented voice said as she grinned and looked out at the people gathered. "It is such a wonderful thing to see so many faces in the audience." She began to slowly play the piano, her long fingers tinkling over the keys, keeping the music soft so she could easily continue her introduction. "I hope that you enjoy your evening and the music as much as I enjoy forcing a showcase of my talents upon you all. I enjoy this more than almost anything, and I hope that it is not too grating upon your ears." She slowly increased the volume of the piano. "This first song is very old and one of my favourites. It is called 'Autrefois', or for those of you who do not speak French, 'formerly'." She cleared her throat and when the keys hit the end of the introduction, she began to sing -- her voice low, melodic, and mingling perfectly with the atmosphere around them.

"J'écris des mots doux à toutes les filles de France J'espère qu'elles y répondent J'ai juré que je serai content avant la fin de l'année J'écris des mots doux à toutes les filles de France Chaque jour et chaque nuit Mais à la fin de l'année je suis encore seul dans mon lit

Je ne manque à personne Mais ce n'est pas grave J'ai déjà passé un bon moment Un bon moment autrefois..."

Tizarin's jaw fell open when she saw the woman on the stage. "It's that girl again." she said, aloud.

Her waiter had returned, and spoke to her in French, asking her what she meant.

"Huh... oh, nothing. Never mind." Tizarin said. "Thanks... for the drink." she waved the man away, and sipped her drink. Her eyes were transfixed upon Madison, singing. She didn't understand the words, but she loved the sound of the voice. Like a swim in a cool mountain pool after a long days work. Exactly what she needed.

"This sure is a small universe." she commented, to no one in particular.

"Je pense à elle avec beaucoup de tristesse Quand la lune est pleine Quelle fête, quelle danse et quelel chanson se passent sans moi Le soir commence comme une vieille chanson mais je ne peux pas chanter J'ai oublié la mélodie, il y a quelques années

Je ne manque à personne Mais ce n'est pas grave J'ai dèjà passé un bon moment Un bon moment autrefois

J'ai déjà passé un bon moment Un bon moment autrefois"

She finished the song, playing out the final chords. She smiled into the microphone, eyes closed as the crowd clapped. "Thank you, merci... the band is, ah... going to join me for the next few numbers, a few classic songs you can dance by and, I do hope you will. Please enjoy." She looked over, caught the Trill's eyes and winked slightly, before striking up 'Murder, he says'.

Tizarin caught the wink, and smiled back, a bit sheepishly. She honestly didn't know what to do, exactly. Here, she had come to the holodeck to relax, and she had dressed to avoid the prying eyes of male crewmembers staring a tight duty uniform; and yet she found herself staring at the woman on the stage so boldly she had caught her eye and earned a wink.

But, it was the wink that had puzzled her. It wasn't what she had expected. And yet, it made her feel almost naked when Madison had given it to her. She sat there, listening to the Ambassador's daughter sing, feeling the spots that decorated her body from her forehead to her toes rise slightly, like goosepimples.

But it was not the least bit cold, or uncomfortable in the holodeck.

They played a twenty minute set. People danced, laughed, had fun, and applauded. Madison paused a minute to take a sip of her drink. "This will be my last song for the night. Thank you so much for indulging me here this evening, I hope to make this a regular thing. Perhaps not my torturing of you, but certainly the club here. Thank you again, have a great evening. This is called, the First Taste." She looked at the Trill, catching the woman's eyes, and sang it largely to her.

"I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts Waiting for the black to replace my blue I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught But daddy longlegs, I feel that I'm finally growing weary Of waiting to be consumed by you

Give me the first taste, let it begin heaven cannot wait Forever Darling, just start the chase - I'll let you win but you must Make the endeavor

Oh, your love give me a heart contusion Adagio breezes fill my skin with sudden red Your hungry flirt borders intrusion I'm building memories on things we have not said Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly my love, not nearly my love, not nearly

Give me the first taste, let it begin heaven cannot wait Forever Darling, just start the chase - I'll let you win but you must Make the endeavor..."

She thanked the crowd again and closed the piano, moving off the stage and lighting another cigarette as she did so: it was one of her few true vices, at least, one of her few public vices, though she only smoked in settings such as these, which it was part of the background, part of the image.

"I'm glad you came," Madison said, sliding into the chair across from Tizarin. "I was hoping I would see you again, soon."

"You were ? I take that as a high compliment." Tizarin said. "Most people are generally glad to get rid of me, unless they already know me well. Madison, right ?"

"C'est moi," she said, grinning. "I would very much like to buy you a drink, if I may."

"Uh... sure, why not." she held up her empty glass. "Anything cold, sweet, and a little bit intoxicating. I've had a long day. Tizarin... just incase you forgot." and she returned the other woman's wink, almost without knowing it.

"I would never forget," she said. She snagged a waiter and ordered in rapid French, eyes focused on her companion, expression sly, seductive. She said nothing as the waiter left and then returned with a bottle of wine "Sparkling wine," Madison said, taking the bottle and glasses from the holographic man and pouring it into each. "It is a very sweet one, I adore it." As Tizarin took a sip, Madison leaned in closer, stabbing her cigarette out in the ash trey. "Do you know why you are here?" she questioned, softly, large, make-up lined eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the young woman across from her. "Why you have stepped into my bar this evening? Was it just to hear some jazz, or do you think... maybe... there might have been something more to it?"

Madison hesitated, only briefly and only in her own mind, before she brushed her fingertips to the back of Tizarin's hand resting on the table.

"To unwind." Tizarin replied. "This is just the sort of place I'd like, you know. Jazz... old fashioned. elegant. And it has done the trick." she giggled a little despite herself, and found she was feeling very youthful and adventuresome. "I don't know why... maybe the music. The wine. Or that intoxicating accent of yours. Much more alluring than any alcoholic beverage, I can promise you."

"Do you like it then?" Madison questioned.

"Yes, very." Tizarin replied. "And I hope that's not too forward. I mean you are the daughter of a very important man."

"What does that have to do with you and me?" Madison questioned. "I do not see my father around here... do you?"

Tizarin looked around, her expression almost playful. And then she realized she couldn't remember what Madison's father looked like. "I don't think I'd recognize him if I saw him." she said. "Besides. That was silly of me to say. I guess I put a starfleet issue boot in my mouth again. Or, tonight it would have to be one of these pumps I replicated."

Tizarin was staring at Madison now, and she had a smile on her face. A smile that was not completely to the credit of the wine.

Madison returned the stare, a smile painted across her lips. "You keep staring at me," she said.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it." Tizarin said. "It's just that... well... seeing you on that stage just now I realized you were very beautiful. I hope that doesn't bother you ?"

"Why would it bother me?"

Tizarin shrugged, realizing that Madison was a bit more open minded than some humans who existed in the memories of her previous host. A woman whose lifestyle included several sexual liaisons, and as many romantic experiences with other women. "I.. I don't know. Well, it's just that some people find things like that coming from one woman, to another- or from one man to another a bit, off color, to say the least." she said aloud.

She was feeling an attraction to this young woman. And some instinct told he rit was not just the influence of her symbiont and the past lives the creature living inside of her had lead.

"Perhaps," Madison murmured, and then leaned forward, much closer to Tizarin. Pausing there a moment, staring curiously into the blonde's face, she then parted her lips slightly and closed the rest of the gap, brushing her lips onto those of the woman in front of her, holding there a moment, and pulled only slightly away after the brief kiss, holding with her face centimetres away.

Tizarin did not resist. She wanted it just as much as Madison did. The only thing holding her back was herself. She let that side of her slide away. The place where her inhibitions were stored and kept carefully functional. She didn't need them now.

"Like the song says. Sweeter than wine." she said, in a breathy voice that sounded huskier than her usual. And then she took advantage of Madison's closeness to return the kiss. Her lips were so soft. Tizarin had never felt another woman's lips on hers. And she enjoyed the sensation, like silk upon silk.

It felt so natural.

Madison's heart was racing. She had always preferred the sexual company of women to men, for as long as she could remember, but she was always very discreet about it. She hadn't even "come out" to her father, not formally anyway. He knew she had "experimented" but that was extent of what he chose to see; she knew he still expected grandchildren from a traditional family of one mother and one father born out of the tradition way. But in this case, that wasn't going to happen.

This was the most public Madison had ever been with her sexual preference. Something about this women drew her in, she wasn't sure what. Maybe it was the innocence of the host mingling with the age of the symbiont behind those beautiful eyes, or maybe it was the softness of her round face. But there was definitely something: Tizarin put her at ease, made her relax, but also made her so nervous. She wanted to impress this woman, was worried about what she thought, how she thought, worried over how she would appear within the Trill's mind.

"Maybe we should go to my quarters," Madison said, "we can take the wine. Perhaps, we could talk better there, without eyes watching us. Or possibly. Watching us." She shifted her eyes downward as she pulled back further, almost to her former position, but she returned her fingertips to the back of Tizarin's hand, tracing them there.

The Trill doctor looked around her. She thought she saw one man staring at them. A Bolian. But he could easily have been one of Madison's holographic guests.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea." Tizarin replied. She stood, slowly, smoothing the front of her dress. It was more something to be doing with her hands to calm her nerves than to remove wrinkles. But, the tingling sensation she was feeling was not a negative kind of nervousness. More of an anticipation, coupled with a sudden feeling of liberation.

It was as if someone had opened a door for her. She wanted to go through it.

"And All That Jazz" Part 2

* SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING*

Dr. Tizarin Lias [Ensign] - Medical Officer,
USS Galaxy

Special Advisor Madison Amandine- Civilian,
USS Galaxy

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

Madison corked the wine bottle and brushed a hand temporarily to Tizarin's lower back to nudge her toward the exit before withdrawing it and leading the way. She was in diplomatic quarters for the time being: being part of the diplomatic corps, however loosely, had its perks. Even as a civilian, she had a rather luxurious set of quarters, far above what most of the officers had.

She'd not quite moved in. Framed photographs and art work were set on the floor at the base of the walls, a couple of bags were placed in corners. The shelves for her antique books were unorganized. The furniture was still in disarray after being uprooted for her small personal piano-- she couldn't bare the thought of having to practice on the holodeck or in a communal recreation room.

"It is still a bit of disarrayed," Madison said, touching the padd for the lights to come on, half strength. It gave a cozy, private effect. "But they're comfortable enough. May I pour you another glass of wine?"

"Please." Tizarin replied. "This is nice. Really nice place you have here. I mean, it looks like you just moved in, but, fix it up right, and it'll be gorgeous. Just like the lady who lives here." and she nearly added 'did I just say that'. But, she didn't. She meant it. Madison was a gorgeous creature. So young in her looks, and yet so worldly wise in her ways.

A combination that was bound to appeal to a Trill.

Madison felt herself blushing, though she attempted to hide it, play it cool, almost cold, as though she hadn't really felt the compliment, hadn't even heard it right. She poured the wine and handed the glass to the other woman.

"A toast, perhaps, to the beauty within us all -- and this room." She moved a hand to carefully brush a piece of hair from Tizarin's face, to tuck it behind her ear. Her hair was soft, smooth, like corn silk on earth. It shone under the soft lights of her quarters, along with the slightly shorter woman's large, innocent eyes. Madison realised she could get lost in them. She liked how Tizarin saw her, how she could see that in her expression.

Tizarin smiled, slightly, as she took a drink. "To... beauty." she said, as she putt he glass to her lips. She lowered it slowly, as she savored Madison's touch on her face. The other woman's fingers felt as gentle and soft as an infants as she brushed the stray hair aside. Tizarin set her glass on a table that was conveniently nearby. "So, what shall we talk about ? "

"Why don't we sit? First?" Madison traced her hand from Tizarin's face, down her neck, shoulder, and to take her hand, her eyes on Tizarin's the entire time before she turned to gently pull her toward the sofa. She settled comfortably there, curling her legs up underneath her, sitting almost girlishly with her wine glass and cat-eyed focus. "How is it you have found your way to Galaxy?"

Tizarin joined her, on the soft, thick couch. She tried to sit comfortably and found herself imitating Madison's position. "Whims of Starfleet, I guess." was her answer. "This is my third assignment. And I'm glad to be here. But, I suppose by the time I'm a full lieutenant, I'll be tired of the brass bouncing me around. I'm a doctor, so they send me where I'm most needed. How about you ? Are just travelling aboard ? Or are you in the same line as your dad ? An Ambassador ?"

Madison smirked, with a muffled and slightly pained laugh behind it as she bowed her head to stare into her wine. "That is rather complicated," she said. "Father and I decided that it would be best for us to be separated from one another's professional life at the moment, so I might figure some things out." She looked back up at Tizarin and smiled slightly. "We decided that I would be of use here, I've been with the diplomatic corps since I was four and am expert with languages and cultures. So... here I am. Much like you, it's where they decided I would be the most needed, if needed is the correct word. Really, I think it is a favour to my father. He is a great man. But I am not quite so great. We decided I needed some room to... how did he phrase it? Commit the follies of youth." She chuckled softly. "But commit them within a certain vague structure." A slight pause as she smiled very softly. "You are a doctor? What sort? Why did you decide that?"

"I'm an internal medicine specialist." Tizarin replied. "I study the functions of the internal organs, and perform surgery- sometimes- to effect transplants. Makes sense, when you think about it- with a Trill we have to often perform 'transplants' when our symbionts change hosts. I got into medicine at the initiate institute on Trill. I started studying our biochemistry, and the host/symbiont relationship. And the, I just moved on to studying medicine in general. Starfleet came next- the Academy." she leaned a bit closer to Madison, and she had an almost wicked grin on her face. "I'll admit, though, to a passion- for the field of forensic study, and pathology."

"Really?" Madison breathed, her voice low. "I've always thought that was very interesting, though I never had the head for it." She leaned in slightly closer herself. "Have you done much with it? Rotations at a morgue or... crime scene investigation? Along those lines?" They were very close to one another -- still distanced enough, as though only having an intimate conversation. They hadn't touched, though Madison was sure she could feel the warmth of Tizarin's body.

"Not as of yet." Tizarin admitted. She could feel it too. The warmth of their closeness. She wanted to try the kissing again. But, she didn't want to rush things in a direction that could easily only be the appropriate direction in her own mind. "I have studied forensic procedures, though. And, who knows, I hear this ship gets into the damndest situations. You never know. They might need a good medical examiner."

She let one hand go to her head, where she smoothed back her hair, her movements a bit shaky.

Madison moved carefully and caught Tizarin's hand, clasping it as she moved closer and kissed her lightly at first, then gradually deeper as she realised the move would be accepted. The slight chill of the Trill's lips, the cool of her hand, they only served to emphasize the heat between them and that raged within Madison's own body. Her heart was pounding, her breath was leaving her -- she felt as though she couldn't catch it. For a moment, she was sure the butterflies in her stomach were stealing it away.

This was unreal.

Madison couldn't remember ever feeling this with another person. She hadn't been with many, not really, not compared to a great deal of women her age, but the number was high enough to have something to compare it to.

She brushed her other hand to Tizarin's face, then down her neck, resting on her collar bone, thumb at the small indentation in the center, wondering whether to go lower. She broke the kiss, pressed her forehead against Tizarin's, eyes closed, both breathing heavily.

"I think we should continue." Tizarin said, her words separated by short breaths. "Doctor's orders." and she returned Madison's kiss, letting their lips linger together, as she explored the other woman's mouth with her tongue. She had never done this before, and yet it felt like second nature.

She had kissed, and been kissed. But never with another woman. It was at the same time both passionate- intensely so- and yet gentle. With a man it was always rougher, not to the point of distaste, not for Tizarin, but this was different. So warm, and tender that it felt so much more intimate and emotional than a simple kiss.

Tizarin could feel the warmth of Madison's flesh, and she let her fingers wander the woman's face, and neck while kissing her. Almost as if she were not in control of her own hands, she felt them, suddenly, entangled in Madison's hair. She was stroking her hair, gently, allowing it to flow between her fingers.

Just the touch of it alone could have occupied her mind for days.

Madison would have laughed at the response if she weren't so tangled in the emotions of the moment that it wasn't the verbal response that truly mattered, only the vague sentiment it conveyed. Tizarin then, surprisingly, took the lead, taking the kiss as deep as possible.

Madison's hand remained where they were until Tizarin pulled free of one and entangled all ten fingers deep within Madison's thick dark hair, pulling her closer. She pressed her one hand against Tizarin's face, the other still lingering along her collarbone.

*To hell with it,* Madison thought. If Tizarin wanted it to stop, that's all she had to say... She let her hand journey lower, that resting on her partner's face sliding to the Trill's upper back, that on her partner's chest, sliding lower, cupping a breast gently, her thumb sliding over the center, enough pressure to be felt through the thin material of the gown.

Tizarin gasped. It had been a while, for her. And the sudden sensation took her breath away from her for a moment. She swallowed, hard, and took Madison's face in her hands, kissing her harder, and more passionately. Her hands began to wander down the other woman's neck, and onto her shoulder, and then onto Madison's chest. The Trill repeated Madison's touch, and then let her hands travel down to Madison's stomach where one hand rested as if awaiting orders, while the other shot up to Madison's face, touching her suddenly, but gently.

The Trill broke their kiss, and simply stared into Madison's eyes. The words she wanted to say were in there, somewhere. But nothing came out. She just sat there, her lips parted ever so slightly.

Madison raised a hand to Tizarin's face, her thumb brushing the other woman's lips, resting there. "You're beautiful," she whispered. "I will go wherever you want me to, you just have to let me know it is okay."

"Don't worry." Tizarin said. "It's ok. I promise." the Trill had already kicked off her shoes while they were talking, and now she reached to the shoulder straps of her gown. Slowly, she eased one down over her shoulder, and then the other. Madison could see the pattern of her spots as they extended down her body.

She couldn't help brushing her hands over them as they were revealed; she hadn't seen it before, not outside of the comparative biology classroom at Oxford, anyway. She felt her throat tighten for some reason, almost as though she was going to cry. She couldn't explain the feelings cluttering her mind, reeking havoc on her body. Her stomach was in knots. She couldn't keep track of her heartbeat. And the warmth deep within her was... delirious.

"Come here," she whispered, taking the other woman in a tight embrace, fingers pinching the zipper and pulling it slowly down, the flat palm of her other hand smoothing over the skin as it was uncovered. Tizarin's back was warm, smooth, her skin there soft as it was everywhere else. It was so different from her own: hers was boney, filled with shadows and imperfection. "We should go to the bedroom," she said, softly, laying one hand at the bare base of Tizarin's back, her other at the back of her head, holding her. "We should do it right."

The Trill felt herself tremble every tme Madison touched her. But it wasn't a tremble of fear, or of cold. It was a tremble of anticipation. "Lead on." she said, her voice small, almost childlike. She caressed Madison's cheek as she said it. And then she stood, allowing her dress to fall all the way off. She wore nothing under it.

Madison blushed, a small smile breaking her features as she pressed a hand to her mouth. "And here I thought I was doing the corrupting," she said, taking Tizarin's offered hand, allowing her to pull her up from the sofa. "Yet you are really the minx." She leaned in close, hand dipping low, fingers barely brushing the most intimate of places, soliciting a small gasp from the Trill, who clasped her arm with one hand and shoulder with the other. In her ear, Madison whispered low, her voice really more a breath than anything else, her accent thick with anticipation, "I think I may be able to fall in love with you."

She turned and began to slowly unbutton her shirt as she led the woman through to the bedroom, and then sat on the edge of the bed, her shirt open, revealing a thin upper body, a taunt stomach, a lacy bra. She looked up at Tizarin, her lips slightly apart, her eyes tentative, her cheeks flushed, her body trembling.

The Trill leaned over her and kissed her, her tongue playing on Madison's lips before moving between them. She maneuvered her body so that she was sitting in Madison's lap, and then she reached her hands around to unclasp the bra, and remove it. Tossing it aside, the eager Trill cupped Madison's breasts in her hands, and caressed them, gently, teasing her nipples with her thumbs.

She gave her new lover kiss, after kiss, as she did so.

Madison gasped against Tizarin's mouth, her fingers digging into her shoulders as she fell backward and she felt Tizarin's hand slip further down, over her stomach, and between her skin and the band of her pants. Madison opened her eyes in a pause and breathing heavily, grinned at her lover before nipping gently at her lower lip, and took her hand, pushing it down.

"Welcome," she whispered, hooking her other arm around Tizarin's shoulders. "To a new life."

1957