"The Longest Journey"

Lieutenant J.G. Tarin Iniara,

Ensign Saul Bental

*** OPS Office center, deck 9 ***

"Allow me to be the first to congratulate you about your promotion."

Saul smiled charmingly at the woman, extending his arm.

"Thank you," Iniara replied, grasping his hand firmly. Technically Commander Henderson had been the first person to congratulate her, she thought to herself. Then again, he had been the one actually giving her the promotion, so that was expected. And there was no use worrying over such trivialities anyway.

"I guess the post on the Valkyrie was some sort of a preparation for this," he told her, pulling a chair as he sat down. "Did you know you were going to get promoted?"

"The promotion was rather unexpected, though there have been several personnel reassignments as of late, so I'm not wholly surprised. But my guess is that's not what you came here to talk about."

"That's true." Saul was going to try and capitalize on his familiarity with the newly promoted Chief of OPS. That's how the universe worked, and he always tried to use the universe for his own purposes.

"What I wanted to discuss with you was the quarters arrangement." Saul told Iniara. He rested his elbows on the desk, and leaned forward. "I understand that I'm going to get a room-mate soon, since I'm a junior officer. I'm a man who prefers privacy... so I was thinking about something like this - how about you assign me to a smaller room, one of those quarters the other junior officers don't want to take because of their size, but leave me without room-mates? This way, everyone is going to be happy. I'll have my privacy, and you'll get rid of a room which no one wants to live in. What do you say?"

"Hm." Iniara paused in thought, considering his proposal. "Normally such arrangements would be handled by Quartermaster Maro, but since you're already here I'll see what I can do."

Iniara activated her computer console, calling up the master rooming list. A few seconds later she found what she was looking for. "It appears you may be in luck, Mr. Bental. There are two such rooms available on Deck 5, and one on Deck 9. Which would you prefer?"

Saul was about to say something, but then he found himself on the floor. It took him a moment to grasp the situation around him - the ship was shaking brutally. The Operations chief in-front of him was barely hanging on to her seat.

"Verdmond!" he cursed. "What's going on?!"

"I don't know!" Iniara regained her balance just long enough to rush from her office to the master systems display that occupied one entire wall of Ops. "Tarin to the Bridge, what's happening?" Iniara tapped furiously at the controls with one hand, barely holding on with the other.

"The warp field tests!" she exclaimed, finally realizing the source of the problem. Another shudder rocked the ship, throwing her to the floor next to the sprawled Intelligence Officer. Then everything went white.

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

This was not supposed to be happening. Lights were flashing all around her. She had to take care of it, and soon. Her life—and the lives of her comrades—depended on it.

Hefting her rifle Iniara turned, looking for her partner. "Kell!" she hissed. "Kell, get over here! Help me shut the alarms down!"

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

Time slowed down, and everything around him was dimmed. It was as though the room was suddenly filled with a white fog.

Saul saw that fog before, in the moors of Melara. He took a deep breath, inhaling the air. It was rotten.

A path lay beneath his legs. It was made of a stone found only here, on Melara. It was narrow, and led far far away. It was made by an ancient race which was extinct, and only its distant relatives survived. On the sides of the path was short, wet grass and some sparse swamp flowers. He could follow the path with his eyes, and it led him into the haze.

He knew it was a long journey to the end of the road.

Saul took the first step when he heard her wing flapping. A black, winged figure slowly descended on him from above. At first, he could not identify her features. But long before she landed next to him, Saul knew that it was Zan Lanaka.

"Hello angel bird." he said, reaching to touch her wings as he did during the first time the two of them were alone without Cutter or Arkedi around. Like back then, she smiled at him in a way that could be interpreted as either patronizing or jovial.

"Shaul Joop Bental."

Saul simply nodded.

"Are you ready to walk the longest journey?"

It was then that Saul pinpointed where they were. It was, indeed, Melara. And the four of them were about to attempt something very risky. In the end, all of them got out 'clean', but they did cause irreversible damage. Saul always regretted what he did on the reserve. It served no good, and ruined something other people worked so hard and so long to achieve. Zan told him that before, relating to an ancient Fruna'lin story about the planet of Melara. This time, it was not really Zan and she was talking about something else.

His answer, however, was the same.

"I'm always up for a good adventure, angel girl." he told her. Winds began to blow, but he didn't feel cold like he should have.

Her answer was also the same. "We have an old saying: 'Be careful when diving into a lava pit in hope to find Latinum'."

"It's better than remaining here."

She shook her head once, then bolted upwards, and soon Saul was left alone in the mists. He took a firm step ahead--

And his feet didn't land on the ground. He fell, fell fell until he hit the ground and all hell broke loose.

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

Before, everything around him was white and hazy. Now, the world was colored in gold, crimson and gray. He was wearing black, ragged cloths, and there was a mask on his face. He fought to start breathing again.

"Kell, I need you, now!"

Saul returned to focus as he recognized Iniara's voice. He pushed himself away from the floor, and stumbled toward her. She was standing next to a console of some sort, and looked very distressed.

"How... how may I be of assistance? Are we on Melara, or the Galaxy?"

"Melara? The Galaxy?" A thought passed through Iniara's mind: 'The Galaxy is on Orion's belt.' Somehow it seemed significant, but she had no idea where it came from, or what it meant. Shaking her head, she turned back to the console.

"We have to get these sensors shut down." She gestured towards the Cardassian text displayed on the screens. "I thought you could read this stuff! What does it say?"

"It's... I don't know Cardassian, but I can get the hang of it.". Saul's hands were covered with gloves, which slowed him down a little, but he could figure out the security console given enough time.

Time that he did not have.

"Cardies! Get down!" Iniara interrupted. Leaving 'Kell' to the console she flattened herself against the wall, rifle at the ready, watching through the open doorway as a group of soldiers ran past.

"That was close," she remarked. "Can you figure it out?"

"Perhaps, but we have no time for this." he replied hastily. "The alert already went on, instead of shutting it down we better get ourselves out of here!"

"That's what I'm...what??" That didn’t make sense. "No, if we don't get the internal sensors shut down we can't-"

"Intruders! In here!" Iniara's head whipped around just in time to see a single Cardassian soldier raising his pistol to fire. That was his first mistake, being alone, she thought. Instinctively she crouched down, missing the disruptor blast that was aimed at her head, and launched herself at the man. A tangle of bodies crashed to the ground, followed by a short struggle. Iniara emerged on top, a knee jabbed into the soldier's chest and one boot pinning his shooting arm to the ground, her rifle aimed directly between his eyes.

"Tell me how to shut this down," she spat at him, "or I will make you regret ever being born."

"I will enjoy watching you die," he replied smugly, ignoring her demand. "Or worse."

She thought detachedly how that was his second mistake.

Enraged, Iniara struck him with the butt of her weapon, forcing its sharpest corner into soft flesh between chin and neck plating where she knew it would hurt the most. Before he could say anything she had tossed the weapon aside, grasping the sides of his head, bringing her face within inches of his. He barely had time to notice the unadulterated fury in her eyes, and then she was inside him, tearing through his mind with all the precision of a bulldozer through soft earth.

The Cardassian's eyes locked on hers, unable to look away. Unable to even speak, he could do little more than open and close his mouth soundlessly. Iniara concentrated harder, pushing herself deeper and deeper into his mind, desperately searching for the information she needed.

And that was her first mistake.

Her arm suddenly erupted in fire and she instinctively rolled away from the blast, breaking the telepathic connection in the process. She could see more soldiers advancing, smell the burning flesh and charred fabric on her arm, hear a confused mass of shouting in multiple languages, all within the blink of an eye. This was not how they had planned it.

Saul shoved her aside, unsheathed his knife, and stabbed the Cardassian right through the eye. The blade sunk into the Cardassian's brain, until only the hilt could be visible. In real life, Saul would probably never have the guts to do such a thing, from such a close distance. This was not real life, however, and he was sure of it. This was real life gone bad.

His right hand was covered with blood now, so he used his left to pull Iniara away from the soldier. Another flash of light blinded them momentarily, the weapon hitting the wall behind them only five centimeters above their heads.

"Lieutenant Tarin!" Saul shouted into her ear. "Leave him be, let's get out now!"

Stunned, Iniara allowed herself to be pulled from the room, dashing through the red-tinged hallways. This wasn't how it happened, she kept thinking. But she didn't care anymore. Glancing sidelong at her masked companion she felt her heart swell with emotion. She reached down, grabbing his blood-soaked hand to pull him into a corridor that would lead them more quickly away from danger.

That was her second mistake.

Weapons fire erupted without warning from all around them. Iniara cut left, pushing Kell into a tiny alcove, attempting to shield him with her own body. Too small!, she remembered thinking as her back erupted in pain. Her vision blurred, but she could still feel the rough fabric of his coat in her fingers, smell the sweat and blood on his body. "We're getting out of here." Her voice was thick, slurred. "I'm not letting them have you."

"They're not going to get any of us," Saul said, incredibly calm, and looked back to see how many were following them and how close they were.

A single thought kept repeating in her head: This isn't right! I wasn't the one who said that! I wasn't the one who...who...

And then they were falling. A moment later everything went white.

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

In another world, two uniformed officers stood transfixed, oblivious to the chaos all around them. Warning lights blinked rhythmically as their tiny, sterile world was shaken and rocked by some unseen force. But they were somewhere else, living out a memory that seemed no less real.

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

Harsh sunlight beat down upon the grassy hill. From this vantage point, one would be hard pressed to find signs of civilization in any direction. Except for the two small monuments at the crest of the hill.

Silent and unmoving, Iniara stared intently at the two carved stone fixtures. Of the pair, one was clearly older, weathered, marked with only a name: Tarin Barel. Next to it was an identical, though obviously newer monument which bore the name Thorin Kell.

"Prophets, how many more must I bury on this hillside?" Iniara lamented to the skies. She received no answer.

There was a moan, and something moved on the grass just behind a nearby shrub. Iniara sensed she was no longer alone. Scanning the hillside she called out nervously, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

And then she saw him. No longer in the rough clothes of a Resistance fighter, he was now clad in a much richer fabric. Just as she had seen him last.

Her lower lip trembled. "Kell?"

"Iniara." he stepped closer. The man had Kell's walk, Kell's posture, Kell's cloths. But it was not Kell.

"Imzadi," she choked out, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. Time and time again she had dreamed of this moment, hoping against hope that one day her beloved would return to her. This was how it was supposed to be.

"Lieutenant." he said again, taking her hands. It seemed like the right thing to do, Saul thought. His hands, now out of the gloves and clean from the blood, were cold to the touch. The wind blew on the hillside, brushing the grass. A single drop of dew sparkled on the tombstone of Thorin Kell.

"Who was he?" He asked, after a moment of silence.

Confused, Iniara looked up into his eyes. Brown eyes. Not the pale green they should have been. She blinked several times, clearing the fuzziness from her vision. "Ensign Bental...?"

"Yes, that's me. I'm not...Kell," Saul admitted. He let go of her hands, and was now observing the view.

Iniara turned back to the pair of tombstones. "We were Imzadi. He was my life," she began. "He loved me, protected me, gave me hope when I thought there was none. And in the end, he died to save me. I never forgave myself for that."

"He died during the raid I just saw?"

Iniara nodded slowly. She had no idea why she was telling him all this; ordinarily she was much more guarded about her past. But after what he had just experienced, she felt she owed him an explanation.

"Why are we here?" she asked him. "How are we here? Is this a dream?"

"I... I do not know." He faced her. "There was a problem with the ship, right? Either I fell unconscious after being hit on the head, or something really odd is going on here. I never had such a clear dream. And it seems so real... when I wake up, I'm going to ask you if this Kell really existed."

As they talked, the memory around them faded, first losing its color and then its substance. Soothing beige walls and soft carpet replaced the hillside as the pair returned to the present.

All but one thing. It was a trail, a path made of stone found only in one place. Saul was standing right in the middle of it, although it was very narrow. It led to the office's door, and then to the corridor.

"You see this, don't you?” Saul said, lowering his eyes.

Iniara bent down, reaching for the stone with one hand. Slowly, tentatively, she brushed her hand against its smooth surface. Still crouching, she looked up at Saul, searching for an explanation.

"Is this..." Her voice cut short as she sensed something, a series of jumbled thoughts that seemed to pour right out of her companion.

Throngs of people. A private alcove. A booth. Comm panel. Sofa. Snippets of conversation.

"It involves the loss of life." A Ferengi.

"...we're going to assassinate a Starfleet officer..."

"I'll do it." This time a man, human. Unknown, but somehow familiar.

"I must say, I never thought you as a murderer, Reiziger."

What was going on? What was she seeing?

Ensign Bental?

"I think I should follow it." Saul said to no one in particular. He neared the exit, then looked back for a moment. "I'm sure he loved you, dearly, he wouldn't want you to suffer because of him... I think. I'll see if I can find some help."

"Be careful." Iniara watched in disbelief as Saul walked away, following the stone path until he faded away. A moment later that too faded, leaving only the familiar floor of the Galaxy in its place. But was this the Galaxy? Was any of this real?

She touched the console in front of her. It felt real enough. But so had the cold walls and hot-blooded Cardassians, the sweat and blood, the tears which she had shed so long ago. Even the stone path that led off into nothingness, it too had felt as real as anything she had ever felt.

She had wanted to follow him down that path, to dig deeper into whatever she had just touched. The memory that was etched into Saul's brain, written all over his face for anyone who knew how to look. The one that had Ensign Roswell's face burned into his eyes like some afterimage that just wouldn't go away.

That couldn't have been what she saw. It made no sense. But if it was true...and he really was going to...

Bewildered, Iniara wandered out of Ops and into the hallway beyond.

"Benefit of the Doubt"

Ramir Omar walked imperiously across the bridge and into the captain’s office, not even bothering to chime the door and wait for permission to enter.

M’Kantu had summoned him several hours ago. The senator hadn’t been told what it was about, but he had a good idea – his new diplomatic attaché.

The captain was seated behind his desk when Omar arrived. Ignoring the ambassador’s rudeness, M’Kantu gave a customary greeting.

“Jolan’ Tru Hru'Llaudh,” the captain stood.

Omar raised an eyebrow in surprise. The captain had just given him the standard Rihannusu salutation for a high ambassador. Admittedly, his pronunciation was rather inaccurate, but it was nonetheless pretty impressive for a human.

The senator sat down, shortly followed by M’Kantu. When they were both seated, the Starfleet captain got right down to business.

“Senator, don’t you think it’s a bit quick to bring another potentially dangerous attaché onboard?”

Omar smiled slightly – this human obviously spoke his mind. “Captain, I apologise for the incident with my last liaison, but I assure you: this one is a civilian. He has no military connections, and no secret missions. I promise you that.”

M’Kantu frowned. “You expect us to believe that, after last time?”

The senator was getting impatient. “Look here, captain. Last time I was no accessory – it was purely my father’s political manipulations that led to the… end of Sub-Commander Savar. Starfleet accepts that, in the interests of a continued relationship between our two peoples.”

“But,” he continued. “If that type of incident occurs again, I will be considered an accessory – Starfleet isn’t a fan of coincidences. I suspect my diplomatic immunity would be stripped, regardless of dangers to the political consequences, and I would be held responsible for murder onboard a Starfleet ship. Therefore, it is in my best interests to not be lying to you? Understood?”

M’Kantu gazed out the room’s dominating window – watching the stars streak past at warp-speed. For several moments, he said nothing.

Finally, he turned back to the senator. “Very well, ambassador. I will give you the benefit of the doubt this time.”

“But,” he cautioned. “If there is a next time – I will make sure that you will be held responsible. Understood?”

Omar stood, bowing. “Understood, captain.”

He moved to leave, briefly turning. “But, I assure you, there will not be a next time.”

"Faded" pt.1

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg

Location: Unknown
Time: Unknown
Identity: Unknown

The beach was unusually cold for the time of year.......the Pacific ocean unusually active.

~Strangely rough.....should attrack some surfers soon.....wait. How did I know that?~ Klaus found himself strangely aware of the area, the timeline. He still found it difficult to remember. The memory was faded. Whose memory though? Whose life? Klaus reverted to his limited awareness, and surveyed himself. His body felt like his own, but didn't feel out of place. The old worn t-shirt and faded blue jeans fit comfortably.

~I knew it....here they come.~

It was a warm evening, and the sun still glowed just above the horizon. The unusual oceanic activity attracted the oceans biggest fans in the area.

"Hey Mr. Fienberg!" waved one of the surfers has they lugged their boards into the surfed. Klaus waved and smiled, as if he knew them. In fact, their names came to mind. ~Artie and his friends, Scribbler, Molly, Elf and Mogly.~

In a random thought, Klaus pulled the wallet out of the back pocket of his pants and pulled out the driver's license.
~Hmm....Lars Fienberg......Long Beach, California.....It's fresh, crisp feeling. Must be new. Issue date, 10/24/14.~ He placed the license back into the wallet, and the wallet back into the pocket. On another whim, he pulled a crumpled receipt out of one of his pockets and checked the date. 5/12/15.

Klaus immediately thought back to a distance ancestor of his, Professor Lars Fienberg, proffessor of literature and anthropology at the University of Southern California.

After sitting on this warm evening beach for nearly an hour, Klaus got a sudden urge to leave, as if acting on the will of the memory, following it to the letter from this point on. Klaus approached the beach house that apparently belonged to the owner of this memory, but that wasn't the destination. He walked up the stairs and through the screendoor that faced the beach. The livingroom wasn't lavish, but it was comfortable. It was cluttered and cozy.

~No time to look around.~ Klaus searched with his eyes, spotting the target on an endtable. The Keys were weighty, a large number of keys and what appeared to be a rabbit's foot. He tossed them upward a short distance then grabbed them out of mid-air as they fell, rushing out the front door and up a walkway to the street. Looking around for a moment, he spotted the familiar vehicle, what appeared to be a 2000 Dodge Neon.

~Hmmm.....crude fossil fuel burner......oh well, not like there was anything better around.~

The car sputtered for a moment, then in a jerky motion beyond Klaus' control, shot backward into the street and quit, just as a large swerving SUV shot down the road. Klaus didn't feel the impact.

TBC

(The first of the grim memories. You'll see the pattern, and the wear on Klaus' mind from the pain they bring.)

"Inspections"

Lt. Brianna O'Shea, Chief Engineer/S.C.E.

iaison Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineer

Nara switched her weight to her left foot as she worked at her station. Liaison Lady was wandering through Engineering today. Nara felt on edge. She looked over to the warp core and thought to herself, ~Yea, you're just waiting till she comes around to ME to breach, aren't you?~ She turned back around to continue working.

Brianna walked into main engineering and paused to look around. "Crewman... clean up these parts left on the floor.. store them where their suppose to go."

"Sir, Yes ma'am."

"Ensign," Anna said walking over toward Nara. "Lets see the diagnostic on the structural integrity of ship and internal damping... .." Brianna said now standing beside her.

Nara looked up and over at Brianna. Keeping a neutral face she nodded and took the PADDs containing the diagnostic numbers and an appendum of what she altered and handed them to Brianna. "Yes, ma'am."

Anna looked over the padd and then glanced over it to look at Nara. "Interesting..." She said then looked up again. "Why did you come to the calculations and making the altered changes?" She asked.

Nara wasn't sure she understood the question, but answered to whatever question she guessed she was being asked, "I made the alterations to increase performance. The numbers were fine by Star Fleet standards, but I knew they could be better."

"Okay... whom did you get approval for this alterations?" Brianna asked as she again leveled her eyes on the ensign.

Nara, still keeping her face neutral answered, "They were minor changes. I wasn't aware I needed approval."

"You did well.. I purposely changed the variables to make the diagnostic fail as it were. I'm pleased that you took the initiative and corrected it. Small problem with internal damping or structural integrity could have lost the ship." Brianna said.

Nara nodded. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or impressed with this woman for such a trick. Perhaps both. "As I know."

"Good work, Ensign. Your dedication and drive will be a asset to this ship and department." Brianna said. "Now, tell me about yourself and your day to day routines in engineering." Brianna said as she made some notes on her data PADD.

Nara looked at her a moment. "I'm a Sakarian warrior who decided to serve in Star Fleet. As for my day to day duties, it's pretty much system analysis and diagnostics, maintaining ship's systems, and the occasional run to some part of the ship to make a repair." Nara didn't understand what the first part had to do with anything, and the second part was an obvious question that anyone could answer in textbook style.

~Friendly.~ Brianna thought. "What was the last task Commander Suder had you working on?" Anna asked as she looked back down at the data padd.

"I was sent along with three others to do some diagnostics on the shuttles in the shuttle bay."

"From now on, you won't be doing that again. There will be a separate team with the sole responsibility for shuttle maintenance. You need to work in other areas if you are going to be a well rounded engineer. Your next assignment," She said handing the ensign a data padd. "I want you to do to manual retrofit of a portable sensor array... this will be a test, I want to know you can break down the sensor array if I assign you the task... I want you to do hands on and when completed I want a break down, wrote up and on my desk no later then ten hours after you complete the manual retro overhaul.."

Nara took it and nodded. She thought tests were for the Academy, but she didn't have anything to worry about.

"Do you have any questions?" Brianna asked as she stood there squarely folding her arms over her body.

Nara shook her head, "No Mam."

"Good.. if you have any questions or problems.. you know where to find me." Brianna said then give the ensign a nod and turned to head out into another area of engineering.

"The Thunder King"

[Backpost- before the memory swaps]

Principal Characters

Lt. Ella Grey
Transporter Chief Hope Cannon

***

Ella got straight to the point. *WHAT HAPPENED BACK WITH KRIEGHOFF AND THE BREEN?*

Hope blinked. "Excuse me?"

*I HEARD SOMETHING HAPPENED DURING THE BREEN ATTACK*

"Ahhh... he... I..." She stammered. "Why do you want to know?"

*CAUSE HE'S MY FRIEND.* Ella wrote, frowning sternly at the woman in imitation of Victor. *SO WHAT HAPPENED? ALL I HEARD WAS IT WAS SOMETHING I WOULD WANT TO KNOW ABOUT*

The small Asian woman looked around the messhall nervously, sighed, and waved Ella towards a eat. "Sit down then. It's... conmplicated."

Ella raised an eyebrow.

"I knew who he was, you know?" Hope said after a moment. "I heard all of the stories, had seen him from a distance, but... You have to meet him to understand... you know?" She loked at Ella for understanding.

The engineer nodded patiently. Sometimes she thought she'd make an excellent counselor with all the patient nods she did.

"Anyway," the Chief continued, "I just wasn't ready when he beamed into the transporter room a few seconds after the saucer section separated - especially not with him half naked like that."

Ella's eyes rounded. *NAKED?*

"From the waist down. I think the clothing got lost in the passage through the shields," Hope nodded, her face darkening as she looked down at her plate. "He's... he's very scary."

Damn, Ella thought. Sorry I missed that.

"Then he started to talk to me and I thought that..." the asian woman's voice grew very small. "I thought that he was going to... you know... That he wanted something from me I didn't want to give."

Ella tried not to scowl at the woman. *HE MAY LOOK LIKE THE BOOGEYMAN BUT HE DOESN'T GO AROUND ATTACKING WOMEN. WHAT HAPPENED THEN?*

"He left to get something... I didn't know what. I conjured up all sorts of terrible things in my mind, so terrible that I took a shot at him when he returned." she made a face. "My hand was shaking so hard that I missed terribly- but he complimented me anyway, told me that it was a good idea to be that ready to shoot if the Breen came."

*WHAT DID HE GO TO GET?*

"Pants."

Ella mouthed an 'oh.'

"He went and replicated a pair of pants, then came back and put them on. Then he..." she shuddered and twined a tendril of her long blonde hair around a finger nervously. "Then he wasn't the person that beamed in anymore - he was something else. Something..." She shook her head. "He... *it* asked me to beam him down to Deck 17, where the fighting was. It told me that if I needed it, if the Breen came, I could just beam it back..." She looked up at Ella, her eyes looking for something. "It wasn't human - it didn't even have a weapon. I don't think it needed one." She hesitated. "And he wasn't wearing shoes."

There was a pause before Ella's hands flew in the air. Hope couldn't understand the words but it was very obvious they were not happy ones.

That...that....IDIOT, Ella fumed to herself.

Hope watched Ella for a moment, finger still twisting the tendril of hair. "Is... is everything all right, Lieutenant?"

*YES, HE JUST ALWAYS DOES DUMB THINGS. WHAT HAPPENED THEN?*

"Well I... I beamed it - him - away like I was told. Then I waited and just beamed groups of defenders from place to place during the fight. Everything was fine for while - as fine as it gets with alien marines shooting people on the ship anyway... and then the Breen started trying to force their way into the Transporter Room."

Ella nodded for her to continue.

The Chief pushed her food away and drew her legs up in the chair, to wrap her arms around them, the position making her look like a small, scared child. "I... I didn't want to die, you know? They were burning through the door, I could hear them outside..." She shivered once. "I was... I was so scared I couldn't think...."

She hoped the Chief hadn't locked Victor out. Ella would have to scold her for that, even if the woman was afraid.

"I... I...called him back, like I was told to."

Ella let out a small sigh of relief. *AND HE WAS OKAY?*

The smaller woman shook her head. "N-no."

She started frowning again.

"He... When he beamed in his orientation was all wrong - he wasn't standing wherever it was i pulled him out of. I think he was falling. There was some kind of odd light playing around him when he materialized, like he was glowing. I don't know what that was, but it looked like it was fading before I beamed him in. And he had a... a hole... in his chest."

Ella's eyes widened. *A...SMALL HOLE?*

"No. A big one - bigger than my fist." Hope held up her small hand and demonstrated. "It went all the way through him... Some kind of energy weapn must have done it, because it was all charred and burned. Just not a phaser." She shivered again. "I could see the transport pad throught it when he sat up. I don't know how he was still alive."

Ella realized she was clutching her computer PADD tightly and told herself to relax. He obviously had survived, since he had been seen alive since. They were going to have a very long talk however. *DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED OVER THERE?*

"No," Hope shook her head. "He asked me for my medkit, loaded up every hypo in it and just started injecting himself in the side of the neck with them, one after the other."

She was going to give herself premature frown lines, Ella thought, with all the scowling she was doing. Yup, definitely going to have a talk with the man.

"He didn't sound so bad after he'd done it," Hope offered. "He stood up then - I kept looking at the hole, I couldn't stop myself - and picked up a rifle he'd gotten from somewhere, one I hadn't seen before."

*ONE OF OURS?*

"No, not one of the Breen or Hydran weapons, or even one of the bug-people's. It was a chemically-propelled kinetic projectile weapon. It had two barrels, set one on top of the other, and opened up at the back, by the stock, on a hinge. He loaded the two largest kinetic projectile rounds I've eve seen into it..." Hope looked aroud and finally picked up the salt shaker. "Like this, only longer, and told me to open the door."

Ella gestured for the woman to continue.

"I... I did," Hope whispered. "And then he was someone... something else. Something... not human... any more."

Ella had only had brief experiences with Victor when he was like that. And even then... there were still things out there that scared her more. Maybe that was why she asked Hope Cannon what it was that she saw.

"I don't know. Not human... like... like he was something out of the stories our mothers tell us when we're children and being bad. The thing that comes for the bad children and people and takes them away so no one ever sees them again." She looked up. "If I had seen him as a child, I would have thought that he was the Thunder King, come to tear the souls from the bad people and carry them off."

*BUT HE DIDN'T.* Ella said. *HE'S NOT REALLY EVIL, YOU KNOW, EVEN IF HE SEEMS THAT WAY*

Hope looked at Ella, uncertain how to respond, and then settled on, "He didn't hurt me, no. He just killed the Breen... but...."

Ella Grey sighed and gestured for the woman to continue.

"He...." she shuddered and drew her arms back around her legs again. "There's something not right about him, Lieutenant. Something..." Hope struggled for the right word, "...something..." she sighed and closed her eyes. "Maybe he is the Thunder King."

*WHAT IS THIS THUNDER KING?*

"A mythological figure from Ancient China on Earth," Hope explained without opening her eyes. "Lei King is his true name, and he makes the heavens quake with the thunder that sounds when he swings his hammer. He is supposed to chase away evil spirits and punish criminals whose crimes have gone undetected. He's like... a force of nature, not a man. Or a devil."

Ella considered. *EVEN THE DEVIL MUST GET LONELY. AND VICTOR KRIEGHOFF ISN'T THE DEVIL. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME CANNON.*

Hope nodded. "I... When you see him... Would you tell him... Thank you? For saving me? I'm... I'm afraid that if I tried, the words wouldn't come out...."

The engineer nodded in return. *WHEN I SEE HIM AGAIN, I WILL. HE PROBABLY WON'T BELIEVE ME THOUGH BUT I'LL TRY.*

As Ella stood up, Hope looked up at her and smiled weakly. "Thunder doesn't notice little things like me, Lieutenant. I doubt he'll even remember it. But thank you for offering to try."

Ella smiled. *NOT TOO FREAK YOU OUT, CANNON, BUT THERE'S NOT MUCH THAT GETS PAST VICTOR.*

Unless you try to ask him out on a date, Ella thought as she walked away. Things like that he didn't really notice.

"You Can Check Out Anytime You Want..."

Commander Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer

Lieutenant JG Rima Pennington, Unassigned

Soundtrack: "Hotel California"

****

Executive Officer's Officer,
Deck 2,
USS Galaxy-A

Cass crossed the threshold of his office for the first time in almost three months. He'd spent the time since the Battle of Havras running himself ragged from Federation border to Federation border. He'd eaten lunch with Captain Kira Nerys of Deep Space 9, exchanged handshakes with Director tr'Dwerian of Rihannsu Naval Intelligence, and faced down a Hydran Battlecruiser in what had been an overpowered Defiant-Class Starship.

But now he was home, and his mission was a success.

If you could call it that.

They took their positions, him behind the desk and her in the chair before it. It was probably the most formal situation that they'd been in, in the three years that they'd known each other. He sighed, "Why do you have to make everything so difficult for me?"

Rima Pennington starred at the floor, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze. "You could have just let it go, Cassius. I didn't really want to be found. You know that all I wanted was to have my own life back." She couldn't really hear herself saying the words. It seemed surreal.

"And you know that I couldn't," he sighed and pushed himself up from the desk. The formality just didn't seem right. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't close to Pennington, and it would do a disservice to their relationship to dismiss it when faced with this decision, "Starfleet Security would have hunted you down for the knowledge contained in your mind."

He sat down across from her, in front of the desk, and gently touched her jaw, exerting just enough pressure to bring her head up. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. To want to live your own life is human. There are days when I want to run away from it all. But for you, as it is for me, we no longer have that option."

She looked up at him, willing herself to meet his eyes. "Because of what we know?"

"Something like that. It's more true for me, working for SFI. Did you know that when I retire, Cass Henderson dies?" he said. It wasn't something he wanted to face. It was what had kept him in the fleet after Dalson, and had drawn him inexorably back to SFI. It was, as he understood it, the reason that DiMillo had been allowed back into Intelligence.

"What?"

"Cass Henderson dies. When I retire, I'll have to fake my own death and move to an out of the way colony, under an assumed name and with SFI watching me," he admitted, "I know too much. I've seen too many classified reports. I'm a security threat. It's either that or I submit to selective mindwipes, and I won't do that. Do you understand now?"

"This is about Quentin, and the Galaxy-Class Weakness Report from last year?" she asked, realization dawning in her expression. "If I had known..."

"But you didn't," Cass interrupted, "Which is why we're here. Because you experienced Quentin. Because you read that report. Starfleet Security would never have let you go. That's why the Hydrans tried to kidnap you. Because Katrina Olegoski knew that you read a copy of that report, she sold you to the Hydrans. That's why Starfleet Security will never let you go, and that's why you can never just pack up and leave."

"I... I understand," Rima's head drooped, "So what now, Cassius? The stockade?"

He sighed and stood, walking to sit on the edge of his desk. He wanted a little more distance between himself and Pennington, for all it was worth.

"Actually, Rima..." he used her first name for the first time since they'd left the Ascendence Of Fate, "... The choice is yours to make. Your options are limited, but Captain M'Kantu told me that it was my choice, and in turn I'm making it yours. You can take six months in the stockade, then mindwipes, and be rid of the service. Or you can come back to work, take a reprimand, and forget that this ever happened."

"I..."

Cass cut her off again. "Don't answer me now. I need to go do some research into our other guest's background. I'll be back in two hours. Think it over."

He walked behind his desk and fished around in the top drawer. It took a moment, as his office had been damaged by enemy fire, and the contents had been scrambled, but he eventually found what he was looking for. Opening the small black case, he took the two slim cylinders and placed them on the desk.

"We can talk about everything else after you've made your decision."

He walked out of the room and down the hall to his quarters.

Rima Pennington starred at her rank pips, sitting on the desk.

When Cassius Henderson came back, she'd made her decision, and was wearing them.

"Sex makes everything more complicated"

Counselor Ammanalyn Llywhyn
Assistant Chief Counselor

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

It was not in Ammanalyn's nature to be a very sexual person.

It wasn't in the nature of any within The Order. While the men, occasionally, enjoyed the company of women, it was rare and not often spoken of-- they simply didn't have the same... urges as most people. And likewise, it wasn't in Ammanalyn's nature to *think* of herself, or of others, in a sexual manner. It was never anything that played too prevalent a role in her thought processes, and she didn't consider herself as playing too large a part in anyone else's sexual thought processes, either.

Which was largely why she had been surprised when Cadet Lowell approached her, shyly, and admitted a bit of an infatuation. Okay, not a bit, the other third year said, looking down, and scuffing a polished boot in the dirt of the gravel path through the Academy gardens. But a lot of one. Ever since first day, first semester, first year.

The thing was, Ammanalyn had been surprised the first time Cadet Lowell had said this and, Am was finding, even more surprised this second time around.

Because this had all happened before. Exactly like this. And it was all happening again. Exactly like before.

And the thing was, she couldn't stop herself from sticking to the script.

The engineering major was in Ammanalyn's core rotation and they'd shared the same "basics" schedule since day one. Protocol, standard defense, piloting level one, and so on. The tall, muscular, red haired human always sat to Ammanalyn's side, right or left depending, because of surname order. They conversed rarely unless teamed together and Ammanalyn never would have guessed she'd appeal even as a friend much less something else.

Especially not something else, it never made sense to her: not then, not later, not now. How could it, really? It was against everything. Dust. Reason. Nature. Possibility. Comprehension.

"I'm usually not so forward. It's awkward. You know? Especially with someone in the same core. But. I just can't ignore it anymore and I wanted to know. I guess."

"Know... what?" Ammanalyn questioned, forehead creased. Tampatiaen, beside her, was equally as confused. He looked up at her, flicked an ear, his brow furrowing over his eyes.

*Am. This happened six years ago,* he said, his Daedrae clear and precises, quiet, and unknown to the other cadet.

Ammanalyn looked at Cadet Lowell's slightly flushed, slightly nervous, slightly hopeful expression. Had it really? Already happened... maybe this is my second chance, Ammanalyn thought, maybe the Dust is giving me another chance. This human was one of only four beings she had ever loved, one of the four which was Tampatiaen, and the other two were long gone from her.

Just as she had thought this fourth was. In the present, Ammanalyn thought, Cadet Lowell is gone from me too, but that is my fault, that is my doing, because I was mean and selfish and unable to understand.

"I don't understand," Ammanalyn whispered. The statement, she realised, had a dual meaning. One, she did recognize everything about this moment: the weather, the feelings, the awkwardness, the words, but she didn't know why she was here, she didn't understand why she was reliving this memory, she hadn't thought of it for ages. She tried not to: not because this was an awful moment, quite the contrary really, it was one of the best memories of her life, but because of the results down the road, which were painful. Too painful. As painful as anything she'd endured.

Two, because she didn't then understand what the Cadet was saying to her, not really. Human rituals were a mystery to her then, especially if they had anything to do with sexuality. She barely understood Daedryn sexuality, much less that of human beings. Much less being on the recieving end of sexual feelings.

Cadet Lowell's nose wrinkled. "I don't know how else to put it. Except to be ridiculously cliche."

"Be cliche. I probably haven't heard it before," Ammanalyn replied, again, staying on script. Default setting, she thought; my mind is elsewhere, trying to figure this out: is this a hallucination? A revelation? a dream? Something else entirely?

"I think I love you," was the response.

Love? What's love? How can you love me? How could you even think that? After all I have done-- no, will do-- to you? Or perhaps it's not *do*, Ammanalyn thought, Dust knows. Perhaps it's *not* do. I wish I could have responded to you. I wish I could have shown you I cared the same. Told you once in a while. But I never could, I never could bring myself, because you weren't exactly what my expectations required, you never precisely fit, in any way, you weren't Daedryn, you weren't even...

"I can't stop thinking about you. Hell, Am, I actually look forward to Regulations, so I can see you."

Ammanalyn blinked. It was just as amazing the second time around.

"I don't understand," she said again. "But you're also-"

Cadet Lowell's hands were on Ammanalyn's face and the touch on her lips was soft, smooth, warm. Every hair on Tampatiaen's back stood up and goosebumps were raised on Ammanalyn's arms, under the jacket of her cadet's uniform, and a chill ran up her spine, pricked the back of her neck. Her breath was stolen by the kiss and their eyes locked. Ammanalyn's mind whirled, just like it had when the kiss between them had first occurred.

Even that first time, it was not Ammanalyn's first encounter with her own sexuality: not there in the Academy gardens. She had been involved with a boy on Dardrice. He was unafraid of what she was, at least, he was for a while, and their bizarre friendship morphed into more when they began to grow into maturity. It was an innocent experience-- neither of them particularly understood what had happened until afterward, when they lay there together, with their Daemons entwined. Morar held Ammanalyn as Tampatiaen held Gaerae, and everything just felt right. She was 14, he was a year older. And only months later, he turned from her like they all did, when Brother Lucean died. Sometimes, she and Tam thought of it, late at night, and wished they could be normal and have that always like others had it always.

But they only had each other. And often, that was enough, because they had a connection strange even amongst their own.

The human had made things more complicated. Humans didn't have Daemons, at least, not outside of them, so there was nothing to satisfy Tampatiaen, there was nothing to make a union between them whole.

The human also had a different idea of love, and sex for that matter, than Ammanalyn had ever considered. At least, as far as she, herself, was concerned. And certainly as far as her race, in general, was concerned.

Ammanalyn raised a hand and gently touched the soft red hair of the other cadet, confused, baffled even, even years later, reliving this experience. "But Bette..." she said. "How could it be right?"

"Forever is an awfully long time"

Lieutenant (jg) Ammanalyn Llywhyn
Assistant Chief Counselor

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

"Counselor?"

Ammanalyn blinked, looking at the ensign across from her, on the sofa, in the middle of a session. Did that really happened? she asked herself. Did I really go there in the middle of a session.

"I'm sorry, Ensign, you were saying?"

"Counselor, are you okay, you look at little flushed."

The observation made Ammanalyn blush further and she brushed a hand to her cheek. "I have had hot spells all day," she excused, "I'm sorry, continue. You have my complete attention."

"Actually, ah, you were the one who was speaking."

"I'm sorry?" Ammanalyn asked.

"Ammie? Are you alright?" Morar questioned, laughing. His hair was tasseled, standing up in all directions, and his bright green eyes-- unusual for a Daedryn-- were dancing in the low light of his room. His Daemon, Gaerae, a beautiful dark purple minx cat, was laying with Tampatiaen, her bright amber eyes half closed, smirking in Am's direction. They were in his dorm room. She'd forgotten he was a student there, one of the few, and certainly the youngest. It was how they were able to have a relationship in the first place. He was brilliant. And he was unafraid.

"What is going on?" Ammanalyn questioned, in Daedrae, adding a strong curse that solicited a nip from Tampatiaen, who sat on the sofa beside her. She glanced down at him. He was as confused as she was, she could see it in his eyes, but his expression told her, confusion and near madness was no excuse for profanity.

She could hear the chiding in her head. Not because he was expressing it there. But because he'd offered such a chiding more times than she could count.

"Emleigh, I am sorry, I'm going to have to end this session early, I'm not... I can't seem to keep track of much, I think I'm becoming ill."

Emleigh, a young science officer, seemed concerned, and stood. "Can I help you to medical bay?"

"No. No, I'm okay, I'm just, feeling odd. Nothing a bit of rest won't cure, I'm sure," she said, smiling, and standing as well. "I'll walk you out."

"Why would you walk me out, child?"

Ammanalyn turned and looked at Brother Lucaen, sitting at his desk, sipping his tea. He was grinning at her, handsome as ever, his robes pristine, his beautiful Daemon nestled close to his neck, ever attached. Her heart swelled at the sight of him, and tears came to her eyes. Whatever this was, she couldn't resist the urge any longer, and she ran to his side, hugging him tightly, not wanting to ever let go.

She knew this moment. She held on to it tightly, cherished it. He had just agreed to tutor her, to tutor her beyond the classic courses that the Headmaster had prepared for her: tutor her about the Order, about how to listen to the Dust. While it was an agreement that surely led to his death, that chain of events was overshadowed by the fact that he had loved her enough, that he cherished her enough to lead her closer to her destiny than any one had before been willing. He knew the possible consequences. He knew it too well. But he put her above all that: he put her and her need to know above anything that could happen to her.

It was that, which mattered. That, and what he would say to her.

Brother Lucaen laughed again, hugging her tightly to him, smoothing his thick, gentle hand through her hair. "Oh, child," he said, "I love you as though you were my own daughter, you know; how could I ever say no to something you ask of me? I love you more than words could express to you."

And his Daemon, his beautiful Maerae, had reached forward then, stretching out her neck, and touched her beak to Tam's head as he sat, in ermine form, on Ammanalyn's shoulder. That amount of affection from one Daemon to another filled their People with an understanding of love and affection that could not be communicated beyond them and Ammanalyn hugged Brother Lucaen tighter, her hands grasping the soft fabric of his robes.

Unlike with Bette or with Morar, her love for this man was far from sexual. That was something that did not need to be clarified, in her mind; rather, it was the love she'd have for a father, for a teacher, for someone whose approval and affection she craved more than anything. She loved him in a pure and innocent manner, a manner in which only a child could love.

And he returned it, to the extent that any adult could return it.

Ammanalyn blinked. She was sitting on the floor of her office now, tears in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. At some point, she must have managed to coax the Ensign out, and the door was closed, the lights were low, Tampatiaen was curled in her lap, trembling, face buried against her. She rested her hands in his fur and leaned her head back, thinking. What exactly was going on?

"We're going through memories, Tam," she observed. "For some reason, the Dust believes we need to revisit our memories. But why? Do you think? And why these three?"

All happy moments. Relatively speaking. Thrilling, life changing, brilliantly happy moments.

And yet, all with dire consequences.

Ammanalyn had, in some way, lost all three of them. Bette, she had hurt and pushed away, for far too many reasons, none of which held much water now, now that Am understood things so much better, now that she was less a little girl, unsure of herself, of the world in general, the universe. Morar had pushed Am away in much the same way: he became afraid, he allowed the School to brainwash him, turn him from her, because of a misunderstanding, because he was too weak to stand against common belief. Just as Ammanalyn had been too weak to stand against common thought when it came to Bette. And Lucaen... his love for her had resulted in his murder, Ammanalyn was sure of it.

"What is the Dust trying to tell me, Tam?" Ammanalyn questioned.

Tampatiaen turned his head up to look at her, and their eyes held each other's tightly, their faces creased with the pain of their mutual thought.

Would they somehow lose each other?

The room began to blacken around them, then, as though existence was fading away before their eyes and Tampatiaen trembled, shaking harder than before, quaking in her arms as his physical form began to flicker and shrink as he flashed between shapes. And, deep within her, came a voice, one that had always been there, but was often so quiet, it could barely be heard as anything more than a whisper.

It said, *Child, this is not what you might think.*

As the voice continued to echo in her ears, and its presence-- and it was very much a Presence-- grew around her, Ammanalyn felt a tug somewhere near her heart, and a fear more intense than anything she had ever before felt.

And Ammanalyn knew, instantly, what it was.

Tampatiaen was being tugged away from her. Forever.

"Faded" pt.2

Lt. Klaus Fienberg

The end fo the previous memory seemed to seamlessly transfer to another, as Klaus seemed to drift a nomad soul. His ancestor's meaningless and tragic death weighed heavily on his mind and soul, but soon the next memory came.

"Prof. Gru'lik, can you hear me? Professor? Are you alright?" A voice chimed in over a space suit radio. The suit felt strange, and everything was very dark, yet Klaus could see perfectly fine.

"I'm alright Steg."

Klaus seemed to know what was going on. His name in this memory was Professor Jael Gru'lik, a theoretical physicist and anti-matter systems specialist. He graduated the top of his class at Gunliss Hall University on the Kless homeworld of Kless'sha'neranu, and later returned to teach there. Currently he was assisting in the repair of an orbital facility housing the first Matter/Anti-Matter reactor the Kless had ever built. It would revolutionize all space travel for the Kless, if they could just maintain a stable reaction. A second reactor was being constructed that would stablize the reaction, but the first one was still being used for testing.

"Are you sure professor? That last explosion did quite of bit of damage. I'm not even certain the old girl and take much more, not to mention your suit."

Klaus spoke almost without control over his body. "Over my cold dead corpse will we be beaten by that new machine. This old lady has been through worse. I would like to get one last stable reaction before we retire her."

"Not sure if thats the best idea Professor."

Klaus seemed to be more of a passenger, vicariously playing his role like an actor. "Steg, My Boy. Have faith. Ok. How does the reaction chamber look?"

Steg chimed in quickly."Nominal."

"Alright. All magnetic fields holding.....yes. I'm going to position myself at the external systems readout."

"Ok Professor. Everything seems to be in prime condition. We'll be ready to initiate the reaction as soon as you're in position."

Klaus seemed to quickly scurry accross the outside of this station to a good sized panel, which lifted outward, then slid to the side with the push of a button. "Steg, we're going to run the reactor at full power, so I'm disengaging the safetly locks from out here."

"Professor. I severely suggest against that. The last time we ran at full power, the reactor was nearly breached from a power drain in the magnetic containment system----"

"I know Steg, I was there."

"Then you know that three tech---"

Klaus felt Jael's pain. "I know. But we're still running at fell power." He paused a moment as he disengaged the locks. "Alright. Safety's disengaged. Bring the reactor online."

The entire station shook and shuddered at the matter/anti-matter reaction ignited. There was a slight power drain, killing some of the already dim lights. But all the lights returned to normal at the reactor reached full power.....and stayed there despite the fears and expectations of all parties involved. Klaus fulfilled his role as Jael and remained at the system readout panel the entire 30 minute test.

Klaus felt Jael's pride in the memory. "Steg. I believe it is time to rest the lady. For the last time." He said, smiling to himself.

With a relieved and happy voice, "Aye, Professor. Shutting down all systems.......By the....Professor! Get away from that......(Static.) Shutting down.....Attempting Shutdown! Professor! It's Not shutting down...It's not...!(Static) Get away from that----(Static.)"

Fear filled Klaus and the owner of the memory he was visiting. "Steg? Steg? This panel has gone absolutely mad! I don't understand...." Jael seemed ready to accept his fate as the panel exploded in his face. His arms flailed about as he drifted off into space. The faceplate of his helmet was cracked. The last moment of his life consisted of Jael staring off into space as the cracked faceplate shattered and his suit depressurized.

Klaus' mind drifted away from this memory.

"Faded" pt.3

Lt. Klaus Fienberg,
CMO,
USS Galaxy

Klaus failed to understand what was going on. He drifted from memory to memory. The next one that took him fully was a somewhat familiar one.

Klaus couldn't move. A kind doctor was tending to him.....~or Her?~

Klaus began to realize a female form. One that he inhabited. The body was weak, and he couldn't move. The body was in pain. Finally he began to make out the form of the Doctor caring for him, and the sudden appearance of a little boy.

Klaus couldn't control it. "Otto."

Klaus' mind reeled backward in pain. How could he be in this memory. Why must he be made to suffer in this way.

"Shannon. Be still." Otto Fienberg turned to their son. "Come here Klaus, come see your mother."

The child was too young to understand. All he knew is that his father told him that his mother would soon be gone.

Through the eyes of his late mother, he saw her hand rise feebly to meet the child's face. Staying there for a moment, a bell rang.

"Ok Klaus....time for bed. God upstairs, and I will tuck you in a moment." The child nodded and slowly walked away, rubbing his eyes. Otto turned back to his dieing wife. "Shannon. You don't have much more time."

Shannon replied quickly for her feeble state, Klaus peering through her eyes, feeling her feelings. "Any day now?"

Otto nodded, then turned off the light, walking away in the darkness.

The night was wrought with pain, the same aching, seething pain that seemed to haunt Shannon in the last days of her life. Both Otto and little Klaus rose and came to see her. Older Klaus still trapped behind Shannon's eyes. Shannon reached her hands out, and grasped each other their hands, then died. She just faded out, as if falling asleep. But Klaus' mind lingered on for some strange reason, recalling what his father said.

Otto was honest with what had just happened. "Klaus....your mother is gone from this world. The Lord has taken her from her pain." He then walked the little boy out of the room, and Klaus' mind fell to black.

A single word resounded and echoed through the mind of the wandering soul Klaus Fienberg. ~Why? WHY?~

For what felt like ages, Klaus' mind was empty. A black pit. A void. When he rose from this place of despair, the pain he felt in his mother's memory had returned. His body felt different now. Male, old, overweight. These weren't so much feelings as they were memories of feelings. Opinions even.

His new body took the directive this time. Looking up to yet another familiar form. One that wore a starfleet uniform.....one with the lone silver pip on an ensign. A Young man that appeared to still have the hop in his step. The feeling of youth, the young enthusiasm of an officer fresh from the academy. His name was Klaus.

"Klaus....my boy. There's no poi....poi...point. Same as your mother, I am soon to die."

Young Klaus came to stand over his father. His older self staring out at him.

"No Father....No. I will find a way! There are Vulcan remedies I could use!"

Otto reached outward and grabbed Young Klaus' arm with unusual strength for his terminal condition.

"If I couldn't save your mother, you can't save me."

"But father!"

"Stop doing this to yourself my child. Please. Let me go."

Young Klaus pulled away, turning torward an open window, out to the city of Cambridge, England.

"All I request is that I be buried in Germany. Chances are I will not survive a move there. Now please. Let me die."

Young Klaus nodded, and obediantly left the room.

The hours passed, and the pain increased somewhat.

Klaus felt Otto's condition begin to fade. He was remembering his father's death from his father's point of view.

Young Klaus had a special monitor to alert him with his father's body was failing. He rushed in to his father's side. This was it.....nothing more could be done. All of the time he'd spent would be for nothing. "Father.....please....not like this!"

Otto smiled. "Would you rather...(Cough)..I be vaporized by...Nausican(Hacking Cough). Pirate?" Otto chuckled. "Please, my son. It is time for the lord to take me....Please, allow me to....die.....wow. This is aweful dramatic." Otto fell limp. A strange, happy yet painful smile remained on his face. Young Klaus closed his eyes, as the present Klaus seemed to look on from the outside.

It all faded to black in Klaus' mind. Pain and suffering had been all these memories had to offer. ~Why......~

But yet another Memory was to come. A Short one.....but an important one.

"Out of Control" -- pt. 1

Lt. Jeremy Savoie
Chief Helmsman

Lt. Ella Grey
Asst. Chief Engineer

Somewhere, an ancient jukebox was playing an old Terran song by the Rolling Stones.

Not that anyone could hear it. The bar had turned into a free-for-all. Bottles and bodies were flung about as were tables and chairs and anything else not bolted to the floor. Grunts and shrieks and wordless cries punctuated punches and kicks and stabs. Broken glass crunched underfoot, heels skidded on the beer soaked floor, and, in the middle of it, Ella Grey was fending off three guys with a pool stick.

She'd come to the Holodeck with the need to hit something. Beat it into a pulp. Make someone else hurt for once. And she'd remembered the training programs that she used to do with Victor. And since Victor wasn't there to stop her, she'd moved up a few levels. Like four.

Might have been a bad idea, Ella thought as she swung the pool stick in a wide arc. The stick connected, finally, with a guy's head and he went down even as the stick shattered. She had a split second to think of naughty word or two before the other two lunged. Ella leapt back, watching one trip and the other run over him, and then swung her fist at the third guy's nose.

When the holodeck door whirred open, Jeremy had no idea what he was walking into. Without even sufficient time to inhale, he found himself on the wrong end of a barstool that someone had picked up and swung, connecting with Jeremy's legs and sending him to the floor.

"WHAT THE FUCK . . . ?!!" was all he managed before Ella was sent hurtling over top of him, her punch blocked by the third guy who had scooped her up and tossed her like a bag of sand. As the brute turned to come after and finish her off, Jeremy kicked the guy's feet out from under him, sending him to the crashing to the floor. In a flash, Jeremy was on his feet. As the guy scrambled to his knees, Jeremy grabbed him by the back of his shirt and with an almost barbaric yell and a tremendous heave ran him head first into the wall. A second later, the jukebox made the only sound in the room.

"That felt good," he muttered to himself, brushing off his trousers as he turned away from the crumpled body. He noticed Ella again and stopped. "Why am I not surprised to find you here in the midst of this?" he grunted.

There was a fresh gash above her left eyebrow from a stray beer bottle, assorted bruises all over her body, and a split lip but otherwise Ella was doing okay. Just very sore. She hit the key to pause the program, then pulled up a wobbly chair and sat down at one of the few remaining tables. She waved a tired hello to Savoie.

Retrieving the barstool that hit him when he came in, Jeremy deposited himself next to her and reached into his pocket. "Here," he said, brandishing a large, dark cloth, "I brought this to wrap around my head while I did some target practice, but you need it more right now. Wipe your lip, you're bleeding." His tone couldn't quite be called gentle -- it was too tinged with annoyance -- but for Savoie, it was as close to compassionate as he was going to get, under the circumstances.

Ella signed a thank you and took the cloth.

"Did something go wrong here or do you like getting the shit kicked out of you?" he asked tartly.

Ella scowled and keyed in a response in her computer PADD. *SO MAYBE I SHOULDN'T HAVE GONE A FEW LESSONS AHEAD WITHOUT VICTOR'S APPROVAL.*

"Yeah, maybe," Jeremy flatly concurred, his eyes fixed on the PADD.

*WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?* Ella asked.

"I was wondering the same thing," he replied, absently massaging his now sore legs while glancing around again at the wreckage. "I came to run a target practice scenario to blow off a little steam, if you must know. You know," he began, abruptly diverting the focus of the conversation from him, "I'm convinced that you're just dangerous to be around. It seems every time I run into you I end up irritated or injured. Do you do this to everybody else, or just me?"

*IT MUST BE YOU*

"Must be," he grumbled in return.

Falling back on old tricks, Ella gave him one of her seductive stares before Curtis' face flashed before her eyes. She couldn't hide the flicker of disgust she felt with the image, or herself, and tried to cover it up by rolling her eyes and feigning annoyance at her wrist. *ASSHOLE HAD A GOOD GRIP*

For a moment, Jeremy was silent as he tried to sort out what he saw -- or what he thought he saw.

"That's what you get for romping around in a program like this. If you can't stand the rough-housing stay out of the holodeck." Again, he paused for a brief moment, then focused on her wrist. "Here, lemme see that," he commanded, taking Ella's hand in a graceful move completely unlike the tone with which he requested it. Gently, he probed her wrist, then slowly flexed it up and down. "Does that hurt?"

Her whole body hurt so it wasn't a lie when she nodded. She watched him carefully as he examined the wrist, mainly to examine her own reactions. She thought she might feel... uncomfortable being touched by someone after the incident on the planet, which made her frown slightly coming to that realization, but Savoie didn't unnerve her in the slightest. When he was through, she took back her hand and typed in a new message. *WHAT KIND OF PROGRAM WERE YOU GOING TO RUN AGAIN?*

"Target practice. I come down here every so often and blast the shit out of things with a phaser rifle to make myself feel better. I think the Captain would prefer that I do it this way than randomly shooting in the corridors for real," he mumbled, forcing back a smirk and keeping his eyes off Ella. He wasn't sure why he felt like he couldn't smile or really look at her right now, but something felt too . . . close. "I don't usually go for the hand-to-hand combat stuff," he added, glancing around the room again in an awkward effort to focus on *something*.

Ella made a 'hmmmm' noise, tapping the keys lightly before she entered in new text. *INTERESTED IN A FIGHTER PILOT SIMULATION? I HAVE ONE ON FILE THAT COULD BE FUN. I'LL EVEN LET YOU GO FIRST.*

He looked at her for a second. She had a fighter pilot simulation? "You're just full of surprises today," he commented. "Okay, let's do it."

"Out of Control" -- pt. 2

Lt. Jeremy Savoie
Chief Helmsman

Lt. Ella Grey
Asst. Chief Engineer

Ella smiled and then winced and then stuck her tongue out at the form of the man who had attacked her. A few keys hit and the scene changed. They were sitting in the shuttle, green orbs lighting up the runway before them.

*GO GET 'EM, ACE* she wrote.

The fighter shuttle they sat in was not one Savoie was familiar with, but the controls were standard enough. "Where'd you get this design?" he asked, engaging the main thrusters as the runway lights quickly became a solid green line, then were gone. "And before some unknown life form suddenly drops out of some hidden panel, is this a typical simulation or did you lay awake for hours thinking up ways to make it more dangerous?"

Ella grinned. *IT'S TYPICAL ENOUGH. THE SHIP DESIGN IS A KIND OF HODGEPODGE OF PARTS... I LIKED TO FLY AT THE ACADEMY.*

"A 'hodgepodge' of parts?" Jeremy echoed, mildly incredulous. "Yeah, definitely something an engineer, not a pilot, would do," he muttered, his attention still on Ella and her PADD.

*THAT'S AN ENEMY SHIP.* She wrote out to him, sorry that she had to distract him with the PADD. *I'D AVOID IT.*

Spitting some generic curse, he brought them into a hard dive, passing under the other vessel.

Ella tsked at him and was rewarded with a glare. She smiled and gestured for him to sit back. Watch how a pro does it, Kiddo, she thought with amusement.

With a smirk, Jeremy surrendered control to her. "Go ahead, wonder girl."

Quickly, Ella had the ship's speed up and was darting around enemy ships without even blinking. She threw a quick look at Savoie to see that he was watching their progress with wide eyes. Grinning she increased their speed even more.

At first Jeremy was amused. "So, the quiet girl's a bit of a daredevil," he commented. This was the second time in this holodeck she had surprised him with an aspect of her personality he would never have guessed was there.

Then he got nervous.

The starfield in front of them quickly became more densely filled with enemy ships, small asteroids, and other menacing debris. And all the while their speed never decreased. Trying not to show his unease with Ella's reckless piloting, Jeremy dig his fingers into the side of his chair while interjecting random warnings and commentary.

"Watch that! Hard starboard, quick! What are you -- that's a fuckin' ejected warp core! What the hell's that doing here?!!"

Not being able to use her computer PADD, Ella settled for a 'bwak bwak' chicken noise.

"You're a lunatic!!" he exclaimed, still on edge. "That's it, you do what you want. I'm not looking." Then he clamped his hand to his eyes, making a mental note never to let her pilot a *real* shuttle while he was in it.

And then~~~

-she had always loved being pilot. Probably another aspect of always feeling under someone's influence when she was younger, when she was a pilot *she* was in control. She loved the power of it, the way she could manipulate the controls to make the shuttle speed up, slow down, just fly...

Too bad she wanted to be an engineer more.

*I'M SORRY, SIR.* Ella typed to the officer. *I DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO BE IN RED SQUADRON*

He wasn't sure if that was the case or if Red Squadron didn't have the time for *her*.

~~~

The flight had ended. Ella reached out to shake Savoie. She looked at him with concern. *IT WASN'T THAT BAD OF A FLIGHT WAS IT?*

"Well you got us through without getting killed. I'm not sure if that was a miracle or if you're just that good a pilot," he muttered, thankful to be out of the scenario. He stifled a smile. "Probably some of both."

Jeremy stared at her for a moment, still trying to reconcile his preconceptions with what he had seen today. "What's with you and the beat 'em up, blow 'em up simulations anyway? Shouldn't you be, I dunno, working on perfecting the next generation of androids, talking shop with Einstein or Cochrane, or hell, just going out for a long walk in a flowery meadow? Something that isn't destructive to you or someone or something else?"

*BUILDING AN ANDROID NEVER HAD ANY APPEAL TO ME. EINSTEIN AND COCHRAN ARE DEAD. I LIKE FLOWERY WALKS JUST AS MUCH AS THE NEXT SAP BUT I LIKE TO FLY MORE. AND I LIKE TO FLY FAST. IT'S... *

"Like thinking you're in total control when you're not," Jeremy said, finishing her sentence. "Like being one of those pompous pretty boys who gets tossed out on his ass!" Something happened at that moment, something Jeremy wasn't even fully aware of. He had heard what Ella said, responded to it, yet at the same time his thoughts briefly drifted back to his own academy days. A second later, he was actually *at* the Academy, and so was she. "You better start showing some control, Grey, or you'll be out of Red Squadron faster than a Ferengi on a shopping spree!" he snapped. But it wasn't really him shouting at her. Or was it?

Ella frowned. *HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT RED SQUADRON?*

"What are you talking abo- . . . ." The harshness of his tone subsided and the vision suddenly vanished. Jeremy paused, a look of confusion reflected in his eyes. He actually had no idea what she or -he- was talking about, and yet he had just seen it all in his head, as if he were reliving something from his own past.

She tilted her head. *YOU'RE DESCRIBING A MEMORY OF MINE*

"Red Squadron . . ." he repeated, barely more than mouthing the words.

Her astonishment suddenly turned to anger and she recoiled. *WHAT ARE YOU A BETAZOID? HOW DARE YOU READ MY MIND WITHOUT PERMISSION?*

"Why don't you just back off!" Jeremy snapped back. "I don't know what the hell that was about!"

*THEN HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN IT?*

"I said I don't fucking know! It all was just there, in my head, in front of my eyes. Red Squadron, you getting tossed out . . . I don't know!"

Ella frowned. Not that she liked the explanation but Savoie didn't seem... manipulative enough to lie about this. *THIS SHOULD BE REPORTED.*

He looked at her and frowned. "What? That I had a thought or a flashback or whatever it was? Maybe it was just a stupid coincidence."

Or maybe it wasn't.

"New Acquaintances"

8-ball had a new project.

It wasn't much of a project, or at least not one that would be considered a useful and advancing experiment to transform and uplift society, but 8-ball was engrossed in it all the same. Last month, 8-ball had discovered every form of video game imaginable, from ancient to modern. She had particularly enjoyed Nintendo and Super Mario Brothers, though for the life of her she couldn't understand why pretending to be a short little fat man jumping on turtles would be so amusing. Now that she had exhausted video games, 8-ball was ready for a new challenge: drinks.

Growing up partly in a bar, 8-ball was used to a wide variety of bar drinks, but she had found even more strange and new assortments during research. It was now her mission to try every type of alcoholic drink in the galaxy and explore strange new worlds. Needless to say, her supervisor on the ship had been less than enthused with this new plan which led widely to bad moods and strong headaches. Also somewhat unsurprisingly, 8-ball didn't care.

Now in Ten-Forward, 8-ball sat on a bar stool, sipping a Dead Nazi. She was trying to decide between a Friar's Luck and a Test Tube Baby for her next drink and waiting for something interesting to happen.

At that same moment, Vrih Himne – the new attaché to Senator Omar –entered Ten-Forward. He looked around, finding everyone and everything very unfamiliar. It disturbed him – perhaps he should have stayed back in his hometown, as an aide to the obnoxious governor, rather than come halfway across the quadrant to work for an equally obnoxious senator.

He headed for the bar, sitting down. Knowing that Romulan ale was illegal here, he ordered the strongest vodka he could think of.

Himne noticed the young Starfleet officer next to him. He wanted to make friends onboard the Galaxy, and she looked quite attractive.

“Greetings,” the young Romulan male smiled at her. “I am Vrih Himne, attaché to the esteemed Senator Omar. How do you do?”

8-ball looked at the guy sitting next to her. He wasn't a bad looking guy, as far as Romulans go, but she couldn't remember seeing him around before. "I'm 8-ball," she said, "and I'm not so bad. How are you, and while we're not at all on the subject, is it part of your job to distinguish your senator with nifty little positive words like 'esteemed', or do you actually like the guy?"

Himne’s vodka arrived. He immediately took a swig.

Ah… much better. He felt more relaxed already.

He turned back to 8-Ball, grinning at her last remark. “No, I don’t like the senator at all, but he’s very rich, and he pays me incredibly well – soon I’ll be rich too at the rate I’m earning from this job.”

“I’ve told something about myself,” he said, feeling the effects of the vodka. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

8-ball grinned back. Attractive men who were rich were always a plus, specially when it didn't look like they could hold their alcohol. One swig of vodka and Himne was already looking a touch soused. To give him any kind of chance at all 8-ball was going to have to try and catch up. She ordered a double and drank it down in one shot.

"Oh, I don't know there's much to tell," 8-ball said, ordering another double. "I've been working on this floating tub for awhile now. It doesn't pay nearly as well, of course, but it is a bed and some food. And I lived and worked in a bar for awhile. Tell me, young attache, do you like drinking games?"

“Drinking games?” Himne looked at her with surprise, briefly hesitating. “Why not?”

After all, the alcohol was making him feel more at ease with this woman every second – perhaps a drinking game wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all?

He ordered another two vodkas.

8-ball smiled. "Great," she said. She pulled a deck of cards out of her bag. "Now the best drinking games have a whole bunch of people involved but we just have two, sadly. So I figure we can play War. If you've never played, here's how it goes." She shuffled the cards and started dealing them out. "Now, don't look at them. We each get a pile of cards. Then we pull one out face up. If you have the higher card, I have to drink a shot. If I have the higher card, you have to drink shot. And if we tie, we put three cards down and then one more face up, and whoever has the losing card face up has to drink as much as the winner decrees. Got it?"

8-ball finished sorting the cards and flipped one of hers up. "An eight. What do you got?"

He looked glumly at his card. “Two.” The attaché took another swig of vodka.

Ten minutes later, the drinking game had come to its conclusion – with Himne drinking the most by far (which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing: he felt pretty good.)

8-Ball had lost a few here and there, but compared to the Romulan she had drunk little.

None of this bothered the thoroughly relaxed Himne, who now spoke.

“So, now we’ve done with the game, what now?”

8-ball smiled at the poor attache. She was really having too much fun, but screw it, people on Galaxy had absolutely no sense of adventure sometimes. "I don't know," 8-ball said, leaning closer to Himne. "That's up to you, I suppose. What do you want to do?"

Himne cleared his throat, feeling thoroughly saturated with vodka.

“This alcohol is tame,” he declared boldly. “I have a store of Romulan ale back in my quarters. If you like, you could… come and inspect it.” He surprised himself with such a bold request – the alcohol must have really got to him.

He leaned even closer, waiting for her response.

"You're right," 8-ball said, so close to the attache now that she was practically speaking in his ear. "This is very tame liquor. I've barely got a buzz on, and I could use something of a. . .stronger quality." She smiled then and touched his cheek. "If you want to take me back to your quarters," she said, "I'll inspect whatever you want."

“Great.” The Romulan grinned drunkenly. He then stood up, beckoning for her to follow.

I took less than five minutes to reach Himne’s quarters. Although the attaché was walking and talking fine, it was clear that the alcohol had seriously impaired his judgement.

When they reached the door, Himne stuck out his thumb and waited a second. A beep followed, and the door slid open.

“Greetings Erredn,” the male-sounding Romulan computer droned, recognising his thumbprint and granting him access.

The quarters were luxurious – though Himne was an anti-capitalist, he was a Rihannusu anti-capitalist, and that still meant he was almost as capitalist as a Ferengi.

On the ornate desk was a bottle of the illegal Romulan ale. The attaché grabbed it, then sat down on his bed.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked. Truth be told, he was drunk enough to do anything she asked.

8-ball sat near him on the bed and took the bottle away, drinking a long swallow of it. It was definitely good ale. Worth hanging out with a man for, though she kind of liked Himne. He was all drunk and cute. "Whatever you want," 8-ball said and kissed him. He was a good kisser, not clumsy and awkward like some men were. She broke off from the kiss and looked him in the eyes. "I'm open for anything."

“Great.” Yet again, Himne grinned drunkenly.

The night began.

"Tumbleweed"

By
Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy

On the whitehot beaches on the island of Cyprus in the eastern Mediterranean Sea, Daren Runako M'Kantu knelt facing the daughter he had not seen in many years.

The brisk grains clung to his feet, tumbled through his fingers, the absolute warmth of being planetside vivid in his vision. Behind him, the lapping waves rolled onto the sands, washing away his footsteps, carrying away all traces of existence to leave a blank slate.

"You cannot be my daughter, and I cannot be here. What have you done to my ship? Where is my crew?" He not-so-gently grasped the girl's upper left shoulder, causing her to wince.

"Papa, you're hurting me!" Her tiny fingers clawed at his hands mildly, as if afraid she had done wrong, but not terrified. This was her father.

"Answer the question. Where are my ship and crew?"

Bahiyah's dark pools welled up as they were caught by his stern gaze, and his heart softened. The memory of his only daughter, this interaction being the first in many a time tore at him. Even if she weren't real, this was an opportunity difficult to pass up. It was a sense of retribution for what had truly happened in his past - her future.

"I don't understand, papa..." She rubbed her arm as his grasp slipped down to her elbow.

"Bahiyah...!" Daren's gaze at his memory-daughter was pulled aside at the sound of a heavily-accented female voice, one he had not heard in almost as long.

Against the radiant sun, she approached down the beachline, the other children scattering along as their parent's called for them. She was a vision of beauty, her dark skin glistening from the natural sweat of a perfect summer day, her long legs curving out from her sari as the brightly coloured pleats swung out to reveal dark thighs.

"Daren..." Her beatific smile bore down on him in a scene he had wanted to remember as this was the last vacation they had taken together before Wolf 359.

As she reached out a hand to each of her cherished family members, and Daren reached out to her, her features began to peel and wash away in a myriad of colour that flowed upwards into the glowing sun above. He felt a chill frost descend on him as a new image replaced those of his ex-wife and family.

Darkness. The sound of electronics, and something... organic. A horrible cold that penetrated into his bones, but felt... normal. Even comforting.

As his eyes adjusted, they formed a blurred haze, a numbness, and disorientation of where he was.

Voices whispered around him, converging and overlapping as they grew in strength. Pinpoints of light appeared above him, growing brighter.... no... descending on him! Dozens lit up, dazzling him, blinding the environment beyond in inner shadow.

They approached faster, flaring in his irises, dancing behind his eyelids until he felt contact with his skin. Then the assault of pain as several pinpricks punctured his skin all at once. He tried to scream, but nothing came out, for he had no mouth that he knew of. A sudden terror overcame him when he realized he couldn't move. Complete paralysis set in. His eyes darted around in the darkness, searching, searching....

The pain stopped. The lights were gone. And he wasn't alone.

An image flared up in front of his eyes. A sheet of translucent green, overlain with grid markers, bio-neural sensors dictating suit integrity, body temperature, external sensors, connection strength... and an immediate onslaught of thousands upon thousands of other voices to which his own had been added.

[Ha'ran] A single voice rose above the din. Instinctively he recognized the impression of Thot Pran. [You are privileged to have your thoughts added to the elite Breen that form the Neural net. You are to be assigned Weapons Officer on the Gravnor with me.]

Upon release, Daren felt his head turn and fall upon the true form of the Breen standing before him, and it was....

... washed away again.

Over an undeterminable period of time, Captain M'kantu felt himself flow between several memories amongst the crew and passengers. From seeing through a child's eyes, to an aging Andorian and its fear of blindness after losing an antenna, to an innocent infant, to the conundrum of living as a Daedryn, to reliving Wolf-359, to the amplified thoughts of others as a Betazoid.... he tumbled through them all.

At last, he came to yet another memory of lying in cool blades of grass under a blue sky dotted with beautiful puffs of clouds. With the sheer tidal wave of memories on his senses, instead of exploring this one, he simply lay there to gather his faculties. The sun blazed overhead, but he felt no heat from it.

Instead, it approached him, but unlike the Breen memory, it didn't blind him. Other spheres of light darted about the sky above, but only this one appeared to come for him directly.

When it stopped to hover over Daren, it shimmered, like a pebble dropped in a bucket where it laps back and forth.

He chose to ignore it, believing it to be another memory, and instead clasped his hands together after he had leaned up against a boulder that lay nearby.

The image coalesces, M'Kantu closes his eyes.

"Daren..." Must be imagination. He didn't recall this place with June, his former wife.

"Captain M'Kantu..." One eye propped open on his official title being taken, and was taken aback when the image of his wife stood before him, also shimmering. Like he was looking into a pool of water at himself.

June smiled and also clasped her hands. Her beauty was radiant, still wearing the sari she had donned that day on Cyprus in 2366, just before Wolf 359 and the end of his marriage.

"Who are you and what is this? How did I get here?" He still remained hesitant that this was all just a dream or memory, so he remained seated up against the smooth rock.

"Come with me, so we can talk." She reached out a supple hand, the light still rolling off it in prismatic reflection. The other lights flew about her like fireflies.

"I've done enough traveling, thank you. I want answers." In his heart, he felt this was not part of the experience. He hadn't moved off to another memory for one, and this was not one of his own for another.

June nodded once, eyes closing on the downswing. They dark opals re-emerged on turning up her chin.

"Very well, Captain. You are here because we need your help. Our... lives? Yes... that is how your dimension would measure it... are in peril."

"Life Flashes"

Nara was looking at Erin, trying to figure out where he came from. Suddenly as quick as a blink, had she blinked, another face looked down at her.

Professor Mark.

She stepped back startled. She looked at what had become the classroom. No. Why this memory. She willed her mind to repress it, just for now. Professor Marks stepped closer, looking menacing. Her mind raced on how to get out of this. No solution came. No ideas about hitting her commbadge.

He grabbed her and pushed her down. She tried to hit him, but his hand grabbed hers to pin them down. She yelled,"THIS ISN'T REAL!" But it felt real. His disgusting smell, the weight of his body, the fear she felt. She struggled. She knew it didn't matter, but it was some instinct. Before she knew it, she felt as if her soul had been torn. She screamed and wimpered as he did his barbaric deed.

Suddenly she was out in the gardens. She wiped her eyes, but the tears she had cried before were gone. Someone approached her, "Nara?"

She looked up. Miguel. She felt uncomfortable. She spoke what she spoke then, "I'm sorry about last night."

He shrugged, "Well, I wasn't really expecting anything. I mean we're not dating."

Nara nodded. She didn't want to date anyone. Last night she had gone farther with any guy, and wanted to go much farther. Someone had gotten real alcohol to help celebrate graduation and she had a little too much. Something stopped her. She didn't know why then, but she knew why now.

There would be no point in explaining that to Miguel though. She just spoke what came next in her memory, "I'm sorry you didn't get a terran post. I thought maybe....well....if I wanted to date anyone."

He frowned and shook his head, "It won't happen Nara. You and I both know it. We were both drunk and I must apologize, but your mind was uninhibited as was mine, so I took a look."

Nara was shocked, "What? You know how I feel about telepathy."

He nodded, "I only searched for how you felt about me. I don't know why, but you're not wanting anyone to be close. We would likely spend years and I'd get frustrated and leave. I don't want to hurt you Nara. You have ghosts to deal with. I don't know if I'll be around then. And I don't think you'll much care."

Nara watched him walk away. He was right. She had completely forgotten him. He was a sweet caring boy, but she never really felt she could be in love with him. Did he know what happened? Why didn't he tell her. No. He couldn't had seen a suppressed memory unless he had tried.

She now found herself crouched in a tent looking over a map with Conzalas. She looked at him as he spoke. "Half could go up to this hill and the other half could travel around behind."

Nara nodded and stood. What was going on. These random memories. "Do that. We attack tomorrow." She walked out of the tent and looked at the army before her. Some played, some read, some wrote, and some just sat looking at the stars and talking.

She heard Conzalas behind her, "Do you ever get used to it?"

She turned her head to him, "Used to what?"

"The lonliness."

She smiled at him. He had become her confidante. Her second in command. "I know it's hard to understand being married and all, but I'm not lonely. There's no boyfriend or husband that I miss."

He looked at her with eyes telling her she was lying to herself, "You throw yourself into this or that and never allow for anyone to get that close."

Nara sighed, "Well, maybe when Starfleet calls me in, I'll have a chance. Engineering can be downright monotonous sometimes."

Conzalas laughed, "Maybe, but I hear starships get into scuffs."

Nara suddenly found herself in the room looking at a mine. Whoa. It was like a dream within a dream. This memory was all in her mind. She remembered feeling Cernu. His calm presence. She remembered destroying the mine.

When the explosion occured she found herself looking down over the cliff. Her home was down below. She looked over and some other children that had followed her. She was 5. They wispered with eyes wide. They had just learned about the legend of Gareth Roswell, The Resurrected Hero in school. Everyone knew she was his daughter, and the legend was told by parents, but the teacher seemed to spark a new interest. She didn't feel special, other than being the only human their age on the planet. She sure didn't like others thinking she was. She glared at one boy who had come closer.

She was on the floor looking up into the face of a boy K'Erin. "Come on, Nara. You gotta block better than that."

She stood. She stepped out of the holodeck. She was 7. "It's like my life is flashing before my eyes."

Erin laughed, "Oh come on! I didn't hit you THAT hard!"

She turned to look at his face and suddenly it was the 17 year old Erin again.

“Contracts Part 1”

Romulus, Capital City – 2381

Vrih Himne was approaching his target. The target meant nothing to him – he was merely another traitorous politician who had decided to delve in vile Vulcan practices.

The man looked around nervously. He had been using secret Vulcan meditation practices for the last few months now, but it had definitely been a mistake. He knew powerful people were onto him. He had considered getting out of Romulus via official channels, but knew he wouldn’t be safe. Therefore, he was standing in this seedy back street of the capital city – at midnight in the freezing rain. He had met a “broker” in transportation, who had met him two hours ago – and then left to make the necessary arrangements. A car pulled up.

The man hoped it was the broker – but immediately he knew it wasn’t. This ground vehicle was far too new: circa early 2370s. The broker’s vehicle was an ancient vehicle made in 2353, but this vehicle’s silver paint still gleamed despite the rain. It was built far too recently to be the broker’s. Not only that, but it appeared to be a government vehicle – it was the model they commonly used, and it was entirely unmarked.

The ground vehicle halted, and Himne stepped out – dressed in an inconspicuous grey overcoat. Before the man could move, Himne had drawn his gun. He knew the man would be unarmed – Romulan law stated that no ordinary citizen could bear arms. And this man was certainly ordinary – just another spent Romulan politician now practicing treachery in the form of Vulcan meditations.

Himne fired. Instead of being an energy-based weapon, his gun simply fired sub-sonic tritanium slugs. They made no sound leaving the barrel, and only a dull thud as they impacted heavily with the target.

The target fell down, and Himne walked over – putting another two slugs in his chest just to be sure. After that, the Romulan pocketed his weapon and inconspicuously moved back towards his vehicle. He was a true el'Ustlha – a professional at what he did.

Just before reaching his ground vehicle, he looked at his electronic notebook to see who his next target was. He grimaced when he saw the name. This one would be difficult.

Name: Omar, Ramir.
Rank: Senator

Suddenly, hands grabbed Himne from behind and he heard the sound of a stun gun discharging. He lost consciousness after that.

“Contracts, Part 2”

Romulus, Omar Estate – 2381

General Omar was most pleased with the results.

The babbling scientist was annoying, but at least he was competent. He explained his success in a nervous speech.

“General, after many hours of… experimentation,” he said. “The subject is ready.”

Omar smiled. His men had captured the assassin Himne on the outskirts of the capital city, having just killed an elderly former government official. The general knew his son might have been at risk (why did he insist on practicing those pathetic Vulcan meditations?) so he had sent his men to intercept.

And intercept they had. Himne had been stunned and brought here. Now, after eighteen hours of intense torture, he believed he was the young model citizen – with no memory of his violent past life.

To make things even better, the general planned to send Himne as his son’s new diplomatic attaché.

It sounded bizarre at first – to send his son’s former assassin to work for him. But it was actually perfect: Himne had no memory of his previous violent deeds, he thought himself a model citizen, and as such would be a brilliant attaché. He would have no secret mission (perhaps working for another section of the Romulan military) so there would be no chance of danger to his son. Admittedly, last time, he had been the one who had ordered a Tal Shiar spy to pose as an attaché – but this didn’t mean that his enemies couldn’t do exactly the same. With Himne, the general knew he was working for nobody except the state. And since Senator Omar was a member of the state – he would have absolute obedience.

Of course, he couldn’t tell his son about this, or else they might lose this new tactical advantage – not only over Romulan political opponents, but also over Starfleet and the crew of the Federation starship Galaxy.

“If you don’t mind me saying, general,” the scientist hesitated. “Diplomatic attaches are extremely well paid, especially the ones of senators. Isn’t that a strange way to reward a former assassin?”

Omar smiled. “Yes, he will be well-paid – but he will still be almost drone-like.”

Suddenly a young centurion barged into the ornately decorated room.

“What is it?” Omar roared – he had always hated interruptions. “I ordered not to be disturbed!”

“Apologies, proconsul,” the centurion said humbly, backing out of the room. “But the Tal Shiar chairman has arrived. Here.”

“Here?”

“Yes, proconsul.” The centurion bowed, rushing out. The nervous scientist followed him.

Seconds later, Chairman Koval entered the lounge imperiously. He was a mysterious man – little was known of him, except that he had controlled the Tal Shiar for the last fifty or so years.

Even so, he could not show such rudeness to the Proconsul of the Romulan Empire. The general reached for his alarm button, located under his desk.

Koval laughed. It was not a nice sound, more of a wheeze than a laugh, which wasn’t surprising considering his advanced age.

“General, my men prepared for my arrival at your estate,” Koval said confidently. “They disconnected your alarm system several hours ago.”

Omar stopped pressing the button, and stood upright. “It’s Proconsul to you, chairman.”

Koval ignored Omar’s last remark, stepping closer to the general’s desk. “You may think yourself an experienced senior, Proconsul, but know this – I was running the Tal Shiar when you were merely a child.” The chairman’s voice turned to a rasp but he continued to speak.

“Know this, proconsul. Though you think yourself powerful now, your time is coming to an end. In my half-century leading the Tal Shiar, I have seen many kings-in-all-but-name rise and fall among the Romulan government. You are but the next one.”

“Really?” smirked Omar.

“Yes,” Koval leaned even closer, appearing threatening now. “Really.”

"The Autograph"

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell Ensign Saul Bental

Nara looked at Erin again. "You may or may not understand this. You're either a figment of my imagination, an apparition created, or I somehow came back in time."

She shook her head. If she had come back in time, she was sure she just broke a rule by saying so. Oh well.

"I have to find out what's going on." She looked into his confused eyes and with a bitter-sweet smile, hugged him. She had missed him. They still wrote, but it was so long since she was actually able to see him physically. She squeezed his hand and turned around. She headed toward her parent's quarters. She wasn't sure what to do. How could she find out what had happened and how to get out of it? She stopped. Maybe her telepathy could help. Something scared her about taking her wall down here though. She decided to go about this as a non-telepath for now. She turned to the hall heading for her parent's and her quarters.

As she reached the threshold, she stopped dead on her feet. There was someone outside their quarters. The guard was nowhere to be seen, and instead she saw the person's back. He was holding a piece of paper in one hand and an Eqrist - a Sakarian tool vaguely resembling an ink pen - in the other. His attire was Sakarian, dark brown trousers with a thick, green linen/gauze-like tunic, and he was probably either her age or slightly younger than her.

Nara stopped. The cloths may be Sakarian, but being the base as long as she had, there were some similar fashions from other worlds. "Who are you?" She firmly demanded.

Saul Bental turned around slowly. He looked somewhat apprehensive. "I think... I think I'm here to get an autograph... Do you know who lives here?"

She saw his face and remembered. Out of sorts, she answered his question, "My parents...and me." She shook her head as she closed her eyes and looked again. "Saul!?" She walked up to the door and found it locked. She put a hand on the door. She looked at Saul again. "What's going on!?"

"I have no idea. Come to think of it, I don't really want anyone's autograph, so..." he looked down on his hands. He seemed much younger than what Nara remembered. "I've had the most bizarre day so far, I think... perhaps I'm asleep, and this is a strange dream. It's not the first time I dream of you. Although this... this seems so vivid."

He looked up again. "What is this place?"

Nara blushed at one comment. But no time for flirting here. "This is Deep Space 8. We came here when I was about 5 until I went to the Academy."

Suddenly the door swooshed and a woman peered out the door. "Nara?" Allas looked out and saw her daughter standing with a young man. She smiled. "Hello. I’m Allas, Nara's mom."

"My name is Saul, I..." Saul paused for a moment. His cloths were Sakarian, and he was going to take an autograph, and he waited here. It didn't take an Intel officer to connect the pieces.

"I'm a big admirer of your husband." He added, avoiding Nara's eyes. "I was hoping to get his autograph..."

Nara stared. Her mom looked younger. Suddenly she wanted it all to be real. She wanted a time when she was home on a star base where she blended in with everyone, and her mom and dad were there and so was Erin. She smiled, "Mom, is Dad home?"

Allas laughed, "He is, but he's working."

Nara entered and said, "I'm sure he won't mind seeing me!" She had completely forgotten Saul was there. She wanted to be with the father she knew before they were in a war together. Before he yelled at her for some mistake she had made. When it was just father and daughter, not commodore and commander. She saw him sitting at a console at the far end of the room. Gareth Roswell. She smiled and cleared her throat, "Dad?"

Gary turned and smiled, seeing his daughter. "Your mother told me you were accepted into the Academy! Congratulations!"

Nara nearly forgot about that. She kept smiling, "I just figured I'd see what the fuss was about."

Saul stepped from behind Nara, genuinely embarrassed. He stood there quietly, not wanting to interfere. He has already interjected with too many intimate moments since he came on board, and Nara for once looked very happy, not the zealous Sakarian patriot he was used to.

This must've been before everything went very wrong in Sakaria, Saul realized. Nara told him she went to fight only after she became a Starfleet officer. So right now he was seeing the original Nara. The darling daughter.

This should prove interesting.

Then, something else grew in him. An odd sensation. He was tense, angered. Was it... hatred? He observed Gary Roswell, slowly measuring him. Yes, it was hatred. But how could it make sense? He wasn't jealous of the man, the man did nothing wrong to him. Hell, the man gave birth to a girl Saul became very fond of, even if she did have her odd moments...

Saul glanced at his pen, and enlightenment came.

"Naieen..." he cursed beneath his breath.

Nara gave her father a hug and kissed his cheek. He touched her cheek smiling, "I thought you had plans with K'Erin and J'Lear?"

Nara thought a moment. She was going to help them with some wedding details. Her moment of euphoria over, she looked sadly over at the man who had not been part of this memory before, bringing her further back to the haunting reality this wasn't real.

Gary touched his daughter's arm, "What's wrong?"

Nearly overwhelm with emotion, Nara shook her head and swallowed the lump, "Just really glad to be home again." When Gary looked at her confused, Nara kissed his cheek and turned, grabbing Saul's elbow on the way.

She walked into another room. Her room. It was decorated similarly to her quarters on the Galaxy minus the weapons. There were just cloth hangings and a few statues here and there. Saul looked around for toys or puppets. There was a stuffed animal on the bed similar to an earth teddy bear.

Nara walked over to a console in one corner of the room and touched it to bring it to life. She looked at Saul, "I know it's not real. It was just good to see them again. Like this."

"It was real once, that was all that matters." Saul told her. He forced himself to put the eqrist and the piece of paper on the desk. For some reason, he had a strong urge to keep them within grasp. He began to analyze the possible causes for that odd sensation.

"Did anything special happen, or is supposed to happen, on this... day?"

"I learned I was accepted into the Academy earlier. I didn’t come into the memory until after that though." She thought a moment longer. "And J'Lear asked me to be her maid of honor. The wedding is in a few months. I don't leave for the Academy until a year from now." Nara shrugged, "What's going on." She looked at him again, "And why are you here? Looking years younger?" Nara pressed some buttons on her console. She sighed heavily and turned away, "I don't have access other than educational sources." She shook her head, "Not sure what I could find out anyway. Is it a time-space anomaly? Some mind control? Should I use my telepathy, or am I safer not?" She looked at Saul, knowing she was asking endless questions he likely wouldn’t know the answers to, but she felt helpless.

Saul sat on her bed, thinking. "Everything seems to be blurry, but I do remember... I was at the Chief of OPS' offices, and we were discussing quarter’s arrangements. And then... we were in a Cardassians installation, during some sort of raid. Somehow, it made sense. But after that, everything is just hazy."

There was Zan, of course. She left the strongest mark on him of all the experiences he had since being in the Chief of OPS' office. But Saul was not going to discuss her, or the longest journey. That's something he had to solve for himself.

He tapped on the bed twice, inviting her to sit next to him. Nara, whose face was still pinched with confused tension, sat by him.

"Unless I'm dreaming all this, which is highly unlikely." Saul continued, "I would have to say that your two guesses might be our best shots. I've read about anomalies like this before, in Federation history books. If there are telepaths able to toss this entire ship's crew into dream-world, then they frighten me. As for space-time anomaly... well, that's way out of my turf, I wouldn't know what to do with it."

Out of instinct, he reached for her head, touching her hair. "Perhaps it's a good idea for you to scan around with your telepathy, just keep yourself out of harm's way - OK?"

Nara searched his eyes. It was likely just in her mind, but she searched for the soul of him. Something told her it really was him. Even if just mentally in her mind. Her hand found his free hand to hold it. She closed her eyes as she took the wall down. She smiled sensing Saul. Yes, he was really there.

She broadened her scan. She felt other crewmembers. Having not really knowing any of them, she couldn't tell who was who. There were emotions of joy and confusion. She probed a bit deeper in a few and learned they were in different situations than she. Perhaps their own memories. Then suddenly she hit something. It blocked her access. Something was there. Her hand squeezed Saul as she tried to get into it.

Saul looked at her hand, then at her lips. They were slightly apart, and he could see a couple of teeth peeking from behind. Without realizing what he was doing, Saul moved slightly closer to her, silently waiting for her to awaken.

After several moments, Nara opened her eyes and looked at Saul. She was tired and weak. In mind anyway. Which as far as she knew, that's all that was awake right now. Their bodies were likely unconscious on the ship, or on another ship.

"There's something. Huge. Alien. I just know it's not one of us. The others are in similar situations. In memories aware that they shouldn't be here. Maybe it's keeping us here? Why? Why would it take us into our own memories?" She looked closer at Saul, "Still yet, why are you able to come to MY memory?" Well the scan helped a little. It at least let her know there was something out there to fear. "What does it want?"

"Perhaps it explores us, somehow. I recall reading about an occurrence on the Enterprise-D. The ship was engulfed by an alien life form, or forms. They wanted to explore the sentient beings on the ship, and even demanded the captain to order two of him crewmembers to have sex, so that they--"

Saul fell silent, and neared Nara even more. His heart was racing, his brain transmitting alarms and trying to shove some common sense into the rest of his body. He could feel her breath -

On the table, the miniature time bomb hidden within the Eqrist pen ticked one last time, and the explosion threw them to the corner of the room. Saul instinctively tried to shield Nara with his body, although there was no need.

Shocked, Nara looked at him. That didn't happen in the memory. She looked at him confused, "What was that?" She looked over at the table.

Or rather, where the table once was. It was vaporized along with the pen that was left on it, and a rupture formed on the wall behind it. On the floor, a road made of unique stones was formed. It leads into the rupture. Red clouds of smoke filled the room, making it look slightly like the inside of a major blood vessel.

"Was there an attempt on your father's life during this day?" Saul asked intently once the ringing in his ears began to fade.

Nara narrowed her eyes, "No."

"Interesting, so how does this connect to your memory. A reflection of another memory, perhaps. Whether it's that or something else... the path is here, I suspect I have to leave you now."

Saul placed his left foot on the stony path, and inhaled deeply - not a smart thing to do when the air around you is filled with red vapors of unidentified substance. He coughed twice, and only with effort kept his last meal from making a guest appearance on Nara's floor.

Nara grabbed his arm, "What just happened?" She looked at him. She wasn't sure what to think. "I'm not sure if I can trust you, but you're all that's here I know is real. I'm coming with you."

"You're not." Saul informed her simply, shaking her hand. He remained still for a moment, and then did something much unexpected. He leaned forward, and kissed her on the cheek.

Nara looked at him. "Who are you? I don't know you at all. You're so kind to me yet conflicted. Then you appear in my memory and then something explodes. You seem...." Before she could finish the bedroom door opened. It was her father.

"What's going on in here?" Gary demanded.

"I'm beginning to figure something out." Saul said hastily, ignoring the man whose life or autograph he was supposed to seek. "Call it intuition, but... I suspect that you won't be able to follow me even if you tried. Let's see."

Before he could be stopped, Saul slipped into the rupture.

Nara stood dumbfounded. If she remembered any of this when they all finally came to, she’d ream him for information.

"Dangerous Friendships"

Nara had really enough of looking through tons of data for the diagnostics. She even stayed an extra shift. She was still too wound up to go to bed. She was going to go to her quarters and try anyway, but instead took a turn toward the holodeck. Work a little on her reproduction of her Sakarian village.

Abaddon sat on the peak of the Ladder of Heaven, legs crossed in the lotus position, fingers positioned in the madras of clarity as his unblinking eyes stared straight ahead. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body though it was tremendously chill, his skin healthy despite the wind and cold that should have chafed and frozen it already. His armor, which crouched nearby, remained on standby as it preserved its power and monitored his vitals.

Abaddon, for himself, was on a deep personal journey. It had been weeks he'd been here, not as of yet making contacts with the other crew and having only the most cursory of contact even with those of the Tactical department-or anyone for that matter. His contacts with the Captain had been formal, as he expected and as before he was treated well. But others avoided him.

As expected.

What he had not expected however was the hostility he would have to overcome. Conversations stopped when he entered the room and didn't start again until he left. Any attempt to speak garnered polite excuses and people left as soon as they can get away, some not bothering to try not to be rude. Of the entire Consensus, he had the worst luck with people. And so far, his luck was holding.

Inward however, he was working on the being he was, searching for the anger and sorrow within himself and trying to purge it. It could be handled much differently, if he so chose- he could simply purge the memories from his own brain, changing the electrochemical signals and coding changed to wipe away trace of the memories that made him so bitter; prevented him from reaching out to others.

It was difficult, there was so much attached to the events that led to the hardening of his heart.

He had withdrawn, even from his brothers and sisters of the Consensus, hiding himself from the Light and deafening himself to the Song. He had become Abyssal, losing himself to the darkness of isolation and wallowing in the negativity of his guilt and worthlessness.

And that was the heart of it, he realized suddenly; guilt. He felt guilty because Gabriel had died and he had survived. He felt guilt that somehow he, the second most-ancient of the races had been unable to figure out some way to save Gabriel's essence from the darkness of death.

Gabriel had been lost, the ship being lost in combat against the Borg, all those years from now. And the being that would be Gabriel wasn't even born yet. And may not even *be* born, depending on his ability to resolve himself. The Consensus was clear- they would not bring the circle around again unless he had cleared himself of the expectations. They could not remake Gabriel, at death, but the memories up until the moment of the loss were available in the Link. His beloved could be remade but would only be once he no longer needed it to happen. Because Gabriel may not want Abaddon again, may turn out too different or reject the mneme-print. That was always the possibility and one he also had to recognize and accept. The loss was unfair but they had entered the risk knowingly. They had hoped such a thing would not be necessary but the worst they had dreamed had occurred, a nightmare made real. It had devastated him.

But in truth, in his experience, that had literally happened a hundred years ago.

And before.

And now..

-Meanwhile, outside of the holodeck, an angry engineer scolds the control panel-

"Ok, I'm gonna try one more time, then I'll kick that door open!" The door beeped and Nara stuck her tongue out at the console as she walked in. When she turned her head toward the inside, she stopped. She sighed and slumped. No wonder the controls wouldn't let her enter. Someone had it going.

Wind and snow blasted out the door, slamming her back and then sucking her in, staggering her to the edge of a precipice and sucking the air from her lungs before she could scream. She felt herself lose balance and poise, with the sickening understanding that the safeties were off.

Only to be snatched back from death, strong naked arms clasped around her shuddering shivering self in what had to be thirty-below. Then there was light and warmth as they stood in the corridor, a tall man holding her with his arms wrapped around her shoulder protectively.

Heavy footsteps approached and stopped nearby, the holodeck doors shutting on the hellish cold and wind that had nearly killed her.

Nara, after not knowing what hit her, looked up into the face of someone. She was nearly startled by the eyes looking at her. She realized the man was naked and stepped away and blushed seeing the passersby. If there was something to give him to cover himself, she would had given it to him. Instead she kept her eyes north toward his face. "What the...Why were the safeties off? Why are you not frozen!" Nara sputtered as her own body slightly shivered.

"The only way to make the experience realistic to me is to turn off the safety protocols Ms. Roswell," he replied, as if he knew her or at least her name from memory. He stopped and scrutinized someone who was staring at his nudity, locking eyes with them and watching as they beat a hasty retreat. He moved over behind the upright, headless body armor and touching the back of it, apparently stepped into it. The arms and legs filled out and with a pneumatic hiss, the collar sealed around his neck. The body that seemed perfectly normal (and muscularly handsome) was now covered if what appeared to be homogenous Borg exo-armor. "I was not in any danger from the exposure, though the holodeck should not have allwed you access."

Nara crossed her arms and looked at him, "One, how do you know my name? Two, I'm an engineer and I know how to override the controls and I was too tired to think someone else could be in there." She curtly added, "Sorry." She didn't mean to be rude, but her brain had burned a fuse looking at the data earlier and she wasn't sure what to make of this man.

Abaddon held up his hand with the back of it facing her and counted them off. "One, I have memorized the names and faces of every crew member on the Galaxy as well as their public and command-level dossiers. Two, the lockouts were engaged for your safety so one might say the chill was a small price to pay and Three, pleased to meet you, my name is Abaddon and I am the Chief Tactical Officer and a Member of the Consensus." He didn't smile until then end when he held out the same hand, turning the counting fingers into a handshake.

Nara kept her gaze when he held out her hand. Just to tease. Then she smiled and took his hand. "Seems you have an awful lot of free time, Mr. Abaddon." She fought the urge to introduce herself as he obviously already knew everything Star Fleet had in her records.

"That would be an illusion Ms. Roswell," he replied with an easy smile, a strange thing when he looked so..."Borg". "I don't sleep like most of the species of the Federation do though I cannot go as long as, say, Denobulans. So I spend off time meditating in the reproduction of the Ladder of Heaven, a peak near my home." He cocked his head, giving her a measuring look, "Would you care for a bite Ms. Roswell?"

Nara looked at him as if he were crazy, "A bite of what?" She almost laughed, surely she heard wrong.

His eyebrows shot up and much as they could with his forehead ridging and he replied with a grin, "Well, *I* was thinking 'food'. I may look like a Borg and have some of their strengths but I still not only need to eat but I enjoy it."

Nara blushed and looked down laughing, "As I said before, I'm tired. I...." She stopped and wondered if she were hungry. She shrugged, "I could eat. What kind of cuisine do you prefer?"

"I have tried a variety of dishes and because of my genetic heritage I favor a few different dishes. Hasperat, Gagh, Plomeek- all of these are enjoyable to me but they're hard-wired, if you will, into me. I like a variety of other dishes as well." He gestured to her, "You choose."

Nara smiled, "Naturally I like food from Earth and Betazed, and of course Sakaria. But I'm going to guess you've never tried Gertuip before." She described the dish having a kind of cheese, meat and a few vegatables. Pretty much a caserole, but much better.

Abaddon cocked his head and considered, though after she mentioned the vegetables his mind had been made up. His body wanted vegetables but *he* wanted something with cheese; a comfort food. "If that dish tastes as it sounds," his own stomach choosing that very moment to sound off, making him blush and grin a bit, "then I may have found a new favorite."

Nara smiled, "I have the recipe programed into the replicator in my room, but in a few moments, I can have it in the replicator in 10-4ward." Nara paused a moment, "Is 10-4ward alright with you?"

"I'd be pleased to have a meal with you there," he replied with a quiet sigh. "Truthfully, any socialization is welcome."

Nara looked at him. She smiled and started for the corridor, "Well, then let's go!"

A few minutes later they entered ten-forward and found seats, Abaddon drawing quite a few stares and glances, conversations stopping entirely in some while in most just a pause. He succeeded in preventing the sigh but the expression or wariness and consternation came up anyway. "Are you comfortable being seen in public with me Ms. Roswell?" he asked her, gesturing with his head towards the other people in the lounge.

Nara was about to jokingly say quite a reputation, but stopped seeing the sadness cross his face. When he asked his question, she looked at him, "Of course not!" Nara spoke loud enough for several people to hear, "If they have a problem with it, they're jerks." She lowered her voice again, "Frankly, I don't know what their problem is. You're very cordial. Even after I interrupted your meditation." She smiled at him.

"You're very understanding Ms. Roswell," he replied with a smile, "and very forgiving. You could have been seriously injured and I've yet to apologize for that. Allow me to make it up?" he asked, looking easnestly contrite.

Nara shook her head, "It was totally my fault. You were just doing you're thing. I should had walked on to another turbolift." Nara laughed, "Well, we could do this for hours."

He chuckled as well, actually amused, "Yes, we likely could. We will call it a draw then. Would you like to order for us?" he asked, looking around for one of the waitstaff that should have approached them by now.

There was a young man talking to some people at a table nearby. He clearly saw the two people at the other table. His table. He normally would rush over. If it were anyone else. The lady the guy was with, must be insane.

Nara looked over at the waiter. She glared at him. "I don't understand why you're treated this way." She stood up and walked over to the other table looking directly at the waiter.

The waiter looked up and stood seeing the woman approach.

Nara crossed her arms, "I come here quite often and I know your service is better than this."

He stood dumb-founded.

Nara continued, "If you have a problem with my friend, perhaps I could take it up with your manager? I'm sure you can be assigned as task that doesn't require being around people." She stepped closer, "So either treat us like regular customers, or I'll make sure you never get to have ANY customers! Am I understood?"

"Ms. Roswell," Abaddon murmured from behind her, having stood and approached during the altercation, "I can go and you can be served by your own kind. The Federation people are not all able to see past the exterior of an alien to the being within. I find it very interesting that though Romulans have killed thousands and captured hundreds of Federation citizens over the years, the crew of the Galaxy is more willing to grant them social accomodation than a species that superficially resembles the Borg. It is both unenlightened and hypocritical." He shrugged to indictae he didn't understand it, nor was he willing to try. He turned to leave.

Nara gave the waiter the evil eye and followed quickly after Abaddon. "Then we shall go somewhere else." She touched his arm and stopped, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made a scene. I just find it so....STUPID!"

"It is refreshing that someone has stood up for me- "and he paused at an interuption.

"Ma'am..uh, s-sir?" a hesitant voice said from behind them as they heard someone rushing towards them. Abaddon turned slowly and quirked an eyebrow at the middle-aged human woman. "I apologize for the behavior of the waiter." She bowed placing her hands on the tops of her thighs in the old japanese gesture of respect. She showed some asiatic descent so the cultural link was likely, Abaddon noted. "If you would like, I have a table that is free and in a position where you may feel less discomfitted by others?" She gestured to a small private dining area off of the main area, where small tables in subdued lighting gave one relative seclusion. "I will, of course, serve you myself."

Abaddon nodded to her but paused, turning to Nara and quirking his eyebrow again though with a grin. "Ms. Roswell, you've been seen in public with me, made a scene over the way I've been treated and now are being offered a secluded dinner in what is obviously a dining facility meant for romantic assignations. Do you think your reputation can withstand the conjecture?"

Nara grinned, "I'm not sure what reputation you speak of. We're just two people who ran into each other and decided to share a meal." She didn't want to lead him on, as she didn't know him well enough. Besides, of all men she's befriended, Saul was the most intriqing. However, she was determined to treat this decent, gentle man with some friendliness.

"People here tend to judge first," he told her, voice pitched just loud enough to be overheard in the immediate area, "I didn't want people thinking you were a... what was the term-" he asked thoughtfully, turning to look at the aforementioned waiter, "a 'Borg-lover'?" The look he gave the other man wasn; tovertly hostile but his eyes spoke volumes. They said 'if I ever hear you say that again you'll wish I was a Borg'.

Nara sighed, "What if I AM a Borg-lover? The Borg as an entity is a cruel arrogant enemy, though respected for their tactics. Individually, they're just victims."

"True," Abaddon paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, "but I am neither a Borg or a victim or anything except bigotry. And I am to a Borg drone as a human is to an orangutan." He stopped and skook himself, turning to the gracious older woman, "I believe that we will accept your offer, dear lady. Please, lead us?"

Nara followed Abaddon resisting the urge to turn around and stick her tongue out at everyone.

Unseen by her, Abaddon smiled. Maybe, just maybe, he might be making a friend. But the real question might be, which of the two was more dangerous?

"Christmas Dreams"

2nd. Lieutenant Branwen London
Ensign Saul Bental
Ensign Tizarin Lias

It would be Christmas eve tonight. Branwen got dressed quickly. There was no electricity in the house, and it was bitterly cold. At least a few degrees below zero.

She would be expected below to help her mother bake the traditional Christmas fare. She was the ninth in a family with ten children. The eldest already married and would be bringing around tonight. Branwen herself was 13. And more and more began to hate her life here.

"Branwen hurry down." Her mother said in Welsh. It was the only language spoken in the village, Bran only spoke a little bit of English.

"Coming, mum." She answered and hurried down.

"You're always late, child." Her mother muttered. Yet Mary Jane wasn't as abusive towards her children as her husband.

They were very busy at work an hour later when her father came in. "Branwen Mary London in my study now."

The child's heart sank not sure what she had done wrong. Yet that tone of voice from her father usually meant a beating or worse.

"Yes sir." She said obediently and started to follow him.

On her way, she saw her friend. He was a knight. She first read about him in one of her favorite Celtic history books, and then saw a few references to him in a historic novel she once read. The night after, she dreamed about him for the first time. Ever since, she saw him once in a while.

He never spoke to her, but he was always smiling and reassuring. Some times he was far, sitting on his white horse on the other sidewalk when she walked down the street. At other times, he was close, so close that it was a wonder she couldn't feel his breath or didn't brush against his armor.

Tonight, he was sitting in the corridor leading to her father's study. The corridor was like a tunnel, sparse rays of light penetrating the narrow passage from both doorways. Her knight leaned his back against a dusty book case, reading one of the novels she secretly took at night to read in bed. He wasn't wearing an armor today, but rather a strange black suit. The pants were black, and so was the lower part of the long-sleeved shirt. The top part was gray, and seemed to be a padding.

She never saw knights dressed like this.

Her father stepped right over him - he never saw the knight. She followed the tall man quietly, carefull not to step on the knight even though she knew it wouldn't harm him.

Her feet brushed against his knee. Their eyes met, and he smiled reassuringly at her. "Shalom there. Excuse me, but what is this place?"

Bran was startled. He never spoke. And now he spoke in a foreign language, she didn't understand all he said. The girl hesitated, yet then decided she couldn't keep her father waiting. Or betray her secret, if he thought she was speaking to imaginary friends, he would break every bone in her body.

"Branwen Mary!" He already shouted.

"Coming father" she ran into the study. Behind her, the knight rose up slowly, put the book back on the shelf, and followed.

Her father held out a wristwatch to her. "What is this, daughter?"

"A watch, father." Her cheeks already started to be get red.

"Brother Jones says he saw you with this watch, is he correct daughter?" Dylan's voice was soft now. His children didn't dare lie to him.

"Yes father. I found it on the English road." She looked down.

"You know that this is an instrument of the devil. When are you going to learn, child." He sighed. Seven of his children were easily, and never had troubles with the strict rules of the community. Three seemed different. He had already lost one of the three to the devil, he had to be harder on Bran and Owain to save their souls.

"Because it's Christmas and will be lenient. You will not stand the night in the cellar. Fifty lashes on the back and only one broken finger, child."

She looked relieved. That was indeed a light punishment. "Thank you father."

"Bring me the strap, Branwen Mary."

As Bran turned around to pick up the strap, she found herself face to face with the knight. He was kneeling, and he seemed concerned.

"What seems to be the problem? He seems angered. Is there anything I can do to help?", he asked, this time in Welsh. He had a terrible accent, but then again perhaps in medival times everyone had this accent.

"Don't interfere." She whispered. "I am getting off lightly because of Christmas. Only fifty lashes and one break. Don't make it worse. Just be there for me afterward like always to help me fight the pain."

"Branwen Mary?!" Her father called out.

"Always?" he repeated. She bypassed him, the strap in her gentle hands, and approached her father who waited impatiently for the terrible tribute.

Bran stood passive while her father whipped her. At least this time it wasn't in public and she could keep her clothes on. So it didn't hurt that much.

Saul jumped on his feet, his eyes torn wide open in horror. He darted forward, placing himself between the child and the parent.

"Are you MAD, man?! She's your daughter! It's the friggin' twenty-fourth century, and it's, it's..." he wanted to say 'Christmas', but something stopped him. One of the only times he was slapped by his own father was after he was caught decorating a Christmas tree that he and his friends 'borrowed' from the city gardens. His father sternly reminded him that although 'Jesus was a good Jew, and had some good ideas', that their religion WAS Judaism and they were not supposed to go around celebrating other religions' holidays. And besides, it wasn't OK to steal AND get caught.

In retroperspective, Saul considered that slap the only justified one he received.

Bran's father raised his arm, blind to the angered young man in front of him, and landed it again forcefully. The knight found himself on the floor, but his body did not block the whipping, and Bran moaned in pain as the strap hit her.

"All done child." The father said putting the strap down. "Give me your hand."

She hesitated. She hated this part. The breaking always involved her seeing the doctor later. He would make sure it was a clean break but that she had not comforts healing. Trembling she held out her hand towards her father.

The sound was the first thing Tizarin heard. The sound of a moaning child. But she was too confused about where, or even when she was to react immediately. She turned herself in a circle, taking in every detail that she could, trying to decided what had happened. And her eyes fell on the most unusual scene. Three people, four counting Tizarin, were in some dark, dank little room. One was a child- a teenage girl who looked terribly familiar to the Trill doctor. The other two were both men. One was striking the girl with a strap. The other was trying to stop him, and to Tizarin's surprise it was Saul Bental.

"Bental !?" Tizarin stepped closer to the Intel agent, and she could have sworn she passed through the man with the strap. "Bental... where are we... what the hell is going on!?"

And as Branwen's father took his daughters hand, Tizarin saw her face. And she took a good look. "Lieutenant London !" and she knew, immediately what was happening. "Stop it... you... sir... stop it. Let her alone !" the Trill lunged at the form of Branwen's father. She could feel the girl's fear almost as if it were her own. And it drove Tizarin to anger...

Branwen looked towards the other stranger, she had never had two imaginary friends appear at once, never a woman. And this strangely clad woman was shouting at her in a foreign language acting as if she knew her.

From his position on the floor, Saul Bental, the knight in the Starfleet armor, watched with horror. For he realized that there was nothing he or Doctor Lias could do. He turned his head away, closing his eyes sharply as he heard the sickening crack of a bone being snapped. Inside him, something else broke as well.

Bran cried out when her father expertly bent the finger back until it snapped. However often this happened she was never prepared for the pain. Branwen sagged to the floor and didn't realise her father walked away without another word.

"You sonofabitch ! Someone ought to break you in two !" Tizarin shouted in vain, at Branwen's father.

Saul slowly stood up. "Something strange has happened, I... but it does not matter now.", he told Tizarin. The Doctor was gazing at the doorway, where Bran's father just vanished into the dark corridor.

In a few slow steps Saul reached the girl, which was sitting on the floor. She was quietly crying, if she was loud more punishment would follow, she knew that from experience. So she sat cradling her injured hand to her, and trying to forget the pain on her back. He knelt next to her, and patted her head. Her black hair was silky, and some of the locks were wet with tears.

"Please don't cry, Branwen. the doctor here will look at your hand and then... we'll get you out of here."

"No doctor, not yet. Please, is Christmas, I don't want more pain. Can't we wait until after Christmas. Dr Rhys will just bind so it hurts the most." She didn't realize she was talking to her imaginary friend in rapid Welsh.

"I meant that she is a doctor. She is a good doctor. Please let her see." Saul said, softly. He pointed at Tizarin, which now joined them.

The Trill kissed the more youthful version of the woman who had been in her sickbay some days ago, gently, on the top of her head. "When I'm finished taking care of you, you wont have any pain at all." she said softly. Using what equipment she had with her, which was not much; and her own skill with first aide, Tizarin took care of Branwen's injuries as best she could. Talking softly and soothingly to the girl as she worked.

As Tizarin tended Bran, Saul tried to think of a way to divert the girl's attention from what has happened. If he was in her little shoes, he probably would've ran away. He had experience in running away all right. Away from it all. Into the sea, into devious business schemes, into Starfleet academy.

"We're not expected anywhere until dinner, right?" He found himself saying. It was as though he was reading lines from a script. "Let's go horseback riding until dinner time comes, shall we?"

"But you are English. If my parents catch me missing, or see me with you the punishment will be far worse and I will spend Christmas in the cellar." From the look on her face it was clear she wanted nothing else but to go away with them.

Words formed in Saul's mind. All he had to do was to read them out loud. He had a puzzled expression on his face as he said : "We don't have to leave the room, and you won't have to be missing."

"I won't?" She stared at him not comprehending. Then she turned to the doctor. "You didn't hurt me." She said in wonder.

"No," Tizarin said. "Real doctors don't hurt people. They heal." She kissed the girl on the head again.

Saul had a strong sensation about one of the study's walls. It was the only naked wall, covered by a dust-covered tapestry. He drew a doorway in the dust with his finger, and suddenly the doorway was real, and they could see a forest. The trees were tall, and their branches were heavy with snow. There wasn't a blizzard, but small snowflakes floated gracefully among the leaves. The floor was covered by a thin layer of snow, except for a stony trail which miraculously was kept unhidden.

The thing that caught Branwen's eyes the most, however, were three noble horses, white as snow. Saul approached one of them and patted him on the nuzzle.

"I suspect your parents won't catch us here. I never rode on horses before." he said, still looking baffled.

"Well, I have." Tizarin said. "Or, rather my first host did. And I've always wanted a shot at following his passion." she climbed aboard one of the horses, like a Texas cowgirl. "What say you Bental- you're Intel.... give me some intelligence." she was pulling the horses reigns this way and that so that the animal trotted like a show-horse. "Is this all an illusion? Or have we really stepped back into Branwen's childhood ?"

"It's Saul, and I have no idea. This happened to me while I was visiting the Chief of Operations, and then the ship began to shudder. Before I knew it, I was with her on some raid, although the recollection of that begins to fade now."

"And I... I was treating a patient in sickbay; for a gastrointestinal ulcer." Tizarin replied. "The same thing happened to me. One minute I was with my patient and the next I was my first host again- an artist, and a hermit. Then that sorta just faded out and I ended up here. I remember I was thinking of Branwen and my initial examination of her injuries."

Tizarin found she was effortlessly working the animal as she spoke. She wasn't even aware of how she was doing it. It was not a skill that she naturally had. But, she now found she was able to control a horse like an expert. It was either a long-dormant ability drawn from one of her two previous hosts... or it was something inherant to this place. But, either way, she had surprised her compaions, and herself even more.

It was Saul's turn to climb up the horse, and he did it quite clumsily - although not as bad as one would expect. From his high position on the white horse's back, he glanced at Bran and offered her his hand.

"What's... me name?" he asked her.

Branwen had been dazed by what had happened and had barely followed their conversation in the foreign language. "Sir Gawain of course. You are one of Arthur's knights. The best and the brightest." Her eyes shown with passion.

"Well, my lady, with my honor as Sir Gawain, the first to bare his name, I invite thy to join me on this jolly Christmas ride. Take my hand."

"Yes my lord." She said with lovefilled eyes. "I never knew before that you were also a great sorcerer, my lord."

"Sir Gawain has many tricks up his sleeve." Tizarin offered. "Or, perhaps I should say 'in his ear'." she smiled at Saul. "But... if you're Sir Gawain, who am I?"

"I don't know, you are new, my lady. Don't you know your own name?" Branwen looked puzzled?"

"I'll play whatever part you like, Branwen; but most people call me Tizarin. Or even 'Ti'." the Trill replied. "Now, shall we... let's get into those woods up there and see what there is to see."

"Let us.", Saul declared. He recalled a movie he saw once - a western, it was called. In the movie, the hero kicked the horse's torso with his heels in order to make the beast go. Saul tried it, and almost fell off the horse as the noble animal began to trot forward. He held on to the saddle, then realizing that the horse had a leathery harness he could grab. This must be the stirring wheel of the beast, he reckoned.

"I will call you lady Ti." Branwen said gravely. "And I want to thank you both for being so kind to me. Let's go riding in the hills! "

Tizarin was beginning to remember. Her second host had been an expert with a horse, and she had even won several equestrian awards in her youth. So, Tizarin was drawing on those memories to control the animal. She kicked her heels into the horse's flanks, and her animal raced forward, easily keeping pace with Saul. As they rode the sun rose into the sky, and then turned to dip down towards the tree-dotted horizon. The sky took on that golden orange hue of an autumn afternoon that the Trill found so lovely and soothing.

As they rode, Tizarin looked off to her right, and she saw, where there had been a thick cluster of tall oak trees, a rocky path open, suddenly. It was a winding trail of small, rough-hewn stones. And it made it's way up into the woods and vanished under the branches.

The reigned in her horse. "I wonder where that goes ?" she asked her companions.

Saul pulled the reigns, taking them from Branwen's hands. The horse stopped immediately, and it was trained enough not to toss his two riders in the process. The air was once again filled with snowflakes as Saul climbed down and helped Branwen down as well.

He knelt next to the younger version of the Marine Psychiatrist.

"Bran, I'm afraid this is where our paths separate - for now. But I entrust you in the good hands of milady Ti, and I'm sure she'll protect you with her life."

"With my life." Tizarin repeated, giving Branwen a comforting smile. "I don't know what this place is... but I get the feeling it has a sort of will of it's own. Saul... you have to take that road. But, I think I can show Branwen a pleasant time."

"Do you have to go?" Branwen had tears in her eyes. "I feel so lonely without you, sir knight. You are a man, you could protect us both."

"Bran, forget me, forget Tizarin. You can fend for yourself, and you have. I don't know if you have any recollection of your present life, but Tizarin here knows you as a grown up officer."

That part quite confused Saul, in fact. Nara and Tizarin knew who they were, whereas Branwen was certain that she was a little girl, and that's also how she appeared to be. As for Iniara, she was somewhat in the middle. It took her a while to get herself together. What made the difference? Was it their race? Their state of mind, psych? Their location on the ship when everything went white for the first time?

There were so many questions. But Saul didn't mind. He could always use a good adventure, and this was better than many.

"And I vow, when this thing is over, I'll go looking for you, and you'll tell me 'Sir Gawain, you were right, I didn't need you to keep me safe."

With that, he jumped on his horse, and grabbed the saddle. The horse darted toward the path, and the two girls could hear the Intelligence officer shout in horror as he vanished into the darkness of the forest.

There was a crack in the ground. The horse's leg got caught on it, and it collapsed. Saul found himself thrown in the air, and then hit something soft. Something… fat?

"Careful where ye goin'!" someone shouted at him, and shoved him. He stepped back unsteadily, just to find himself face to face with a cigar. Suddenlly, his cloths became much larger for him.

"Ah, it's ye." The man said. "Big man, didn't they tell ye not ta drink yer own drinks?"

Saul blinked, trying to get used to dim artificial lights and the loud rock music, and wished that he could return to the woods and to the two ladies he left behind.

"Persona Non Gratis Part 1"

1st Lieutenant Autumn Hayes

2nd Lieutenant Branwen London

Autumn's vibrant green, gold-flecked eyes scanned the information on the PADD, their intensity matched only by their startling beauty. What she saw obviously didn't agree with the youthful marine; a slight frown marred her near-perfect features. It wasn't the first time she had read this particular document, but it was the first time she had been able to do so without flying into a destructive rage. For all the months of therapy there were still things that broke through her hard-won control. Autumn hated to be caged, even metaphorically.

"Computer . ." Autumn's surprisingly soft voice seemed in perfect control. "Please leave a message for 2nd Lieutenant Branwen London. Ask the Lieutenant to meet me in my quarters at her earliest convenience." It wasn't really a request; the order was implied if not stated. The critical factor was how quickly Lt. London responded . .

-------

Bran didn't have any patients yet in fact she was decorating her office when the message came in. Taking a break she read it immediately was happy. Finally she was going to meet her commanding officer, the Lieutenant had been busy earlier today. She read the message again, it said quarters, not office. So using her new map guide Ella had given her she went in search of the Lieutenant quarters.

It took her ten minutes to find it even with the map. Then she knocked on the door and waited until it opened.

"Enter." Autumn's eyes settled on the doorway as her 'guest' was revealed. *Diplomacy* She reminded herself silently.

"2nd Lieutenant Branwen London reporting for duty ma’am!" She stood to attention.

"Relax Lieutenant." Autumn managed a wry smile and gestured to the sofa facing the one she herself occupied. "And forgive the condition of my quarters . ." She slowly surveyed the carnage. " I think I saw a rat . ."

"Yes ma’am." Branwen said standing at ease. "No problem, I don’t see any mess. You wanted to see me, ma’am?"

"Uh huh." It was a typical Autumn response. "I was wondering if you could explain this to me?" Without warning she flicked her wrist, sending the PADD spinning towards Branwen. "Why are you here?"

She caught the PADD and saw it was her own bio. "Ma’am?" She asked. Branwen sensed that something was not right, but could not place a finger on it.

Autumn tilted her head curiously, a few strands of golden hair falling over her eyes. "You have no idea who I am, do you?" Her tone was somewhat incredulous.

"You are my commanding officer, ma’am." Branwen said a bit confused.

The direct gaze continued for several long, appraising moments and then a slight smile formed on Autumn's lips. "Take a seat, Lieutenant." This time there was definite warmth in the voice. "Please." The sudden transformation made Autumn seem younger . . impossibly so. "And tell me why you want to be here."

Her commanding Officer sure was acting strange. "I was assigned here, ma'am. I don't know if you heard of the project. Until now the marine corps didn't really have psychologists, we used naval shrinks. I am one of the first marine shrinks. So I am part of the experiment to see if we will be accepted on ships. If everybody will work with us. To be honest its bloody scary. But if you are worried, I have also been trained as a full combat officer, ma'am."

Autumn waved the younger marine's concern away. "As disfunctional as command is, Lieutenant, they don't usually assign non-combatants to an operational squad. I've seen your file and I'm aware of your skills." She was aware that Branwen didn't fully understand the question . . it was a touchy subject at the best of times and Autumn had never learnt how to be subtle. "What I want to know . . first and foremost . . is where your loyalties are? Marines do not like doctors. They like shrinks even less." Again the smile returned, warm and reassuring. "I can see the benefits of keeping our 'problems' within the core but you will need to handle your fellow marines with care."

"Ma'am, I am a marine first. Part of this project is to make things easier. To see if marines find it easier to talk to a fellow marine. My office will be in the counselling department, and I will work together with the chief of counselling, probably if they are short handed I will see naval personnel as well. Yet my heart is with the corps, you are my boss, ma'am. And I also have patient confidentiality, I don't share my files with other people. Does that answer your question?"

Autumn started to reply, then all of a sudden burst into peals of laughter. "My apologies, Lieutenant." She managed through the tears. "The irony of the situation just hit me." To emphasize the point the marine commander lay back fully on the sofa. "You just managed the impossible."

"Ma’am?"Bran asked. She was beginning to doubt her superior’s sanity. The woman was acting really strange.

The sigh that followed started at the very tips of Autumn's toes. "Very well, Lieutenant, let's do this by the book." It was clear that Branwen was too tightly wound at the moment. "First. Get yourself settled and then give me a report on the exact duties command expects from this little experiment. Second. I need an XO and at this moment the position is open. What I need is someone who can appreciate the finer points of administration and people management." She came to her feet with an easy grace. "Impress me and the job is yours."

"Your XO." She flushed. Branwen was just out of school. "I will try, ma'am. Do you want me to have two offices? How many Marines do we have onboard? Are you okay with me being a psychologist, I had the feeling you were not happy with that." Unwinding a little, Branwen began to fire questions.

"I don't even know if I have an office, Lieutenant." Autumn began to sort through the mess she had created. "Or where we are supposed to house and train the squad. My orders state that we are to be part of the security department but as yet my requests for a meeting, formal or otherwise have gone unanswered." She flashed Branwen a wicked grin. "So perhaps we are on our own."

"As for my opinion of psychologists?" Autumn shrugged. "I guess like anything there are good and bad ones. The problem is that like all medical staff they have too much say over a person's career and life in general. I spent a year restricted to training because some shrink couldn't believe I didn't have any mental scarring from a previous mission."

"I am sorry to hear that, ma'am. If there is anything you want to talk about with me, feel free. On or off the record. I will not push you. A year is a very long time."

"An eternity . ." For a brief moment it appeared that Autumn wanted to say more but she wasn't about to open Pandora's box.

"How many troops have we got, ma'am? I didn't know that we were part of security. Pardon me, it sounds a bit silly."

"To put it mildly." Autumn gave a wry smile. "But you get used to it when dealing with command." She gestured to the PADD in Branwen's hands and nodded slightly. "The only information I have is that the Chief of Security, Lt. Commander Corgan is my direct superior. How we fit into the scheme of things is somewhat less clear." The concept didn't seem to worry the marine commander; if her superiors didn't want to set boundaries she sure as hell wasn't going to suggest they do so. "As for marine numbers? The PADD only lists six names . . including us."

Branwen noticed that autumn hesitated about saying more, and she had her doubts her boss was really completely okay with the past. Yet she realised pushing would not get her anywhere. May be in time if trust developed she could do something.

"Only six? We have to get more, what can we do with six people!" She seemed shocked.

"Six marines !" Autumn countered, in a voice that would have made her old drill instructor proud. "But you are correct . . we could cause more havoc with a few extra squads."

"No ma'am. Now havoc, we have to show them what we are worth." Branwen leaned forward. "Most naval types think we are stupid, and the only thing we can do is brawl. We have to show them how good we are, and that we have a use on ships security just cannot fill." She was speaking with passion and then flushed. "I am sorry, I have this conversation a lot. My elder sister used to be a security officer, naval. She is a first officer now."

Autumn sat back down on the sofa, her gold-flecked eyes thoughtful. "I'll let you in on a truism, Lieutenant. Most Starfleet personel consider us stupid and brutish because the truth is something they can't bear; we're a reminder that they regularly fail." There wasn't a trace of arrogance in Autumn's voice, she was merely stating a fact. "We're the last resort and rightly so . . but it usually means all other avenues didn't work. More often that not there was nothing those in charge could do . . shit happens. Then we get called in . . we strike swift and hard . . and nobody ever wins when that happens."

"Yes ma’am." Bran said severely. "You are absolutely right. Have you met anyone in command yet. Captain or XO? At least the Chief of counseling has requested a meeting with me. So far she seems the only one showing interrest. And they gave me an office in the department."

"Nobody that high up the chain." Autumn shrugged. "I left a message with the security chief announcing I was on board but other than that it appears we are persona non gratis."

"I think it is terribly unpolite. Not all naval people are like that. I have made some new friends. And I grew up around naval people. When I lived with her my sister was an instructor in San Fransisco. There were always students at our place asking for help."

"There are always individuals worth getting to know." There was a slight, barely noticable change in Autumn's voice. "But that will happen in time . . or not. At the moment all I'm really concerned about is our little group. I looked over the personal files and it would appear . ." She raised an eyebrow. "that you are all rather . . green."

"All of them, ma'am. I haven't seen the records yet. Have they send you all raw recruits? Do they want this mission to fail?" Branwen asked suspiciously.

Again Autumn shrugged her shoulder. "Nothing that sinister, Lieutenant. I wasn't making accusations; merely stating a fact. The Federation has been fighting one war or another for a long time . . a lot of experienced marines have died."

"I know ma'am. Yet they could have given us some more. Some experienced petty officer to help you." She blushed knowing her own shortcomings. Branwen had to learn everything.

"Perhaps." Autumn mused. "Though it's not such a bad thing to catch you all before you learn bad habits." There was genuine humor in the marine commander's eyes.

"Delerium"

Abaddon,
Chief Tactical Officer

Abaddon had been on the bridge when the warp field destablized. Klaxons had shrieked and his internal feed had appraised him that the field was destabilizing. A cascade failed was occurring and the entire field began to collapse, for a second turning in on itself, phasing...

*****

Instead of the flickering light and the screaming klaxons and voices, he was staring into a set of golden-amber eyes, a set of eyes that had until that very moment survived only in his deepest memories where he hid his treasures.

"B-by the Light.." he sobbed, not understanding what was happening but so shocked he could not respond with coherent thought. With shaking hands he reached up and touched the sides of the face he'd never thought to see again, the love he'd lost, the love that had gone down a hole in eternity.

::What causes this distress Abaddon?:: came the light musical thoughts of Gabriel, floating through the link. ::Are you not glad to see me?::

::Oh beloved:: Abaddon wept, tears tracking down the rugged face of the First Tactician of the Consensus ::I had not thought to see you ever again::

:://system adjustment...detecting temporal flux-neurogenic fluxation field...analyzing...analyzing...sensory adaption protocols engaged\\::

::Boss?:: Reno tried to get Abaddon's attention. The FP was able to see the surrounding space and to understand this was a temporal flux node- similar to the Nexus. But it seemed artificially created.

"Oh my beloved," Abaddon was hugging the shorter Member to himself, her long dark brown hair highlighted with auburn tints held back from her beautifully soft olive face. Of most of them the Orion and Vulcan/Romulan qualities seemed to be more prevalent. She seemed to radiate a soft attractiveness. She was not a classic beauty but she had that handsome quality some women have; women who are very ethnic. She had a proud face with a great deal of character. She smiled a great deal.

::BOSS!!:: Reno cut through the experience, issues a sharp neurogenic shock.

::Reno! What are you doing!?:: he snapped internally, preparing to shut the FP down. Wordlessly, Reno shared the data it had and showed him what his enhanced senses were detecting, over the biological sensory impressions.

"Oh LIGHT! It's not REEEEAAAAAALLLL!!!!"

His mind snapped and spiralled down into Darkness.

"What's Burning?"
Lieutenant Brianna "Anna" O'Shea
Chief Engineer/Starfleet Corp of Engineers Liaison

:: Belhara, Ireland ::

Standing there looking over the simmering pot, Brianna mind was flutter as she give a quick swish with the wooden paddle she was using to stir with. "As I was saying.... " She said to her mother who was sitting there chopping some vegetables at a center island. "I'm not in love with him, I cannne understand while dad keeps bringing him home like some abandoned pup." She said then glanced over at her mother.

Brianna looked very much like her mother, striking red wavy hair and beautiful green like jade eyes. Only difference was there was a few more wrinkles and some lighter silvery streaks in Minevera, whom they called Eva, hair. "William loves you, Brinnie." She said, only her mother could get by calling her by that name. "Ian is a friend of your brothers. Could take notice in him, he shows a promising career in Starfleet, love." Eva said with a little twist of her knife as she pointed at Brianna.

"I don't or didn't see dad doing this with Will, Gabriel, Peter or Colin. Why didn't he thin carte one girl in here after another for them. Hmm?" Brianna asked as she walked over leaned on the island.

"Brinnnie, William is not your enemy. He does this like this because he loves you and wants the best. Ian is a very charming young man, comes from a good home and his people are lovely." Eva said then swatted Brianna's backside with the back of a wooden spoon. "Don't slouch, love, it bad posture."

Brianna frowned and rubbed her pants where her mom smarted her right good. "His father drinks, his mother is having affair with the minister... how lovely can they be?" Brianna asked.

"They have some class, love... " Eva said looking at the vegetables she was peeling now.

"Katie-Nanna," Brianna said mentioning her grandmother's name, "says some people have class and some just act like an ass."

"That woman puts the gray in your mums hair... the she brags about being a member of the cloud society... you know what that is, she and her friends buy a bottle ale and drink it while looking at clouds and talking about what they look like..." Eva said looking up at her daughter.

Brianna smiled.

"What's that burning?" Katie-Nanna said as she came walking into the kitchen. Katie-Nanna was Katherine O'Shea, mother of Brianna's mother. She was short tempered, fiery, strong willed and basically Minevera's pain in the butt.

Turning Brianna began to stir the pot. "Nothing, Katie-Mum.." Eva said as she looked at her daughter.

"Oh it's something, what's burning?" Katie-Nanna asked.

"It's not burning... love." Minevera said, one could tell by the way she said it was not open for debate any more.

"See someone's done affixed her behind up on mount saint judgment." Katie-Nanna said as she walked over to the pot. Began to sample it. "Needs more... seasonings.." She said looking through the spices.

"No it doesn't," Minevera said as she got off the stool and came over there. "Don't put that in the strew... it will make it hot and then we can't eat it."

"Nonsense, little spice makes it good... puts hair on your chest." Katie-Nanna informed and basically took over the pot. Doing as she saw fit.

"Yes, speaking for me and my daughter I really think men would like to see us in a hair chest." Minevera replied.

"Why not... got it already." Katie-Nanna said as she snickered.

By now Brianna had moved over to cut up the vegetables her mom had peeled. She smiled listening to them bickering back and forth. It was like this growing up, what ever her mom wanted, Katie-Nanna wanted the other. Though as if in a dream, Brianna lifted her head and paused with the knife mid-slice and looked at them remembering Katie-Nanna died several years ago....

"Faded" pt.4

Lt. Klaus Fienberg,
CMO,
USS Galaxy

Soundtrack: During the strange encounter with the phantom of Lacy Trang, the one song from the classic Anime, Mobile Suit Gundam....when Amuro is forced to fight Lalah Sune, and it's all blue and trippy.

Klaus' mind returned to a new memory. Another familiar and haunting one. His body was in pain now.....and a familiar form in what appeared to be protective body armor circa 2374-5. He was cowering across a hallway from here. The intersection occassionally crisscrossed with weapons fire.

His mouth cried out. "Klaus! Help me!"

The man across the hall was indeed him. "Hold on Gunth--" A poleron burst exploded on the wall near memory Klaus. Klaus stared at his past self as that self cowered in fear, but continually trying to get out in the open to help his friend.

Klaus felt the body fade to nothing and collapse, the entire time gunther's eyes were fixated on Klaus.

It was black. ~Is he dead?~

In a split second flash, Gunther's eyes opened to pure blinding white light, and all Klaus could feel was hatred.

At that moment he suddenly felt like he was in his old body....yet disembodied. Seperated from the universe. He saw her.....his old Love. He saw her.

He called out. "Lacy! Run! Run from here. He'll kill you!"

Her eyes were closed. "I can't. I'm tired of running. He can kill me if he wants. I don't care anymore."

"What? What are you saying?"

Her eyes opened, but her eyes seemed blank. "You'll never understand Klaus......never. But I have a question.......Do you? Do you still?"

Klaus stood there silent. ~Such a question to ask.~. "No, Lacy. What we had is gone.......forever."

Lacy's phantom took on a grimace of sadness. "Why! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!"

"Lacy, it was you that wanted to leave. I could have stayed with you forever. You wanted to leave.....so in my love for you, I left as well. That love is gone. There is another. You must understand that."

The phantom of Lacy Trang faded into nothing. Klaus could do nothing but stare of into the nothingness.

Another phantom appeared. "KLAUS!!! LOOK AT ME!!!" Shouted a familiar voice. Klaus' eyes met those of Gunther Engleman.

"Why, Gunther? Why can't you realize that there was nothing I could do. Your wounds were obviously fatal."

"YOU LEFT ME TO DIE ALONE!!! No man should have to die alone......" Gunther's phantom clenched his raised fists and yelled at the top of his lungs, then lunged at Klaus.

Klaus stepped aside allowing him to hit the ground. "Why Gunther! Why can't you live your new life in peace?"

"BECAUSE YOU STILL BREATHE!"

It all faded to black, and Klaus felt the pain of what he just had to do, and say.

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

This universe has many wonders....but something is normally wrong when two people have the same nightmare.

All Lacy could do was cry. Her pillow wet with the tears for an old love that doens't feel the same way anymore.

Gunther nearly blew the head off his first mate with a Klingon disruptor.

(OOC: This is a backpost cataloguing some more of the events on Bajor during Intermissions.)

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

"Touchdown"

Ensign Miramon Terrik,
Flight Controller,
USS Valkyrie

Ensign Saul Bental,
Intelligence Officer,
USS Valkyrie

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

It has been five days since they reached Bajor. Saul and Miramon were back on the ship after their short planetside trip, and Saul at least was pretty sure he was not going to see Bajoran soil again for a long time.

He was wrong.

They didn't even get the chance to announce their return, when the Operations officer contacted them. Saul was about to enter his Intelligence center when the authoritive voice boomed from his commbadge, bringing him up to date in a series of short, factful sentences.

He darted into the Intel center, quickly getting out of his civilian attire and into a black jumpsuit. His grabbed several gadgets that might come handy, placing them in various pockets in the suit. Finally, and wth great hesitation, he also took one of the three phasers which occupised the weapons cabinet.

Just standard protocol, he assured himself.

Miramon had just left Saul back at the Transporter room to go and report to Commander Henderson when the news came through, so he did a complete about turn, stopping by his quarters to change into a clean uniform, along with his tricorder, then headed back to the Transporter room without bothering to stop. It seemed they were going to pay for that brief trip to the surface with yet another trip to the surface. Too much of Bajor in one day was definately bad for your health.

"Long time no see." Miramon heard Saul calling him. The ensign, now dressed in an entirely black attire, jogged toward the Transporter pad. His nose was covered with a molecular band-aid, and Miramon couldn't tell if the fake Bajoran nose ridge was removed or not.

"Yeah, seems like an eternity, doesn't it?" The Bajoran smiled as he spotted Saul. He couldn't help but be cheered by a guy like that, even with events on the surface being what they were. "Everything alright?"

"No, I wish we could've met under better circumstances." Saul flashed a tired smile. "The operations girl told me that the fire downstairs ceased, and I hope she's right."

Miramon smiled, then motioned at the phasers Saul was carrying, deftly pinching one off him and securing it to his belt. "Think we've got enough weaponry? By the Prophets, if only the Dominion invaded again today, they'd have no chance with us two around, right?"

"Lucky for them I graduated on 2375 and not sooner, they wouldn't have the chance to surrender if I had my way with them!" Saul proclaimed, but behind this statement lay an apprehensive feeling. Operations promised him that the area was now clear, but if not... using the Galaxy's phasers to shoot at an alien vessel was one thing, exchanging small arms fire with an enemy that's probably better trained was another.

"I suggest that once we beam down, I'll go and check some physical evidence - you know, weapons signatures, any corpses, etc. - while you go look for eye witnesses and try to get more information from them. What do you say?"

"Sure, sounds good to me." He double-checked the phaser in his belt, setting it onto maximum stun. "Oh, and don't worry - I came third in markmanship class while I was at the Academy. When you live under the Cardassians, even when aboard a trading freighter, inevitably you learn how to use one."

"I don't have any problem using a phaser." Saul told him. "I have a problem with other people using a phaser on me."

The two of them stepped onto the transporter pad, and Miramon immediately glanced over at the transporter chief, nodding sternly. "Two to beam down to those co-ordinates. Energise."

The chief activated the transporter beam, and the two officers dematerialised immediately, their patterns rematerialising back on Bajor, which still lingered in both their thoughts, since they had barely just returned aboard ship beforehand.

"Okay, ready when you are. I'll go look for personnel, you take an look around here. Keep an open commlink, and don't put that phaser away. Call me if there's any problems whatsoever. Got it?"

"Yes. I'll also contact the local security and local Starfleet Intelligence... presence... in order to see if I can gather more information."

"Okay, good. Let's go." Miramon shuffled off from their beaming point.

Saul moved in the opposite direction, drawing his tricorder. The village appeared ominously quiet now that the attack ended, and no living Saul was visible as he came near what appeared to be the heart of the battle. It was like everything froze. Only the bird-like animals in the ski and the rapidly-moving clouds changed. His footsteps echoed as he reached the village center.

The local militia would probably be here any minute now, and start interjecting. He had to act quickly.

The first thing that pulled his attention was a dead Bajoran. He knelt next to him, and drew his tricorder. Saul wasn't a doctor, but still could understand the stream of information the hand-held device provided thanks the Academy's biology and Xenology classes. With several ruptured internal organs and severe loss of liquids and blood, the poor middle-aged man stood no chance.

Saul recorded everything. On the Valkyrie, he could probably analyze exactly which weapons caused the death of the Bajoran, but his trained eyes already gave him the answer.

Ion pulse pistols and stolen micro-phasers. A standard-issue would've caused this man to disintegrate, and the wounds were something that an Ion pulse pistol was likely to cause, plus it explained the readings about the loss of bodily fluids.

He stood up, and stepped toward the building nearby. It was a shoemaker's shop, and its windows were gone. On the brick wall, there were several holes caused by arms fire, and a circle of ash around them.

Saul scanned it. The energy print could fit any of a set of weapons, including Ion Pulse pistols and Disruptors. That wasn't the most intriguing thing.

The spread of the hits was. In a raid such as the one which just occured there minutes ago, one doesn't have the time to aim. Thus, the hits should've been spreaded because of the weapon's recoil. Ion Pulse pistols had some nasty recoil, even though it wasn't approaching the recoil of gunpowder-based weapons from centuries past.

This hit-cluster, however... it seemed like whoever was holding the weapon had three arms to stabilize, not just two...

Saul took a visual 3D photo of the hits. Perhaps it could help him analyze from which species were those who dared to shatter the calmness of this rural town. Hydrans had three arms, did they not?

As he spotted multiple transporter signatures nearby, he quickly headed toward where Miramon supposedly was investigating the locals.

Miramon had quickly moved to where he had known the village to be located, though the Tricorder in in hands had told him what to expect long before he came face to face with the reality of it. There were very few life signs, all of them faint, and those he detected fast needed medical attention if they were to survive. He held the tricorder in his left hand while he phaser was gripping comfortably in his right hand. He'd set it to maximum stun, but if he found what he suspected, a higher setting might have been justifiable.

Littered around the streets were the clear remnants of a battle, recent at that. Several Hydrans lay around, their limbs blasted off by intense phaser fire, but the same was true of the Bajorans. Using the tricorder on active scan, he soon located one of the Bajoran survivors. Blood was pouring out of his right arm - the artery and very nearly the arm itself had been severed by a phaser blast, and he had several burns from lesser shots.

"What in the name of the Prophets happened here, man?"

The Bajoran shook his head weakly - he wasn't going to last much longer. Miramon tapped his commbadge with his right hand, having put his phaser down briefly in order to allow him to examine the other man's injuries.

"Terrik to Bental. Saul, get the hell over here. We've got several wounded Bajorans, and more dead than I fear I care to count. This damage is all recent, so we've got problems. Get over here on the double."

"On my way." Saul's voice came through. Miramon could spot his distant figure hurrying back from the other side of the town center.

The Bajoran tried to assume a comforting look for his fellow. "It's going to be alright. Don't speak - we'll get you some medical help."

The commbadge chirped once more. It was Saul again. The Intelligence officer waved toward him, two hundred meters away, and his voice emerged from the commbadge.

"Is there any sign of local security? Perhaps a local official that could tell us what exactly happened?"

Miramon shook his head. "Negative on that one. Most of what was security is, I think, either dead or dying."

He pressed the badge to close the channel, then tapped it again, this time opening a channel to the Valkyrie in orbit. "Terrik to Valkyrie. We've arrived at the designated co-ordinates, and come across what appears to have been a battle not long ago. There's a lot of Bajorans wounded, but I suspect their attackers aren't far off. Anyway, I've got one nearby to beam directly to Sickbay. He's badly wounded, so tell the Med officer to be ready for some nasty cases. Terrik out."

Moments later, the Valkyrie activated her transporters and beamed the injured Bajoran up, leaving Miramon alone with his weapon and tricorder. There were still a few more signatures to follow up. Bental reached him moments later, stopped on his track and rested his hands on is knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

"They didn't stand a chance, Miramon." he said between one sharp breath to the other. "Didn't stand a chance."

He stood up straight, narrowing his eyes as the sun hit them. "Local militia is here, I think we better get back to the Valkyrie before they start rainning us with questions."

Miramon looked angry, but kept calm. "Alright. Nothing more we can do here. But if we get the chance, we're going to find out who did this." His right hand clenched into a fist, and his anger was palpable. "Nothing like this should happen during peacetime, and not to my own people. They've suffered enough."

"Indeed they have." Saul whispered, observing the town one last time. "I'm beginning to understand why the Commander was given an state of the art warship for this supposed milk-run."

Miramon nodded grimly. "Good thing, too. Anyway, time to go."

He pressed his commbadge a third time, then paused before speaking.

"Away Team to Valkyrie. Two to beam up."

The two only had a moment to wait before the Transporters energised and they dematerialised from where they were standing.

"Security Patrol"

Lt Jg Claire Barnes

Even though being in the hazard team meant different duties, Claire still made sure that she got some of the normal security officer duties.

Walking around the ship on patrol was something enjoyed it. It did beat the brig or armoury too. Nodding to a crew member that she passed, she stopped when she heard the sound of giggles.

Continuing on, Claire was pretty sure she was being followed by a number of children, but wasn't sure how many. Checking the time, she realised that they had probably gone AWOL from their parent's quarters, since it was like 11 at night ship's time.

Moving on a bit faster, she gave enough room between her and her followers before slipping into a side corridor. Listening for footsteps, she waited until they got close before jumping out with a boo.

There was a loud shriek from three children - one boy and two girls. Claire noted they were in pyjamas and one of the girls dropped a teddy bear.

The children raced off and Claire grinned, picking up the bear.

Tapping her combadge, she spoke, "Lt jg Barnes to Security, we have three children running around Deck 8, missing one small brown teddy bear. Can you get a sensor ID for me so I can take them back and return the bear?"

[ Security here. Working. Sensors report one boy, Jackson Pior, and two girls, Penelope and Daria Meadows. Need help? ]

Claire grinned, "No, I can handle this. Claire out."

Moving to the wall terminal, she brought up quarter locations for the children and set off.

Claire pulled her tricorder and downloaded the locator frequencies for the children's combadges before tying it into the ship's internal sensor grid.

Three blips appeared and she headed off after the children. Tailing them for about five minutes, she waited until they stopped and entered a lounge. It was obvious to her that they were conregating around a public replicator, most likely trying how to get something out of it without their parents knowing.

Laughing softly, Claire moved to the door and set it to stay closed once she entered.

Holding the bear out in front of her, she moved towards it so it opened with just the bear in sight. These were three gasps before a little girl calling out, "Benny?"

Claire stepped into the room, letting the door close behind.

The boy raced over, trying to dodge but she stepped in the way, "Ahh, ah. What are you doing up at this time? You should be asleep in bed in your quarters."

"Aww, rats."

Claire knelt down, holding the bear out, "Which one of you is friends with this bear?"

One of the girls moved forwards, "His name is Benny."

"Hello, Benny. What are your names?"

The girl took her bear, "I'm Penny, and this is my sister Daria. He's Jackson."

"Okay. Trying to get something from the replicator?"

"Yeah."

Claire moved over to it, and saw that they had ordered three sundaes, but need to enter a code because they were children.

Kneeling, she said, "How about I do a deal with you? Three sundaes if you will go back to bed. You could get hurt."

They nodded, and Claire put in her code so it would continue.

While they got into the sundaes, Claire sent a message on to their parents, so they wouldn't worry.

The children finished and she escorted them back to their quarters, where their parents put them back to sleep.

Once that was done, she had Security tag it on the end of the shift report before continuing on with her patrol route.

"Life Cycle"

Lieutenant Corran Rex

His consciousness was formless, unstructured. The bond was there, but uncontrolled. Memories, sensations, experiences, all flowed by in a transient whirl of thought.

This, at least, was how the entity currently known as Corran Rex perceived things.

He did not understand what was happening, but lost himself in the past.

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

He was Jalen again, in his lab. Vodar and Bela, two very old Trills, joined for longer than he'd been alive - either host or symbiont, since Jalen had been the first, were with him. They were in the lab.

"If we utilize a properly tuned subspace field," he was saying "then we should be able to construct this 'warp' drive. It will allow us to finally travel faster than the speed of light."

Vodar swore at the young Trill. "You know it's impossible! Do you know nothing of physics?"

"Impossible's just another way of saying "I don't know how yet.", Vodar. Trust me, we can *do* this." young Jalen Rex swore, not knowing that he was setting the goal that he would dedicate much of his adult life to.

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

He was Venara now. A joining that never should have been made, but one that would influence every host from that point forward.

A thin cable suspended her slim body from the ceiling of the museum. With careful precision, she wiggled around the laser-sensor grid around the Chalice. The Cup of Vareesh was a prized relic, and would fetch a great deal of money on the open market.

Not that Venara Rex cared about the money - the thrill of the game was in the challenge. After all, what fun being a thief, if there was no risk of getting caught?

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

Then he was Nomar, badge shining on his chest. A life of opposites, he often wondered if he hadn't taken up life as a lawman to make up for his last host's... Freedom in regards to the law.

This case, though....

Six murders. Each identical.

All children. Mutilated, horribly.

It was almost too much to even comprehend.

But he would find the killer. That sick bastard would go to prison, if it was the last thing Nomar Rex ever did.

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

He was Mekaela now. It was on her first mission as Captain of the Surveyor, taking Trill's first steps into the universe at large. They'd had warp drive since her first host, Jalen, had discovered it, but the Trill's, always so insular (and fiercely protective of the symbiotes) had been slow to desire to explore other star systems. If it weren't for Dax, they might never have...

But they were out here now, and that's what counted.

"Captain, this system's inhabited. Monitoring local communications, they seem to be aware of our presence."

Captain Mekaela Rex stood from her chair. "Let's make ourselves known, then. What do they call themselves?"

The comm tech looked up from his station . "Betazoids, Captain. And the name of their planet is Betazed."

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

Remy liked the Ferengi, he liked them a great deal. The were simple, and to the point: they wanted profit.

It was an impulse that he could understand.

Smiling, he pushed another bar of latinum across the table. "You have a deal, DaiMon..."

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

Vorzin stood in the Grand Assembly Hall, ready to shout down his opponent.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Assembly. My esteemed opponent would like you to believe that he would be the best man to keep our world safe. As we have already seen, however, with the Nausicaan attack on our world, he is not. What does he plan to do, if the Cardassians decide to expand their empire towards us? We have no planetary defenses. The Expeditionary Fleet consists of only a few ships. Our only allies are pacifist telepaths. We must seek out new species, new alliances, before the Cardassians decide to add us to their Empire."

"We must not place the symbiotes in danger by venturing too far from our world!" he opponent thundered back.

"Our symbiotes are no safer here than they would be anywhere else!" Vorzin replied. "If we remain as insular as we are, we will die. It is that simple. The universe is too harsh a place for Trill to stand alone."

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

Lanet snickered at her Betazoid co-pilot. "You know, this war between the humans and the Romulans certainly is good for one thing."

"Plenty of salvage." Vernon Troi responded. "There, up to port. That Romulan cruiser looks in pretty good shape. Let's dock, and see what we find."

"I dunno," Lanet Rex said warily. "Romulans like to booby-trap their ships. I don't want to find out what one looks like so bad that I want to die."

"Good point."

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

Doctor Esanza Rex eyed the serum speculatively. T'Rex's Syndrome was a blight on all joined trill. If a cure could really be found, then so many symbiotes could live so much longer, without being consigned to the pools until their inevitable deaths.

If it worked. Hell, even if it just arrested the progress of the degenerative disease, let alone cured it!

She watched as the computer ran it's simulations on the most recent mixture, and finally beeped in the negative.

Dammit.

Tirelessly, she started on her next theory, and began reviewing her notes once again.

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

Major Jaal Rex, of Expeditionary Security, snorted as the Captain explained what would happened. "So we're all just going to get rolled up into this Federation and it's Starfleet?" he asked.

"That's right. Trill is a part of something bigger now. All Expeditionary Force personnel will be reassigned, and we'll intermingle with all the other Federation races. That is, if it's okay with you, Jail."

Jail just smiled and looked at the Captain over his booted feet which were mounted on her desk. "Course it is, Cap. I been sayin we needed something like this for centuries."

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

["Captain Sulu to 'Commander Rex!"] came the voice over the comm.

Baledra swore as she reinforced the core's structural integrity field, and tapped the comm. "I'm here, sir!"

["Rex, I need warp speed, and I need it now."]

"You've got to be insane!" was the Engineer's immediate reply. "You go to warp now, and I guarantee there'll be a core breach!"

The Captain's voice was calm as always - Gods, did Baledra fight that irritating. It was part of what made Hikaru so attractive - too bad he was happily married. ['Rex, you don't get me warp in four minutes, and we're going to be destroyed by the shockwave coming off that star."

"Allright, Allright. I'm on it. You'll have warp in two minutes. Engineering out."

Time to pull off a miracle.

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

Vorrin sat behind the controls of the Twilight Dancer for the first time, not knowing that the small freighter was where he'd spend the rest of his life.

He was already following some of Rex's oldest traits, having developed a certain looseness with the law. That Kreighoff cop had nearly caught him twice already.

Still, he thought as he lifted the freighter off the ground, what's the fun in being a smuggler if nobody's after you? Otherwise, nobody's ever going to know the name Vorrin Rex.

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

Corran Rex was new aboard the Miranda, and new to Rogue Squadron - not that the Rogues had been around all that long themselves. "Corran Rex." he said, sitting down between the two red-haired women and sitting across from the small, teddy-bear like creature.

"Tara Reynolds," the first redhead said, "And that's Rena Starburst, and this is Kettch."

"Yub yub, Ensign." the little furball said, prompting laughter from the Trill.

Rogue Squadron looked like an... Interesting group....

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

And the cycle of memories continued............

"The Natures of Hell and Time"

Unaurie Quyve

Ensign Saul Bental

The path lead him to the entrance of a mansion. A heavy perfume hung in the sultry night air, trailing out onto the veranda from the house. The architecture looked alien, soft, curved, sensual. The court yard was filled with tropical plants.

When he stepped inside the building, it seemed as if the ceiling opened to a sky peppered with stars. It was only a clever trick of the architecture, though. Wandering through the room, the pheromones hit him like a wave. He had a thought, a rude thought not his own; a definition for exactly the kind of pheromones dominating the room.

Lush plants and exquisite sensual sculptures filled the corners. Silken hangings throughout the room divided the space. At first, it seemed like an extremely tasteful alien bordello, for all the bodies twined together, slithering over one another, like heaps of snakes in mating season, but the group of male Vulcans at the edge of the room, tastefully ignoring the scene around them and discussing astrophysics at such detailed depth to suggest they were scientists dispelled that image quiet thoroughly.

If he listened, he could hear other deep academic discussions mingled with moans of passion. He could hear other alien voices, a Bolian accent here and there, a few Andorians, some others he couldn't quite place.

In the midst of the Vulcan academics stood a woman, obviously Deltan - her water blue eyes and smooth head gave that much away. She looked extremely uncomfortable, as if she were looking for someone. Perhaps she wanted a rescue from the Vulcans, though from the fluency she spoke with them and her familiarity and ease using Vulcan body language, that hardly seemed likely. Perhaps she wanted a rescue from the whole scene, which she avoided actually looking at with the same practiced care as the Vulcans around her.

Saul Bental smirked. He grabbed a drink from the nearby buffet, hoping he did not break any social taboo by doing that. After about a year as part of the Special Observation program, he could easily mingle into almost any alien crowd without distinguishing himself.

He stood next to the group, and pretended to observe some wall ornaments while actually eavesdropping to the conversation.

"Temporal steam technology, while an interesting study of itself for those seeking such academic diversions, is simply that," the Deltan woman stated, speaking in unaccented Vulcan. "An interesting academic diversion. If, as you postulate, all chronotonic activity resonates not only into the future, but also into the past, then any attempt to harness chronotonic energies as a power source could be viewed as violating a kind of temporal prime directive, interfering with a past, if you will. Unless you have some way to prevent the temporal resonance from affecting the past, I'm certain that the Federation Board of Sciences will have your experiments shut down before you have time to protest."

Several of the Vulcans almost smiled at the pun, which obviously seemed intended. It fit well into the culturally acceptable limits of humor in Vulcan society, again something that didn't seem normal for a Deltan. She held herself in a reserved posture and scanned the room again. From this position, it looked as if she were looking for someone, someone she didn't care to see.

"In fact," the Deltan woman continued, directing her comments to one individual, taller than the others, who looked as if he smelled onions wafting on the wind. "If I remember correctly, they have you shut down and all your research confiscated within three months, two days of this conversation, Doctor Tehvarik. Of course, it continues in another form. It's far too valuable to simply abandon, no matter the danger of your research."

Five meters away, Saul Bental nodded to himself. The speaker was the one he was looking for - the one who was real.

He allowed himself to look at the group directly. Several of the Vulcan scientists looked vaguely confused. One, a shorter fellow with a thick midsection and a weak chin, apparently decided to ignore the strange turn of the conversation. "See," stated the stout Vulcan, looking more superior than the usual Vulcan appeared. "Even a Deltan can see that pursuing this avenue of research is completely illogical."

You always were a pompous snob, Selah, came the thought, and this time it was clear where the thought came from. It came from the Deltan woman.

Tehvarik looked like the smell of onions had gotten stronger in the room. "I will take you to my lab tonight, Unaurie of Delta," he bristled beneath the veneer of unemotional logic. "You of all people have the quality of intellect necessary to understand my work. Once you see how far I have gotten, you will understand why it would be illogical for me to discontinue at this stage of study."

Unaurie frowned. "I will go to your lab two days hence. I will see and understand your work. You might as well have been working with proto matter," she stated so softly it seemed likely to fall below even the Vulcan range of hearing. Her distaste was evident in that moment, but it quickly vanished.. She waved the scientist off. "It would be rude for me to leave this function early," she stated in a normal speaking range, "No matter how distasteful I find it, Tehvarik. We will talk tomorrow and find a time I can come see your lab."

Once again Unaurie scanned the room. This time she hazarded a glance toward her chronometer. "I require refreshment, gentlemen. Please excuse me." She stepped away from the group of Vulcans, looking like she might head toward the bar.

"A fascinating creature," one of the Vulcan scientists stated.

Tehvarik nodded in a way that could have been interpreted as appreciatively. His eyes followed Unaurie's back, left bare by the clever cut of the golden silk dress that draped her form.

As the group of scientists directed their attention elsewhere, Saul approached the Deltan. "May I offer you something to drink?" He asked, as though being one of the butlers who kept rushing around from one group to the other. "If you need to feel refreshed after a long tedious conversation with a bunch of pompous Vulcans, this green one is a genuine Tremuskeri Sha'tin if I'm not mistaken."

"I hardly find Vulcans tedious," Unaurie replied. She glanced at the bottle filled with green fluid. "You are correct. That is a Tremuskeri Sha'tin and I would prefer something else. I do not drink alcohol; a habit I picked up living on Vulcan during my formative years. Water, I think, perhaps with a splash of fresh fruit juice. Another habit I picked up living on Vulcan during my formative years, " she explained.

She looked nervously toward the door and checked the delicate looking chronometer around her slender wrist. She indicated a stack of thick skinned green fruit sitting on the bar. "Those there are called kallah. They have a flavor similar to the lime of earth, but sweeter and stronger. If you appreciate intense flavors, you may like them."

"I'll give it a try." Saul said. He poured the drinks for the two of them, squeezing the Kallah fruit into both glasses in order to contradict the effect of the alcohol within his own glass. Saul Bental was a man who always had to have self-control, and he wasn't going to get himself drunk before he figured out this whole changing dreams occurrence.

"My name is Saul Bental, and I am an officer on a ship called the USS Galaxy." he introduced himself simply. "If I'm not mistaken, you will recognize that name."

"I know the Galaxy. I am called Unaurie Quyve. I only just came aboard."

"So you remember." he said simply.

"Yes. I remember. I do not forget," she stated, as if the words held some particular significance. She shrugged slightly. "I'm a scientist consulting with the Corps of Engineers. That we are still somehow aboard the Galaxy would explain why you are at this particular party. I only expected one human to sneak into tonight's events. He is standing over there, right where I expected to find him," she indicated a direction with her eyes.

"It would also explain why you are not Nataran Xa'ine, whom I had expected to brush against my shoulder just now. He is standing over there," She looked a different direction. "The disappointed looking Deltan male with the lavender eyes. He's wearing the blue high collared robes and carrying bouquet of red leaves. They're induka leaves, native to Vulcan. They smell of hot dry winds and spice. He smells of curiosity, hope, and just a hint of disappointment. The scents are very distinct. He says he is biding his time now, waiting for me to tire of your company so he may interrupt without seeming rude."

How she could distinguish any scent at all in the room seemed a mystery. Even the strong smell of citrus from the kallah was quickly lost in the other scents in the room. Perhaps it was something in Deltan physiology. How she could hear anything in the room, which was filled with music, conversation and laughter, and the occasional moan of passion, was another mystery.

The woman sipped at her water, obviously savoring both the flavor and the scent of the drink. Diluted with water as it was, the fruit juice might have passed for spearmint limeade, the juice of the kallah was both that syrupy sweet and intensely flavored. "Deltans are empathic with other races and telepathic amongst themselves, though not so strongly as, say, Betazoids. Strongly enough to be annoying to Betazoids," Unaurie stated, answering the unasked question. "There is also a pheromonal element to our language. What he did reach me with telepathically, his scent told me. Sometimes I believe the only reason our people developed a spoken language at all was so we might add poetry to our songs."

Saul sipped from his own glass. "A reason as good as any. So what is this place? Why are we here?"

It was a question he asked too many times the last few hours.

"The where we are, I can answer. This is a faculty event at the Academy of Science on Delta Prime, one of three jewels in the crown of our capital city. It is late spring in the Federation standard year 2375, after my dissertation was confirmed and after I applied as a contractor to the Corps of Engineers, but before I took my training at the academy. Nataran Xa'ine has just accepted a position as an instructor at a university out among the colony worlds. He is here to try to convince me that I should come away with him to the colonies, far away from the center of the Federation."

Unaurie glanced over in the direction of Nataran Xa'ine and smiled sadly. "He offered me induka leaves and the gift of the lover's knot. Both represent the beginning of a sacred and deep union in their cultures - a relationship of a type I was not free to pursue, nor at the time was I interested in pursuing such a relationship with him, even if I had been free. Nat knew that when he made the gifts, but he would have had me anyway and that far away, we might have even been happy. I told him no then and I have ever regretted that choice. It is one of only two choices I would unmake if time ran backwards." She blinked back tears and her voice trailed away to nothing.

"I can only tell you a little of how we came to be here. I was in Engineering. Everything spiked, whether it was something on the new systems that a ship of this design couldn't handle, some problem with the older equipment on this ship, or some other variable I have not yet accounted for, I do not know, nor do I know why you are here with me. I only know that now we are here."

"Given my knowledge of the situation before we came to be here, I assumed that I died. In the Deltan version of Hell, it is believed that the soul relives the unresolved issues of life, in order that we may resolve them and complete our journey to the maker. If this is Hell, I can tell you why we are here." She shook her head and the elaborate gold and blue topaz chandelier earrings dangling from her earlobes made a soft tingling sound, like tiny temple bells.

"Hell is the name of a journey the soul makes alone," she finally said after a long silence. "Since you are here with me, Saul Bental, this cannot be Hell. That said, I am afraid I cannot tell you why we are here," she gestured around the room.

She glanced down at her chronometer again. "This is not a pleasant memory for me. My husband is going to come through that door any moment now and make a most unbecoming scene. I was able to explain Nat as a colleague and his gift as culturally insignificant on Delta. My husband is," she paused and frowned, searching for the right word.

A list of adjectives appropriate to Unaurie's husband came to Saul. An impressive number of those words were very bad; abusive, alone, base, cold, calculating, charismatic, corrupted, disturbed, diplomatic, evil, fiendish, fearsome, greedy, handsome, insinuating, jealous, lying, manipulative, maniacle, murdering, obsessive, possessive, reprehensible, smooth, slinking, sneaky, sociopathic, terrifying, uncontrolled, violent. They were words that Unaurie was obviously considering, for they happened to Saul in her voice.

She finally decided and continued with, "Jealous, amongst a number of other traits unbecoming to a Vulcan. I do not wish to burden you with my private issues. The scene he made dealing with Nat was unpleasant. With you, I cannot be certain that things will not go even more poorly than they did the first time. This thing around us may be drawn from my memory, but that does not make these events any less real. I would fear for you, Saul Bental. There is a very good reason Vulcan society frowns upon the expression or display of emotion and relies on pure logic: an angry Vulcan is just as likely to kill you where you stand as he is likely to greet you socially first."

"I take it your husband is Vulcan?" Saul inquired, glancing at the door where the bald Engineer's husband was supposed to come from.

"That is among the claims he makes, yes," Unaurie confirmed. "I believe I could yet be tempted to call upon memory and try to recreate Doctor Tehvarik's folly. If his device were safe, if his theories were sound, I would gladly trade away the first choice I would unmake, the decision I made in the folly of my youth to save Sa'awek's life, for that one change would give me the ability to make the second choice freely. Sadly, Tehvarik 's theories are not sound. He languishes in a Vulcan mental hospital, driven mad by the way his machine twisted his perception of time, and that was the least of the dangers of the device."

She took another drink of her beverage. "This experience is based on a memory of mine, one you were not a part of, and yet you are here. You do not seem to find this situation strange, however. Why not?" she asked pointedly.

"Because since this day began, I've been visiting other people's memory. You are the fourth, or fifth... I'm beginning to lose count."

She stole another glance at her chronometer. "Interesting."

"Waiting for something to happen?" Saul asked, peeking at her chronometer.

"Time has not moved since you interrupted the flow these events taken from my memory," she noted. "My grasp of temporal physics is relatively good, given that in my line of work it is one of the potential future power sources we are currently exploring, but no matter how I analyze it, the fact that my chronometer has not moved forward since this conversation began, despite the continued activity around us, seems significant."

"Perhaps it's broken." Saul shrugged his shoulders. "Did it move before I first approach you?"

"It is unlikely it is broken," Unaurie countered, a slightly defensive tone in her voice. She breathed once, her eyes half closed. It seemed as if she were listening to whole of the room. Her eyes opened.

"As for my chronometer," Unaurie continued. She inclined her head slightly forward and to one side. Her eyes half shut and the lids fluttered. "It is not broken. It has not moved since this event began," she said, lost in thought. Her eyes closed fully. "This is yet another anomaly to this memory. I did not have this watch at this event. My friend, Daniel Fraiser had not yet made it for me." She indicated a blond haired man of average build wearing Starfleet Sciences Full Dress uniform standing rather painfully aside, the pips on his collar marked him as a full lieutenant. He looked uncomfortable, like a young teenage boy slouching in his chair and trying to conceal a spontaneous problem of a rather delicate personal nature, who suddenly finds he has to stand up in front of the classroom.

"The way I see it, whether time somehow stopped or not, this should have no influence on the chronometer since none of this is real." Saul said, deep in thought. "However, perhaps I am interrupting with the order of occurrences. In your past, what was supposed to happen next?"

"Oh, this is very real, Saul Bental. Make no mistake of that. It happens to be a recreation of a memory, but it is real. More real than the holodeck," she told him. "What happens next. I brush shoulders with Nat. Doctor Tehvarik comes over to me to privately arrange the exact time I will tour his lab. I will ask to bring my friend along with me, who has snuck into this party without an invitation and is currently regretting it over there in the corner," she stated with a smile. "He was not prepared for the unrestrained sensuality of Deltan culture. I believe he said he was going to try to think about baseball."

"Perhaps that is something," Unaurie stated. She considered a moment. "I think this particular event was chosen for a very specific reason, Saul Bental. It specifically deals with time. Well, temporal physics, more correctly. Lieutenant Commander Fraiser, well, he is a Lieutenant Commander now," she explained. "Anyway, he is one of Starfleet's leading temporal physicists, maybe even one of the Federation's leading temporal physicists. Doctor Tehvarik is undoubtedly the leading expert in temporal physicists, despite the fact that it drove him insane."

The voice in his head translated again: not insane, but to complete raving lunacy.

"It is not important that he went insane, what is important is that after Doctor Tehvarik talks to me, Daniel comes over to confirm that he can come with me on my trip to Tehvarik's lab. Alloran Ney, the professor for one of the undergraduate introductory warp physics classes I'm TAing this term briefly greets me and congratulates me on the acceptance of my dissertation. After that, Nat comes over and makes his gifts, which is precisely the time of Sa'awek's entrance to the party."

"There is one thing I would have you consider, Saul Bental. I believe you are wrong in your belief that these events are not real," Unaurie replied. Her eyes still closed. "I sense minds here, emotions. Curiosity, mostly. 'Daniel Fraiser' over there, while uncomfortable, is not nearly embarrassed enough by the situation," she smiled again at the memory. "The poor thing was humiliated. I tried to warn him about the full effects of unbridled Deltan pheromones on human physiology. He said he could handle it, so I got him the invitation. Later he told me he felt like Priapus at the Gate. They're an amusing type of fertility statue from Earth, from the ancient Roman culture. I have a replica of one in my quarters - it was another gift from Daniel Fraiser. That is unimportant right now."

She finished her water and stood up suddenly. "It is my tentative theory that we may be dealing with aliens with an unknown agenda - perhaps psionically advanced aliens, perhaps aliens using some kind of technology. I cannot explain why you have experienced several of these events, but the fact that you have experienced several of these 'events,' as you call them, suggests that these aliens are somehow probing our memories and searching for something. Perhaps they choose to make us re-live events captured from memories to put us off our guard, so we will give them the information they seek more willingly."

Saul digested this information for a while. Two aliens of a species he wasn't familiar with stepped next to them, and their stench made him shudder. The Deltan seemed unaffected, however.

"Right now, all we can do is face the situation at hand. Do we want to avert it, or just let it happen as is? I'm asking because in some of the memories I already experienced, I found myself in a position where I could improve or fix bad things that happened in the memory. If I can do it here, then why not?"

"Because the past is immutable, Saul Bental," Unaurie explained. "The past is the past. We cannot simply reset to a saved point, like a holodeck adventure, and replay the sequence for a more favorable outcome. We are not meant to swim in a wash of chronotons, like swimming in a river. There is no upstream or changing currents for us. We are four dimensional beings, and for us time is a linear function. Those of us who try to experience it otherwise become mentally unhinged. I know this for fact, Saul Bental, because I have watched it happen."

Again, the voice spoke in his head. Project: Starbright. Classification: Top Secret. Ran: January 2387 to May 2388. Project closed. All project materials confiscated. Project head: Dr. Tehvarik of Vulcan, currently detained on Vulcan - status permanent house arrest at the Vulcan Institute of the Mind for reasons of insanity. Lieutenant Commander Daniel Fraiser currently assigned to Project: November - Vulcan Science Academy location. Dr. Unaurie Quyve currently assigned - the voice stopped suddenly.

Unaurie sighed and looked around the room. "Please leave me, now, Saul Bental. It is about to become unpleasant, here."

Saul was about to protest, but then something moved beneath his feet. He glanced down - and, as expected, the path lay there once again. Rugged stones, rare, the kind you only find on Melara. The path lead back to the entrance. The people around them appeared indifferent to the transformation that took place beneath them.

"It seems that you are right. Keep yourself safe, Unaurie."

Unaurie watched him leave on the path the aliens provided for him. "You are the one I am worried about, Saul Bental," she said to his disappearing form. Of all the things Unaurie knew intimately, she knew manipulation and deceit closest of all. "You refuse to recognize this is real. You do not see the danger. "

She sat down on the floor, easily folding herself in to what human mystics called the Lotus position. She rested her hands on her knees and closed her eyes and one by one, the stars in the night sky began to wink out of existence.

"Memories'

by
Lieutenant Jasmine Heloi
Vanguard Squadron
Executive Officer

"Damnit Jasmine, would you get your ass down to wardrobe? Leave that study guide behind for a few minutes and get back to your real job!" Harry MacGregor complained from behind Jasmine's desk, "You're five minutes late! We need to get filming started before noon on this next scene. You're killin' me here!" MacGregor was Starfire's production manager - at least that was his formal title. Privately, Jasmine called him a bulldog. He was always gnawing away at her when things didn't go exactly how his precise schedule dictated. It wasn't her fault that her next exam for the science academy was the following day and her studying for it had been severely curbed by the unrealistic demands that Starfire had placed upon her.

Sometimes she wondered how she had ever managed to juggle her bachelor's degree with her acting. She was still a year away from her masters at this rate, though her professors told her that her work was exceeding their expectations. Not that the Vulcan had put it quite that way, but she had filled in the blanks just to give herself a much needed boost in her ego.

"I'm coming, Harry," Jasmine sighed, placing a marker on the set of notes she had been studying, "What is it today? Am I going to be a zombie, a corpse, or...I know...Godzilla."

"Jasmine, you're a real joker. Now scoot!" Harry moved his hands in a shooing motion. Laughing, the Betazoid complied. The grueling 12 hour days were crazy enough without having some means of releasing tension.

The makeup trailer was just two doors away from her 'quarters,' so less than two minutes later Heloi walked into the clutches of Jason Yehenek.

"Darling!" Jason greeted, practically oozing charm, "Come, come. Sit down. What did you do to your hair?! Ach, we can't keep this style. It's too severe. No, no. Don't say anything. Sit down and let a master work."

Jason was a force of nature, so she could do little else than to meekly sit and watch him do unmentionable things to her hair. It looked like today's scene was calling for her to have a bit of a disheveled look. Smiling slightly, and ignoring Jason's muttering, Jasmine grabbed the script from the dresser in front of her to peruse her lines for the upcoming shoot.

Though, as she read through the lines she couldn't help but feel this too was something she had seen and done before. Memories of the Galaxy, Vanguard Squadron, and Starfleet started to intrude - reminding her of the true place and time. This was the past. There was no exam the following day, she had filmed the scene for 'Hell's Wake' a long time ago.

"This isn't right. What's going on here? Why is this happening?" Before Jason could do more than look at her strangely, the room began to melt.

There was no other phrase that fit as well. Like an oil painting exposed to water, colors began to stream downwards and washing away the scene of the makeup trailer on the Starfire set.

A second later, Jasmine Heloi found herself facing the business end of a disruptor. "Don't move," a harsh voice commanded. Looking upwards, Jasmine realized that once again she was in the past - her own past - facing a Romulan.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, wondering if she had become trapped in a temporal loop or if she had simply received a really hard bump on the head.

The scene shifted again, only this time it was as if a film trick had been used to fade out the view. She found herself on a planet of red sand. Blazing heat seared her flesh as she looked upwards at the massive planet that loomed menacingly over the horizon. That view alone told her she was on Vulcan  the view of T'Khut, Vulcan's sister planet  was a well advertised benefit of living on the Vulcan homeworld. She could easily see it's beauty...though she could tell...this memory was not her own.

"What is going on?" she asked again, but only a dry desert wind blowing across her face was her answer.

"A day in the life of a JAG Officer"

Ensign Emily Fellbaum,
JAG Officer

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

"Emily Fellbaum Personal Log, Stardate 50501.02. If someone had ever told me how much paperwork was actually involved with the JAG Office, I probably would've considered a career change. Either that, or I would've ignored them. One of the two. Nothing going on so far in the life of Starfleet's newest lawyer, nothing but moving into a small office on the Liaison Corps deck of the Galaxy, getting settled in, and of course the dozens of manuals I have to read just to keep up on things. Who knew how many new regs come out of Starfleet Command every so often? Feels like I'm drowing in a sea of PADDs in my own office! If anyone has a life presever out there, please toss it to me!"

Emily signed off of her log with a sigh. Now being a full fledged JAG Officer was not impressing to say the least. It was quite dull at the moment. But then again, her recruiter and her parents all said the same thing: You had to wait for the cases to come to you. She hoped it would come soon, either as prosecuter or defense. Right now she really didn't care which. She'd take any case offered to her.

She was fresh out of the Advanced Law program of the Academy in Boston. This was her first assignment and first time ever on a starship. It was all terrifying and exciting all at the same time. Deep down, she knew that she'd get the hang of things. With yet another sigh, she picked up another PADD of required reading and got back to work.

“Prelude to a Workout”

(Backpost: Takes place shortly after the Galaxy’s relaunch.)

by

Ens. Tarin Iniara, Operations

2nd Lt. Branwen London, Marines

Location: Main Gymnasium, USS Galaxy

Branwen had found the gym. After a stressful day of getting lost all the time, and some people not treating her very nicely because she was a Marine, the familiar ground of the gym was a relief. She quickly changed into her working out clothes and began stretching to warm her muscles.

The place was rather empty, an oddity Iniara noticed as she entered the main gymnasium. Normally the gym would have been busy if not almost crowded, but Iniara noted no more than five or six people working out, and only one other woman in the locker room. She nodded a brief greeting to the woman as she entered, instantly sizing her up in the process. Apparently human and quite young, but well-built and with a hard edge to her. Iniara wondered if she was a new arrival, or just someone she hadn't met before.

"Good morning ma'am." Branwen greeted her as she continued to stretch. She found it easier to call everything that moved ma'am or Sir, that way she couldn’t make a mistake. Although she was a psychologist, Branwen had done the complete marine training, and could function as a combat officer. She also liked to work out and keep in shape.

Iniara was content to keep to herself, but the use of the word "ma'am" threw her off guard. She didn't recognize the woman, which meant she either wasn't assigned to Ops, or was such a new arrival Iniara hadn't heard of her yet. "Such formalities aren't necessary," she began as she unpacked her workout clothes. "Not towards me at least. Tarin Iniara, Operations," she stated, holding her hand out.

"Branwen London, Marines." She eyed the other woman warily, to see if she would suddenly become unfriendly at the word Marines like so many before her. "I'm a 2nd Lieutenant, so it safer to be formal to everybody I meet."

"Marines? Huh. I hadn't heard we were being assigned a battalion of Marines." Iniara's tone suggested she was curious more than anything. Then again, after their previous mission the idea didn't really surprise her. "So, how are you finding the ship so far?"

"Just trying to find my way around, ma'am. Most people are friendly." She smiled shyly at the other woman.

Iniara had a hunch she might not be telling the entire truth, but decided not to press the matter. "It's a big ship," she continued instead as she stripped down to her undershirt, revealing a network of fading scars in the process. "Have you learned the coordinate system yet? It can take you anywhere you need to go."

"No ma'am. I have a handheld map now. Ella gave it to me. But I still get lost a lot. I have never been on ship duty before." She watched the scars. Just like her own body but at least she had the excuse of being a marine. She was sure it kept her from answering awkward questions. So she didn't ask anything as a courtesy to the other woman.

"That's a good start. However, if you have the time between duty shifts, I highly recommend wandering the ship as much as you can. Getting lost a few times now until you learn the ship's layout is definitely preferable to getting lost if...when we end up in battle next." She smiled reassuringly, continuing to change as she spoke. "So, what's your field of expertise?"

"I will try that, ma'am." Branwen promised. She took a deep breath before answering the next question. "I am a psychologist, one of the first in the corps."

"A psychologist?" Iniara repeated, sitting down on a nearby bench to slip on her shoes. A moment later she began her own stretching, loosening up her thigh and calf muscles. "Well, I guess Marines need counselors as much as the Fleeters. Though I can't say it didn't surprise me." She kicked one leg out to stretch her inner thighs, grimacing as her hip popped loudly.

"That didn't sound good."

"Did it hurt, ma'am?" Bran asked concerned. "Would you like me to massage that for you? I have done some massage courses in my free time."

"It's not too painful. I guess I'm not as young as I used to be." Iniara smiled wryly, wiggling her leg to loosen up the joint. "Do you think that would help? I suppose it couldn't hurt, though."

"I think so, ma'am. It would warm up the joints, I guess you need a slower start to your work out if you don't mind me saying so." Branwen looked a little bit worried.

“You seem to know more about it than me. Maybe you could give me some tips, if it’s not too much trouble. I don’t want to keep you from your workout.”

"It's not trouble, ma'am. Maybe we could go somewhere else. This is not the right place to give a massage." Branwen turned a little bit red feeling uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that important.” Iniara could sense the younger woman’s nervousness and it confused her a bit. Although she hadn’t been exposed to most of the stereotypes regarding Marines, a shy or nervous Marine still seemed a bit strange. But it was a big galaxy, she had to remind herself, full of all sorts of different people. Narrow-mindedness or stereotyping would definitely be counterproductive.

“How about we go work out, and if my hip doesn’t loosen up you can take a look at it?” she suggested. “It’s held up fine for almost four and a half decades, I think it’ll survive for a little bit longer.” Iniara smiled warmly, trying to put her companion at ease.

"Sounds like a good plan ma'am. I am all for it." Branwen smiled back a lot easier now.

“Excellent. Shall we?” Iniara motioned towards the door, leading the way into the gymnasium beyond.

"The Verdict"

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security,
USS Galaxy

Location: Quarters

James Corgan had quite an eventful few months.

He barely noticed the Galaxy when he arrived, in the middle of its retrofit. Arriving early from the training exercise, James had a lot of time to kill, so he slew it the way he knew best.

Work. Lots of work. Tons of work.

He had paperwork to do, the new security office to get used to, and more career problems to work out than James Kirk after shore leave on Rigel III. He had to prepare for the eventual fallout of his relationship with Atole Tekri, and then handle what happened during the Hazard Team training on Earth. Somehow though all that, he had to salvage whatever career he had left, and not be jettisoned into the nearest deathworld garrison post as an ensign.

It also didn't help that as of late, he felt like total sh*t. Corgan withdrew himself into an impenetrable shell. On the outside, he was kind and compliant enough, following orders and giving them out, saying kind words that were only token during the day to day conversations with the Galaxy's various crewmembers. But anyone could tell that on the inside that he was not free to discuss any of what he was feeling. James didn't leave the opportunity, and if someone asked about his despondent mood, he simply did not answer, or deflected the question.

He had other things on his mind, and never in his life did he feel more unprepared mentally. Not since after the Borg incident did he feel so self destructive.

Eventually, his problems caught up with him, while his 1997 Fender Strat kept him company. His LCARS terminal demanded, =/\="Incoming Message From Starfleet Security, Admiral Armstrong.=/\=

~"Sh*t..."~ Corgan grumbled to himself. The time did come, and he did not feel good about his chances. "I'll take it here." He said, as he lumbered towards the console, taking his seat. He glanced down at his replica Public Enemy t-shirt. How he wished he had time to change, but it was his free time; what would the Admiral do? Tack on another week on sunny Breen?

James activated the viewscreen, showing Admiral Armstrong's stern, stony face. He was in his eighties, and near retirement. Part of a generation on the ass end of the free wheeling, Prime Directive interpreting, decision making leadership. Though a crusty old officer, James thought that by dumb luck he was given an Admiral that might understand his situation more, and give him some sort of leniency.

"Lieutenant Commander Corgan." The old admiral cordially greeted.

"Admiral Armstrong." Corgan responded in kind.

"You know why I'm here, right Commander?" Armstrong asked.

James nodded, "I have an accurate guess or two, sir."

"Good... then let's get on with business. This is as unpleasant for me as it is for you, Commander. Maybe more so. Your first problem is pretty straightforward, so we'll reach that later. As for that training incident.... Welll...."

"Admiral." James insistently urged, leaning closer to the screen, "I had a drill sergeant attack and threaten to molest one of my Hazard Team members, and I also suspect the camp's commandant of authorizing these activities. I have a duty to make sure that my subordinates get the closure they deserve. There should be no 'well...' about it. How long is he going to stay at Leavenworth?"

Admiral Armstrong hesitated, his aged face wrinkling further as he tried to hold back bad news. The apprehension in his voice was as clear as day. "Commander, the drill sergeant is dead. He hung himself in the brig. Sorry, but I'm afraid Lieutenant Barnes won't get the closure she deserves."

James hung his head down. He didn't expect the drill sergeant to do such an act. Even in the end, when James slugged him to the ground, the drill sergeant was never repentant. Defeated and shamed, but not sorry for what he did. "That strikes me as a bit odd, sir." Corgan said with a croak in his voice; death never settled well on his conscience when he was indirectly involved.

"Well, sometimes these things catch up to you, Commander Corgan." The Admiral quipped like a wise sage, "We were going to lay charges on Lieutenant Commander McMasters, but the oddest thing happened."

"What would that be?" James asked.

"He's dead too."

James was taken aback. "Dead? Is there a connection?"

"Nope." Armstrong sighed, shaking his head, "It was a mind boggler. He's a grade A jackass... but he was in perfect health. Died of a naturally induced heart attack. His family has a history of heart failure, so maybe... his health wasn't so perfect after all. How our doctors missed signs of this during his last physical was beyond our experts. The doctors assure us that it can happen though, and the stress of his job, the charges, and his family life which we just learned about.... how could it not happen?"

Lieutenant Commander McMasters was known to be excitable, stressed, and anal retentive. To think of it, James saw a heart attack as inevitable, but so soon? Not even McMasters deserved to leave existence like this, by a stroke of bad circumstances and a siege of problems that rivalled his own.

"I admit, I feel bad for getting on his case." Corgan confessed.

"Why? The man was an asshole. Pure and simple. He dug his own pits, and died by chance. Let him answer for it in his afterlife. You don't have to concern yourself with him." The admiral reasoned, "Besides, you have your own problems, and I just added one other. Somebody will have to tell that young woman she won't get her revenge."

"Yes..." James nodded. He dreaded THAT as much as he dreaded hearing about his punishment. Lieutenant Barnes was a spitfire, liable to rip his head off. "Puts you in an enviable position, doesn't it?"

The admiral harrumphed a half laugh. What he had next turned his wrinked face sour next. "Maybe, but you'll wish it was only that. Sorry, Lieutenant Commander. We know your record has been pretty spotless until now. You have done a great service for Starfleet during the past several years. You survived the tail end of the Dominion War, fought the Borg... twice. Saved lives, fought off a half dozen hostile species to protect your ship, created a Hazard Team out of scratch and trained all your deputies... overall... you're a damn good officer."

James couldn't help but roll his eyes. The Admiral was trying to butter him up, to soften the blow that would come when the bad news was delivered. How he wished the admiral would just get I over with!

"But..." The Admiral added, "What you did, in response to your operation to apprehend Sub-Centurion Atole Tekri and prevent the assassination of Commander Savar... all I can think of is... distasteful."

"Sir... I can explain..."

"You can explain sleeping with the enemy?!" The admiral growled, "I'd love to see that, honestly Corgan. We expected you to do your job. All you have proven was your fallibility. You let a Romulan spy take advantage of your weakness, and in turn jeopardized your ship, your crew, and Mr. Savar. Thanks to you, he's in a coma, and we're having a hell of a time keeping that under wraps! Not only that... we have his murderer on Earth, working at the Romulan embassy! Do you know how embarrassing that is for us?"

James was still wrapping all the information in his head. Tekri, on Earth? She was not punished for her failure to kill Savar?

"What the hell?!" Corgan could only say.

"You have created quite a mess. Let her escape, made us look like idiots in the process. At least almost everyone wins. We saved Savar's life. Their Romulan gets promoted and sent to the Earth embassy. We are embarrassed a bit, but nobody dies. Lucky us... but there is still one problem. Somebody created this whole mess, and that somebody is you. Someone has to be responsible for what happened, and it could only be you."

"HEY!" Corgan snapped back, "How is this my fault?"

"You're the one that thought with his penis. You tell me!" The admiral snarled his disapproval, his fists balled up and his faced scrunched in fury, "Sexual relations with a trained Tal'Shiar assassin? Letting her escape from the ship!? You really dropped the ball on this one!"

"Like f**k I did!" Corgan retorted, the fury of his response catching everyone by surprise, Corgan included. "I did catch her! Didn't you read any of the reports? I had her captured and sent to the brig! Are you going to blame me for a bit of deux ex machine?"

"No, but I'll blame you for holding back due to your inappropriate relationship with a Tal'Shiar spy. I read all your reports. You could have stopped her a long time ago, but your relationship with her prevented that. You know better than to get involved with foreign nationals without permission, especially one that was going to take advantage of your position. What were you thinking?"

"You want to know what I was thinking?" James answered at a fevered pitch, "I was thinking that at first, she was trying too damn hard to seduce me, and I was almost turned off by it. I thought she was inexperienced at her job, and she almost failed on me. I thought she was naïve and mentally unprepared for what she had to do? But you know what? I also thought that she didn't have the heart to do what she had to do. I thought she had the potential to be a lot more benevolent than what the Tal'Shiar planned for her. I thought she was in love with me... and I fell so damn in love with her that I forgot anything else! Even...."

James hung on his words, almost forgetting about... ~"Rebecca..."~

"Even who? You had another woman on the side?" The admiral probed.

James had to say something quick. "No... just a crush, I suppose. But she's gone... never had the chance. Thought I might have, and I lost it. I guess... it tore me up. I... saw Tekri, and she treated me like I was something special. Before, it always had to be me that had to push, always me that had to make the first move, always me that had to convince the other to love me. But not with Tekri. Say what you want, but she did fall in love with me. How and why, I don't know. But I know it was real. That was her mistake and mine."

The Admiral's scepticism was clear to see. "Romulan spies are experts at seduction, Commander. They know what weaknesses to exploit. In this case, I had to review your psychological profile, and I found a treasure trove of stuff that I did not want to know. Manic depressive history, passive aggressive, tendency towards protectiveness and loyalty, post traumatic stress disorder from your Borg incident.... not to mention that these days you are acting like a workaholic. Working fourteen hour days, any free time spent on more work... explains why you were able to write those articles for Jane's Defense Weekly and start up that Hazard Team. Then there was the report about your search for a Commander Rebecca Von Ernst..."

James stomach sank to his bowels as he felt a lump form in his throat. The admiral found the deal breaker, the career killer. A chain of events that told James entire mindset, what he was feeling, what he was about to feel, how he acted and why. Each incident disassembled him, and feeling so unravelled gave him another feeling... one of vulnerability.

The realization alone turned his guts into liquid.

The admiral continued, "And we found that she was a friend of yours... now on classified assignment. That had me suspect something... so I have consulted a few counsellors about this... and they all come to the same conclusion."

"Which is?"

"Tekri was an escape. Tell me, what was Rebecca to you?"

Corgan's cheeks flushed bright red. "That's none of your business, sir!"

"Fair enough." Admiral Armstrong waved hands off, "I don't need to know. I can already guess. All that work... no free time to yourself. The counsellors think that you are not a sociable person. A loner, preferring work or art over people. Wasn't it you that said a security chief had to be a community oriented person?"

James confirmed, "Yes. I did say that."

"The counsellors think that you are shutting yourself off from others. I don't know what kind of impact Commander Von Ernst's reassignment had on you, but they theorize that you are an escapist. You try music, art... work... just to escape. They also feel that a relationship with Atole Tekri was also a manifestation of this behaviour. Placing intimacy on someone else so that you wouldn't think about someone or something else?"

James didn't answer, didn't want to. The discussion was too private enough already, and the truths he faced that the Admiral was hurling were too much to take. He wanted to shut down that screen right away.

"Let me tell you, son. The Romulans know how to exploit people psychologically too. They can know all that we surmised about you too, and send an agent to exploit just that. I can see it. An officer, lonely, maybe even heartbroken, only has his work and a guitar to keep him company. Put in a pretty face that begs to be saved, and you have a pawn. I think you should accept that reality." Straightfaced, sympathetic, Admiral Armstrong sighed as he was about to deliver the bad news, "I'm sorry, you're a good officer, but my colleagues and I have come to the conclusion that your behaviour is a cause for concern. We want you to get some help. We are reassigning you to counselling. I'm sorry, you just qualified to be released from counselling a year ago... but we have to put you on again. It will be indefinite, until your counsellor feels you are ready to be released."

"Sh*t!" Corgan pounded the table, surprised at his sudden outburst.

"My colleagues wanted to send you to Breen in nothing but thermal underwear, Commander. I was able to keep with Captain M'Kantu's original recommendation. One hundred hours community service, a reprimand on your record, and a step closer to being dishonourably discharged. Also, if there is a better replacement, you will be reassigned. Unfortunately for us and them, we are short on experienced war veterans. We can't find any better. You'll have to stay."

James sighed, slumping his shoulders. He knew his punishment was coming, and his explanations would not help. He barely fought, except to explain his relationship with Tekri. That was all James felt he had to answer for. Everything else was already pre-determined. There was no fighting Starfleet. His punishment was written in stone well before the discussion.

"Commander, you will always have this hanging over your head." The admiral said, "This is a definite career killer. Command school will be out of reach. So too will any more prestigious assignments. The best you can do is either quit Starfleet, stay on this ship, or be reassigned to a worse assignment with a potential for demotion. If you screw up again, you're out of Starfleet, pure and simple. We may be short on manpower, but we'll make due without you. We know we can, considering your weaknesses."

"So in other words, you guys are sending me in exile, with no chance of bettering myself." Corgan surmised.

"Not exactly. You have a future. Just not in Starfleet. In Starfleet, you'll have to stay in your position or go down a notch."

"Even if it means stagnation, sir? Don't I have one chance?"

The admiral paused, "No... none that I can think of. But if you think of something, feel free to use it. I'm washing my hands clean after this. Shame to see a promising officer put in this position, but... that's all I can do."

Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. "It's punishment. It's not supposed to be pleasant. Keep your nose clean, and you may get through this. Armstrong out."

Armstrong's abrupt exit had as much impact as the message itself. James hated to be in the position of the bearer of bad news, so he could sympathize with the way the Admiral used a blunt, almost humourous approach to his delivery as a defense against the guilt of telling an officer that his career was as good as dead. But all the same, James was still incensed with Admiral Armstrong, incensed with Starfleet, incensed with Tekri and his entire life!

He scraped hard for what meagre advancements there were to begin with! The opportunities for PTSD patients with depression histories was sparse at best... nonexistent at worse! James survived the Federation's bloodiest war ever, hostile species attacks, and the tumultuous tumbles his own life had to offer. He beat his demons... nearly dropped the edge of insanity himself to do so. Thrived in relationships that should have been cancelled the first time he meet the hapless people involved. Took countless wounds from fist and club, knife and gun, phaser and photon.

But when confronted by the news that his career was in limbo, he had no survival countermeasures to rely on. James was left stunned and confused, with a foreboding sense that not only he did not know what to do next, but didn't see a solution coming in the foreseeable future.

Time and effort would yeild a course of action.

So what did Corgan do?

Sublimation. He decided to retreat to the holodeck for a jam session.

"Memory Hopping”

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineer

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

Saul had vanished and Nara stared at the rift. She was about to go through when she remembered her father was there. Real or not, she couldn't help but want to say goodbye. She turned to him. Nara was about to tell her father not to worry about it when he turned into Professor Marks. "No."

Marks looked at her smirking, "No what dear?"

She looked around. It was a party. It was after graduation. She shook her head, "Sorry sir."

Someone else had taken Marks attention and Nara walked through the crowd. She didn't know why he had made her uncomfortable then, but she did now and that made her more uncomfortable. As she tried to leave the room, she bumped into someone, "I'm sorry." She mumbled as she kept going, "Not that you'd care anyway...not even real." This was getting so strange. She was getting very anxious and frankly scared.

The man she had bumped into turned and looked at her rather curiously.

"Actually, I'm rather more real than these others seem. I assume I'm not the only one stuck in this mess. I'd love to know where we are, by the Prophets."

The man had blonde hair and blue eyes, and wore a Starfleet uniform, red in color with a single pip at his throat. Ensign somebody, then. The ridged nose suggested he was a Bajoran, though he was missing the traditional ear-cuff worn on the right ear that the Bajoran's were known for - it was more of a distinguishing mark than the nose ridges, since there were several other species that possessed similar ridges.

"Forgive me." Nara stated as she scanned him telepathically. He was real alright. "I know little. I would guess most if not all the crew is here. Not here in this memory, but wherever here is in our minds...or something." She knew she wasn't making sense. "I also sensed a large being." She looked at him not sure what the vague information would do, but hoped he would think of something. "I'm not sure what others are experiencing, but I keep getting flashes of memories. Random ones at random intervals for random lengths." She smiled, "Did I say it was all random?" She quickly frowned. "Sorry. I seem to ramble non-sense when I'm anxious." She took a deep breath, "As to where we are here...now...in my memory. Starfleet Academy. Graduation Party. A few years ago."

Miramon smiled amiably. "Great, a party. I love parties." The smile quickly vanished. "Well, we need to find as many of the others as possible so we can ascertain what the heck is going on. Or at least find a way out of this memory we're stuck in."

Nara nodded. "Well, we may switch any moment now. I just fear which I'll be transported to next."

Thus far, this had been the first 'memory flashback' Miramon had seen, and he was probably fortunate that he was in someone else's memory - his own were not ones he ever liked to consider, aside from the few odd pleasant ones he had.

Though, as he thought with a slight smile, he was very oddly dressed for a formal party. Chuckling lightly under his breath, he turned back to the woman that had addressed him.

"Right, let's go, I suppose. Oh, and I failed to catch your name. I'm Miramon."

Nara walked to the door, "Nara." As she reached out to the door, her hand instead touched a dirt mound. Suddenly, there were sounds of phaser pistols and shouts. Before she could react to the sudden change, instinct seemed to take over as she got her gun up and started shooting. She saw a man standing near by and quickly pulled him down, "GET DOWN YOU FOOL!" She looked at him as she was about to ask what the heck was wrong with him when she saw his face and she snapped back to reality.

Miramon had dropped to the ground at the woman's warning, clearly stunned at having one moment being at a party, and then next being shot at by an adversary he couldn’t see, only hear. Somehow, that took all the fun out of a firefight, especially since he didn't have a phaser with him. One minute he was at work, the next he was at a party, the next he was being shot at. For some reason, he felt that if it was true that your life flashed before your eyes before you died, he was well on his way.

She looked worried and thought a moment. She looked at him "I don't know if these bullets will be able to hit you. I can't help but replay this memory. You stay down and try to stay out of the way." She looked at the sky and at the battalion. She frowned seeing several down. She could say how much longer this battle would last by counting them. "Two more will die." She whispered.

She looked back over at Miramon, "The battle should be over soon." Then she ran out and knowing what came next, and her instincts won over her desire to change the action.

She heard her commander yell, "GET BACK HERE SOLDIER!" She ignored him and ran out toward the enemy and fired shots. She heard the commander order 2 others to go get her. She turned in time to see them shot down. In shock, she backed into the fox hole. She had forgotten about them. She knew two others would die, but she forgot it was her fault. What was it with her and repressed memories?

The Bajoran watched hopelessly as the woman that was, at current, his only link with reality ran off with a phaser in her hand. He sighed hopelessly, and was about to stand up and follow her to make sure she didn't end up being a casualty of this strange vision.

The battle looked hopeless and soon the commander shouted to retreat. Nara numbly took her gun and followed out. She closed her eyes a moment in deep regret. When she opened them, she stopped her marching. Her brain swirled. It was just the memory. The regret of causing two deaths faded as she looked around and recognized the place, but not really feeling part of it.

Miramon found himself suddenly upright and now standing on a small metal platform overlooking a pool of mud with several ropes right in front of him. His vision was suddenly having the time of it - work, party, and battlefield – now what? He couldn't take this. He was just about to express that particular annoyance, when somebody wearing Federation training fatigues ran near to him, from right behind him and lightly thumped him on the arm. He was about to respond when they spoke to him.

"Come on, Miramon. We gotta beat the time if we want to go for lunch, and I'm starved. Now stop dawdling."

The Bajoran was surprised at being addressed thus by someone as young as the person that was next to him, but his memory came to the rescue in a few seconds, and he nodded. This was an Academy assault course, which explained both the person and the fatigues they were wearing. First year endurance training. Right. Shaking his head, he grabbed a rope and used it to swing over the mud pool, balancing precariously on the edge of the opposite platform as he landed. He wondered where that other woman had got to, and hoped she wasn't in too much trouble, though didn't have time to dwell on it as he sprinted for the climbing ropes. If this was a memory, standing still wasn't going to do much.

Nara looked for Miramon. It had to be his memory. She saw someone talking to him and then he was on a rope. She had to do this once. She looked at a panel and checked the date. Not her year for this. She couldn't help but admit to herself she felt relief at the moment. Her memories left her for a moment, at least. She watched Miramon wondering what made this memory significant to him.

She also had a sickening feeling that any moment she would be sucked out and back into her own horrible memories.

Being in this reprieve, she thought over when she scanned telepathically. It seemed ages ago, but if she added up the few minutes in each memory, it wasn't very long ago. She looked back up to Miramon and mind-spoke so not to disrupt the memory. ~This may be the only time I can explain what little I found out. Everyone is in this strange thing where we live out our memories....and seem to go into others. There is a large being out there somewhere. That's all I know. I have no idea how to get out of here or ....~ She faded out as fear overcame her mind. She closed it off, but the split second she was sure Miramon sensed it. Of course, anyone could tell by just looking at her she was anxious.

The Bajoran sensed what Nara had said to him within the back of his mind, and though he felt he ought to acknowledge it, he didn't have any telepathic ability himself, so he knew fully well he'd be unable to reply to her concerns without physically moving to wherever she happened to be. He'd be better off to wait for the next memory to appear.

Nara watched him a few moments. In her first memory, she basically threw it off. Instead of going with Erin like it had happened, she blew him off. Then Saul showed up and left. After that, when the flashes started, she pretty much kept to the script in the memories. She barely had time to do otherwise had she been able to will herself to do it differently.

And it all changed again. Suddenly she stared into a bedroom, seeing her father lying sick. She knew something was wrong. Daddy was never in bed this time of day. Momma looked worried too. She suddenly felt herself being picked up. "Well little one, lets get you into the living room and we'll play a game." Nara looked at the face of someone. Who was this?

Reality came back. She didn't remember this person because she was only 4. Her parents had talked about this man. He was someone called in from Starfleet to help her father. Gary's cybernetic connections had gone haywire. He soon recovered, and it was a story rarely told. She was so young, the memory was vague, yet it seemed so strong now. So vivid.

She sat down on the floor looking at toys she had taken to DS8 when they went. That was more than a year away. She stood up. She looked up. It was an odd sensation being in such a small body but with years of life. She spoke the script, "I want Daddy and Momma to play." The man didn't speak, but tried to distract her with the toy. Nara grew annoyed, but script called her to start playing.

Miramon stood looking around the living room of this strange house, those within completely oblivious to his presence in their own home, something he would have found amusing had it not been so strange. He didn't see Nara anywhere, but surely this was her memory? Unless they'd been dragged into somebody else's memory, which meant someone else was trapped here, too. What in the name of the Prophets was going on? He looked around for a minute, then called out just in case someone responded.

"Hello? Nara? Anybody there that can actually hear me?"

Nara heard the voice and looked over. She wanted to call out to him, but somehow her mouth wouldn't form the words. Mind speak seemed to be it. ~I'm the child. This is one of my earliest memories. Deep in my brain. I was so young. I can't believe this memory somehow surfaced. ~ She looked over at Miramon.

The man with her looked over and asked, "What dear? What do you see?"

He saw Miramon and stood, "Can I help you?"

Miramon was startled to see this person address him, but stood firm and looked calm, but he relaxed his muscles just in case he needed to move quickly. His presence in the house could hardly be explained away, even with the Starfleet Uniform.

"No, thank you."

The man was about to reply when he turned to see Allas come in. Then things got chaotic. Miramon was forgotten.

Nara saw her mother come in the room. She ran over and tugged her mother's pant leg, "Is Daddy ok?" Allas, her mother walked by without a word. Nara, the child felt rejected and begin to whimper. Nara the adult indulged in the raw emotion. She was scared. Was there no way out?

She reached out in her mind again for the being she could not penetrate and mind-yelled at it. She was sure it couldn't hear her, but frustration found a vent. ~Who are you! Why are you doing this!?~ She retreated back to her mind and her child-body slumped to the floor as tears and screams poured from her. She remembered then. She was scared she was losing her daddy. She screamed, "DADDY!"

In her adult mind she thought, ~Oh Daddy...where is the hero when I need him?

"Dare to Face a Tal'Shiar in the Eye?"

By

Courtney Corgan, CEO, Corgan Media

And Atole Tekri

Location: Earth, New Orleans.

Tekri walked into the gleaming office tower. The structure was impressive, both in its glamour and architecture, but she put it into the shadow - since the fight with that Andorian veruul, she had re-manicured her nails, been issued a new uniform and had her hair re-done: since obviously she didn't want to give a bad impression towards James or his sister.

Speaking of his sister, she had arrived at the main desk. Tekri had found, from the LCARS terminal, that Corgan's sister was a leading industrialist whose power was matched only by her wealth.

She sounded a lot like a female version of General Omar - not a good sign for Tekri.

She approached the female receptionist, and asked politely.

"Excuse me, is it possible to see the company CEO? I'm a friend of the family's."

Technically, that wasn't a lie - she was a "friend" of James' after all.

The woman at reception was a young, trendy looking blonde in a short white dress and garish communications headset. She looked at home in her surroundings; a hectic environment of white and neon, with music in the background hybridizing Terran rock with alien electronica, and humans in business suits talking through communications pieces while toting expensive leather briefcases. None of the noise bothered her. The Romulan at her desk didn't even cause her to blink.

Ignoring Tekri, the receptionist punched buttons on her console. "Miss Corgan?... Yes, it's me. There's a Romulan officer asking for you. Says she's a friend of the family..... name... Name?" She glanced at Tekri.

"Atole Tekri."

"Atole Tekri... not sure, i'll ask. Miss Tekri, the CEO wants to know why you're here."

Tekri hesitated. "I'm a good friend of her brother."

"Hmmmm..." The receptionist bit her lip, as she leaned her head back in an exaggerated attempt to listen to her earpiece, "She doesn't sound very pleased to hear from you, Miss Atole Tekri. Hold on... yes... uh huh... yes... no you don't have any meetings for the next hour... yes I arranged the dinner with the Scottish Slamtastics... right... well, she looks a little anxious..... i'll tell her. Thanks!"

The receptionist deactivated her headphone set. "She'll receive you in her office. Top floor. Penthouse suite office, so it'll be hard to miss. Now I warn you... she is a bit cross today. She lost a record deal with the Reality Crashers... a total mess if you know what I mean..."

"Thank you," Tekri interjected with impatience. Her politeness was coming to an end.

"Oh..." Hurt, the receptionist cut her conversation short, "Alright. Buh bye. Corgan Media! How may I help you?!"

Tekri turned away from the desk, and headed for the ornate elevator.

Tens of floors later - she arrived at her destination. The doors silently slid open, while the elevator's wall-display informed her that she had arrived at the top floor.

The Romulan stepped in cautiously.

And was greeted again by the receptionist.

"Oh... hiya!" She chipperly greeted Tekri, guiding her in with her hand.

Tekri was led into the only room on that floor, an expansive penthouse suite converted into the headquarters of a media conglomorate. Consisting of marble floors and alabaster walls, the roof of the room hung overhead like an expansive cloud, while a crystal chandalier hung precariously over their heads. The walls were lined and decorated with various rock and roll memorbilia, but unlike James room, there was so much more. Platinum records, musical instruments, pictures of herself with recording artists of all races and genre's, her memorbilia had a more intimate connection to herself, while James was merely an archivist of rock and roll's history.

The pictures had that receptionist's face. Her life lit smile, crystal blue eyes, head of curled blonde hair, while dressed in slim, popular fashions under backdrops of stages and nightclubs.

"Ummm... surprise." The receptionist greeted, "I'm Courtney Fiona Corgan, CEO of Corgan Media. Pleased to meet you."

From her hand Courtney flicked out a business card, which he palmed into Tekri's.

Tekri was temporarily taken aback, but she recovered quickly. After studying the business card, she bowed.

"Pleased to meet you," she said humbly. "I apologize for my visit, but - as you might know - James and I had a somewhat turbulent relationship because of our conflicting occupations."

She looked at the floor, downcast. "But now I've come to beg for his forgiveness, I think I really love him."

Every word Tekri had just said was sincere - she was even surprised at her openness.

"Will you help me find him?"

It was Courtney's turn to be taken aback. "Whoa... I... that is alot to suck in, sister. Really heavy stuff, hon. We have to rap seriously for a sec. Mind if we sit down? Want a drink or anything?"

The Romulan sat down quietly, without a word.

~"Hell bro, why do you do this? Every time... every time with women you have to get rid of..."~ Courtney shook her head, taking her seat while Tekri took hers at Courtney's desk. James had an uncanny ability to be luckless with the people he loved... while his all encompassing nobility and kindness seduced tons of remora like females that clung to his belly for intimacy. This ability led to trouble in the past, and it wasn't the first time Courtney had to hear a sob story from another woman.

She almost wished her brother would just neuter herself.

But then again, he brought in the most interesting characters.

At a glance, Tekri was slightly taller than the younger Corgan sibling. Tekri had more feminine curves, difficult considering Courtney's quarter latin/mostly anglo saxon mother. In her uniform, one Courtney could only identify from countless spy and action holofilms, gave Tekri a sharp, weapon like eroticism, a dangerous female irradiating confidence while bleeding off enough of her vulnerabilities to gain the subject's sympathy.

Already, Courtney toyed with the thought of casting Tekri as an actress. Tekri didn't display the proper, peppy attitude to become a dancer in a music holovid, though she did have the exaggerated boobs and buttocks combination. Tekri had the femme fatale act down professionally, only it was more serious, a 'I will take over' kind of mentality.

Courtney would have to be careful, but she had two advantages.

One, she was a female that liked men. Seduction from Tekri to her felt repulsive.

Secondly, unlike her brother, Courtney had guile and backbone in spades.

Courtney wanted to know more about Tekri, starting with her... 'occupation'.

"Babe, I have to axe. Whatcha' talkin' about, this conflicting occupation? I know my brother, and he wouldn't be scared of minor conflicts. Different race? Hell, his prom date was a Tellerite! If you somehow have a conflicting occupation, it must be some heavy stuff. Lay it on me. What do you do for a living?"

"I." Tekri hesitated. "I'm a captain in the Romulan military. I served on the Galaxy in an assassination role, you see." She trailed off.

"Oh... that's... something else. A real mindbender..." Courtney fingers fidgeted under the desk, probing for the silent alarm button that would summon her twin bodyguards, Guido and Marco. At a combined height of fourteen feet and a combined weight of seven hundred and fifty pounds, she still doubted whether or not they would be enough to stop her. "So... you met James in your job?"

"Yes," Tekri nodded, showing mild enthusiasm to at last be talking about the subject at hand - James. "Look, it's not what you think. I was only on the Galaxy to assassinate this Romulan traitor - he was dangerous, it was to protect both our peoples."

~"Oh my god... she WHAT?!?! GUIDO!"~ Courtney kept a perfectly flacid face, despite her anxiousness.

"Uh huh..." Nodded the record company CEO, all the while thinking about how well over her element she was. She was a businesswoman, not a spy! Her personal phaser was in the desk drawer, and by the time he could draw that out Tekri could have her garrotted and hanging from the rafters. ~"Keep cool, Courtney. Keep cool."~

"I was trained in seduction, among other things. But I was inexperienced. not just in terms of the mission, but." she hesitated. "I knew how to seduce, but was sexually inexperienced."

Courtney's finger constantly tapped the alarm button. ~"Why is she telling me this... WHERE THE F**K ARE THE TWINS! I should have taken Mika's warning more seriously!"~

She continued. "James Corgan attracted my attention because of his rank. You must understand: I had no intention of harming him, or any other human. I was only after the traitor. I soon realised James was less helpful to the mission than originally thought, but after trying some of his alcohol, he ended up seducing me, not the other way around."

"Oh god." Courtney sighed, disgusted.

"Then he found out my mission, didn't want me to go through with it. But I did anyway, and we didn't see each other ever again. It was only afterwards that I realised my mistake, and that I loved him."

"James was my first ever partner in bed," Tekri finished. "And I'd like him to be my last."

"Oh... wow. That's very... detailed." Courtney let out a crocodile smile. Were all Romulans this forward with their intimate details? It left James' sibling feeling a cold sweat, conjuring up images she didn't care to see again.

Courtney's finger stopped fluttering over the alarm switch. Marco and Guido would be here soon, but not soon enough. With the massive bodyguards at her side, she felt safer telling the blooded Romulan assassin sitting right across from her desk to go take a hike and never see her lecherous pig of a brother ever again.

But then again, the guards were not here, and she had to say it without losing face.

"So, let me get this straight, hon." Her smile evaporated, and her tone carried a serious forboding, "So... you were trained to flirt, foreplay, and have sex with people... but you never tried it before going on a mission?"

Tekri blushed, her face going a deep shade of green.

"Then, you boarded a starship... my brother's starship, a heavily armed, heavily protected ship of the line, to kill one of your people?"

"It was an internal Romulan situation," Tekri said. "I." she helplessly trailed off.

"Then, in what should give you the reputation as the worse femme fatale in the Alpha and the Beta Quadrants, you tried to seduce my brother, only you got drunk and he f**ked you."

"No!" Tekri interjected. "James was more of a gentleman than that-"

Courtney cut her off, "That's supposed to make it all better?!? And to top things off, you clearly put my brother's career in danger, not to mention his life, and break up your relationship all for your stupid mission? And now you search the Earth for my brother, to wrangle him back into your bed?"

If Tekri's face had been green before, now it practically glowed with embarrassment.

"Tekri, let me be honest... what the hell is wrong with the both of you? No wonder James didn't want to share these details with me, and he was the one that told me about an ex-girlfriend who cheated on five men at the same time! I mean... ewww! Come on!"

"But-" Tekri tried to speak, before she was interrupted yet again.

"Hell... just listen, babe. Take it from me, a woman who had to give oomox to an underage Ferengi to seal a record deal. Stop stalking my brother. I don't know everything, but from what it sounds like, you went through with your mission when he clearly told you not to. What was he to do, betray Starfleet for you? That's asking too much, hon. He would have to call off the relationship on those ground alone, or otherwise... how would he be able to trust you afterwards?"

The office elevator swished open. Finally! Courtney breathed a sigh of relief. Guido and Marco's gigantic frames squeezed through the door. Both bodyguards flanked Courtney's desk.

"I'll have to chew out my bro for getting you drunk and having sex with you before you were CLEARLY ready for it. For now, I can only advice that you take a cold shower, girl! Take one of those, and stay away from by brother. GUIDO! MARCO! Escort Miss Tekri out of the building."

"Right away, boss." Guido said, his voice grating together like granite slabs.

"Wait!" Tekri's fist slammed down on the desk hard, shaking it.

"Please," she said, practically begging. "From what your brother's probably told you, it seems you've got a bad impression of me, but don't you think you're being a little harsh? James told me what a kind and compassionate sister he had, can't I talk to that sister for just a few more minutes?"

"Hon, let me tell you something." Courtney sighed impatiently, halting Guido and Marco, "Compassion isn't a Corgan trait. It's just him; he's the strange one in our family. As for myself... hell, you're a Romulan. You should know better than I. How could I possibly have my company and my success without being a little cutthroat? Now please, if you don't mind, leave."

"But I do mind," Tekri said, practically wailing now. "Please, ignoring the fact we are of different species - we are both women, and surely you understand my kind of situation? So, please, just tell me where he is."

But Courtney nodded her head and wagged her finger. "I am a woman. I know all the tricks. That's why i'm telling you to get out. Please do so."

Tekri looked utterly deflated.

"But, I. love him," she said. "Doesn't that count for anything? I'll do whatever you want, just tell me where he is."

Sighing, Courtney halted the advance of the gigantic bodyguard brothers. She then tossed an isolinear chip to Tekri. "His personal communications address. Everyone in the Federation has one so that friends and family can reach each other. This is his number. Don't tell him that you got it from me. I told you, warned you, even threatened you. Now you have to deal with the consequences if you ever reach him."

Courtney let out another windy, whistful sigh, "It's sad."

Tekri bowed low in her chair. "Thank you, I am in your debt."

"You two." Courtney elaborated, "I feel sorry for you, but I also feel bad for my brother too. He's a lovefool. Combine that with his rotten luck... and he must be hurting terribly. For his sake... leave him be. I'm sure it will help you too... to move on and whatnot. But if you really want, go and contact him. Hurt each other more... it's what you want. When you realize it's pointless... then you'll leave my brother alone."

She added with sentimental aplomb, "Big bro is out on assignment. You won't be able to reach him for awhile. I would wait until the Galaxy is repaired. I suppose you won't need Guido and Marco to show you the way out."

Tekri shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not." She stood up and headed for the exit.

Just before leaving, she turned and smiled. "Like I said, I am in your debt."

"When Sparks Fly, Lovers Usually Die"

A side adventure starring...
Captain Atole Tekri, Romulan Embassy, Earth

And Mika sh'Sonora, Former Ambassador turned Low Wage Peon

Soundtrack: The radio will be playing some Earth 'Classics'

The Roots - The Seed (2.0) Cake - Love You Madly Sparta - Cut Your Ribbon

Atole Tekri had recently been posted - of all places - to the Romulan embassy on Earth.

When she had first read the transfer orders, signed by General Omar, she had thought it to be some kind of joke, or off-beat prank: given her last mission. However, it turned out that the general didn't want her getting in the way of his political ambitions: having completed her assignment, she was a kind of hero among the Tal Shiar, for dispensing of the traitor Savar - and as such, could be very dangerous.

"Hnaev," she swore - she hated that man. Just before she had departed Romulus, the general had been smug enough to remark that she should learn the value of peace, as well as war: having fought against humans, she must learn to live among them.

Basically, she hated him.

Although, she had to admit, Earth was a beautiful place. Less industrialised than Romulus, and more unspoilt.

Plus she had checked the manifest of the Galaxy, and found that James Corgan was on Earth.

She had constantly regretted going through with her mission, especially if she had know she would end up here. To think, she would be with James now if it wasn't for her actions.

Captain (at least she'd been promoted) Tekri walked along the quiet streets of New Orleans with mild interest in her surroundings. It was perfectly safe to leave the embassy - General Omar had persuaded Starfleet to drop any charges against her: after all, Starfleet wouldn't risk an interstellar war for the sake of intervening in internal Romulan politics.

However, none of the Romulan embassy personnel were allowed to carry weapons outside the embassy, and that irritated her.

She found her stomach was rumbling. Looking ahead, she saw a restaurant, named Papa Shango's Pizza. An odd name, she thought, but she was hungry - and pizza was one of the more edible Terran foods she had tried.

She walked briskly through the street and into the restaurant.

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

Mika sh'Sonora didn't have the luxury of being reassigned.

Her recent 'posting' came as a bit of a desperate measure more than anything. Once before, she was an Ambassador, a rank that commanded respected from her peers. For one, she was one of the youngest in her field to achieve this rank. It took luck and the opportune firing of her own boss to gain it, and skill and hard work to keep it.

But then there was the Gryphon incident, where her inexperience shined into her like a trapped doe in front of a speeding shuttlepod. She didn't see the revolution coming. Two houses fought each other in a brief and bloody civil war. The Federation was dragged into the quagmire (the Galaxy, to be exact), and that in turn knocked the Gryphon Coalition out of the Federation's political influence... and rumour had it that the Hydrans lept in.

All that was a world away once the diplomatic corp decided to strip her of rank and title, and leave her out on her own. Not that it did matter, for they perceived the Gryphon incident as her political blunder, and not a series of unfortunate events that she couldn't control even with divine intervention.

Basically, she hated the Federation Diplomatic Corp.

Although she had to admit it wouldn't have been so bad if her rich daddy, the Andorian Quadraketracele King, actually helped her. But no, she was instead treated like the family pariah, left to toil in a lonely New Orleans pizza parlour to make ends meet.

Plus, had the additional problem of James Lionel Corgan, the man she THOUGHT she knew... until she by accident meet his little sister weeks ago. And by coincidence James had to visit on that day, and she had to slap him for being so... male.

She regretted that incident. Though Mika was still angry at James, she didn't want to hurt the man any further. To think she wouldn't have had to put up with a late night drowning her problems while doing girl talk with his own sister.

Therefore, pizza chef Mika sh'Sonora, resurrecting the skills that paid for college, worked in a quiet and lonely New Orleans pizzeria, hoping to her god that she would fade into obscurity and forget her past life.

However, she wasn't counting on the same Romulan 'slut' she bemoaned the night before walking into her pizza shop. When she spotted Atole Tekri taking a seat, she didn't take much more notice than that of a waitress jotting down an order, considering Tekri to be nothing more than another off worlder eager to try a Terran delicacy.

"Excuse me." Squeaked little Mika sh'Sonora, her sky blue antennae bobbing as she made a slight bow, "May I take your order?"

Of course, Tekri couldn't pass as 'just another off worlder' for very long. Her rich Romulan accent came through clearly as she spoke.

"Yes, I'll have a..." she hesitated, as she tried to remember what it was. "Ah, yes. I'll have a pepperoni pizza, with just a glass of water." She smiled condescendingly at the former Federation ambassador - she had no idea of who she was, after all.

Mika's antennae whipcracked against each other. This Romulan's tone rankled with her, but being a mere service industry slave, she regained her composure. The Romulan looked larger and more intimidating than she, and though Mika could handle her own, she knew better than to give out an attitude adjustment. "Ma'am." She chirped, shuffling to the counter towards a tray of pizza's warming under heat lamps, "Coming right up."

As she loaded a fresh pizza slice onto a plate, she couldn't help but think that this particularly arrogant Romulan was more 'female' than she. Her figure was much more exaggerated, putting Mika's humble body to shame.

~"She has a reason to be such a b*tch..."~ Groused the pizza slinging Andorian. She replicated the water, put the food items on a tray, and bussed them to Tekri's table.

Though it galled her to think about last's night, the thought of James' pet Romulan girlfriend made her ponder the possibility that she was meeting this person right now, watching her eat Earth food right before her.

She wanted to have the benefit of the doubt more. ~"Just another stranger... an exasperating stranger..."~

"Here you go, ma'am. That will be five credits." Mika bowed.

Tekri nodded and handed over the credits and took a bite. As she tasted it (the pizza here was actually pretty good) a thought came to her.

James Corgan had often expressed a desire to try the Earth delicacy called pizza - in fact that was how she had first tried it, because he'd mentioned it - and he had also briefly talked about a restaurant in New Orleans. She'd forgotten about it at the time, but had she unwittingly entered that same restaurant?

She called after the retreating Mika, barely concealing her excitement at finding a lead on the whereabouts of Corgan.

"Tell me, waitress," she began with mild hesitation. "Do any Starfleet security officers ever come in here? There's another five credits in it for you, if you can tell me what their names are. I'm looking for one in particular, James Corgan."

*Twitch*

Mika's antennae did not want to co-operate, expressing the anxiety that a civilized face had to hold back. She did not want to hear that name, not now nor (at the time) forever.

"Ma'am." Mika, too proud to accept Tekri's extra credits, said to her with a stately gait unexpected from a service drone, "You are in the wrong part of the city. If you want to find a security officer, you should try the French Quarter. Many security officers come to that section of the city for their R&R. However, finding a single human security officer whom may or may not be on this planet, much less in this city, will be an impossible task. If I may suggest... an LCARS search?"

Tekri nodded with amusement - her Tal Shiar instincts told her that this woman knew far more about Corgan than she let on.

She ate another piece of pizza; careful not to get any food on her beautifully manicured fingernails.

Tekri had been surprised at the Andorian's tone of voice, however - although her advice had been good - if she hadn't been so unfamiliar with this planet, an 'LCARS' search would have been the first thing to do.

Still, that didn't excuse the tone of voice - this Andorian seemed to know James Corgan somehow.

"Are you sure you don't know James Corgan?" she teased. "You sound rather hostile, talking about him. What's the matter, didn't he like you in bed?"

Although her words were harsh, her rich accent made them sound almost musical, creating a striking contrast between what was being said, and what it sounded like.

A mundane human would have taken that as arrogance. Mika, familiar with the nuances of diplomacy, saw the words for what they truly were; a direct attack.

~"And I bet your liked him enough to forgo the bed and spread your leg right there on the floor... OH! Don't say that aloud, Mika!"~ She reminded herself, her face remaining turquise and pleasant while she willed her antennae to stop flicking each other. There was no doubt anymore. The woman brought up Corgan's name. This was the harlot James' sister mentioned, and she was in front of Mika, eating pizza subjected to five hours of exposure and heat lamps, calmly lashing Mika with her forked tongue.

The statuesque Tekri, curvacious in ways that made Mika blush and concentrate on her own inadequacies, looked down upon Mika, gloating in her superiority. Being a petite and beautiful girl herself, Mika still had a hard time stacking up to a woman with nearly five inches on her and close to twice her cup size, and it was hard for Mika to utilized her practiced grace and trained voice when she was agitated and wearing a fast food employee's uniform.

But she did speak, soft and patiently, beguiling enough to hide a great well of strength and resolve. "My apologies, Madam Romulan... Captain." Mika bowed her head as she noticed Tekri's rank, "I did not say that I didn't know this particular officer, only that you were to find a security officer, you should try a computer search, or look in the French Quarter where there will be a wide range of eager security officers to meet your... specific needs."

She let that little snipe dig into the Romulan; she too had a sharp tongue and knew how to use it. Mika continued, "Whether or not I know of this person is my business alone, and irrelevant to yours. It is my free choice to release any information about the whereabouts of this person, and I chose to stay silent. Forgive me, but I would rather not talk about this person right now. I must return to work. Excuse me." She bowed again, subtle as a falling leaf as she quietly shuffled away from the table.

Tekri inwardly fumed at the insult. How dare a mere fast-food worker insult her, a mid-ranking officer in the Rihannusu military? And an Andorian worker at that - a number of skirmishes in the past century had ensured that Romulans and Andorians were bitter enemies: bitterness that carried through to the present day.

Her right arm snaked out and grabbed Mika's shoulder, holding her firmly in position. Her other hand moved towards her throat. While Mika was agile, she was no match for a trained Tal Shiar officer.

"Listen, Andorian veruul," Tekri said calmly, having not left her seat - however, her voice had becomes less musical, and a lot harder. "You must tell me where to find James Corgan, or I shall be forced to squeeze on your throat."

As impassionate and cool as a block of frozen salami, Mika replied, "I don't know, nor do I care to know. Kindly remove your hand from my shoulder please."

~"Before I dislocate yours..."~ Mika bitterly seethed. How dare a smart alec offworlder insult a woman whom once held the fate of planets in her palm (before she messed it up, of course!). Klingons twice Tekri's chest size tried to manhandle her... and lost. Though a slip of a girl, her 'hobby' of Andorian Sand Scorpion martials arts has saved her countless times, and it would no doubt turn Tekri's arm into an accordian if she didn't back away soon.

~"Give me an excuse, b*tch. Give me an excuse."~ Mika hoped. Mild mannered she may be, her Andorian temper did show at such moments, and even she wasn't immune to Romulan insolence.

Tekri stared at the Andorian for several more seconds, not loosening her grip one bit. She noted, with amusement, how the Andorian's antennae were wildly out of control, and then considered how much effort would be needed to yank them off.

But she settled for another harsh remark.

"Why don't you just keep serving pizza, Andorian, and I'll keep serving James Corgan in bed. I assure you, the latter is a lot more fun," she gloated.

Mika's eyes narrowed. She slapped Tekri's hand off her shoulder, and said, "I warn you again. Please leave. I would rather not talk to you about James Corgan, and you are being quite rude. I may not look the part, but I can forcibly evict you with little effort. Care to reconsider your tone and leave peacefully?"

That was it.

Tekri could stand Mika's insults, but not this! To say that she, an Andorian, was an equal - or better - to a Rihannusu was repulsive. Yes, the Andorians and Romulans had skirmished a lot for the last hundred years - hence their hatred - yet the Romulans had won every single one of those battles (mainly because they were the aggressors.)

With lightning reflexes, she punched the Andorian straight in the jaw.

Mika reeled back , stumbling into an empty table. She righted herself with an angry flash in her eyes. She felt, and tasted, her deep blue blood on her lips.

"How dare you... you pointed eared gutter sl*t!"

Crouching like a cat, Mika bared a snarl like fangs and her hands like claws, and lunged at the Romulan. An unscientific move, Mika's bull rush paid off. Both Mika and Atole tumbled over the table in a mad tangle of flailing limbs, Tekri's pizza landing messily in Mika's hair as she landed on top of the beleaguered Rihannsu.

"Aargh!" Tekri shouted in surprise as she went tumbling to the floor, followed by the agile Mika.

Some of the male customers in the restaurant began to cheer excitedly - seeing two attractive female aliens fight was not an everyday thing for them.

Tekri fought off the Andorian - she reached for her antenna but instead ended up grappling with her hair: the result was that the messy pizza bits in Mika's hair became a kind of frothy foam, soaking into the Andorian's hair.

"Get off me, you pathetic targ!" Tekri screamed with rage, as she continued to grapple with Mika on the floor.

Her hair, greasy and painfully tugged to the roots, Mika headlocked her Romulan adversary, rolling over and over on the floor until they bumped into the trunk of another table. Mika ended up on top, and had to break off the headlock when her hair was pulled tighter, but Tekri's grip lessened when it slipped on some pizza grease.

The fight was unscientific. Every pull, claw scratch and strike was crude and meant to inflict damage while venting anger. Mika tried to gain the upper hand, but found Tekri to be a wily opponent. She bit and clawed like a mad demon. Mika needed an edge.

Her grasping hands caught a fistful of cloth. She tugged with all her strength, and the material yielded.

A sleeve, with the biggest shoulderpad Mika had ever seen, torn off Tekri's Romulan uniform.

"Veruul!" Tekri screeched, as her uniform was torn apart. Her shiny captain's uniform, as new as her promotion, now exposed her bare arm where the tear was.

Amid the eruption of male cheers - and Mika's attacks - Tekri noticed a burly man approaching, whom she could guess was the owner.

One thing was sure, as he reached for them both: he wasn't at all happy.

Separating the two hissing females was easy work for the pizza shop owner. Mika, light and tiny compared to his bulging biceps, was plucked out of the melee like a grape out of a bunch. Tekri was yanked by naked arm, and the pizza shop owner led them both outside where they were unceremoniously dumped outside.

"Stay out of my shop!" Snarled the pizza shop owner. "I cannot have fight here. You two..." He glowered at the angry women with two sausagelike fingers, "Leave! Meeks! You... are fired! Leave your nametag and hairnet here and get out!"

Mika did not say a word. She unpinned her nametag, yanked off her hairnet, and tossed them wordlessly into the pizzeria owner's hands.

Tekri was about to say something, but fell silent when the owner pointed an accusing finger at her.

As the shop owner retreated inside, Mika suppressed the urge to cry. Fired... again! At the worse time! And it was all the Romulan's fault!

"Fine. Do you really want to know about James so badly? Go talk to someone who knows! Leave me alone! You cost me my job, you Romulan b*tch! Don't you ever talk to me again!"

Tekri watched the retreating Mika with disdain - how could a Romulan possibly feel sympathy for an Andorian fast-food worker? But, she had given Tekri an idea - to find someone who really knew where James might be.

And - on their first date - James had mentioned he had a sister who worked in the music business on Earth.

However, her tactics now would have to be different. She couldn't alienate James' sister, as she had alienated Mika - or else that would obtain nothing.

But, if she had managed to seduce James Corgan, it would be easy by comparison to manipulate his sister - into thinking Tekri was a victim rather than a villain.

Mika did not watch Tekri leave, nor did she have the time to feel sympathy for the aggressive alien spymistress. She cultivated no ideas, except where in the hell she was going to work next on this planet.

A Romulan spy, a lovesick one at that, sniffing around for James?

As much as she didn't want to aide him, Mika also didn't want to help the Romulan's cause. She tromped to the nearest communications terminal to warn James' sister.

2055