"Bajoran Noon – Aftermath"

Ensign Saul Bental
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

It was their final day in the Bajor system. After directing most of his time and efforts on the Pennington affair, Saul spent the short time he got left finding a buyer for his Sakarian commodities. Eventually he found a Bajoran merchant who paid a fair price for the crates, and was satisfied with the deal even though he felt an inner pang for not getting a better price.

There was just one little matter to deal with before going back to the Galaxy.

The Bajoran militia station looked like a small fortress, not a medival one but rather something more toward the nineteenth century on Earth. Saul, with his avid interest in History, transferred the setting to India, Western Africa, or perhaps even Israel during the time between the two great world wars.

Ignoring the fact that English soldiers didn't wear earrings, or have nose ridges, of course.

He entered the rusting gates, his black leather jacket gathering more and more dust with every step. On his torso, he wore his Starfleet commbadge proudly. The bandage on his somewhat diminished that pomposity, though.

A Bajoran guard waited him next to the doors of the small fortress' central building. The building was two-stories high, with the Bajoran militia insignia carved into its slightly crumbling maroon walls.

"Ensign Saul Bental, Starfleet Intelligence." Saul identified himself. "I spoke with the base's commander earlier."

The guard frowned. He looked much like the fortress – his skin tanned after hours of guarding in the sun, his body resembling the surrounding crumbling walls and his hair color shifting from brown to gray – and yet, there was pride in him as well, the pride of a vigilant.

He led Saul inside, where the station's commander was sitting with the on-duty operations sergeant. Saul conversed with the commander for half a minute before the latter ordered the guard to lead Saul to the basement floor with a brief wave of his hand.

Saul and the guard went downstairs, to the station's imprisonment cells. Despite the heavy odor of moss and wet stones, the brig itself looked more modern than the rest of the station. It wasn't very different from the Galaxy's own brig, in fact, minus the force fields.

The first cell of the corridor was occupied by the false Bajoran priest. The man just sat there, gazing at nothingness. He was visibly broken, and probably didn't even consider the possibility of ending up like this when Rosenthal pulled him into the scheme. Saul felt a little pity for this simple man, but strode on without slowing down.

His destination was the third cell on the right. Without a word, the guard opened one of the cells' doors. Saul stepped inside, and several things happened at once.

Saul located the camera; He knew there's going to be one in every cell.

The string artificial light penetrated the cell.

The man inside looked up from a book he was reading, blinking.

Saul turned his back to the camera, and removed both his commbadge and bandage before the inmate could adjust to the sudden change in the lightning.

A Bajoran nose ridge was revealed once the bandage was removed; Saul still hadn't returned his nose to its normal, Human appearance.

And then the moment ended, and the door closed behind Saul. "Mordechay Rosenthal.", he proclaimed.

Rosenthal stood up slowly. He eyed the 'Bajoran' in front of him. "I already answered all your questions."

"Yes. And I bet you told all of my predecessors that you're innocent, and that you never saw the fake statuette before in your life. Even though it was in the trailer where you sat."

"Indeed. And even if I did see it, I didn't pay much attention to it… I'm an off-worlder, I don't know much about Bajoran religions or statuettes. I was told here that it was supposed to be a certificate of some sort, but I never heard about it before. Besides, the other statuette, the one I was told was most likely legitimate, exploded. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

Saul's face lacked any expression.

"I think my imprisonment is a result of Xenophobia. I can understand it – you were enslaved by a foreign race for decades, I would suspect 'aliens' too in your case. But this time, you got a simple and legit bookkeeper. I'm sure my people will get me out."

"No they won't."

"They will. There's no other evidence…"

"I recall a pile of papers on one of the trailer's tables." Saul mused. "What was that? Oh yes. A summary of all transactions with the Penzance Cartel, a list of contact man related to some stuff called 'Imbotamin' – sounds like a medicine or a drug – a list of safe communication routes to-"

Rosenthal was stunned. His big nose wrinkled, and the small distant eyes widened beyond their expected capability. "There were no such documents! How did…"

He froze. Then lifted his hand, so that his thumb would conceal Saul's nose ridges. For a moment, he looked like he was about to suffer from a heart attack. Saul just folded his arms and waited.

"Shaul!" Rosenthal called Saul's name using the Hebrew pronunciation "Is that you?"

Saul allowed a thin smile to break on his face.

"You have to get me out of here Shaul." Rosenthal whispered, in Hebrew.

Saul didn't even shake his head. His eyes bore holes into Rosenthal's.

"Shaul, I'll be a free man in no time, and then I swear to you, you'll be a Bental in tons of troubles. The entire family has invested in my endeavours here!"

Saul's left hand slipped down to another one of the Valkyrie's gadgets now hidden beneath his jacket. The thingy generated a pulse that rendered any hidden microphone useless. He replied in Dutch rather than in Hebrew.

"This Bental invested nothing." He indicated, referring to himself.

"This is an outrage. What do you think you're doing?!"

Saul chose not to answer that question.

"People will hear about this, be sure! I'm warning you."

"I don't care, and you're not in a position to warn. Besides, didn't we say you were a legit bookkeeper?"

Then, the two of them said the same sentence together. "Everything we do is legit." Saul grinned as he finished, but Rosenthal wasn't amused at all.

"Why are you doing something that damages your entire family?"

"Think for yourself." Saul muttered, as he turned away for the door.

"Good god! You're trying-"

But the door was now shut behind Saul, and Rosenthal's final words were forever unheard by no one but himself. The bandage already covered Saul's nose when the guard came, and again the Intel officer looked like an injured Human rather than a Bajoran.

The Bajoran guard escorted Saul back to the main floor, where he could safely transport back to the Valkyrie.

Many light years away, a Galaxy-III class vessel was waiting for a junior Intelligence officer to stop fooling around and get back home.

Rite of Passage

"On the Turning Away"

Captain Daren M'kantu
Commanding Officer
USS Galaxy

Starbase 212
Observation Lounge 2
Deck 6

"I must say, I feel a touch concerned at the direction Starfleet has taken in their production designs." Captain Daren M'Kantu raised the gold-rimmed teacup to partake in the aromas of the Tanzanian tea he had been able to rescue from his personal stores.

The Galaxy had suffered an amazing loss at Havras, losing its third nacelle altogether along with over 70% of its structural integrity failed. It was by the touch of Allah - of whom his faith lay if he were a truly religious man - that they had been able to return to port. It had been argued amongst the salvage teams to scuttle it, but the Starfleet Corps of Engineers performed their usual feats of amazement in being able to tow it back to shipyards.

Now he stood here in the offices of Captain Jon Westmoreland, commanding officer of the bastion of Starfleet border defenses and last major waystation to the extreme borders of the Federation. Situated off the main operations hub that gave unprecedented access to the entire docking ring, the Captain of the USS Galaxy, himself the fourth in storied line of prestigious commanders of the sleek schooner of the stars, examined and conceals his worries at the redesigned contours of his assignment.

It was difficult to consider it as anything but this day, as due to the last year of intense action his tour has faced. Was he living up to the expectations of those who appointed him as their charge? Had the delicate balance of power tipped in favor of the Hawks?

"Politics is not a game for the young, such as we are, Daren." The stocky frame of the CO of Starbase 212 sidled up alongside M'Kantu, the erupting grey streaks pulled tight against his scalp reminding the African of warp streaks.

"Perhaps it is the brashness of the young that are endearing themselves to the vestiges of war, Jon. Gone are the exploration and wonder." The Galaxy had been disengaged from drydock clamps two weeks previous, when her new saucer section had arrived to be supplanted upon the dull grey pylons.

"Then it's up to old grizzlies like us to change popular opinion." Westmoreland tucked his hands behind into the small of his back as he gazed longingly out beyond. The USS Miranda had departed several days previous on her next mission. It wasn't often he bore witness to any ships of the line out here on the fringes. There was a time he yearned to fly amongst the stars leading the forefront in first contact missions, explorations, and the ability to go anywhere, anytime.

With the current string of dark encounters along the borders, the battle at Havras, and the new combined threat of the long-dormant Hydrans, deceptive Breen, and insectoid T`Kith`Kin, he begrudgingly wore the responsibility he encompassed out here on the front lines of an impending hostility.

"Didn't you just say something about being young?" The dark eyes glittered what the mouth could not, as there was not enough to be content with any longer. The dreams of his youth had coalesced into thrashing nightmares of twisting metal and shrill screams in the night.

"It depends on your perspective." Westmoreland's hands had become filled with a Padd M'Kantu had not noticed previously. Starfleet Command insignia flowed across the interface. "She is a beautiful ship though.' He waved the instrument out at the immense window. "I'm glad to see the Corps of Engineers found a method of utilizing a streamlined warp field without that damnable third nacelle. You'd think they would have learned from the twenty-second century how unstable the warp shear was, let alone additional costs. Imagine how many starships would have been postponed because of the manufacturing demands of the Galaxy II." He shook his head.

Daren solemnly nodded his head in acknowledgement. But it was *his* ship, and she'd come through for them more than enough times. He'd never let himself degrade her structure. Beauty is only skin deep after all. Her real attraction lay within; her crew coaxing and loving her regardless of the errors in design judgment.

Now, with the arrival of the Enterprise-D saucer spaceframe upgraded with new systems, offensive and defensive schemes, he would have to re-acquaint himself with her. He was not supportive of the newest measures Project Archangel had pushed through the Federation Council, but after Havras, he realized times were changing for the worse, even as he understood the decisions. He wondered if the ship would be as it is hanging in wait if there were no opponents to the Federation way of life on the horizon.

He touched the gold-rimmed cup emblazoned with the Starfleet emblem to his lips; the tea had grown cold. As he knew all things eventually do.

"Your orders have arrived, Captain." The awkward silence, or perhaps perplexed reverence of nostalgic times long gone, was broken.

"The Galaxy has been given release to perform warp stress tests while delivering some much needed supplies to Trill. Medical supplies, personnel, equipment. They're upgrading their medical facilities there, as well as planetary defenses." He handed the padd to M'Kantu, who settled his cup on the conference table as he scrolled through the manifest.

"Quantum torpedoes. They were banned by the Borg treaty Admiral Price tendered."

"Security locked with tri-layered overlapping bands. Only the combined authenticity of you, your First Officer, and ranking Federation official can sign off on their use. If any of the three are unavailable or incapacitated, you will need two other ranking officers of equal ability."

"If that much security is in place, it hardly makes sense to stock them." His thumb stopped on another item. No use arguing against more Hawk bureaucracy. Not here.

"The Breen defector has been assigned to the Galaxy, as well." Under heavy guard. Krieghoff would be ideal, if he returned. A part of the mind of the Captain silently wished he never made it back. Victor Krieghoff was a dangerous individual even if he had been integral to the escape of the hostages, if reports were to be believed. Lt. Grey had a skewed perception when it came to the Security officer. Her report would be taken with a grain of salt, even if she was not available to confirm or deny details.

"He is to be transferred to Deep Space 9. Their facilities are more amenable to interviewing him. His knowledge of tactical plans, fleet strength, and this 'Net' is an Intelligence coup." He couldn't keep him here, and anyone with a mite of military intelligence knew it. He was severely undefended this far out. Only Galaxy and Miranda were nearby. The border patrol starship Merrimack was always in the area patrolling along the SB 447 to Typhon Expanse edge of Federation territory. The 100 year old Excelsior would never stand up to any sort of offensive threat.

Plus, the bigwigs at Starfleet Command wanted to get their hands on this Breen weapons officer. The talk of parties and political rubbings. More excuses building up a military stockpile. Orders were orders, though.

"Thank you for the tea, Jon." He depressed the authentication print, which in itself transmitted directly to the dockyard computers. He stretched out one dark, mottled hand, which the Westmoreland grasped firmly.

"Anytime, Daren. Here's to hoping the next time we meet, it isn't under stressful circumstances. You owe my senior staff a card game. We need to alleviate your crew of some of their converted credits. They at least have value here." The corners of a slightly wrinkled mouth curled up in a minor grin.

"I'll pass that on to my senior staff. I'm sure they'd be just as content to relieve you of those credits to keep your crew honest." He released the Captain's hand and took his leave.

The moment he stepped from the offices, he tapped his combadge. For the first time in almost 3 months, he had a purpose. No more paperwork. It was time to take action.

He silently gave thanks that this mission would be fairly uneventful. He would enjoy the scientific and engineering aspect this time, and he promised himself he would take a vested interest in the crew this mission.

"Captain M'Kantu to Personnel." He slipped into a turbolift. One of dozens on this level, and manually depressed the glowing panel of schematics this lift carried to.

[Personnel. What can we do for you, Captain?]

"All Galaxy personnel are to report for duty in 24 hours for departure."

A moment's pause. [Several are off-station or en route. Any specific orders?]

"Transmit the Galaxy's flight plan. They are to rendez-vous as soon as possible before we reach our testing corridor." The turbolift doors shushed open to the main flight deck 123 decks down from the main hub. The Galaxy loomed large overhead as he halted momentarily. So much had changed on it. Non-glare reflective textiles gave it a 'camouflaged' look. This ship was meant for business.

***

Deck 129
Docking Platform 14B

[Aye, sir.]

"Very good... M'Kantu out." The badge emitted a tiny chirp as he delayed on ending the transmission.

"Sir?" It took an extra moment to register that this was the third time Moe Branson - Galaxy's Shuttle Bay Chief had called to him. The unjoined Trill understood the Captain's emotions all too well. He'd experienced them himself every day since they'd towed the old girl into drydock at first to strip out the unsalvageable, then into the Stardock itself for its refit.

"I've a shuttle on standby. Would you like to transfer across, sir?" Daren had edged up to the airlock doors and craned his neck to take in the view. The plating gave off the illusion of hardened steel against the white lights of the station. It was disconcerting yet hypnotizing as with the angle he was peering at he could not even begin to fathom the size of the ship. Only the last minute welding of panels and integrity checks reminded him that there was a full-sized 650 meter starship hanging out there. Power wouldn't be coming on for the warp coils and secondary cores for another 6 hours now that orders had been issued from Fleet Command and the SCE had signed off on stability in the new nacelles.

"I would, Mr. Branson. Very much so."

"Follow me, sir."

Daren tore his gaze away from the new ship glistening in the light as he followed his Shuttle Bay Chief into the cramped pod that would carry him onwards towards providence.

"Practical Magic" Pt. XI

Senator Ramir Omar,
Ambassador
USS Galaxy

Lt. Brianna O'Shea,
SCE USS Galaxy

Brianna sighed. "Well, so much for lively hood. Yes, I will come." She then said to Tal, she knew if she didn't the General would only take it out on Tal.

The butler nodded with visible relief, bowing low to both of them before leading them inside.

Just before they entered the back entrance of the house, Omar saw his father’s limousine arrive in the driveway, and a stretcher was taken in through the wide front doors. He hoped that – things having gotten better with Anna after the disaster at the embassy – the situation wouldn’t deteriorate again.

Tal led them into the huge living room – where General Omar lay on the gigantic sofa, coughing and wheezing, his body visibly shaking. When he saw his son, however, he managed to sit up slightly.

“My son,” he said, in a quiet voice. “Come.”

Omar quickly rushed over to his father, and knelt beside him in order to hear.

“Ramir, my son,” the general said. “You must order our forces to attack the Klingon outpost.”

The senator recoiled in surprise. “Sorry, what father?”

But the general didn’t reply. Instead, he looked up at Anna.

“Ah, Ramir,” he continued. “You’ve finally gotten married. Now I might get those grandchildren I deserve-” His sentence abruptly ended in a fit of coughing, and he lay back down again.

In despair, Omar turned to Tal, who quickly explained.

“It seems, my lord,” the butler said. “That, while your father is recovering, the agent in his body has rendered him as being temporarily… incapacitated. He seems to remember bizarre things at random times, sir.”

Omar merely nodded in acknowledgement – in other words, Tal was saying, the senator was now the head of the Omar house, at least for the time being. One of the most powerful families on Romulus, and Ramir Omar now controlled it.

“I shall take care of your father, my lord. There is business to attend to, however, in his study.” Tal said.

“Understood.” Omar said briskly, and moved towards the door – beckoning Anna to follow.

Brianna about choked on her tongue when the General blurted out the word married. She then turned followed Ramir out of the living room. She said nothing, wondering if he was really going to order the assault on the Klingon outpost, surely he would know if he did it would start a war between the Klingons and the Romulans and the Federation would get involved since the Klingons were allies.

Omar seemed to read her facial expression. “Don’t worry, my father was just remembering events from the past. That Klingon outpost was the Khitomer station, it was an attack my father was part of over thirty years ago. A traitor named Duras transmitted the defense codes, and the Romulans were victorious.”

"What about the marriage thing?" Anna asked.

Omar chuckled nervously. “Yes, sorry about that. You see, my father has wanted grandchildren for a long time, and is annoyed that his own son isn’t even married yet. He was obviously part-delusional, and thought you were…” The senator trailed off as they reached the study.

Brianna nodded understanding. "I think we shouldn't correct him right now... have a feeling when he remembers me he will be pissed enough."

The senator smiled. “Yes, I expect you’re right.”

They crossed the vast hallway and reached the study. Although it appeared to be guarded by a simple wood door – however an ornate door at that – in fact, the entranceway was reinforced with tritanium. There was only one way to gain access.

Omar put his index finger on a green display. Half a second passed, before the study door swung open – automatically closing once they had both entered.

The general’s study was not particularly large – given his wealth and status – but it was expensively furnished. Omar sat down in the comfortable chair, and waited while a hologram displayed itself on the beautifully carved desk.

When Omar had read the text on the holographic display, he swore for the third time today.

“This is hardly what I need right now,” he said, more to himself than to Anna. “The workers and slaves, who live on the outskirts of this estate and are responsible for its upkeep, are rioting. They must have seen my father on a stretcher and decided now was a good time to rebel.”

Brianna sat down and listened. "What are you going to do?"

Omar looked at Anna. “Why, there’s only one thing to do, isn’t there? Crush it. The slaves and workers may outnumber the mansion bodyguards five-to-one, but hammers and spades can’t match plasma weaponry - it'll be easy. I’m calling in the forces now.”

Anna was not the person to go into this so she just sat there, trying not to turn Romulas into her cause. "Mind if I go to the kitchen and fix me a snack?" Anna asked, not really wanting to be here when he ordered the attack.

“Sure,” Omar said. “I’ll come with you.” He tapped a button on the keypad before leaving the study.

They entered the kitchen, and Omar searched around for the snacks that Tal had prepared.

Outside, through the large window – a phalanx of bodyguards could be seen, marching in strict formation and moving to protect all sides of the mansion.

The senator hoped the slaves would be scared away by this show of force – and nothing more would come of it. The last thing he wanted to do was show Anna the harsh taste of Romulan brutality.

Looking up she saw the scene outside the window and closed her eyes as she looked down. "I need to be going soon, Ramir. The ship that will be taking me back to 212 will arrive with the hour." Anna said, not wanting to see any more of Romulas after this. She never wanted to come back to this place again.

Omar turned suddenly. “What? Within the hour? Anna, can’t you stay longer? I thought you were fine here. What’s wrong?” he stammered out.

"Starfleet wants me off Romulas as soon as possible, given everything that has went down. They fear for my safety and I think they worry I'll start a interstellar incident." Brianna said. "Besides, got to get back and see how the refit is going."

“Then I’ll come with you,” Omar said, holding out his hand. Looking out towards the window, he heard shouts – the workers were retreating, pursued by the bodyguards.

The senator breathed a sigh of relief – that was easily done, and with no violence for a change. He turned back to Anna, smiling. “I’ll return to the Galaxy with you, in that case.”

Anna smiled. "Great... How about I head back to the Federation Embassy, you can have a few moments with your father then you can join me there?"

Omar shook his head. “No, you don’t need to return to the embassy. I have my private shuttle ready out on the back lawn – we can take it back to Federation space. Starfleet quarters – my refitted Galaxy living area aside – are far too minimalist for my taste. Do you mind?”

"No I don't mind. We'll have the Starfleet ship meet us at the boarder... Starship will be faster then a shuttle." Brianna said then smiled. "As for your quarters. I'll help you fix them up." She said then grinned.

Omar shrugged, but nodded. “Very well.”

He escorted her to the back lawn, where a gleaming silver shuttle stood. The senator approached and put his index finger on the door-panel. When the fingerprint scanner was complete seconds later, the rear door slid open – revealing a small but luxurious flight compartment.

“Stay here while I see my father,” he said, sweeping back towards the mansion. Tal escorted him in, and ten minutes passed.

Finally, Omar emerged – looking decidedly more cheerful than before. He climbed into the shuttle, sealing the rear door.

“Ready to go?” he grinned.

"The one with the Russian and a Cajun in bed..."

Ensign Andrei Vronsky
and male NPC named Remy, in Security on Starbase 212.

CONTENT WARNING (although nothing too graphic. Hints about m/m sex, so if you don't like it, don't read it)

Special notes: Okay, so I woke up early and wrote this. Just Andrei having some fun with a character that started out being this guy from New Orleans, but ended up having some remarkable resemblance to Remy LeBeau in X-Men.

That's what stereotypes can do to you *sigh* Yes, not to be confused with the Chief of Helm, although I doubt Andrei would argue if he ever got him into bed. Just mindless creative fun, sexual innuendos that would make James Bond flinch and nudity, but nothing too graphic. All for my amusement, by the way. For those desperate for a mental imagine, imagine Jude Law and a Viggo Mortensen-like guy having fun.

::Starbase 212::

"Andrei?" He felt a hand stroke over his hip, up his naked back and then the line of a body pressing close. "Andrei? You awake?" soft lips teased his ear and a tongue flicked out to follow the curve of it, making Andrei squirm even if he was half-asleep. Truth was, he'd rather just sleep a little longer, instead of being woken up. No matter how nice it was.

"'omme...better wake up now, oui? You can't sleep all day, it'll mess with your mind, beau. More than de vodka did." The accent rolled over him, making him open one eye slightly to look at the face watching him. Light brown hair framed a sharp face, angled cheekbones looking as if they had been cut out in marble. The nose was long and sharp, the lips thin...it gave the man leaning over him the appearance of some sort of fox. Andrei closed his eyes, stretching lazily.

"Not now, Remy...I was having a nice dream," he said, rolling over again to rest. It felt early...but he guessed it was early for his body, at least by the shift he slept after. His mind was happily numbed by the quantity of vodka he had taken last night, not yet hungover...maybe he had become immune over the years?

Remy rolled his eyes, sitting up as he reached out for a cigarette and a lighter. "An' I thought that I was a sleeper..." he said, the smell of clove cigarettes suddenly thick in the air. The man took a deep drag before reaching out, turning Andrei's face and leaning down to kiss him, exhaling the smoke into the other man's mouth and lungs.

Andrei pulled back, coughing violently as he sat out, narrowing his eyes at him. "Cajun bastard..." he murmured once he got his voice back, followed by a few selected words in Russian, all of them questioning the other man's parentage.

The Security officer laughed, shaking his head to let his hair hang into his face as he watched Andrei with amusement. "Best to get up, cher. You can't sleep all the day away...." he reached out, stroking his cheek gently before leaning in for a kiss.

Andrei turned his face away with a small, teasing smile. "Oh, yes I can. If I want to," he said, but got out of the bed. He reached for his bedrobe, lacking the confidence about his body that his bedpartner had. He liked Remy...it would be a shame leaving him here at Starbase 212, but it couldn't be helped. It wasn't meant to be after all. It was heat, but no fire. Not love, just lust. He looked over the body on the bed, regret stabbing his heart. Ah, but who wouldn't lust after the man? All long legs and toned muscles without being bulging. Like David, if Michelangelo ever decided turning his creation into a 6'1", reddish blond creole from New Orleans with the face of an angel and the manners of a whore. It made Andrei think of the Vampire Chronicles, where vampires roamed New Orleans hunting as they pleased. Remy could have been Lestat...or an older Armand. Yes, it would have worked. Had it not been for the fact that Armand's real name had been Andrei, and he had been a Russian kidnapped by the Turks and sold to Marius, who named him Amadeo and took him as his personal...boy, only to make him into a vampire when-

"Andrei?" Remy interrupted the thoughts with a smile, leaning back on the bed. "A credit for your thoughts." The whiskey chuckle came again, all smoke and sex and lust rolled into one. Remy's chuckles could be dangerous.

"Would take more than you have to buy them, Remy," Andrei said, chuckling as well as he shook his head. He hesitated, his eyes going over him again. Yes, it would be some regret leaving Remy behind. But he'd be picked up easily enough, perhaps by that other Security officer he knew that Remy had a thing for. Life did go on after all, and their...fling would soon be a thing in the past. "I'll shower first...give you some time with the cigarettes...even if they will only give you cancer. Or rot your teeth, since they are cloves," he wrinkled his nose to show his dislike of them and walked to the bathroom. He liked this room because it had an old-fashioned water shower.

It felt oddly comforting, feeling water run down his body. He turned the water on and removed the robe, stepping inside to feel the water run down his body. Yes...this was what was good. Just life's simple pleasures. His mind drifted to Russia, to his father and brother. It had seemed like such a joke, his name. Vronsky, the great count out of a novel. Instead, a less than perfect, vodka-drinking doctor with peculiar tastes, a watered-out Russian/English accent and a face that sometimes seemed too feminine. It did feel odd, being himself. It was as if sometimes he was Andrei and other times he was just someone else hiding beneath his skin. Someone who didn't want to be here, or maybe just needed some taming. The same person who had found Remy in the first place, and kept inviting him back for mindless sex.

Any logic part of his mind, or his doctor side, would scream at the idea of sex with a stranger with a questionable background.

His other side just told him to shut up and enjoy.

His mind was so caught up in the usual ramblings that he did not hear Remy enter the bathroom. Suddenly, he felt arms wrap around him and a hardness against his backside. "Remy missed you," a familiar voice whispered into his ear, chuckling warmly as hands moved down Andrei's chest to his suddenly reawakened groin.

Afterwards, when they were clean and sated, Andrei snuggled close to him in the sofa. It felt good. This moment felt good. He kissed the naked skin on his shoulder, chuckling as Remy stroked his hair. "I feel like a gigantic cat," he admitted, looking up to meet his eyes. They always startled him in their intensity, as if Remy was absorbing everything around him to use.
Thing was, Andrei wasn't sure what the man would use the information to.

"Oui...a gigantic cat, beggin' to be petted by ol' Remy..." Remy agreed, his teeth bared in a grin. He touched Andrei's lips, letting the nail of his thumb make a quickly fading mark on the full lips. The music in the background seemed soothing, soft piano and violin reflecting their afterglow. "I'll miss you, beau. But c'est la vie."

"Unfortunately so," Andrei agreed, pressing a kiss against Remy's hand. "But we've had fun. That's what matters." He moved into Remy's lap, more or less curling up against him. This was what he liked...two arms holding him and no worries. Hakuna Matata and all that. "I'll miss that awful accent though."

"Awful? You callin' Remy's accent awful?" the Cajun laughed warmly, before arching a brow. "Really, Andrei, how can you say such an awful thing..."

"And don't take the mick!" Andrei hit his chest, laughing warmly. "I do not sound like that. I sound dignified, not half-drunken."

"Is that what they call it nowadays..." Remy whispered, grinning warmly.

"Put a sock in it, Cajun," Andrei hissed, but his eyes shone playfully at the silly banter.

Remy wetted his lips, grabbing him and turning them over on the sofa. "Not exactly what I had in mind to put. In. It," he whispered teasingly against his ear, his hands already roaming over his body.

Oh yes. Andrei was definitively going to miss the ragin' Cajun...

"Secrets a la Carte"

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell;
Engineer

Ensign Saul Bental;
Intelligence Officer

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

From across the food court, he observed her, cool and silent as a shade.

His eyes moved from her dark and moist hair down to graceful back and to her thighs like the punctual fingers of an experienced lover. He stalled on the tattoo on her lower back, then returned to her hair.

He never noticed how she had little curls in her hair, or how pointy her nose looked when she turned a little in a way that he could see it. Now, however, he absorbed every small detail of her being, letting it flow over him and into him like a gust of wind.

He could see a glimpse of her neck, hidden between the dark locks.

A lover's fingers can also grip, and squeeze.

Saul Bental took a step forward.

He selected this place on purpose.

Starbase 212's food court was crowded, many people, many minds. It was said that some of the most important conversations in Starfleet Intelligence took place in cafes, because they were crowded with mind and noise, masking the single person's thoughts or words.

Saul mingled into the crowd, moving through the mass like rainwater sinking down fertile soil. He was indistinctive, yet people unconsciously cleared the path in front of him.

You don't stand in the way of a dagger.

When he was barely ten meters away, Saul's hand reached his black jacket's chest pocket. Inside, he could feel a small, metallic object. His fingers closed on the small chain, his sight never leaving Naranda's figure.

Another step forward; He was nearly there. Only two Bolians filled the short distance between him and Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, daughter of the resurrected hero of Sakaria. She just put down the PADD she was reading, and began to move again toward the Replicator.

Another step. He drew the object from the pocket. She didn't notice him yet, but her face began to turn in his direction.

The masses whirled around them, like some sort of spatial vortex. All hurrying in different directions, nobody actually looking at him, or her, even though they brushed against them and against each other all the time. A whirlwind, a cyclone of flesh.

He reached for her...

Naranda felt something metallic placed in her palm. She looked up, and found herself face to face with Saul Bental. She smiled.

"Good to see you, princess!", he stated, making a bow. A nearby Ferengi glanced at them at the sound of the word 'princess', but otherwise the crowd remained indifferent.

Nara opened her hand. Inside there was a golden Bajoran ear cuff.

"A golden gift to a lady in gold." Saul indicated, referring to Naranda's role as a Starfleet Engineer.

Nara looked at the ear cuff. Odd gift to give someone who wasn't even Bajoran. She just smiled and looked at him, "Thank you." She got the drink she ordered from the replicator -- she didn't like dealing with Ferengi bartenders -- and nodded for Saul to follow her to her table.

He sat on the opposite side of the table, fixing his gaze on the starry view visible through the broad windows of the food court. Inside, Saul tried to think as little about his 'contract' as possible, but it was very hard considering the situation. Instead, he tried to focus his thoughts on recent events and on the pretty officer in front of him, and trusted what she told him before - that her telepathic abilities were weak and never used.

A full Betazoid would probably aim a phaser at Saul's head at this point of time.

"How are you doing?" He asked Nara, "I haven't seen you since we returned from Sakaria."

The space between Nara's eyes wrinkled thinking over the time with Cernu and a visit with a ship counselor, which insued in a meeting with the captain. She smiled, "Alright; considering." She also wondered how bringing up the fact that she now suddenly had better use of her telepathy could enter itself into this conversation. "How are you?"

"Fine, also considering..." Saul replied automatically. She seemed distracted to him, which was actually good. "I had a trip to Bajor, with some of the crew." he added, without mentioning any of the juicy details- in the fair tradition of discrete Intelligence officers. "We went to a fair there, me and Miramon Terrik from Flight Control, and there was this little girl who sold these earrings. Her shop was called 'The Princess' Earrings' in Bajoran. Guess who I thought of the moment I saw it..."

Nara smiled and looked down as she silently laughed. Why did it make her face feel warm and her heart skip to be called a Princess by him; when it warmed her face (for a different emotion) and made her hands turn into a fist when anyone did.

"So what were you up to while I was away emptying the Bajorans' pockets?" Saul inquired slyly, resting his chin on his left hand. "Let me guess - you were busy with the refit."

Nara looked up. "Well I visited with Klaus a bit when I returned." Nara decided not to discuss what she ended up discovering. "Then I went with Cernu. He helped me to..." How would she put this. "Harness my telepathy." She looked at him to see how he reacted. She also decided she wasn't ready to reveal she had seen a counselor. She had warmed up to him, but she didn't want to disclose something so personal yet.

Saul looked alarmed. But not for the reasons Nara could think of. "What do you mean harness your telepathy? Last time we spoke, you told me you didn't want anything to do with telepathy. What made you change your mind?"

Nara looked down thinking. Being as vague as possible she answered, "After destroying the mines, my telepathy was awakened. I went with Cernu so he could help me learn to control it. Left simply opened as it was, it was dangerous. Now I know how to control it."

Saul considered himself a person who easily controlled his body language, but right now he was making a considerable effort to stay calm. Soon, it won't take a telepath to see that he was nervous.

"Who is this 'Cernu' fellow?"

"A Q'lrn." Nara hoped she spoke Cernu's species and not Vr'lu's. "They are very telepathic. So much so they are able to communicate with Bioships."

"And how exactly did you 'harness the telepathy'?"

She decided to answer his question, "Cernu formed a link with me. I guess you would call it memory transferral." Nara looked at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really... how are things back in Sakaria?" asked Saul, deciding to drop the whole telepathy issue which both of them were clearly uncomfortable with. He made a moderate profit on his Sakarian commodities, but his question was completely polite.

"A standstill. Both sides are Sakarians. We're pretty stubborn. I'm surprised my father hasn't killed someone yet." She joked.

Saul smiled at the pun, slightly relaxing for the first time in the conversation. "I hope he won't have to." Then, another connection formed in his mind. "Is there any specific person that delays the peace talks? There's always the maniac who think he or she can get a leverage by delaying peace for a little while longer."

Nara shrugged. She didn't really try to stay informed. It was just a reminder she had her hands tied here in Starfleet. She wasn't sure when she could return to Sakaria to do anything about it. "Mother tries to let me in on things there, but it's just a painful reminder I can't do anything about it."

"Yes..." Saul knew what she was talking about. Being unable to influence about the way things are back home... then again, the Galaxy was his home, and he could influence things there, right?

Nara looked at him, something seemed to trouble him. "Seriously, Saul, what's wrong. Any person with eyes can see you're tense."

"Your new super-powers-of-the-mind telling you that?!" Saul snapped. He caught himself as the last word came out of his mouth, and gapped almost as though he was trying to swallow the words back again. But words are things that cannot be undone.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean it to sound like that." Saul apologized, a little ashamed of himself for losing his temper - and for no reason. She actually did care, and he shouldn't have responded that way.

Nara smirked. She almost laughed, "No dear friend. As I said, it's quite obvious to anyone with eyes. I have just plain intuition as anyone would." Nara looked at him again. She sighed and sat back, "And the way you're reacting..." She thought a moment. The second she mentioned telepathy, he pretty much freaked out. "People are normally nervous around telepaths if they're hiding something." Nara remembered it was really annoying that she could never lie to her mother. Even when she tried, she was too nervous her mother would find her out, her father even knew she was lying. She looked down and sat up and rested her elbows on the table, "We don't know each other well enough to reveal some things." She looked at him, "There are things I'm not telling you either." She smiled at him, "I won't probe you or make you tell me anything. So chill out and relax!" She sat back smiling at him.

"Yes ma'am!" Saul responded slyly, glad that she wasn't upset. If things were the other way around, he would get pretty mad. As for her scanning him, he only had her word for it, but he decided to take a gamble and believe her. Worst case, he's wrong, she'll find out, she'll try to kill him first. No big deal.

"Come to think about it, I really know very little about you – for someone I shop abroad for." he said. "Let's make a deal - you tell me a little story about yourself I don't know, I tell you a little story about me. What do you say?"

Nara looked at him suspiciously, "You first."

"Let's see..." It took Saul twelve seconds to disqualify seven great stories which he didn't want Nara to hear about, now or ever. "OK... did you know that I was once a soldier in my planet's domestic guard? For a couple of months, before I got out."

Nara cocked an eyebrow, not really believing him.

"Okay." Saul grinned. On second thought, the story looked to him like something he should've disqualified, but you can't stop a good story in the middle. "So here we are, a squad with ten new recruits and two instructors. Imagine purple-red skies above, and an abandoned seaside town. The guard is a police more than an army, but during boot camp they give us one week of 'Urban warfare' so we'll feel 'cooler' than your average doughnut-munching Policeman."

Nara sat back crossing her arms still unsure of the accuracy of his tale. But like fish tales, they're interesting even if not true.

The intel officer smiled as he considered what he just told Nara. Utrecht III's regular policemen weren't fat. They were thin. They didn't have enough credits to replicate enough food - except for the corrupted ones, of course. "So in the middle of this abandoned town, out of nowhere, a bunch of armed and masked hoodlums ambushed us. They popped out of the gaping gates of some ruined buildings, behind rusting skeletons of hovercars... I don't know.

"Of course, we immediately surrendered, didn't even get the chance to call for help. They took away our weapons, locked us in some basement. After an hour, they came out and took - can you guess who? - me. I was sure that I'm going to say goodbye to a limb or to my innocence... but then as they closed the basement door, two of them removed their masks. You know who they were?"

Nara shook her head thinking to herself she would never had surrendered.

Saul prepared the lie from the beginning of the story. He made himself actually believe that the answer weren't 'my cousins'. "My neighbours from upstairs... the two of them about my age. They heard that I was having a hard time at boot camp, and decided that they should give me some 'time out' to rest..."

"Uh huh." Nara flatly said trying not to laugh.

"You don't believe me!" Saul mocked a frown, but a grin spread on his face anyway. He resisted the temptation to ask Nara to probe him and see if it's true. It would've been the funniest thing to say at the moment, but the results could be disastrous.

She smiled shaking her head.

"Your turn." Saul said, leanning forward. He rested his elbows on the table, and his chin on his left hand.

Nara looked at him, "Yours didn't count." She was teasing him now. But she also didn't feel like telling stories exactly.

"What do you mean mine didn't count??" Saul rose, the smile not leaving his face although his tone grew louder. "It was a good, long story! A story with both suspense, drama and comedy! A story which reveals some hidden secrets about my past! If you don't tell me a story of your own, I'm going to take my story and turn it to a best-selling Holodeck program - and you'll be the one to blame!"

Nara raised an eyebrow and sighed, "Fine. A quick one." She looked at him to see if he would sit.

She sat back and started her short tale. "We had just defeated the last of the enemy in the village of Fireo. We were hungry and all the vehicles were damaged and the transport we requested wouldn't be there till the next day. Some of my guys found some animal feed and made this type of porridge. It absolutely disgusted me, but some of them really needed to eat, so I ate a bowl to encourage them. Made me wish I could just take a bullet for them instead."

"No." Saul said simply.

Nara raised an eyebrow at him.

"I could also come up with a story of 'one day in the army I ate disgusting food and it was disgustingly disgusting." Saul explain sternly. "I'm sorry, but YOUR story doesn't count."

Nara smiled teasingly, "If mine doesn't count, yours definitely doesn't." She looked at him seriously, "I don't feel much like exchanging stories. There's one story I've had to share recently I rather not had." She stood on that and looked at him apologetically, "Maybe later we can share real stories."

"I would love that. See you around, princess."

"See you."

Once again, Saul watched Nara's back, this time getting smaller and fuzzier as she walked into the crowd.

Once again, his hand reached for his chest pocket. Inside, there was another metallic object.

This time, it was sharp.

"Session One"
Ensign Paulo DiMillo,
Intelligence Officer

Ensign Lee Rowe,
Counselor

Paulo walked down the corridor heading towards a Counselor Lee Rowe's office.

He hated counselors. He had seen so many as a child and after he had returned he didn't want to deal with them anymore, but an order was an order. Since his return he had seen counselors about his torture, the reason he went AWOL and his sister's disappearance from so many years ago.

Paulo finally arrived at the door leading into the main counseling center. It took a few seconds for him to walk in and talk to the receptionist. "I am here to see Lee Rowe."

"Ah yes, you must be Ensign DiMillo," she replied. "Have a seat, I will let him know you are here."

Paulo took his seat to wait to be called.

Lee was sitting in his office, he actually had some appointments today which had made a change from the past schedule, and was a much needed break from drop-in sessions, at least he had time to read up on people's files before they came knocking. As he read through Ensign DiMillo's file, his next patient, he looked up to the sound of the comm bleeping. He knew before the Crewman receptionist said anything that DiMillo had arrived. He got to his feet and walked for the door, as it slid open he realized his tunic was still on his chair and he was wearing only his teal colored undershirt. ~Oh well, we're told to be relaxed~ he joked to himself.

"Paulo DiMillo?" Lee said, extending his hand. "Lee Rowe, do you want to come in?" He motioned towards the open office door from which he had just emerged.

Paulo stood up, "not really, but orders are orders, and its better then being back at the Penal Colony," Paulo replied to the Rowe as he walked toward the door. Paulo walked in to find the room slightly decorated to make the room seem more welcoming. Paulo had been in so many of these offices he could always expect to see what was going to be on the walls and book cases. Walls would be pictures of family, and/or drawings from kids, and diplomas and certificates.
On the shelves would be plants, and many books.

Paulo looked for just a second before taking a seat. His own tunic was unzipped, and had been like that for most of the day. He hadn't been to interested in official dress since he got his commission back. He looked at Rowe's desk and saw a PADD sitting there. It probably was his own record, and he was almost interested in what was on it. 'Maybe I should look that up later...,' Paulo thought to himself. Though he had no idea how he would explain that as he had command watching his every move.

"Okay," Lee picked up the PADD, taking a final glance before placing it down again. "I understand you don't want to be here, but as I'm sure you can imagine neither do ninety-nine percent of the people who have appointments 'made for them'."

Lee emphasized the point of the appointment being made on his behalf. He looked the Ensign, in his dark gray undershirt and unzipped tunic, up and down, he was slightly taller than Lee when standing and larger built, averagely built in-fact.

"Firstly, how are you settling in back aboard?" Lee began.

"As well as could be, considering the circumstances," Paulo replied. "It's not every day people are told they have to work with someone who has done time in a Penal Colony for going AWOL, and other stuff."

"No that's understandable, but how are you feeling working with people here, when they know where you've been, and why you've been there?"

"I am feeling fine. It feels odd cause I know they are talking about me behind my back, but I don't let it get to me. I have a job to do."

"And how do you feel about going to the penal colony in the first place?" Lee asked, curious as none of the penal colonies counseling sessions were documented in any detail. "Do you think that you should have been sent? Or do you feel what you were doing to get sent there was in just cause?"

"Well one always thinks that their cause is just, as I did. Breaking the law though is breaking the law, and my punishment was just, just as I thought my actions were."

"Okay," Lee nodded, thinking, Paulo was a tough nut to crack, as were most members of Starfleet Intelligence he had dealt with, they were trained to counteract mind games and counseling was just that. "Are you happy to be back with a commission, or would you have preferred to be out altogether?"

"It is either hear, or back at that Penal Colony. So I guess I am "happy" to have my commission back." Paulo wanted to get this done with. He hated counselors and their mind games. He could see that Mr. Rowe still wanted to press on, and that Paulo was going to be here for the whole hour.

"Well Paulo, you're about as easy to talk to as a Pakled! If there is anything you do want to talk about whilst we're here feel free to mention it, because otherwise I'll just keep coming up with question after question, as you well know..." He wondered if the challenge would work, normally the notion of being out early caused some response. He waited and sat watching DiMillo.

Paulo thought. Rowe was giving him control for the time being, and Paulo wanted to use that to get out of here, but he knew he would be getting some angry call from the heavens telling him to report back to Mr. Rowe to finish the session.

"I have talked with so many different counselors that I have ended up talking about my life from when I first remembered anything to my time being tortured.

So in truth I can't think of anything that I haven't talked about before. Well their is the disappointment in being lied to by dozens of sources, then ending up being captured and tortured for months."

"So who lied to you?" Lee probed, he wasn't sure whether he'd found a weak spot in DiMillo's defenses yet.

"My contacts," Paulo replied shortly.

"Has the capture and torture affected you?" Lee asked, realizing the last line was going nowhere.

"Explain," Paulo replied.

"I understand Intelligence personnel undergo quite rigorous mental training, but do you feel that you've changed from the time you were captured? Do you have recurring memories, or dreams of the incident?"

"Changes, yes, recurring dreams, nope," Paulo simply replied. "I feel more aggressive, and a lot less trusting then I used to be. I double check any and everything myself if possible. I see that some good changes came from the experience, but I feel that some bad as well."

"You don't feel troubled at all by the events of your capture any longer?" Lee asked. He felt Paulo was little more open in his previous answer, and didn't need to go any deeper into things.

"I don't think anyone feels fine again after they have gone through something like that. It's probably something I am going to have to just live with, so no, I still feel troubled by it."

"Is there anything specifically that troubles you?"

"The whole thing troubles me. It takes me back to before the terrorist attacks over two years ago on Starbase One, Vulcan and many other planets. How can such a huge hole in intel be explained?" Paulo took a second to collect his thoughts. "It shoudn't be possible. I mean if there was a hole in that alone, what other intel do we have that is wrong? I am not troubled just by the events that happened, but what they mean, the whole intel community. It's just very troubling."

Paulo paused for a few more seconds. "I think that may be why I was asked to come back. I know what happened and what led to my torture. I may not be able to fix them by myself, but I can sure as hell start some changes on one of the flag ships in this part of space."

Lee nodded, the optimism in Paulo's voice was good to see. He glanced down at the PADD, he had filled most of the blanks in his psychological history in for the moment. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss?"

"Not off hand."

"Ok," Lee said. He placed the PADD down on his desk. "I think that'll do for now Paulo, I'm sure you're aware that you've got appointments booked... I'll see you in about a month's time I think."

Paulo just nodded before getting up and heading out of Rowe's office. He headed towards the intel offices for his next meeting.

Lee shook his head slightly as the door closed, DiMillo was hard work. He slipped down from sitting on his desk to sitting in his chair behind it and picked up the PADD to start the report on his newest patient.

“Devil In The Details” Part 6

(Begins twenty minutes after the end of Part 5)

Principal Characters
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Imperial Attendant K’vala Mahask

Secondary Characters
Phnel, Denobulan Weapons Collector and Merchant
Dhbin, Phnel’s Wife

****

Denobula
Phnel Mansion
Phnel’s Study

“You mean… you’re not really married?” Dhbin, for some reason, seemed to want to come back to that. Four times so far, by Victor’s count.

“No,” he answered, preventing the Attendant from doing so as she had the previous three times. Since K’vala was in the process of taking the knife out of his back, he thought that it was prudent to keep her attentions focused on what she was doing. “We are not.”

“But you both…” Dhbin started, only to be stopped by her husband.

“They aren’t married,” Phnel assured her. “They’re just working unclothed together.”

That particular verbal error, Victor decided with a wince and a grunt from the reversed chair he sat in so K’vala could remove the knife and apply a dermal regenerator borrowed from their host, could have waited to be made until *after* the Attendant had the knife out of his back.

Even the sound of the Attendant grinding her teeth together didn’t make up for the extra pain.

“Oh!” Dhbin’s face lit up. “Like in the adventure holos!” She turned innocent eyes towards Victor. “Those are my favorite kind of show: all that action and danger, the wonderful fights, phasers blasting, and the partnered heroes saving the day against terrible odds!” She smiled eagerly and clapped her hands together. “Tell me, which one of you is secretly in love with the other?”

Victor’s hand tightened on the chair until the wood creaked as the Attendant growled faintly and the knife blade jerked sideways again. The weapon hadn’t hurt this much going *in.* The Attendant obviously possessed more skill at sticking knives into people than taking them out painlessly.

“Neither of us,” he answered after a second, the first word slightly strained until he got his voice under control. “That only happens in holos.” It would have been easier if she was still terrified of him, Victor decided. She hadn’t asked absurd questions then.

Dhbin looked crestfallen. “But she seemed to know just what to do to stop you from… when you were, you know…” She seemed at a loss for words.

“When the muH veqlarg – the killing demon – had come,” the Attendant spoke up as she slipped the knife the last of the way out of Victor’s back and pressed the regenerator to the injury. “I had to do it the first time we worked together. He had been attacked and left for dead by men under suspicion for the deaths of Starfleet personnel, and the muH veqlarg had taken him then too. He came for those that had attacked him while I was there to question them and…” she shrugged, “they fared no better than the one that stabbed him tonight.”

That was certainly one way of explaining what had happened, although Victor didn’t think arguing about the Attendant’s revisionist interpretation of her role was worth the effort at the moment. She might decide to put the knife back in.

“And you had to stop him that time too?” Poor Dhbin seemed determined to find some shred of romantic material in the story. Victor hoped Phnel kept her from interacting with the real world too much. The child was too innocent to do so safely.

“Yes. That time he came for me as well – I had to hold him off with a chair until he heard the words I was saying and stopped.” The Attendant shifted the regenerator slightly until it chimed its ‘in position’ tone and started to hum again.

Victor decided that part was accurate enough – if you left out the bit about her stabbing him in the arm.

“Weren’t you scared?”

“I think that’s enough about their first assignment together, dear,” Phnel interrupted in a burst of common sense. Asking a Klingon if they were scared was much like poking a Cappellan Power cat in the eye with a sharp stick: they weren’t going to like it and their response was likely to shock you. “I’m sure they want to get back to being unclothed together very soon now, and we don’t want to interrupt them.”

Victor thanked God for having that one wait until the knife was gone.

“We need to leave soon, yes,” the Attendant agreed from behind Victor, her voice a bit tense.

“Then let me take care of my end of our deal.” Phnel stood. “You gave me – gave us – the thing we wanted more than anything, Mr. Krieghoff; time for me to give you what you need.”

“Thank you,” Victor nodded.

“Do you want me to arrange for delivery to your ship?” Phnel asked. “It might be easier since I can handle any questions about the… contents… for you that way.”

Victor turned his head and looked at K’vala who nodded. “That would be a help, yes,” he agreed.

“Then that is what we will do,” Phnel clapped. “I will have everything to you before morning, Mr. Krieghoff – and I will be certain to call your father and tell him what a wonderful help you have been to me.” He smiled in the wide-mouthed way that only Denobulans could.

Victor doubted his father wanted to hear anything about what he’d done to Klnal, but decided that, given Phnel’s habit of exaggeration, it would be hard to tell what had actually happened. “Just remember that you can’t mention anything about what I needed from you, or why,” he cautioned. “Just tell him that I was… passing through on an assignment.”

“Of course, of course!” Phnel exclaimed conspiratorially. “Mom’s the word! You two just head back to your ship and get back unclothed and I’ll take care of everything!”

The ‘beep’ of the dermal regenerator as it signaled completion kept Victor or the Attendant from a need to reply to that one.

****

Exiting Denobula System
ICV Shabradnigdo
Bridge
Five hours later

Victor locked in the course to the Trigun system and waited for the automated systems to take over. The computer processed the information, checked the updated astronomical charts and references it had automatically downloaded from the Traffic Control beacon in the system, and chimed that the course was good. The lights on the main board shifted as the computer made adjustments to the warp field, and then the stars lengthened and snapped back into focus as the Shabradnigdo jumped to warp.

That, at least, was done. Now all he had to do was get the Attendant to tell him where they were really going. Trigun was only on the fringes of the Triangle, not the sort of place that anyone making the kinds of deals the Klingons they were after would be based from. For that, you had to deeper into the Triangle, where conventional law enforcement was too smart – or too afraid – to go.

Victor shook his head at that thought. He’d never been accused of being smart, and the one thing he was afraid of wasn’t following a trail of illegal arms sales into the Triangle. He supposed that made him perfect for the job.

“What,” the Attendant’s angry voice snapped out over the intercom, “is *this?*“

Those two things also seemed to be requirements for working with the Attendant as well. Victor sighed and stood up, the pain in his back as his knitting muscles protested failing to help his mood. “I don’t know, V’kala, what is it? I’m afraid that my vision seems to be being blocked by the deck plating at the moment.” He supposed that calling her by her alias wouldn’t help, but the sooner they got into the habit, the less chance of a life-threatening error later.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about!” she replied heatedly.

A glance at the communications board told him she was on Deck Three. “Wait there, I’ll be right down.” As he started off the Bridge and down the hall to the lift he wondered which of the two - stupidity or fearlessness - was the more important on this job.

****

ICV Shabradnigdo
Deck Three
Galley

“That!” The Attendant barked before Victor had fully passed through the doorway into the ship’s galley. “What is *that?*”

Victor looked along the line of her outthrust finger. “That, V’kala,” he said tonelessly, “is a gaak tank.” Truth be told, it was actually a fairly nice gaak tank as such things went. The dealer Victor had bought it from on Denobula had given him a very good deal on it – though whether from a desire to get Victor out of his store, or a desire to be rid of the uncommon item, Victor hadn’t been able to tell.

“I know *that!*” Her voice lowered an octave, becoming a threatening growl. “Why is it here?”

“To raise and store gaak.”

The Klingon woman’s eyes flashed. “You are doing it again, husband! Answer my question!”

Victor looked at her for a second, and then nodded. If she could keep their cover while screaming at him, then maybe this was going to work after all. “I did. You didn’t like the answer.”

She took a step towards him and raised a hand, making a fist, “I will…”

“Eat them.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You will eat them,” Victor repeated. “Your digestive system has different requirements than mine; it requires a certain amount of fresh, raw meat. I could handle some of that with flash-frozen meats, but not all. Building a targ pen was out of the question, but buying you a gaak tank wasn’t.”

“In return for what?” she hissed, the fist unfolding into a claw. “What do you get from me for this favor, Erik? Do you expect me to…”

“Go to the bathroom.”

“What?” K’vala’s cry was loud enough to make the gaak worms cringe in their tank.

“That’s what I expect you to do, V’kala,” Victor sighed. He walked past her to the coffee percolator and poured himself a cup. “I don’t know for sure what not having the required amount of raw meat will do to you, but whatever it is, it can’t be something comfortable. Eat your gaak, be comfortable. That’s it. No strings, no demands.” He turned back around, coffee in hand. “Why would I want my wife to be uncomfortable?” If she could stay in character, then Victor would be damned if he couldn’t.

K’vala looked at him oddly, obviously surprised that he had maintained discipline, her eyes still dark even though her frown faded somewhat. “What is that you are drinking?” she snapped abruptly.

Victor wondered at what point ‘changing the subject’ had replaced ‘sorry for being a bitch’ – and why no one had told him. “Coffee; a traditional Terran beverage. It’s something like Raktajino, but hot, and without all the other things added in to make it sweet.” Victor looked at his mug and offered it to her. “Would you care to try some?”

She stared at the mug suspiciously, took it, sniffed the coffee, and then tried some. “It is… not raktajino,” she admitted.

“No. I never cared for drinks like that – too sweet.” Victor turned and poured himself another cup. “I prefer it this way: freshly brewed, plain, and non-replicated.”

“What is wrong with it when replicated?” K’vala frowned at him after he turned around. “It is the same beverage.”

“It’s close but… not. I can taste a difference.”

“How?” she demanded skeptically. “It is identical, a quantum-level duplication of the original.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But some people can tell a difference. Not like gaak,” he indicated the tank, “where it comes out dead, more like…” Victor thought a moment. “More like the difference between a targ fed on grain and one fed on grass in the wild.”

That explanation seemed to make sense to the Attendant – at least enough that she didn’t scoff openly at it. “Ah.” She took another sip. “This is… strong. Bitter.”

“It doesn’t have to be. This is just what you start with – it changes when you add things to it, just like everything else.” Victor nodded towards the percolator. “If you want to add anything, the sweeteners and creamers are in the cabinet under the machine.”

The Attendant took another sip – a longer one this time – and shook her head. “No. This is sufficient. A warrior might drink this and not feel shame.”

Having never considered that the beverage one drank had anything to do with one’s status as a warrior – or anything else – Victor thought about that for a moment before he answered, “I suppose. There just never seemed to be a point to trying to change it to me – this is what it was, and I either accepted that or didn’t. Making it into something it wasn’t seemed… pointless.” He started past her towards the door to the mess. “Talking about coffee is fine with me, if that’s what you want to do, V’kala – but we have other things that are more important we need to discuss.”

“What things?” she asked suspiciously from behind him as he sat down.

“Like where we’re going, V’kala. Really going, not the waypoints that you’re feeding me one at a time. Like the fact that it would help if I knew at least enough to lie convincingly about what we’re doing if questioned.” Victor turned and waited for her to stomp into the room, eyes already angry, before he added the item that he was certain would be the hardest sell of all, “And like the fact that we need to move all of our things into the owner’s cabin and both start sleeping there.”

As the Attendant’s eyes went wide, he wondered if this was the time she was going to actually use the knife that fell into her hand.

"The New Boss"

By
Lt. Klaus Fienberg,
CMO USS Galaxy

Ens. Tizarin Lias,
MO USS Galaxy

Tizarin rubbed the back of her neck. The spots on her neck- part of the easily noticed Trill markings that went from her head to her feet in the usual pattern- were slightly raised. A sign she was either arroused, cold, or nervous.

It was a comfortable temperature in sickbay. And her mind was on her work. But she had been working too long. And her nerves were begining to frazzle.

Her rubbing of her neck was for the purpose of easing tension.

She blinked her eyes, and stared at the information on the PADD she was holding. It was an inventory list for medical suplies. Medical supplies bound for Trill. And so, as the only Trill officer in the Galaxy's medical department it had been Tizarin's task to catalogue the lot.

She'd rather be treating patients.

Klaus was still a little nervous about his new position...and his new silver pip. He didn't feel right about issuing orders from his PADD and not in person, bu! t he was just too busy at the moment.

~Might as well see how everyone is doing.~

The first new person he noticed was Ens. Lias. "Ensign....Lias, is it?" Klaus said behind the Ensign's back, with full intent of startling her.

The tall Trill turned, sharply. Had she had a phaser in her hand, she'd have fired. "Shit ! You scared me !" she said, without noticing the rank on Klaus' collar.

Klaus chuckled. "Calm down! You'll have a heart attack like that. At least you're alert."

Tizarin put her hands to her hair, and made a failed attempt at smoothing the mess that was rapidly falling out of the bun she had tied it in that morning.

"I'm sorry... sir." she said. "You scared me. I didn't mean any disrespect, or anything."

"Don't be concerned. I was asking for it. I apologize to you."

"Thank you... " she exhaled loudly. "I guess I'm just kinda haggard. I've been inventorying these supplys for 16 hours."

"B! rings back memories. I do hope you're nearly done."

"Actually, I am done." Tizarin replied. "It's certainly a big load. I didn't know there were so many sick people on Trill. But, I guess in lots of ways we're still cleaning up after the damned war."

"That damned war...." Klaus nodded. "With what those monsters did, I wouldn't be surprised if the relief effort took another 10 or 20 years."

"Do you mind if I ask- Dr. Fineberg, right ? German ?" Tizarin was always interested in alien cultures. And, since she did not hail from Earth that made Terran cultures and languages officialy alien. Especially with Earth's wide diversity of nations and national backgrounds.

"Ja. I am German. Ha Ha!" Klaus was happy about the change in subject.

"I find that most of my human friends come from Europe." Tizarin commented, not realizing she had just numbered her boss among her friends. "Well... since I'm through cataloguing- anything! else I can do around here to make myself usefull ?"

"Europe...Hmm...I see. Yes. I always found myself fond of those from North America. Although I once met an interesting fellow from New York. In fact he's somewhere On the Galaxy. Our head Pathologist......half-trill in fact. Not sure where he is though...."
Klaus trailed off.

"Pathologist ? And half-Trill ? Sound slike someone I'd like to meet." Tizarins replied. "Pathology is a hobby of mine. I love the ferensic elements of solving crimes, or just solving unsolved mysteries. You'd be surprised what you can learn about a person, or an event, with just one little strand of DNA."

"Thats all well and good. I was always just focused on healing the person, body and mind."

"Of course, you don't need me telling you that." Tizarin said. "You're a doctor. And I'd bet a damned good one to rate CMO on a ship like this. Been assigned aboard her long ?"

"Funny thing is, I'! m not entirely sure. Two years maybe."

"Yeah... that's right." Tizarin looked around her as if she were taking notice of something for the first time. "They did just rebuild this old thing, didn't they ?"

"Yes. At least the old ship has more of an asthetic value now. She was nice before, but only if you wanted a flying brick with warp nacelles." Klaus became distant for a moment. ~The Battle of Havras....why does it haunt me so.~

The Trill knitted her brow. Dr. Fineberg looked troubled, and she had to doubt it had anything to do with the design of the ship he was assigned to. That was the purveyance of engineers. "You... you alright, sir ?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Oh...oh. Nothing. I'm alright. Just a long and painful past that I occasionally have to deal with."

That struck a chord of familiarity with Tizarin. As a Trill, she knew all about living with one's past. She had to live with the pasts of two
people- her! previous hosts- as well as whatever path her own life lead her on. "I know how you feel. I have the memories of two other people competing for space in my brain." she commented. "But... sometimes I find it... stimulating somehow. It is hard dealing with the bullshit life throws at you sometimes.

"Well......life was never meant to be easy."

"No, I guess not." Tizarin said. "But, if it were, it'd get pretty damned boring, after all. So... we're bound for Trill ?" she moved the subject to the Galaxy's next assignment. She wasn't sure what to expect, on a return trip to Trill, either. Since being joined with Lias nine months prior, she had done her best to not return there, not trusting the intentions of the Initiate Institute.

Now, her career was pushing her in that very direction.

"Apparently so. I'm still not completely briefed. I went from temporary CMO of a the USS Valkyrie on her shakedown run, and back to the Galaxy jus! t to have the mantle placed on my head so quickly I couldn't even fully aquired the briefing in my mind due to the sudden increase in workload." He picked up her pad and looked at it. "Managing a skeleton no more than at least 20-30 people is easy. Upping the workload to anywhere from 400 to 1000 crewmembers and dependents.....then things get......difficult. I don't even know the exact number of permanent occupants the Galaxy has at the moment."

"Um.... 470, or something." Tizarin said. "I looked at the manifest this morning, whilst finishing my breakfast. My only meal of the day."
she offered a smile to allow her commanding officer to know she meant the remark in good humor. "But, I know what you mean. Starfleet seems to shuffle it's people from port to port a lot faster than they did it when my second host was travelling as an ambassador. You sound like you've been at this a lot longer than your years, though."

"Mien Gotte. I'm bare! ly into my 30s and I've already lost that youthful optimism." Klaus may have felt old.....but he was happy, at least a little bit.

"I think optimism comes and goes." Tizarin said. "It's not just for the young. So... any idea where we're headed next ?"

"Trill, as you are aware. I've been busy. I need to review the briefing myself. But I remember that we stowed extra medical supplies."

"Yes, I should have said; 'why are we going to Trill'. " Tizarin replied. "Based on my inventory, we stored enough medical supplies to treat an epidemic. I haven't heard of a medical emergency on Trill, though. I'm sure my parents would have let me know. It'll be good to see home again." she added the last part as something of an afterthought. And she knew, as she said it, she didn't really sound all that convincing.

"Oh! RIGHT! I remember now!" He fumbled with something on a table."We're in the middle of a job for classes like the Ptolemy of Antares."

He turned around to stare at Tizarin with a cold face, and amused eyes.
"We're saving Trill!......By ferrying personell and medical supplies. And I set that up entirely too well."

Tizarin crossed her arms, and laughed. She tried to restrain the laugh, but it didn't work. And after the laughter, she felt she had to explain herself. "The first part, sir. 'We're saving Trill' ! You sounded just like one of those commercial messages on the Federation News feed."

"Well....I cannot help it. I'm bored."

"Oh, well, then you could always have helped me with that inventory." Tizarin's tone was friendly. She liked her new commanding officer. She could tell, just from the few moments they had been talking, that Doctor Fineberg was what they used to call, in old Earth vernacular, a "regular guy". He was a doctor, and an officer, but he had a sense of humor and knew how to relate to people. And she was assured she wasgoing to enjoy serving with him.

"As for saving Trill- some of us deserve it." Tizarin continued. "Some of us... well... let's just say there are some really dull, and really boring people on Trill. Most of them in high positions of power- and in my opinion a plageu, or a war, or just a sudden influx of Agrellian tourists would do the place a world of good."

"Yes. Reminds me of Cambridge. Stuffy bureaucrats and Scientists. Had to visit several times during my academy days. The place lacked so much personality, you'd be surprised they were even human. The bloody eggheads would look better with pointy ears and green blood."

He smiled and eyed Tizarin with curiosity. "I'm surprised you aren't having difficulties with my accent. The last 3 trill I have met, save for Lieutnant Rex, have had difficulties understanding me."

"My first host- he was an artist, and very eccentric." Tizarin said."He was married to an Austrian woman for ! 18 months. The marriage wasn't much, but the memory helps me with Germanic accents... among other things."

"Heh." He quickly looked over the inventory. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help you, but I've been working on a faulty connection with Dr. Zimmerman's lab lackeys. Giving me a 'Holographic Personalities for Imbeciles.' I decided we needed a new Primary EMH."

"Sounds interesting. I can help you in the programming if you like." Tizarin offered. "I've not worked with holography much, except on the holodeck. But, I might be able to help with installing the different databases. I'm good at tedious tasks."

"Just don't tell anyone. His hame will be 'Dr. Axl.'"

"Makeover"
Lieutenant Corran "Spots" Rex

-----------------
Vanguard One
-----------------

Corran looked around local space silence. It was a strange thing. They'd been on the panet.. a week, maybe two. Not that long. But when the Klingons had picked the four Starfleet Officers up, and dropped them off at Starbase 212... they'd found something else, entirely.

Months had passed. The ship had nearly been destroyed at Havras, and had spent a great deal of time being refitted. She was now the first vessel to be upgraded to specifications that had been classfied as 'Galaxy III'.

Viewed from the outside, from the cockpit of his fighter... the "new" ship was gorgeous.

It was still hard to wrap his mind around the time difference. The anomaly which had crashed thier runabout had apparently been temporal as well as spatial. He understood it now, with Jalen's scientific knowledge once more a full part of him, than a few months ago - when he would have had to have asked his symbiont's first host to explain.

That was something else that had changed.

From the cactus water - the water that had had such a disturbing impact on Curtis - he had synthesized a treatment. His T'rex's syndrome was now officially in remission. He was just your average, ordinary joined being with ten lifetimes of experience.

He missed Vorrin.

And the others, of course, though they were all still with him, in a way, it was different now. They were one now, instead of many. He was alone in a sea of memories.

Corran had never expected to become used to his casual mental admonitions of the irascable old smuggler. But now that that everpresent voice was gone...

Well, it took adjusting.

Bringing Vanguard One into a loop patter, he moved the ship slowly over the Galaxy's saucer hull.

"You're not the only thing who's gotten a makeover, ship." he said quietly to the grand vessel. "Let's hope mine turns out as well as yours."

["Fighter Control to Vanguard One. Sir, Lieutenant Heloi is in the 'bay. She's waiting to see you."]

Reaching his gloved hand forward, the Trill pilot toggled the comm link."Tell her I'll be right in, Control."

"Anger Management"

By
Captain Daren M'Kantu
and
Ensign William Warbeck

*backpost- before the mission starts

*****

Will sighed as he walked from the turbolift, a breath of relief escaping him. He hated those things with a passion, and that was a passion on the size of his passion for Byron. Which, all things considered was quite big. He rubbed the side of his neck, where a pimple had decided to make it's appearance. Bloody annoying. He always throught that he'd end up with perfectly clean skin after 20, but no such luck.

What concerned him right now was seeing the Captain. It didn't really worry him, but he was nervous. A Captain was the king of the ship and he'd want make a good impression. "Jesus Christ, you tosser. Get a grip," he murmured to himself, running a hand over his face an scratching his light beard.
Perhaps a little nervous was an understatement. Though saying he was a bit nervous was like saying that Hitler was a bit naughty. Which again said it all. "Right...can't be that hard, can it? Talk to the bloke, smile..." he stopped outside the door, ringing the chime and swallowing. "Jesus, it's like watching a penalty shootout between Newcastle United and Manchester United. Or maybe England and Holland. Jesus..." he chuckled, shaking his head weakly.

"Come in." Daren called, looking up from the letter he was composing to his ex wife. Even though he had been divorced for some time, old habits died hard, one of them being long winded debates. This week was over Picasso and cubist art had always rubbed him the wrong way.

He figured that after four pages of bad mouthing Picasso, he had earned a break. He didn't worry about writing so much. June would probably write back more. Her taste in art had always been questionable.

"Good afternoon, Ensign...Warbeck, correct?" Daren asked.

"Yes, Sir," William said with a small smile, straightening in front of his desk. "Ensign Warbeck reporting, Sir. Will...William Warbeck, that is." He watched the man nervously, yet with slight awe. It was rare you met a Captain on a ship...especially if you were a lowly ensign on a ship like this.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ensign. Will you have a seat?" Daren waited till the man was seated before he continued. "Know anything about 20th century Terran art?"

"A little, Sir," Will said, surprised at the question but offering a warm smile. "Not a speciality, but I have some knowledge about it."

"A friend and I are discussing it." Daren said pleasently. "I figured if I could get enough people on my side, she would have less of an arguement. "How are you liking Galaxy?"

"It's a big ship, Sir," Will nodded with a small smile, trying to relax around the man. It was rather impossible...it was clear that he was a man one should respect. "So yes, I like it."

Daren smiled and pushed aside his computer PADD so as not to be distracted by any sudden urges to expand on the arguement. He noted the discomfort of the man before him, accustomed to younger officers getting tongue tied with anyone with more than two pips, and tried to keep his body language relaxed like he had been taught.

However, he did have business to discuss with the ensign, so he interlocked his fingers and rested them on the desk before him. "I would like to hear about the reprimand you recieved on the Hildalgo."

Will took a breath before giving a small nod. He had expected this. At least he knew what he could say. "Yes, well..." he chuckled weakly, meeting the man's eyes. It was too late to back down. "I was reprimanded and demoted after attacking a Security officer, Sir. The Security officer freed me from the armoury on the Hidalgo, where I had spent hours locked inside. I had been locked in there by security officers and my instinct...I guess my instinct was to attack him." He took a moment, a slight blush rising to his cheeks and reddening his ears. "I'm claustrophobic, Sir. To such a point that I can't handle being locked up in a space like that. I don't remember my hours in there, and I don't remember attacking him. I remember flashes from it, emotions, but not actual images. I beat him pretty badly, and I think my condition is the only reason that I was only demoted and not court martialled..."

"That is exactly why." The Captain told him. "I'm not saying that it wasn't understandable but I want to make sure that it doesn't happen again. I'm ordering you to continue your therapy sessions on Galaxy for a minimum of six months, Ensign."

Will bit his teeth together, taking a breath before nodding. "Yes, Sir," he said, glancing down. He never liked therapy. Actually, he hated it, but it was a necessity. Like going to the dentist. He looked at the man, unsure exactly how much he knew about him. "I am not a violent person, Sir," he said, feeling the urge to defend himself. "Not really. I don't even have a temper problem."

Daren nodded. "I once knew a man with the temperment of angel, Ensign. Everyone said he was the kindest soul they had ever known and I can remember thinking at one point that I'd never seen him angry."

"So...what happened?" Will asked, sensing that there was more behind this story than he was being told.

The Captain looked at Will directly. "He slaughtered the woman who ran over his son with her transport. Stabbed her fourteen times with his pocket knife and that was before he set her free to run away, just so he could run her down with his own transport." Daren shook his head. "The point is, Will, that all people have the tendancy for violence, for temper problems, and anger management is not just for those who are more overt about it. Even pacifists have issues with anger, remember that."

Will paled, nodding weakly as he watched him. Jesus wept. That was rather impressive...not that he didn't understand the underlying idea of vengence. It was something that was heavily laced in the books he read and a fact that had haunted humans since the dawn of time. "I will."

"Good. Now are there any questions that you have for me?"

"Yes, Sir," Will said, forcing a small smile as he watched the man. "I was wondering...actually, not exactly wondering as curious but..." he chuckled nervously, meeting his eyes. "Is there anything special that you expect of me? From Captain to a tactical officer...I think I mean anyway."

"To do your best, Will." The Captain replied. "Just to do your best."

"Practical Magic" Pt. XII

Senator Ramir Omar,
Ambassador USS Galaxy

Lt. Brianna O'Shea,
SCE USS Galaxy

"Yes.. hope you don't mind. I used the communications system to let the USS Savior know we'll meet them at the boarder." Anna said then smiled. "I have to admit, love the design of your shuttle. Very nice."

“Thanks,” he said, before manipulating the controls for take-off.

Within five minutes, the planet was a blur in space – as the shuttle prepared to enter warp.

“So,” Omar said. “Once we return to the Galaxy, we will still be seeing a lot of each other?”

Looking over at him. "You think that I'm going to change once we get back?" She asked him. "I like you Ramir, nothing changes that. I want you to know that I like you a lot. Regardless of where we are or doing, I want to see you if you'll let me."

He smiled. “Yes, regardless of where we are, I echo your statement.”

Omar was going to ask her about what she thought of his home-planet, but since he already knew her negative feelings about it, he chose another topic.

“So, as a member of the Starfleet corps of engineers, you must know, Anna. What’s this Galaxy-III Refit all about?”

Brianna nodded. "Yes, I was privy to that information. I'm not sure though the engineering department is going to like it. I'm going to be the liaison onboard the Galaxy, I report to the SCE and Captain M'kantu." She said then looked over at him.

“So what does it exactly involve?” Omar inquired. “I am the Romulan ambassador to the Federation, after all: I have the security clearance.”

"Making sure the last few upgrades are done, watch the performance of the crew. Evaluate everything I can." Anna said then smiled.

"So, how long do you reckon until we get to Starbase 212?" the senator asked.

"Not that long, once we meet up with the Savior." Brianna said as the shuttle raced from Romulas. After a few hours they found themselves on the Intrepid glass USS Savior and at high warp toward Starbase 212. Brianna and Ramir shared most of the time by themselves, where they had talked and shared more about themselves to one another. Now both were enroute toward transporter room. Walking in the Chief looked up.

"Senator, your shuttle has done been dispatched, it'll be over on the Galaxy for you.. crew transfer took her over." The man said then nodded. He then gestured toward the pad.

"Savior to Galaxy... sending over Lt. O'Shea and Senator Omar.."

"Roger that....."

"Chief tell the Captain thanks for the favor... I owe him one." Brianna said then said energize. She and Ramir where engulfed by the transporter and soon were back on the Galaxy.

"Hell Week Part 2"
By Lieutenant Commander James Corgan
Lieutenant jg Claire Barnes
Lieutenant jg Cora Dobryin
Lieutenant jg Walter Marsh
Lieutenant jg T'lan
Attache Nyssa Alvarez

Location: Middle of nowhere, Earth.

Three days later...

Three long, exhausting days later.

Was it three days later? James couldn't tell. The lack of sleep was messing with his head, to the point where he was running on autopilot. Whenever he did get a chance to sleep, it was in five or ten minute intervals, enough of a cat nap to keep himself from seeing things on the march.

Where they marched was like a kaledoscope of M class planets. He recalled Kenya, American backwoods, European mountains and Canadian plains. He remembered an infinite number of pushups and jumping jacks, multitudes of oceans he swam.

They all eventually blurred. So too did his companions, a mix of Hazard Team and Galaxy volunteers.

The whole march didn't help when the Drill instructors were being total dickheads. All had bullhorn voices without bullhorns to enhance them. And for some reason they really liked to torture their charges.

In all, the whole matter didn't teach them anything extra, except how to endure more, with a lot less encouragement.

It also taught them a great example of how to hate authority.

On the third day, the Galaxy crewmembers were at their breaking point. It all started in the middle of yet another march.

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

"LEFTRIGHTLEFTRIGHT..." Barked continuously the drill sergeant, as he led the group across a mountain pass. His clarion voice travelled across the land, under hot sun and cold, in blusting wind and rain.

Claire growled in annoyance, finally reaching the point where she wasn't gonna take any more crap. Turning her head as she stopped, she snapped loudly in a loud voice, "Why don't you take your left-right-left and shove it up your ass, you fucking wanker?"

Walking forwards towards the drill seargeant, she had a look on her face like she was gonna pound him senseless, and if he had a whistle, she would have shoved it down his throat.

The drill seargeant quickly turned a bright shade of red as he began barking out, "GET BACK IN LINE, YOU USELESS BITCH. WHEN WE GET BACK TO BASE, YOU ARE GOING TO BE DOING SPRINTS UNTIL YOU THROW UP. AND THEN MORE UNTIL YOU DO IT REPEATEDLY."

"KISS MY ASS, YOU BASTARD."

"WHEN I SAID NOW, I MEAN NOW, CUNT!" Forcefully, the drill sergeant decided to exercise his authority. He gave the Lieutenant a shove on the shoulder, throwing her body back.

Snarling at the last comment, Claire made the distance quickly and slammed into him, punching hard. The pair quickly rolled to the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. Finally, the seargent used his weight to hold her down by the method of holding her down by the throat.

"ATTEN..... SHUN!!" Bellowed the drill sergeant over the strangles gasps of Lieutenant Barnes. The Galaxy crewmembers all stopped to watch, the concern on their faces plain to see.

Aside the group, T'lan jogged faster, away from the group that was gathering around Barnes and the drill sergeant.

As Hazard Team members tried to make their way forward, another drill sergeant stepped in between the dispute, blocking their way.

The drill sergeant continued, picking up Barnes by her throat, "What we have here... is a case of insubordination! We do not... I repeat... do not take kindly to such acts! You do what we say, and no backtalk, and you may live to see the end of hell week! If not... i'm going to break you like i'm about to break this stupid bitch!"

With a shove, Barnes tumbled in the dirt, the maniacal, towering drill sergeant looming over her, so assured of his superiority.

"C'mon, cunt!" The drill sergeant chided, giving her a boot while she was down. "C'mon! C'mon bitch! C'mon! Show me how tough you are! Show me your nuts hang low, bitch!"

Claire coughed and growled before driving her knee straight up between his legs. He grunted and the pain gave her a chance as he rolled to the side.

Crouching, she waited for him to make a move. He moved forwards slowly and when he got close, he charged forwards, slamming into her as she tried to apply a martial arts throw to him. However, he was prepared and ducked, slamming a fist into face.

Claire spat out blood and blocked a blow from him. He was very strong and skilled, but then, she was a very experienced fighter. She went in with some well-placed moves and used her agilty and flexibility to her advantage.

A few kick-boxing moves broke the close-fighting and he moved back. She dove to the ground and her hand trailed along it before rolling up, clenched fisted.

He moved in fast and she slammed her hand outwards. Stopping suddenly as she opened her hand, she sent a cloud of sand directly into his eyes.

He growled, temporarily blinded. She pressed in, slamming her hands and feet into him.
She was close when he got back his sight and slammed his hands down on her shoulders.

Claire dropped to the ground and a fist to the stomach sent her down. He dropped down, kneeling on her as he grabbed her hands above her head tight.

"How do you like being defenseless, bitch?"

Holding her hands tight above her head with one of his own, he reached down and ripped her flimsy top away, leaving her topless. He slapped her across the face,

"Hmm, very cute. Suprised a hussy like you isn't ringed, but we can always fix that. Maybe with that mouth of yours, you should put out for us and your friends? Other places too."

He backhand slapped Claire. She dangled helplessly in the drill sergeant's grip, admiring the spatter of blood left on his knuckles with a sadistic grin. "Listen up you f**ktard! If you want to be the best of the best, you'll have to put up with pain... humiliation... torture... violation!
This
is what it's all about! Do what you can to survive... or you'll..."

A swipe of his free hand tore Claire's pants clean off, exposing her and her g-string to the environment. "...have all your weaknessess exposed... just like this trashy little slut right here." His attention went back to the battered Lieutenant Barnes. Lecherously, the drill sergeant leered, "Bet you want to follow orders now, don't you?"

Claire growled and spat in his face.

"Well b*tch, a few minutes behind those trees and you'll be saying yes sir to ten inches of me. Consider yourself lucky. GET BACK TO WORK MAGGOTS!"

None of the Galaxy crewmembers moved, but they were positioned between the drill sergeant and the woods where he planned to go. This had an infuriating effect on the drill sergeant, and he once again demanded their obedience.

Nobody moved. The breakdown of authority happened before his eyes, and yet the drill sergeant couldn't bring himself to believe it. He demanded the Galaxy crewmen moved out of the way, brazenly throwing threats and punishments for anyone who stopped him.

Not a single soul moved.

"Well then... guess the woods behind me are as good as the ones in front of me. C'mon you rutty little whore..." He grumbled, snatching Barnes by the hair, "...it's time for punishment detail."

"To hell it is!"

The drill sergeant was taken aback in surprise. He turned around to face Corgan, T'lan, and a retinue of three drill sergeants. As astonished as the surrounded drill sergeant was, he still could not surrender with his prize. Redfaced and stuttering, he barked, "Your crewmate is insubordinate. I'm taking her aside for punishment detail."

Skeptically, James looked down at Barnes. She was in bad shape, a face battered and bleeding, her nose crooked and out of shape, and her clothes, torn and dirty, on the ground. It sent his blood boiling in anger, shaking his entire body. "Naked and beaten? Is that how you do things here?"

One of the friendlier drill sergeants replied, "No we don't Commander."

"Really?" James responded before turning back to the evil sergeant, "Then in that case, i'm going to have to ask you to let her go and get the f**k out of here. You have endangered one of my team, and I have every right to take my team and walk out of this exercise."

"Like hell you do!" The drill sergeant argued, his nose and his rotted breath a mere millimeter from an unflinching Corgan, "You maggots are under my control until the end of Hell Week! My authority circumvents all of you!
Now get back to work!"

"And for the reckless endangerment of MY crewmates, as well as attempted rape, I can tell you to go f**k yourself, and there's not a f***king thing you can do about it! What do you say to that!?!"

Corgan's last verbal assault gained him inches more ground, as the drill sergeant was intimidated enough to lose ground to what must have been a brash opponent. The drill sergeant towered over James; so much that Corgan had to crane his neck to stare eye to eye. But flaring nostrils blowing fetid air downwind didn't work as well as Corgan's cold, gray eyed stare.

A man like the drill sergeant, however, didn't run away. A challenge was very much like a corner, and he was backed into one.

His escape plan was a volley of fists. He would break the little punk of a commander, pummelling his face until the skinny spacer saw stars, then use that advantage for a knockdown blow. A kick to the chest, breaking the ribs and sending the commander tumbling into the thick woods below so that everything else of his would also be pulverized. Yes, a brilliant plan!

Could have worked, if it was not for James foot. Lashing out like a snakebite, James ducked the overly high blow toe and buried his fist into the drill sergeant's crotch. It was there that stars exploded in the drill sergeant's eyes, and the pain of his testicles being kicked figuratively up his hipbone overwhelmed his senses.

A kick like that wasn't usually enough to immobilize 280 lbs of snarling drill sergeant.

That was what the knee to the jaw was for.

James had his hand on the back of the drill sergeant's head as soon as the hat tumbled off. It helped bring his head speeding faster towards Corgan's knee; the collision like a disgusting, wet crack that resulted in a small spray of teeth and blood.

In the end, Corgan was triumphant, but still livid, over a defeated drill sergeant in the dirt, now as bloody as Lieutenant Barnes from a single blow.

Corgan also intended that the drill sergeant be just as humiliated. He ordered, calmly, "Sergeant, give Lieutenant Barnes your shirt. It's a bit cold outside. Wouldn't want to give her the flu, wouldn't you?"

The drill sergeant muttered unintelligibly under his breath. He stripped off his outer shirt and nothing more, tossing it in disdain.

"Bloody copout." Corgan muttered.

Nyssa smiled and turned to James the sweat falling from her body from the marching "Sir." she kneeled down to catch her breath "You know prior to the Galaxy I was a lawyer?" she asked already knowing he did "I can assure you that these gentlemen have broken many Starfleet rules of conduct and regulations. I wouldn't be surprised if there CO knew a thing about all this either but we have no evidence of this and it's hard to charge a CO of anything unless you have said evidence."

Nyssa stood back up and looked over the three drill sergeants "Sir as I am still a member of Starfleet legal corps I can make every promise that these gentlemen will never have another opportunity to endager another member of any crew."

"You heard the lawyer, gentlemen." Corgan added, "I suspect that you sycophants are trying to save your own asses at the expense of your friend, and that your CO has something to do with it. You know very well that co-operation in such cases brings leniency. Do you follow?"

Fearful that James wraith turned on them, the other drill sergeants nodded their stone faced confirmations. Corgan replied, "Good. As for the Galaxy crew, we're leaving. Alvarez... take care of the legal arrangements. T'lan... patch Barnes up and get her a uniform once we hit camp. The rest of you... pack up. We're leaving."

"Hell Week: Epilogue"

The skeletal man didn't know what to make of it when he arrived at the training camp.

He overheard the argument as he excused himself into the waiting room, ignoring the pleas of Lieutenant Commander McMaster's secretary to not come in. She was not denying him access, but warning him of a brewing storm.

That much he gathered. The arguing could be heard from outside.

None of it the skeletal man liked. He saw exhausted trainees packing up… two days before they were supposed to, and when he enquired about it with a Vulcan Lieutenant, she was tightlipped and evasive. A human friend of hers, another Lieutenant, was a little less vague. The Galaxy recruits were leaving, he said, as he pointed out a battered and poorly dressed female.

So now he too, angered about the sudden change of plans, wanted to take a strip out of Lieutenant Commander McMasters. But he had to wait his turn.

Lieutenant Commander Corgan was doing enough yelling for the both of them.

"Your sergeant mistreated my crewmate, and that's an understatement! Don't look away from me! You f**king well listen!" Demanded the Galaxy's security chief, his booming voice bleeding through the thick walls, "You are responsible for the care of every recruit here! That sergeant's actions reflect on you, and from what I hear it may come from you as well! But guess what? I also have a responsibility to my people to protect them from danger, and your camp warrants this! Therefore… we are leaving, right f**king now! Are you even listening?!"

A long pause, then McMasters spoke up like a man besieged. "We were well within our rights. This is supposed to be a difficult training camp. If we didn't put our trainees through any real danger, it would not accomplish its purpose. What he did was well within his rights, and if you leave now you'll all be reprimanded."

Corgan sounded undaunted by McMaster's threats. "Beating and attempted rape? You sanction THAT?!?! Even for a special forces camp, and a sorry one at that, such behaviour is reprehensible! I am well within my rights, under Starfleet protocol, to leave with my people immediately! Look it up! GO ON! LOOK IT UP! The f**king book is in your desk! Paragraph 82, section 18! Look it up!!!"

The skeletal man grew increasingly displeased during the long pause, while McMasters consulted his manual. He knew that McMasters was easy to push around and control, and even Corgan's blunt chidings worked. But what really angered the Skeletal man was McMaster's actions. The news he was hearing from Corgan was new, and it didn't reach him yet. It was going to change all his plans.

McMasters was in more trouble than what a security chief could bring.

"I see…" McMasters muttered. He was also a terrible liar, and tended to fold easily when confronted. "It's there. I suppose I can't stop you."

"You suppose right!" Corgan retorted. "From what your sergeant tells me, you told him to single someone out and break them by any means. You wanted us to fail. I'm damn disappointed in you. You could have failed us in a lot quieter ways."

"Just like you to say that James."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just like you, back in the war. Always a confrontational smartalec looking for a fight, that is when you decided to grace us with your presence. Most times you were quiet, creepy son of a bitch. I can't help but feel that you held us all in contempt, like you were better than us. Always superior. Always high and mighty! And worse, you lived when others died… when you should have died. You deserve to be knocked down a peg or two, Lieutenant Commander, and I'm the man to swing that hammer…"

Unexpectedly, Corgan chuckled. A mean, sadistic little guffaw that did drip with indignation. "You're after me because of a grudge? I moved on after the war. Hell, the war wasn't the worse thing that happened to me. I was quiet because I went through worse before. Don't you remember me telling you? I wouldn't expect you to. You never knew how to lead properly. I survived because I was the sniper. I knew how to stay out of trouble. You lived through dumb luck. A lot of good officers didn't… mostly because of you. But the worse thing is… you never learned from that war. You're still a bleeding idiot who can't execute a plan worth a sh*t. You're still a petty, opportunistic ladder climber using the blood of good men and women as your steps! I don't hold you in contempt… I see you as the worst in humanity! Now I'm leaving! Try to stop me!"

"Don't you leave on me! I order you and your men to stay here! Do you hear me?! Stay here!"

McMaster's office doors swished open. Corgan, a haggard blonde human with bloodshot eyes and a flushed red face, barely noticed the skeletal man as he passed by. The agent waved with a smile, unnoticed.

He enjoyed hearing Corgan take a strip out of McMasters. But what the skeletal man was capable of paled in comparison. He entered McMaster's office, and saw the commandant staring at the floor, sitting forlornly in his comfortable leather chair.

"You look rattled." The skeletal man said, sympathetically. He rummaged through McMaster's drink cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of 2345 Glenfidditch. "Drink?"

"No thank you." McMasters grumbled sourly.

"Have one anyways." The agent, taking the scotch with him, replicated a glass with ice cubes inside. He poured the liquid over the ice, then walked over and offered the drink to McMasters. Contrary to McMaster's refusal, he graciously took the glass and drained it. This brought a smile to the skeletal man's face. "Good man. It appears as if you have a… mutiny in your camp? How strange it is that I leave for only a few days, entrusting you to take care of this camp, to take care of the recruits therein… only to find that you do the exact opposite. Why did you take such actions, Sean."

McMaster's straightened up. Something was wrong to him. The skeletal man never used McMaster's first name in a conversation before. "I felt it necessary."

"It was necessary to… 'knock him down a peg'." The skeletal man's voice almost crooned as he drew out McMaster's quote. He then took a turn towards stern, "I thought you were going to train these people like everyone else. All that you had to do was to train these people just like every… other… group before it. But I find that you went contrary to my requests. Do I find that the real mutiny… is within you?"

"Shove it!" McMasters growled.

The skeletal man struck with quick precision, beguiling his lithe build and bony arms. He was beside McMasters before he could react, the skeletal man's foot planted on McMaster's chest, pinning him to the chair as it wheeled crashing into the wall.

"ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS!!!!! We have plans, more important than your little dispute with an obscure security chief! He was important to us! He was a vital link to one of our most important assets, one whom is now beyond our reach! We needed him to be manoeuvred into the right place, with the right people, so that this asset could be found, and you ruined it!"

"What?" McMasters gasped, painfully squirming from the boot to his chest.

"If he passed this training camp… he could have been transferred to a more lucrative assignment, that is true. We had the leverage to place him into any unit we wanted, and we were going to put him in TacOps. You should know that unit. Recon and Counterterrorism… you have trained a few of these people yourself. His experience and expertise, as well as his intimate knowledge about our missing asset would have been invaluable. It might even… save… the Federation someday."

The skeletal man removed his boot from McMaster's chest. Gasping for air, the camp's commandant stayed still, with fear in his eye as the skeletal man looked pupil to pupil at him.

"I am tasked with the protection of the Federation, in ways that you cannot imagine. On the grand scale of things, I am… as important as a battlefleet, as influential as an admiral. My job has taken me to many places, and has witnessed dangers that should have brought down our Federation a long time ago. When I see that one of my plans has been interfered by one of my cogs, a slightly important but insignificant one at that, I become angry. So angry that I replace that cog with another. And you know what? It is easy, so very easy. But then again, it is easy only because the scope of my job can be so very large. And I must say… you know this as well. I can see it because you fear something much bigger than yourself coming down on you hard, and that something is me, isn't it?"

McMasters nodded, his brow full of sweat. The skeletal man continued, "My patronage will have to cease, I'm afraid. That includes all the aid my people have given you in your divorce, and the favours I had to use with the Juvenile Detention Authority about your daughter, as well as you creditors, but that is nothing compared to the favours I had to use to keep Corgan from being discharged which are now by your actions… useless. Your problems, once held back by our whims, will now avalanche on you. All because you decided to be selfish… decided to take revenge on a person more important to us than you."

The skeletal man's hands closed into his pockets. He withdrew from it a small tablet, which he placed on McMaster's desk.

"Allow me to do you a favour. If you do not want to face your coming problems and the wraith of my organization, I suggest you take this. It will leave no trace in your system. Scans will reveal signs of a heart attack, naturally induced of course. Take it in the evening, while you daughter goes with her friends to partake in illegal drugs and your wife leaves for her 'meeting' with your best friend. Taking this will leave you with a modest yet upstanding reputation as a good officer and a man of the community. If not… then the truth will come out, and your reputation will be sullied."

The skeletal agent slid the pill over the desk towards McMasters. "Think about it, ok?"

The skeletal man left McMaster in his office, to ponder the implications of one tiny pill.

1970