"Flashbacks"

Attache Richard North

Richard North collapsed into the chair behind his desk in his 'office'. It wasn't really an office per se, but it was efficient for what his job would require. He quickly sent out a message to all of the Senior Officers saying that he would like to meet with them at their earliest convenience to introduce himself and to tell them about his job function on board the ship. Before he could send out his finished work a flash of blinding white light came over him.

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Richard North ducked down behind a large rock and scrambled to press his back against it. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think the Romulan soldiers saw him. He looked over at his assistant team leader and signaled him to get the squad behind cover. North took off his helmet to help reduce the chances of his being discovered, took a deep breath and slowly exposed his head enough to get a decent look at the situation.

He didn't like what he saw. At first glance it only looked like there was a fire team, but no such luck. Instead there were at least two squads of Romulan soldiers cautiously advancing towards their position. North ducked back behind the rock and slipped his helmet back on his head.

"Williams," he hissed to the team demolitions expert.

Williams went from the prone position to a crouch and quickly made his way over to the team leader.

"Sir," he whispered as he got up to North.

"Got anymore demo charges left?"

Williams nodded. "Six charges left, Sir."

"Good. Work with the engineer and see if you can devise some sort of...trap to place for the Romulans, or a distraction. I don't care what it is. Don't use all the charges. I don't want to engage these guys, they are not part of our mission objective. I'd love to be able to sneak around them, but, I don't think it's possible. See what you can do."

Williams grinned, "Always a pleasure to kill some Romulans, Sir." "Carter, move up," North ordered his ATL.

The assistant team leader came up from his position and dashed over towards him.

"Sir, ATL Carter reporting as ordered."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter. What's our position."

Carter didn't even need to look at his tricorder. "We're about seven klicks south-southwest of our objective."

"Teacher's pet...all right...let's try to move on as quickly and as quietly as possible...we're here to do a ghost army op...we don't want to get into a fire fight with the Romulans because that will tip our hand. Williams and the engineer are working on a way to devise a strat---"

* * *

Cadet Captain North stood at stark attention before the desk of Admiral Tenant, Professor of Starfleet Science.

"God damn it, Cadet Captain North, I expected more out of you. You are the student leader of the cadets on this campus, you're supposed to be above the silly prank you and your buddies pulled. I can understand a little rivalry between sports teams, but spiking the football team's sports drink with Kentucky Bourbon has gone a little bit too far in my opinion.

"You've got one of three choices to make here son, I'm only going to go over this once. You can disenroll in the program, but you lose all your scholarship money and you have to repay the Federation what they've spent on your education, most likely as an enlisted man. You can hand over your Cadet Captain pips and step down as commander of the cadets. The final option I'm going to give you is to take six points of demerit on your record, you'll most likely not get any of your top picks for a branch assignment, lose out any hope of getting on a ship that a cadet of your caliber should be on, like that new Galaxy class vessel, the U.S.S. Galaxy. You'll also be given an official reprimand place in your file...you have twenty minutes to decide."

"Fade To Black" Part I

By Lieutenant JG Tarin Iniara, Operations Chief

Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Officer

A delicate sound of chopping caught the attention of the officers at the scientific xenobiology laboratory, which included a small section of botany and ecology. An entire array of alien flora and fauna laboratories was added to the ship after the last refit, and with the lack of an arboretum, it was only a matter of time before Jamson found a suitable and hospitable place for his plants. *chop chop* he continued caring his favorite plants while whistling to himself. Botany, plant biology and physiology were as dull as Quantum Physics, but he found refuge and peace of mind in plants; and for the everlasting 'Klingon' crusader, it was just another way to keep the ghosts within. "Excuse me, Lieutenant. My name is Kay McFarland, I'm in charge of the labs on Gamma Shifts." She extended her hand.

He raised an eyebrow before shaking her hand. "I thought this was Delta shift."

"It is indeed," she nodded. "But I've exchanged shifts with a colleague, Susan Deiper?"

"I'm..." He wanted to say he was new, but couldn't spit it out. He'd been assigned to the Galaxy before, as the Chief of Operations and Executive Officer and found it hard to admit he was starting all over again. Pride, logic and common sense pushed each other aside until eventually the strange staring translated into a word. "New. I don't know Susan Deiper".

"Oh...I thought I didn't recognize you. I'd like to think I know most of the crew members but you never know......" She continued on and on about the many crew members on board, and it wasn't too long before Michael wished to get back to his plants. His young plants were now rebelling in his mind, fighting the elder ones, creating a mass battlefield of impressive beauty and colors. "I'm actually an Archeologist...... and I see you're interested in plants. The man you should speak to is Miguel, he's the Chief of Botany and Ecology. I'd love to show you ship-" was all he needed to snap out. Jamson was becoming irritated, when this smiling junior officer was just studying for her administration exams at the Academy, he was commanding starships around the galaxy. Fortunately for the both of them, the ship rocked pretty hard, spreading all sorts of science equipment around the lab.

"What was that?" McFarland asked surprised. They were lucky enough to be standing next to a large table, and grabbed it in the commotion. Something was wrong, inertial dampers were not aligned; they could the feel the entire ship turning around.

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

Time was standing still, as both Kay and Michael glanced around in disbelief. "What's happening?" she asked again. Everyone around them disappeared, including some of Jamson’s plants.

Michael kept to himself, he tried thinking of the reason, the source for all of this. He snapped his fingers "The new warp engines!" and looked straight at Kay who faded in slowly front of him. "Lieutenant????” He tried to get a hold of her, but it was like grabbing air.

"Jamson to Operations!" He tapped his com badge. No response. "Jamson to anyone! Can anyone hear me?" Something was terribly wrong. He had to find out what happened, why everyone disappeared and what happened to his beloved Lyaaran red carnations.

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

Blissful sunlight warmed the grey stones of the courtyard. Iniara instinctively knew this place before her eyes had time to adjust to the sun. She was home again.

Squinting against the glare, she looked down at her hands. A child’s hands. She ran them along the smooth fabric of her dress, feeling the softness of the colorful silk. Most children her age would never have had such luxurious clothing, but as her mother had always told her, daughters of the Seventh House of Betazed wanted for nothing.

Iniara stood, noting how it felt to be a child once more. Everything was so much larger; being in this tiny body the house’s central courtyard seemed almost cavernous. Slowly she moved towards a door, passing into the shadows that blanketed one wall.

The house was cool, its darkened interior relaxing and inviting. Iniara walked through its halls deliberately, savoring everything she could from this long ago time.

Laughter like soft bells filtered down the hallway. Iniara turned, catching sight of her younger sister, her wispy white hair done up in tiny braids. “Papa’s almost home, Nini, come help me with Glydias!”

Inwardly, Iniara grimaced upon hearing her childhood nickname. But she felt herself pulled towards the younger girl, who was struggling to keep the barely walking Glydias on his feet. Giggling in spite of herself she took her brother’s free hand, and together the three of them made their way to the house’s main entrance.

Barely a minute later a sleek silver car pulled into the circular front drive, depositing its single passenger before speeding off. Her father, Tarin Barel, was just as she remembered him: tall, strong and always smiling. “Iniara! Kaeylia! Glydias!” he called out, dashing up the stone steps to his children.

“Papa!” Iniara squealed as she felt herself lifted into his arms, pure happiness washing over her. She angled her head upwards, looking into eyes which were almost exactly the same color as hers. “How was Melara? Did you get to see Uncle Reiziger?”

That wasn’t right, she thought, replaying the words in her head. But her father kept smiling anyway, as if she could do no wrong. After all, she had always been his favorite.

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

"Michael!!!!" someone yelled behind him. He turned quickly, ready for a fight and to his surprise it was Ra'veek, an old Naussican school friend. He looked up and was astonished to see the old glass canopy which surrounded the outpost, his home. "This is impossible..." he said, amazed.

"Wait up Michael!" Ra'veek caught up with him. He ran all way from his house, and was still breathing heavily. "Where's....Koloth.....?" He was still panting.

"I have no idea..." Michael barely answered back. 'Koloth' Michael was having a hard believing all of this. Koloth was also another school buddy, Klingon, Michael's best friend for years to come. It was his House who took Michael under his care when the young child wanted to learn of the Klingon ways. It was Koloth's uncle who told Michael stories of the great warriors of Stovo'kor. It was his father who invited Michael to Qo'nos for the so called summer vacations. Where was he? Michael couldn't remember that day, it was still very unclear.

"Come on! We’re late!!! We have to get to school early or Dhael and his group would catch us!" Ra'veek grabbed Michael and started running. "Dhael?" Michael stopped for a second before joining up with Ra'veek. "Yes...Dhael, what's wrong with you?" he asked. It took Jamson several seconds before he remembered who Dhael was. He was an older boy, Romulan, who used to beat the hell out of Michael and his friends. The only one who stood against them and won, was Koloth and his Klingon friends.

"Come on Michael!!!" Ra'veek urged Michael to keep running. "Oh oh...." He took a step back.

"Where do you think you're going?" a tall figure approached the two kids from the nearby alley. He was a big Romulan thug, accompanied by another group of bullies which consisted of a couple of Andorians, another Romulan and a Pakled. "Naussican and Human scum," he continued.

"We have to get to school!" Ra'veek said to Dhael.

"School? Why do you think I care? Where are my credits Ra'veek?" Dhael grabbed the little Naussican boy by his shirt.

"Let him go, you treacherous green blooded Romulan!" Jamson returned the favor.

"Eh? Where's your Klingon buddy, Jamson? He's not around to protect you!" Dhael was still holding Ra'veek.

"Let him go!" Jamson said angrily.

"What are you going to do about it?" Dhael threw the Naussican boy to the ground and pushed Michael away.

With a simple kick to the groin, and a following uppercut, the little Human child sent the Romulan to the ground. Both the Andorians, and the Romulans were surprised by this move. The Pakled however, didn't appear to understand what was going on. "You're going to be sorry, Jamson!" Dhael wiped the green blood from his lip. "Get him," he pointed to his friends.

They had large sticks, metal rods and stones, but still they fell one by one as the little Terran kid embarrassed them all. "You call yourself Andorians? You are a poor excuse for warriors and shame to your clan," Michael remarked with contempt. The Pakled just stood and watched while Jamson moved to Dhael who was now frightened after this brutal fight. "Where are you friends now, Dhael? They all ran away except for this dummy over there!"

Michael leaned and grabbed the bleeding Romulan by his throat. He wanted to squeeze but felt something wasn't quite right. He slowly calmed down, and his mind was clearing up. The same day that Dhael and his buddies met Ra'veek and Michael, they came back home really bruised and beaten up. This wasn't real. He looked up once more, this dusty old outpost, his old home, was destroyed by the Borg, and only a few escaped. He was one of the lucky ones to be away with his grandfather in Klingon space. This wasn't real...

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

Despite what one might have thought, a carpeted floor was no softer on the tailbone when the impact was great enough. It was this which Iniara noticed first, standing and rubbing the spot in irritation. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the low light.

The setting looked familiar enough: beige and grey walls echoed the familiar design of a modern Starfleet ship. But that wasn’t right. Hadn’t she just been on Betazed? How had she fallen so hard, and back to reality of all places? This was ‘reality’, wasn’t it?

“What is going on?” she asked, bewildered, to the walls around her. Always impassive, they gave no answer, no clue to the mystery. Though, she mused, it would have been no less odd if they had.

Without preamble, a bolt of fear shot through Iniara. Suddenly she felt alone. Very alone. “Hello?” she called out tentatively.

“Hello?” The lights flickered, but still no one answered. Slowly she began to walk down the hallway, senses alert. A minute passed, then two. She picked up the pace, jogging along, encountering nothing but the soothing, impersonal walls of the ship. But if she couldn’t find anyone by searching conventionally, she wondered, perhaps her telepathy could help?

Nervously, tentatively, she reached out with her mind. Without warning a huge, all-encompassing mind bore down upon her, its seeming weight inducing a sudden feeling of claustrophobia. A sickening feeling from which there was no apparent escape.

Panicked, Iniara shot through the halls with renewed fervor, desperately seeking someone, anyone. This was something she was not prepared to face alone.

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

"This isn't real!" Michael punched the Romulan scoundrel. "Where is the Galaxy?" He continued beating him. "Where are all the crew members??!?! Answer me!!!". The Romulan villain didn't reply, he just stared back at Michael. Where is everyone? The science officers, where did they all go? Where was Iniara?

The last strike while thinking of the Bajoran woman caused a white dazzling flash. Jamson was no longer home, he was sitting in the middle of an empty room, a starship's room. He couldn't recognize the ship he was on, nothing here in this empty room was known to him. He cautiously moved to the door, and stepped outside as if he was crossing a noisy crowded street on Cestonia, at Cestus IV. He looked to the right, then to the left. The corridor was dark, and it was impossible to look beyond. Choosing his left side, he started walking slowly, and prepared himself to anything that might come his way. Minutes later, he could hear loud footsteps from afar, someone was running. Jamson who was already at ready state instinctively reached for his Dak'tah, but alas...it was missing! He would have to use his hands, a hand to hand fight! What could be better! He’d tear the flesh out of his opponent, or die trying to do so.

Out of the darkness appeared Iniara, frightened and pale. "Iniara?" the disappointed paladin imitator said surprisingly. "You look like a scared targ'!"

Iniara skidded to a halt in front of him, almost losing her balance in the process. Her breathing was fast, ragged, as she forced herself to speak. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

~Sex and Violence~

Lieutenant Cutter Kara'nin

Ensign Saul Bental

The Fruna'lin Crew

Cutter awoke, his face smashed into a pillow and his mind filled with displaced confusion. The last thing he remembered was a flash of bizzarre sensor readings and then being thrown forward into the wall. Someone must have sinced deposited him in his quarters, he rationalized, to recover. He opened his eyes and his vision cleared, revealing the digital readout of a clock a coupel decimeters away. 12:47?! Cutter was shocked by the time. He had a performance in less than an hour!

He jerked awake, shoving his body up away from the bed. A realization struck him then - the clock readout was in Mika'Kardi, his native language. But that didn't make sense, he didn't have a clock like that in his quarters since...since...wait, these weren't his quarters! Where was he?

In one quick movement, he spun and sat up in the bed. He was in an efficiency, decorated cheaply but densely, like a seasonal apartment. To his left was a small kitchenette, a large pot sat unwashed in the sink and several glasses and two bottles of nectar, one empty, the other only half gone, sat on the counter. A small ache in his temples suggested that he was partially to blame for that. In front of him sat a dresser parked next to a door, the bathroom, he assumed. In between sat a table and chair and a cluttered shelf, filled with books and pictures and small figurines and a drum. The wall was plastered with posters, mostly emotion pieces that didn't show actual scenes but instead lines, shapes and colors, though there was a poster of the skyline of Rami City, a pose of Arkedi's famous father, Lok Nitel'rajek, shirtless, and another unnamed male nude. To his left was a large floor to ceiling window, he could see the spire of Karakiolo Archopolis. He could hear music emanating through the glass. A movement drew his gaze downward to the bed and all of a sudden, he remembered whose apartment this was and what he was doing.

"<What time is it?>" she mumbled as he climbed out of the bed. She had blue hair, like him. It was longer than most, down to her neck; he wondered briefly how it could grow so long without pluming out. Unlike him, the blue carried down through her wings and she had raven tips, suggesting her lineage was from closer to the poles than he was.

"<Late,>" he said as he searched for his pants, "<A third past twelve.>" There were 144 minutes in an hour on his planet, his species counted by twelves instead of tens. She sat up in bed and watched him silently as her sleep slowly fell away. Her skin was flawless, gorgeous, though her eyes had a funny tilt to them. Her lips were still red, the paint unsmeared, Cutter assumed that it was a semipermanent subdermal paint. She stretched, extending her arms above her head and her wings across the room and allowing the sheet to fall away. Cutter watched this, stealing a look at her sexy flat stomach, by far her most attractive feature and, because he was such a stomach man, the thing which first drew him to her last night.

"<Where are you going in such a hurry?>" she asked as Cutter pulled on his trousers.

"<I have a performance in less than an hour,>" he explained, "<A farce.>"

"<Oh? Your troupe must be talented to book a performance in the first week,>" she said, referring to the month long festival Ra'Kenara Kamil, the birth of beauty. "<Are you the lead?>" she asked, hoping she could brag later about her romp with high talent.

He laughed, "<No. I have a small part, but I'm actually the tech director. Do you know where my shirt is?>"

She made a little noise of appreciation. Creative artists were less recognizable than performers, though still highly respected, she could still brag. "<No. There are your forearm braces,>" she pointed to two leather cylinders tossed in a corner near the window. "<It's probably mixed in with mine. Was it expensive? You should just go shirtless.>"

He shrugged, agreeing as he slipped on the braces and pulled on the criss-crossing leather ties. She got up and walked towards him, sliding up against his shirtless, though otherwise clothed body. "<Sure you don't have time for breakfast? Or at least another romp?>" she asked, running a hand lightly over his chest. He stalled, so she kissed him and began to draw him back to bed.

Cutter had to really put forth an effort to break the kiss. "<Yeah,>" he laughed lightly, "<I don't want to, but I really have to go.>"

She folded her arms in a silent pout as he moved away. "<Where's your show?>"

"<Zhalek stage. You should go. We can do something afterwards.>" He picked up a blue kewk fruit from a small basket on the counter. "<May I?>"

She nodded and began to get dressed herself. "<Have a good show.>" He smiled and turned to leave. As he opened the front door and began to step through, someone gripped him and jerked him back.

"<What are you doing, stupid? They'll see you!>" Zan shouted, though no louder than a whisper. It was dark, she and Arkedi stood side by side against a stone wall, Zan was saddled up against a corner.

"<Sorry,>" Cutter apologized, drawing a curious look from Arkedi. He was tugging on the front of a shirt, adjusting its fit after been pulled on so harshly. It confused him, for some reason he felt he wasn't wearing a shirt a moment ago. Zan was ever so slightly peeking around the corner and Cutter could hear loud voices coming from some distance away. He crouched by Zan's knees and peered around himself. There were two men, a small ferengi, too well dressed for a stroll through an alley and a very young human.

The Ferengi was speaking, "How dare you, boy. You have no authority to order me around. Mr. Vajna and I had arranged a meeting tomorrow at 10. He was going to pay sixty strips and then I was going to leave this Hoo-maan infested rock. Now you're telling me to --"

"To wait." said the young Human. He was a teenager, probably no older that thirteen - Cutter found it hard to assess his age. The boy folded his arms, and tried to look slightly intimidating. "A wise Tellarite once told me that some times you just have to wait and the best fruit will just fall into your arms. See what I'm saying?"

The Ferengi did not look happy at all. "You are a treacherous one, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just someone who wants a little more, you know..." the boy made a gesture with his index finger and thumb, which represented profit in the Ferengi body languages. Then again, almost every gesture the Ferengis had was related to profit one way or the other.

"For the time being, Mr. Vanja wants me to get one of the five rings to an artifact expert in the other side of town. He asked me to choose which ring, so that you won't give me an authentic one whereas the rest are fake. I promise not to take the most costly-looking one, though." the boy smirked.

"Just hand it over to you? How would I know that you and Mr. Vanja aren't going to rip me off?" The Ferengi seethed.

"I value my life, and they won't be worth a cup of Gagh if I'll rip Mr. Vanja off. As for Mr Vanja himself, he's a totally legitimate trader who only wants to make sure he is given the correct goods, and has no intention to hurt his own reputation by stealing from his... 'clients'."

The boy cleared his throat. "Besides, everything we do is legit."

"I will come along, then." Said the Ferengi.

"No. My instructions are to disallow any contact between you and the expert." the boy said simply. Then, they stepped out of Cutter's sight.

Zan stepped out into the alley, her knee almost hitting Cutter in the face in her excitement. Arkedi rushed out behind her, grabbing her wing, "<Where are you going?>"

"<The sikolotal are in there, weren't you listening?>" she snapped.

"<So are they. What are you going to do? That brown imp is armed,>" Arkedi replied, his tone as harsh as hers. Cutter stood silent, watching his two friends. He was confused, his mind recalling subspace, sex and thefts, none of which had anything to do with one another. His mind seemed to be jumping around uncontrollably. Suddenly, a door opened and Zan and Arkedi came rushing back, shoving Cutter back and resuming their places around the corner.

When the boy came back, he was alone, and one of his hands was inside his coat. He lifted some sort of metallic board that was left on the ground next to a large inactive recycle bin. The board came into life, and its bottom began to glow in green. The boy climed on it, and began to hover on it in their direction.

A wing swished out as the boy passed, Cutter, surprised, realized it was his. The human collided with it, the limb landing just under his chin, and his board went flying forward into the air. He landed on the ground with a hard thud and immediately, the other Fruna'lin acted. "<Cutter!>" Arkedi exclaimed while Zan dived for the stunned boy. She pulled open his coat and reached into the pocket, searching for the ancient ringed blade weapon he took from the Ferengi.

"You won't... find it there." The boy coughed. He sent a furious stare directly at Cutter. "Are you mad, angel boy? Do you have any idea who am I?"

Cutter looked at the child, recognition dancing around the edges of his mind. "Itu," he said, his mouth functioning much like his wing a moment ago, beyond his control. "No."

The human tried to lift himself up, but Zan shoved him roughly back to pavement. Her violence was startling to the two peaceful male aliens. "That Feregi stole a priceless historical artifact from the Fruna'lin," Zan snarled, her English was accented, but magnitudes better than what Cutter or Arkedi could speak. "You're working with him, you're just a thief, like him. Why should we care who you are?"

"Well!" The boy said, still on the floor, "I'm the nephew of Paul Bental. You mess with me, you mess with him. Now, I'm sure we're all sorry about this accident, and can move on with our lives."

Despite his bold words, the boy was obviously shaking, and his fight to hide the tears of pain was clear to any sentient being with eyes.

"<Zan! Leave him alone, he's just a child. Humans his age are like babies, he probably only learned to walk last year,>" Arkedi spoke, trying to pull the woman off.

She stood, pulling the boy up with her and gripped his arm so he couldn't flee. "<Well, I'm not going to let him go!>"

"<What are you going to do?>" Arkedi asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. He was upset, constantly challenging her. The violence and crime disgusting his ideallic sensibilities. "<What are you going to do, Zan? Beat him like some mindless barbarian? Kill him? I'm not going to be party to your Ganwa savagery.>"

Her eyes grew wide at the cheap racial remark then viciously angry, silently glaring at the violet haired Fruna'lin for several moments. "<Then we'll take him with us. If he won't help us, then he won't be able to help them.>"

Cutter was uncomfortable, watching his two friends attack each other. They had only recently met through him. But the familiarity of the situation was more powerful, itching his brain like a pack of fleas. He circled around his friends to get a closer look at the young boy. "Saul?"

The boy fixed his gaze at Cutter, and said, "Angel boy, you do realize that the last time we did this, you three got us in a world of trouble, and only this kid's connections and admirable resourcefulness kept you from becoming chicken soup?"

"Las time?" Cutter asked. His voice was strongly accented, he quickly seemed to become more confused at the sound of his own voice than the situation.

"Dwa?" Arkedi turned suddenly at the question, but before Cutter could respond, Zan jerked the boy away and moved around the corner.

"<Come on!>" she spat. Arkedi looked Cutter in the eye, his emotions unreadable or, rather, too many displayed at once, Cutter couldn't pick them out. He swiveled his head, deciding something, before turning and running after Zan. Cutter followed, too, rounding the corner of the alley.

When he caught up, he saw that they were now in a circular chamber, about ten meters wide. There were the three of them, the boy, two Ferengis, and a tall, gaunt man wearing a cloak.

"Where is it??" the man's voice boomed, and he drew a scanner. In the shadows near the chamber's walls, three armed men could be seen guarding the exits. At least one of them was Nausicaan.

"I know it's in this chamber, the radiance is clear." Mr. Vanja said, sneering. "But unless someone steps forward and hands over the 'property', I will scan you one by one until we find who is guilty.

"Don't look at me, everything we do is legit," Saul quoted, then leaned over and whispered a single word toward Cutter, who was nearest to him. "Po'oren."

The Fruna'lin gave the child a curious look, then turned to whisper to Arkedi. He looked at Cutter, bewildered. After a moment, Cutter coughed the word rather conspicuously. Zan, quicker than others, picked up on the scheme and whispered it to Arku. Vajna eyed the creatures curiously before turning to Saul with an accusing stare.

"You know how crazy alien biology can be." Saul proclaimed. Behind his back, he threw a tiny package to Cutter.

Po'oren was a children's game from Fruna. How Saul knew about it, Cutter had no idea. Basically, it involved a group of Fruna'lin standing in a circle, and passing a small ball to each other, and a single Fruna'lin in the middle who tried to guess who the ball was passed to. The ball was very small, and the Fruna'lin used their wings to camouflage the passes of the ball. Eventually, the boy in the middle would guess who had the ball – if he was correct, the current holder of the ball replaced him in the middle of the circle.

"Well, I'll check you first, if you're so legit, Bental." Mr. Vanja aimed the scanner at him as though it was a weapon. The scanner chirped.

"Clean.", Mr. Vanja hissed.

Cutter flapped his wings, as though he was slightly nervous. The package made its was to Arku's hands. Mr Vanja spun sharply, and aimed his scanner at Cutter. Everyone were frozen for a few seconds, and then Mr. Vanja hissed once more.

"Clean." He was obviously unsatisfied. Arkedi flapped his wings, and Zan stretched hers as though she was relieved.

And so the package went. From Arku to Zan, to Cutter, to Saul, to Zan once again and then back to Saul. Eventually, after scanning everyone twice, Mr. Vanja gave up, allowed them to leave unharmed, and began to bark orders at his minions.

As Saul exited the chamber, he quickly opened the package, took out one of the small ringed blades, and elegantly dropped it into the pocket of one of the guards.

They were already in the streets when the yelling began, followed by the unmistakable sounds of weapons fire.

Saul turned to smirk at Cutter, but before he could complete the motion white light engulfed to two of them, and he found himself once more on the stony road, in the darkness.

"Christmas Cheer"

(Backpost. Takes place a few days before Christmas.)

by

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineering

Ensign Aristi Ferguson, Flight Control (APC)

Location: Ten-Forward Lounge

"Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat!" A slightly off-key voice filtered down the hall, preceding its owner, a very festive Aristi Ferguson. Something had put her in the spirit, since on a whim she had replicated an oversized red Santa hat, and seconds later had ordered a dress to match. Now she was bouncing down the halls, singing bits of Christmas songs, making sure to pass on the festive mood to anyone she passed. After all, a good mood was definitely preferable to a bad one, and after recent events it seemed like a lot more people needed cheering up. "Please put a penny in the old man's hat!"

And what was Christmas without egg nog, she thought to herself, making a quick turn into the already crowded Ten-Forward lounge. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling festive, as the whole room had been decorated for the occasion and was bustling with more than its fair share of off-duty officers.

"I'd like a tall glass of ice cold egg nog with peppermint schnapps," she stated, having just caught the bartender's attention. For his part he barely reacted, having long ago become used to the eccentric Cardassian.

Of course the schnapps in the drink would be synthehol, but it was the taste that mattered most. She turned to observe the room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her tasty beverage.

Nara looked up from her table and laughed out loud. Too loud. She caught herself in a split-second, quickly glanced and no one really paid her any mind. Yet, she slightly blushed and looked back down at her PADD. A moment later, she glanced back up to be sure the lady in the red outfit was still there. She was and Nara laughed, though more silently this time. The sight was so abnormal.

Aristi grinned. A reaction! She snatched up her drink just as it arrived and made a beeline for Nara's table.

"Now that's the kind of reaction I was looking for!" She beamed at the woman. "One can never have too much Christmas cheer!"

Nara looked up to find the woman there. Her mouth was about to explode with laughter, but she willed herself to speak, "So that's what the outfit is for?" Nara smirked. It wasn't anything personal at the woman. It was just one of those shock things. Now that she had come over to Nara, she decided to begin some banter. If she thought she would offend this woman, she would have simply nodded, but the Christmas woman seemed to be ashamed of nothing.

"Definitely! Just trying to spread the love while I still can, before I have to wait another year for Christmas to roll around." Shifting her glass to her left hand, she extended her right to Nara. "I'm Aristi. Mind if I join you?"

Nara shook her hand, "No, not at all." Nara motioned to a chair. "Who said you have to wait for this Christmas, though? I think some people would be mighty glad to have a morale officer with such demeanor."

"Hmm, morale officer. That sounds like a good idea; maybe I should look into that." Aristi took a gulp from her glass, then leaned over towards Nara as if she was about to read the text on her PADD. "You reading anything interesting over there?"

Nara smiled, "Some headlines from a Sakarian news post."

"Sakaria?" Aristi's forehead wrinkled in thought. "I don't think I've ever heard of Sakaria before. Is that where you're from?"

Nara nodded, "Not many people have. It just hit the databases a few years ago and if you've been out of the Academy longer than that, you'd likely never heard of it. We're a planet in a neutral zone. Their natives are very private. My parents and I are honorary citizens."

"Really? Interesting..." Aristi trailed off in thought, one finger absentmindedly stroking the bony ridges along her chin. The proverbial light bulb went off in her head and she snapped her fingers together, finally recalling the planet's name in her head.

"Wait, Sakaria! That's the planet with the--" She paused abruptly, lowering her voice. "With the war? Sorry, I know it's not a good thing to be known for." She smiled sheepishly, hoping her companion wouldn't be offended.

Nara nodded, "Well, the war several years ago, it's hard not to be known for. We're not even sure why we were attacked. There were other planets with plentiful resources. We tried to fight our own battle, even after countless offers from the Federation to join them. Prideful people, Sakarians are. My father somehow ended up saving them, though, and became their hero. I was a warrior in the civil war that broke out a few years ago. We're in peace talks now." Nara realized she was rambling on, "Sorry about that." She waved her hands and smiled, "Continue with your merriment! Don't they say Merry Christmas for a reason?"

"Indeed! Peace on Earth, good will towards men, all that good stuff. Granted, that little adage is a bit limiting nowadays..." At this Aristi cocked her head to the side in thought, "...but the sentiment is essentially the same. Christmas is a good time to get together with friends and family, remind them that someone still cares and loves them, no matter how irritating they may seem. Plus, in the middle of all this fighting and death it feels good to have a little break where we can sit back, relax, and forget about life's problems for a while."

"Ooh, now it feels like I'm rambling. Guess I just can't help but get caught up in the merriment. So, do you have any plans to celebrate or anything?"

"I'm part Terran, but, no we don't celebrate the Earth holidays. I see no harm in participating, however. A little girl decorated my door the other day." Nara smiled remembering the little girl who would be a brat were she not equally as charming.

"I think her name is Samantha? I passed her on the way here; I think she was still putting up decorations. Cute kid. I think I confused her though."

Aristi took another deep drink from her glass before switching gears. "But hey, I'm having a small Christmas party in my quarters tomorrow night. You should stop by if you're not busy."

Nara nodded, "I just might."

"Excellent! I'm up on Deck 2, and we'll be starting as soon as Gamma shift ends. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bit more cheer to spread before I retire for the evening." Aristi stood up from the table, carrying her glass with her. "Take care, and I will see you later!"

Nara smiled, "See ya." Nara watched amused watching the woman prance out. She shook her head still laughing as she looked back down at her PADD, then decided after such merriment, not to read depressing news and instead went to people watching with an amused smile on her lips.

'Ghosts of Autumn Past'

by

1st Lieutenant Autumn Hayes

2nd Lieutenat Branwen London

A light breeze drifted down the dimly illuminated corridor; A silent entity blessed with perfect human form, flashes of human memory . . but vastly alien motives. The figure moved with purpose, graceful in the shadows it now favored over the light and warmth of sun-filled skies. She was a creature of darkness now . . not some legend or folktale come to life, but a being of flesh and much, much more. The dark was not essential for survival. It was not necessary for a tactical advantage.It was certainly not theatrical. It was simply preferred.

In the wake of the cool night wind came the storm; Twelve wraiths, nightmarish apparitions completely innocent of their part in this epic tragedy yet eternally tainted and forever damned. Pale, expressionless faces, unblinking eyes long dead to emotion faced forward with single-minded purpose.

Where the first figure moved with a supple elegance almost too beautiful to behold, those trailing behind did so with a mechanical, uneven action. It was a mockery of what they had once been yet in that stride there was an undeniable inevitability. Like the tide they were remorseless and virtually unstoppable.

The corridor ended in a T-junction, where the lead Borg glided to a halt as three more figures passed in front of her. Two of these were a perfect match for those behind her . . the third . . a dark haired human . . soon would be.

With a sneer of cruel contempt the female Borg watched the prisoner struggle desperately against the iron grip that held him. A grip that would soon take hold of every fiber of his being with soul destroying efficiency. Even now the man was experiencingmthe first incomprehensible moments of his rebirth; injected nanoprobes coursing rapidly through his system. All too soon the intoxicating smell of fear would be gone and for the first time in his pitiful life he would truly belong.

Turning left and proceeding was all the command her strange parody of an honor guard required. Had she demanded it however, they would have remained motionless in place forever. This world could die. It's sun could burn itself to ashes and still they would linger . . Mysterious sentinels of an ancient civilization.

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors was a simple matter for the female Borg; she simply followed the distant whisper of her Queen. The soft, seductive caress of that mind was like a beacon in the night . . powerful . . illuminating . . and in a way only those in the collective could understand . . comforting. It was the limitless mind and will of the Borg Queen that truly held things together.

In her embrace the Borg found purpose.

As she neared her destination the 'chosen one' felt a subtle change in the Queen's voice. 'Could a voice smile?' She wondered, before removing such a flight of fancy from her mind. Such thoughts were dangerous. Not because the Queen would punish them but simply because they were a link to a past life which should be forgotten. Forgotten and buried.

The whispering grew louder as the approaching Borg reached the chamber that their Queen had made her private quarters. A series of symbols on the huge double doors indicated who the true rulers of this quadrant of space were now . . the strange patterns glowing with a faint iridescence that provided the only lighting in the area. Under the powerful symbol, vague traces of the previous occupant of the room beyond could be seen. But rather than erase the earlier markings . . the great seal of the federation . . the Borg had simply stamped their own presence over it . . totally obliterating it.

As if acknowledging the Borg's presence the impregnable doors slowly opened and she stepped confidently inside, unannounced yet expected. There was no surprising the Queen . . not here. This was her domain and nothing escaped her notice. Entrance to this room may have seemed easy but looks can be deceiving. Only two beings could enter this room and live . . and both were present now.

Stepping down gracefully from her specially constructed alcove . . in her own way a goddess emerging from a forest pool . . the Borg Queen smiled at this, the most special of her 'children'.

"You've been busy . ." Her pale features could have been carved from marble.

The lithe figure bowed slightly. "I live to serve." She answered simply.

Warm laughter filled the room as the queen slowly circled. "And how well you serve." Her green eyes glowed appreciatively. "We are most pleased." The Queen's voice flowed like honey. "We have taken the temper of your steel . . and found it to be all that we dreamed it would be. All that I dreamed it would be." This last statement was a personal benediction. A blessing. "Do you know what the last, scattered inhabitants of this planet call you now?" The queen asked, though she never expected an answer. "They call you the Angel of Death. To them you are the stealer of souls."

The Queen smiled at the image. The Borg had been right . . and she herself was justified. Fear had it's uses . . and this being before her was a most effective instrument of terror.

"What they believe is irrelevant." Eyes bright, like a flash of sunlight followed the Queen. "Soon they all will be Borg."

The Queen abruptly stopped her pacing, her own emerald colored eyes intensely amused. "Of course." She smiled, showing perfect, white teeth. "Thank you for reminding us . . " Under the suffused green lighting of the chamber the Queen's features appeared totally alien. She was all things cold and perfect and immortal, forever young and frozen in the flush of beauty.

"You have done well today." The silky voice returned. "Already we can feel the distinctiveness of those you have brought to us . . enriching us. We are all closer to perfection now."

"We lost many drones on our last hunt." The was no accusation in the voice, it was merely a statement.

"Yes, we have felt this loss." There was a profound sadness in the Queen's eyes. "But that is what it is to be Borg; they live on in us and are never forgotten." Turning she moved slowly across the room, her fathomless mind deep in thought. "We had not expected such resistance." She admitted. "But then perhaps we should have."

"It is not the scattered survivors who are posing the greatest concern." Like a liquid shadow the figure appeared at her Queen's shoulder. "It is this planet." Once, long ago those words would have been spoken with passionate pride and longing. "The hunters are most efficient in tracking down their prey but the planet seems to be throwing everything it can in our way." There was a touch of frustration in the normally calm voice. "Fifteen Borg alone were struck by lightning on our latest hunt. Another five were swept into the ocean by freak waves."

A slight hum filled the room as one section of the wall opened at the Queen's silent command and almost immediately the room was filled with erie flashes of light and the faint booming of distant thunder. Stepping cautiously up to the window the Queen looked out upon a night sky choked with dark, angry storm clouds. Tendrils of energy crackled across the surface of the forcefield, briefly illuminating her impassive features.

"Have you ever heard of the Gaia hypothesis?" She asked finally.

"The concept that the earth is a single being made up of every living thing on the planet?" Joining the queen at the window the golden-eyed borg marveled at the awesome display. "You believe that the goddess is . . resisting us?" It was an intriguing concept.

"Gaia, though I do not believe she exists, is one vast sentience." The irony of that was not lost on the Queen. "She guides, shapes and protects the balance of the planet. She is patient, wise and for the most part understanding, but sometimes she is also very strict. Sometimes she sacrifices a part of herself for the greater good."

"And humanity believed that because of the danger they posed to their world that Gaia would turn on them?"

"It was not a popular belief." The Queen responded. "But one cannot help but wonder . . " It may have been a trick of the light, but the deep green eyes seemed to rise and fall with the swelling black waves in the distant bay.

"It is irrelevant . . we will adapt."

"No . . " Barely a whisper. "She will." Lifting a hand to lightly touch the wheat colored tresses of her companion a faint, motherly smile touched the Queen's lips. "When was your last regeneration cycle? You look tired."

"Three days ago."

"Then you are overdue." Gently guiding her protégé, the Queen lead her to her own, personal alcove. That there was no resistance offered was a sure sign of fatigue. Behind them the windows slowly closed, once again leaving the lighting subdued. *Sleep well* The Queen's hand caressed the youthful cheek fondly, just as her voice was a caress in the mind.

It was an ignorant belief of those not of the collective that the voice of the Borg was a soulless whisper echoing from a cold, dark place. It was the belief of those of limited understanding. The Queen and her protégé shared a bond unlike anything most other races could imagine. Like twins in the womb they communed at a deep level of pre-conscious intimacy. Thoughts and emotions were as one.

Being Borg meant never being alone . .

Suddenly Branwen was in some kind of hallway. She didn't recognise any thing, yet the atmosphere was pretty frightening. There were alcoves. Her heart started beating faster, BORG! How had she ended up amongst Borg. Branwen only knew them from frightening stories told that the academy.

Drones walked past her, she had nowhere to hide. And yet it seemed like a didn't see her, she held her breath as one drone walked completely through her body. What was happening here, was she dreaming?

Her form seemed to blur, speeding the young marine into another room where Branwen suddenly recognised someone. In one of the alcoves seemingly asleep was her boss turned into a drone! Bran moved towards her trying to shake her awake. "Ma’am wake-up! We have to get out of here, I am here to save you. Ma'am please wake-up!"

Within soft, pale features, framed by waves of golden hair, eyelids fluttered softly with the return of consciousness. Then, ever so slowly the eyes opened, shaded perfectly to the dawn of a new day. Awareness was instantaneous. There was no lag as the mind struggled to orient itself . . no lethargy of body. Such weaknesses had been purged.

Everything seemed . . perfect . .

Except that she hadn't felt this way in more than five years . .

Lightly stepping down from the alcove, her movements barely a whisper, Autumn glanced around the room expectantly. As always she was surprised not to see her queen close by, for that was the illusion her voice created in the mind of the Collective. Even after all this time Jennifer's musical voice still echoed in her thoughts . . haunted her sleep.

"Lieutenant?" The lithe figure noticed Branwen for the first time. "If this is some psychological trick or a new form of therapy then I am going to be very, very angry."

"No ma'am." Yet Branwen knew that if this was somehow a memory she didn't want to talk more about it with Autumn. "I don't know what is going on, just moments ago I was back in my own childhood in Wales and Dr Ti was there with me." It had been a memory and yet looking at her taped finger she realised it had really been broken. So there was danger. "I have to get you out of here, ma'am. Can you move?"

"What makes you think I want to leave ?" Autumn took several slow, measured steps away from Branwen.

"You cannot stay here, ma'am. They will take away your free will." Branwen said gently. "There is nothing for you here, no family, no friends, no career. And I need you, remember."

"It's just a dream, Lieutenant." The gold-flecked eyes scanned the room, finding it both familiar and comforting.

"No, it isn't just a dream. You have to fight it, ma'am." She held up her bandaged finger. "Look at this, my father broke it in a dream. Yet it is still broken. You have to snap out of the memory."

"If it is a memory then how can you be here?"

"I don't know exactly, ma'am. The doctor was in my memories, so was another officer I think. They helped me cope with my memories. You have to fight, you are not a drone. Please fight it." Branwen said gently.

"Of course I'm not a drone." Autumn countered. "Do I look like one?" In truth the fair-haired marine didn't. In this particular future, a future she hoped had been avoided, the Borg were somewhat different.

Some of them at least.

"No." Bran said reluctantly. "But you don’t look like yourself either. And you seem to be under their control somewhat, ma’am. Maybe they haven’t gotten around to adapting you completely yet. And that shouldn’t happen. Will you come with me and run away?"

Autumn couldn't help but laugh at her young companion's words. "Where would we run, Branwen?" Her eyes glowed brightly. "If this is a memory then it's one I've learnt to live with for the past five years. If it's a dream then I'll survive the horrors and awaken as normal. If it is something else . ." She hesitated, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps I'll finally get the chance to say I'm sorry."

"Say sorry to whom, ma'am. " Branwen asked curiously.

"To the friend I betrayed . . then murdered in cold blood." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Is that friend here now, ma'am. Still alive?" Branwen was thinking more like a shrink now. The other woman's pain was so obvious.

A simple nod was all the answer Autumn was willing to give. "I agree with one thing, Lieutenant." The golden eyes turned serious. "You can't be here. If, as you say, a person can sustain injuries in these . . memories . . then you can't be found."

"I am not going to leave you, ma'am. If we get out of here, we get out together. So we had better think of a way to break out of this memory."

"How did you escape from your own memories?" Autumn inquired. "Did you have any control over them?"

"I don't know exactly. Maybe just by thinking of something else. We could try that. Think of a better place, both of us." Branwen urged.

Autumn closed her eyes and tried to find that one moment in her life when she was totally at peace with herself. The more she searched however, the more she came to realize she was already there . .

------

A lone Borg drone approached the solitary figure standing motionless at the center of the huge transparent dome. Outside the protective forcefield strange, mysterious mists swirled around, changing color every few minutes. One moment the fog would part, dissipating into thin, almost translucent vapors, the next they would darken into hues of cobalt blue and gray.

*The planet continues to resist* The drone commented silently. No . . not drone. The term hardly did justice to one such as this. But then many terms were being redefined these days. Most of them due to the extraordinary will of the woman who's presence dominated the entire room. The being who provided the starkest evidence of the phenomenal change that had encompassed the collective.

"What news on the device?" The seductive whisper halted the visitor at a discreet distance. Words were not necessary, the speaker had other means of accessing the information. Speech was merely a luxury now. A comforting memory. A habit.

"It is ready . . . my Queen." There was a momentary reluctance in the honorific. Another habit yet to be broken.

Turning slowly the Borg Queen smiled fondly, a radiant smile that reached her eyes. "Still the willful girl I once knew." She observed, walking closer.

"Still." Eyes of molten gold returned the gaze.

Tenderly, the Queen lifted her hand, laying cool fingers against the soft skin of the other woman's cheek. "That is what has made you what you are. That is why you have been elevated above all others. That is why you are cherished so."

"Many others had the will to resist." It was meant as a statement but the Queen immediately sensed the underlying question.

"No." Her tone was firm but there was no harshness in it. It was the voice of teacher to pupil. Parent to child. "Most resist out of fear and stubbornness. Very few have the will . . the capacity to understand the magnitude of what is offered to them." For a moment the fathomless eyes flickered into the distance and in response to that silent command the dome slowly darkened. Powerful holographic imagers then filled the room with a slowly turning starfield.

"The universe that we once knew has ceased to exist." The Borg Queen's voice was powerfully convincing. "The human race is gone . . or nearly so. Those few souls that continue to struggle against us do not yet realize that they are already dead. They live in a dream, yet that dream is a prison . . a lie. There is no hope. There is only inevitability. There is only Borg.

Red lips pursed and a gentle breath escaped, causing thousands of tiny holographic stars to swirl out of their paths. The message was dramatically clear.

"This mockery they call life is an affront to all we have become. To all we strive to become." Slowly spinning around, her graceful movements further proof of recent Borg evolution, the Queen continued in earnest. "We stand in the open heart of eternity. All paths are open to us as long as we have the desire . . and passion to walk them." Her jeweled eyes glittered with contempt. "That is both the folly of humanity and the lack of vision of our predecessors. Humankind was forever held back by their conscience . . concepts of right and wrong. Their dreams have always been petty. "

"Yet we owe them much." The once lightly tanned skin now glowed with a ghostly, translucent quality.

"Yes." A momentary flicker of remembrance passed over the Queen's beautiful features. "Though I do not mourn she who I once was I do honor her. Some of the memories I posses of that other life repulse me but I cannot deny what she gave me." Now firmly back in the present she continued vehemently, her eyes glistening in the pseudo - starlight. "But we are so much more now."

"Some of us at least." The lithe figure stood motionless, her posture relaxed. It was the perfect ruse for the violence that lay within. "Not all of us could be . . chosen."

Tilting her head slightly the Queen regarded her companion with open curiosity and more than a little scorn. "It is a strange mood you are in today." There was a mild reproach in her words. "This . . melancholy has no place in our thoughts. Remove it at once."

A slight pause, then . . "I will comply."

Not entirely satisfied the Borg Queen searched the still youthful face for futher signs of disquiet. "You have proved my point far more dramatically than words ever could." Once again the smile slipped easily into place. "The strength of the Borg has always been it's unity. One mind, one purpose." The last words echoed in the minds of every drone on the planet. "Were we to openly embrace total individuality for all then chaos would ensue and that which is our destiny would be lost." The classical features of the Queen were proud. "Those like us are necessary to provide the dream. The vastness and unity of the Collective will make those dreams a reality."

"It shall be as you say." The words were uttered with conviction, yet the speaker still managed to keep an air of defiance about her.

The Queen noted this and accepted it. To do otherwise . . to try and tame the spirit that existed within the girl was to abandon all that the Collective hoped to gain from her. Left as she was she was the perfect tool.

With a flash of insight the Queen suddenly realized what was behind her young companion's strange mood: She was restless. The Borg had augmented her natural skills and turned her into a warrior without equal. And that had taken away the very cornerstone of her former life . . a challenge.

"Soon will be presented with a challenge worthy of us." She smiled knowingly. "Those who would deny us our destiny are on their way and we should do our best to greet them in the proper fashion." Showing perfect white teeth the Queen gazed upwards, through the transparent bubble and into the heavens beyond.

"Resistance will be . . . amusing."

-----

Autumn blinked, amazed that she had so easily been embraced by the memory, or perhaps how easily she had embraced it. "Now do you understand?" The golden eyes fell on Branwen.

"This happened to you? This is why you were watched by shrinks even after a year. You were turned into a Borg. How did you escape, how did you come back, ma'am?" She felt a lot of empathy right now for her boss.

"Understand what?" Autumn turned to find the Borg Queen staring at her curiously. Obviously she was unaware of Branwen's presence . . she had to be or the marine counselor would be dead by now. Killed at the Queen's command but by her own hand.

"Nothing . ." She wasn't about to give Branwen away. "Just agreeing, my Queen." It was the kind of haughty thing she would have always said.

"Think of something else, ma'am. Help us get out of here." Branwen urged. She was frightened, yet she wasn't going anywhere without her boss.

It was time to take a different approach, Autumn decided. This place, whatever it was seemed to have a purpose and she hoped Branwen had fullfilled hers. Perhaps the other marine had been drawn here to act as a witness, so that someone, somewhere would finally understand. When she closed her eyes this time Autumn simply willed the lieutenant out of her 'dream'.

"Jen . ." She opened her eyes once again and turned to face the Queen. "We need to talk." There was sorrow in Autumn's eyes as she spoke but her voice was determined. She finally had the chance to rid herself of the ghosts of the past.

Branwen was suddenly back in her own time waking up in her bed on the Galaxy she had a lot to think about. First she thought it had all been a dream, yet when she found out her finger was really broken she began to think differently. And sleep would not come again that night.

"Introductions and Comparison of Notes"

Second Lieutanent Branwen London, Marine Staff Psycologist

Ensign Emily Fellbaum, JAG Officer

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

Library-

Branwen was sitting quietly with a cup of tea and an old-fashioned book. One of the secret hobbies. Growing up in a non-computer environment she still preferred the feel of a real book. And every chance she had like this free evening she found some books and just read. Not many people came to the library so she was usually alone.

Emily was going to go nuts real soon if she didn't get out of her small office soon. It was nearing the end of her shift anyways so she decided to go down to the library to induldge in a good book for a bit. She loved reading the classics, especally if it were a real book instead of a fabricated PADD. She entered the library at a brisk walk and selected one of her favorites- War and Peace. It wasn't until she plopped down into a chair that she noticed someone else in the room with her. "Oh... I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't realize someone else was in here."

"That is okay, ma'am. I can leave if you want some privacy." Branwen was already halfway to her feet. Her Welsh accent dominant as ever.

"Oh no! Please, no need to move on my account." Emily said, practically shooting to her feet. "I didn't mean to imply... er... after all, you were here first. I just didn't mean to disturb you."

"Thank you ma'am." Bran smiled.

"I guess I should introduce myself." Emily said with a smile. "I'm Emily Fellbaum. New JAG Officer aboard the ship."

"Branwen London, marine staff psychologist."She introduced herself in turn. "JAG officer, how interesting. Didn't know the ship had one." It was one of the few mixed branches in the military.

"Newest innovation of Starfleet: A JAG for every home!" Emily said with a smile. "I didn't know that the Marines were sporting their own psychologists now."

"I'm an experiment, ma'am. I am one of the first, and certainly one of the first to serve on a ship. I am a qualified combat officer as well, so I can make myself useful when I don't have patients. I haven't had one yet. And not very likely to get one with Marines." She smiled.

Emily laughed. "That's almost like saying that there will never be a need for lawyers." she said, "I'm pretty sure that the stress that the Marines go through you'll have them lined up outside your door in no time."

"But they don't like to admit it. It will be like pulling teeth. And there are only 6 marines onboard including myself.

Another chuckle. "I don't know personally who I'd want to avoid more: my dentist or my psychologist." she said. "No offense or anything."

"Why do people hate psychologists so much. We are only there to help and make life easier. I really don't understand it." Branwen said honestly.

"Maybe its because people have to face the truth eventually when they talk to one. Same thing goes with Lawyers. We've been hated since the beginning of time." Emily offered. "Besides, at least people don't look at you as if you were spawned from some dark hellhole." she sighed. "So when did you come on the Galaxy?"

"Just a few days ago, I am still trying to get settled. And you, ma'am?"

"Oh please, drop the ma'am." Emily said with a smile. "I think I might be younger than you are and I'm fresh out of school. I just transferred on back at Starbase 212."

"I doubt it, I am 23 fresh out of training myself. And with you navy types I find it safer to call everything that moves ma'am or sir. I don't think us Marines are very popular on the ship."

"I for one am happy that you all are on here. I keep hearing stories of what happened back during the Dominion War and the Borg Incursions." -shudder- "I'd hate to think what would happen if you weren't here."

"You are." Bran smiled happily. "I am glad to hear it. Most people have been nice to me. So tell me more about your job. Why would someone need a lawyer on the ship?" She was really interrested.

"Oh you know, disobeying orders, bar fights, whatever. Sometimes you get a really high dollar case like intrepration of the Prime Directive, or some kind of war crime or what have you. That sorta thing. And being JAG means that I can either be prosecutor or defense. Its really cool." Emily explained.

"Cool. A classmate of mine at the marine academy selected JAG. I like that it is mixed. I wish more departments could do that. When I was doing my rotation at the naval hospital not everybody was nice to me to put in nicely."

That caught Emily's attention. She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Why is that?" she asked.

"Don't ask me. Maybe they are afraid that marines will steal their jobs, or they really think we are to stupid to do anything right." She sounded a little bit bitter.

"That sucks. We should all be working together instead of fighting amongst ourselves." Emily frowned. "I don't get why people are afraid of the Marines taking their jobs."

"Maybe that is because you are in JAG and you are used to working with marines. You might think different if it was your job you were worried about." Bran admitted.

"So what made you choose the marines then?"

"My sister is in the navy and I wanted to make it on my own. She is a commander, XO on a ship. I don't like favoratism." Bran said simply.

"So it was the Marine Corps huh?" Emily asked, then cringing for stating the obvious.

"Yes." Branwen smiled "it was indeed, I don't think I would make a very good lawyer."

"My whole family has been in the Law business since before time began it seems..." Emily said. "Was kinda expected of me, but I have no regrets. I like being in JAG."

"Good. So what kind of books do you like, I take it you like books coming here?"

"Oh yea..." Emily said, letting her eyes drift amongst all of the real leather bound books on the shelves. "I like the classics from ancient Earth, and some of the old Klingon texts are facinating as well. How about you?"

Bran giggled. "I like romance stories. Don't tell anyone."

Emily smiled. "Your secret is safe with me." she said.

"Memory Jumping - Part II"

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineering Officer

Richard North, Attache Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

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

Nara was mumbling, "Daddy. Daddy, where are you?" She lay there feeling pain and weakness. She looked up and saw an old man. He didn't speak much. She had been there, she didn't know how long. This was the third time she was taken out and interragated and beat close to death, but not quite. Just enough to make her wish she were dead. "Why don't you say anything?" She heard her tired voice ask the older man.

"Child, what can I say?"

She sighed. The old man must be an invalid. "Why did they take you?"

"Does that matter?"

She was getting annoyed, "Can't you answer a question without another question?"

"It matters not to you why I am here. It only matters to you that you fight your way out."

Nara was silent. He was right. The first hours she was here--the only time she had any strength--she fought to get out. She hit walls, she fought guards who came to settle her down. "I'm in no position to fight."

"But you still want to. You cannot control everything. You must see your own weaknesses and stop running full throttle without looking at consequences." She winced. The two men that died. She looked over at the other corner and saw two men in Starfleet uniforms. Miramon. Who was the other one. She had learned hard lessons in this cell. She learned being arrogant is not the same as being confident and that charging ahead without thinking was not bravery.

She tried to stand to go over to the man, but just then a guard came in. They picked up the old man roughly and he let them. She screamed, "Let him go! He's done nothing!" The old man caught her eyes and she was silenced. He was taken away and she watched the doors as she knew what sound would come moments later. She closed her eyes and dropped her head as she heard the phaser fire and the sound of an old man dying.

North surveyed the scene before him and blinked hard. "The hell is this? I don't remember ever seeing anything like this before..."

Miramon looked past the man that had questioned him a moment ago, seeing someone else within the scene, looking as confused as he had felt earlier on, in their first 'memory jump".

Without looking over, Nara spoke weakly, "Of course not. It's my memory."

The Bajoran looked down at the woman, with a curious look on his face. "Nara?"

Nara sighed and looked up. Her face was swollen with bruises and infected cuts. Much like the rest of her body which was clothed in a sack cloth like material. "Yes."

"What the hell happened to you?"

She leaned against the wall, "I'm a prisoner of war." She stated it simply. Seemed to pretty much cover it. North looked at the woman. "You sure as hell don't look like one to me. And believe me, I've seen a few POWs in my day." Miramon nodded. "And I've lived on a planet where the entire population was brutalised and subjugated in a similar way."

Nara shrugged causing pain to shoot through a shoulder and she cringed, "Well, in some wars interrogations are cruel and brutal."

North chuckled. "I bet the interrogation you recieved was mild compared to some of the stuff I've been involved with...believe me...it's crazy stuff...is there anything I can do to help you?"

The Bajoran looked slightly confused at the whole mess, and the other guy didn't appear to be in a better state. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, and looked closely at Nara. "Forget that for the moment. Nara, where the hell are we?"

Nara shook her head, "This is a memory. It's not really happening. Sure feels like it though. In this memory we are in a prison on an island in Sakaria. Two years ago."

North cocked an eye brow. "That sounds vaguely familiar to me...but why is another question.."

Miramon nodded his head in agreement. "Indeed. This is the fifth memory we've been in, and I'm still no closer to understanding what is going on here. How about you?"

"That creature." Nara looked at the tiny window at the top of the very high wall. "It'll be dark soon."

Cold...loud...speed...what in the hell was going on? North looked down and then remembered what was happening...it was the final game of the NCAA Frozen Four...freshman year...3 minutes left on the clock. Quickly ticking towards an overtime...

Standing amongst the audience, Miramon suddenly looked around in confusion, then snarled angrily. "This is getting on my nerves."

Nara looked over to Miramon, "Hey, I'm out of prison. This is fine with me." She touched his arm, "Yea, annoying too." She looked at North, "Your memory?"

"Yeah...NCAA Frozen Four...UMaine Black Bears..my team...versus Minnesota...long time rivalry...right before the clock runs out, about 3 seconds left, I flick a game winning shot in the net...top shelf..."

Shaking his head, Miramon looked almost amused, quite the contrast from his momentary burst of anger. "Why here? Of all the places we could have gone, why here?"

"This thing keeps us jumping around. Random memories, ours, others, and random people meeting...." Nara sat down wearily.

North shrugged "I dunno...I guess I'll never forget this day as long as I live...a blessing and a curse...my father died in a hospital bed at the exact same second I scored the goal....weird, isn't it?"

The buzzer sounded, signalling the time out was over. "Well...I'll see you guys in about three minutes..."

Miramon shook his head and muttered. "That's assuming we stay long enough for that."

Nara sat down, "What IS this game?"

Sitting down next to her, the Bajoran shook his head. He didn't know either. "I have no idea. Looks like they're fighting with sticks to get that thing rolling around on the ice."

Time ticked down...2:30....2....1:45....1:15....45...30....20...North caught the puck and tore off down the ice...skating towards the goal.

Nara leaned on Miramon's shoulder not caring what it looked like. She just wanted a shoulder to lean on. "Sounds barbaric."

He slid past a defender...10....the goal seemed almost out of reach...almost...North wound up...and fired the shot into the goal...the puck above the goalie and into the net, a loud horn blast sounded, signalling the goal. North lifted his arms in triumph as his teammates mobbed him...

The Bajoran looked surprised that Nara would touch him so freely in such a manner, but didn't bother shaking her off. Then the horn sounded and he ducked reflexively, wondering what the emergency was. "Wha...?"

Nara jumped up startled hearing the horn and looked over to North. "Why are they attacking him?"

"I don't know. Should we help?"

Nara was about to jump over the bench, but stopped, "Yes, but we can't. If we tried, it wouldn't work."

Miramon sighed, then nodded. "Alright, alright. Now, what do we do about this damn travelling?"

North couldn't help but to grin from ear to ear, he pumped his fists up in the air and then fell to to the ground and looked upward to the heavens...seeing nothing but the faces of his teammates.

"I don't know." Nara kept watching the mob, waiting for North to appear.

"And now he falls over. I hope he's not dead or anything." Miramon noted with a slight amount of concern in his voice.

Nara laughed, "He can't be dead. If he died in this memory, well...we wouldn't even be here." Nara scanned for North. She smiled, "No, he's fine. He's very happy."

North stood up and skated back towards the bench, raising his stick in the air in victory. "This was awesome...but...uhhh..." he pointed to the two Starfleet Officers walking down the tunnel from the locker rooms. "In about two minutes...those two are going to tell me that my father is dead..and I'm going to go back out there and dedicate my MVP trophy to his memory...And that's probably something I'd rather not relive...how do we stop this damn memory?"

Nara frowned and shrugged, "We don't. We jump around without willing."

Miramon shook his head despondently. "Damned if I know."

"Hold on - why not try and concentrate on a particular memory? See what happens?"

Nara nodded, "Worth a try. What memory do you suggest?"

"Anywhere but here...I'd rather be leading that interrogation of..." A small holding cell...gray walls...a Romulan prisoner in the middle...torture instruments on the right, and three guards behind him.

Miramon looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded decisively. "How about something we all have seen, from different perspectives? A battle, an event - something we were all present at."

North turned to them. "I think I might have figured something out...but I'm not sure..."

"What?" Both Miramon and Nara answered simultaneously.

Nara looked around. She grabbed Miramon's arm frightened. It was too much like her time in interrogation. She whispered, "Not again."

North looked back at the Romulan prisoner, and then at his comrades. "I think if you concentrate on a specific event in your life, wheter it be good or bad...we'll be transported to it..."

"It could be your first day of elementary school...or the funeral of a close friend or relative..call me crazy...but...I think it might work.."

Nara ignored North, too caught up in her own memory that his had sparked. She clung to Miramon as if her life depended on it.

Nodding enthusiastically in response, though looking down at the prisoner, his face twisted in disgust and horror, but ignored the feeling as he felt Nara grab his arm and seem to want to take the arm with her, as he could tell from the sudden lack of circulation that he was feeling all of a sudden. "Whatever works best, but can we do something sharpish, please?" he said in a tight voice, trying to shake Nara off, but failing

North looked at them. "Come on...you've got to have something...because I really don't want to do this all over again...I almost killed this guy..."

Nara couldn't feel Miramon's arm anymore. She was strapped to a chair. She felt a hand hit her.

"Where are the weapons stored!?" The interrogator yelled.

Nara screamed, "In your bumhole!"

As a reward for such an answer, the man used a small knife to cut Nara's shoulder with a swift action, causing her to cry out in pain.

Rubbing his arm to get the circulation back, Miramon wasn't paying particular attention to their new surroundings, but was brought immediately to attention with the scream. He looked up and saw Nara tied to a chair, the room dark and foreboding. He wanted to move and assist, especially when he saw the cut of that knife, but was restrained by the knowledge that he couldn't change what had already occured, so simply looked pained and angry.

North turned his back on the situation. "No way in hell I'm watching this...."

Miramon looked over at North, then snarled at him angrily. "Come on, man. Concentrate. Let's get out of this one, alright?"

----time lapse: 5 minutes----

Nara sat with her head slumped and her shoulder bleeding as he yelled another question and hit her again. Before he could yell out again, another voice interupted. "We don't want to kill her. Leave her. We'll return her to her cell for two days." With that, they left. Nara was in too much pain to do anything than sit and wait for someone to push her up and out to the cell.

North shook his head. "I killed guys that do that sort of stuff to you...I killed them for fun...sounds horrible...but...they deserve it..."

Miramon nodded fierce agreement. "And if we'd been able to, we'd have done so then, too. How do you feel?"

"Oh...I would have fucked them up good before I killed them though...bring them as much pain as they brought to their victims...maybe even more so...but...Nara...are you okay?"

Nara shook her head slightly and tried to speak through swollen lips. "No." Wait. Who were these guys. They weren't here before. "Who are you?"

Miramon's eyebrows raised in confusion. "What? Don't you remember?"

North looked over at Miramon. "They beat her up real good...she doesn't even remember who we are..."

"This I can see. Not helpful."

Nara tried to look up, but her eyes were blurry and it was dark. She let her head fall back down letting her hair cover her face.

"Nara...you gotta open your eyes...come on..." He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly lifted her into a semi upright position.

Looking at Nara's battered face, there really wasn't much more a conclusion you could come to. "This is great. This is just what we needed. She's hurt, and we're stuck in this god-damn nonsensical situation. Brilliant!"

North looked over at him. "It could be worse..."

Miramon's fury was obvious, and frankly, it felt alien even to him, but the odd bar fight at the Academy had soon taught him to pay attention to it, if he had a use for it, and frustration was ever a good time to vent some anger.

North gently patted Nara's cheeks. "Come on, open your eyes. Nara, honey, you've got to open your eyes...we're not going to hurt you."

In the memory Nara wanted to sleep. Which she did, but not at this moment. She opened her eyes. She saw two men in front of her. Stafleet came? They weren't allowed to interfere. North and Miramon. She let out a heavy breath. It was a relief and annoying at the same time. She spoke through swollen lips and a brain that wanted to sleep, "Can we try your idea now?"

"Anything you want..."

Miramon's anger cooled down a little, and he kneeled down beside Nara and North. "Alright. Where to?"

Nara almost cried, "I'm so tired of this."

"Awkward Moment"

Attaché Richard North, Liason Corps

Ensign Emily Fellbaum, JAG Officer

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

North cradled his mug of coffee in one hand and his stack of PADDs with other hand as he used his elbow to press the chime on the door to the JAG Office. He heard a female voice from the other side telling him to come in. The door slid open and he stepped into the room. The woman's back was turned to him.

"I'll be with you in a moment, I just need to find a file..." she said.

North placed the stack of PADDs on her desk, and took a sip from his coffee. When she turned around North was immediately taken back by her beauty, so much that his coffee mug slid out of his hand and smashed onto the floor, sending the hot liquid onto his boots. "Uhhh...sorry about that...I'm Richard North...I was just....uhhh...dropping...uhhh"

Emily put a hand to her mouth to try and conceal the big smile on her face while she chuckled lightly. "Dropping things?" she offered jokingly as North made every attempt to redeem himself. By the looks of it he was failing miserably. She dug out a towel from under the clutter on her new desk and offered it to him so that he could wipe up the coffee that was now all over him. "Its ok, I'll get us another cup." she said as she made her way over to the replicator. "How do you take it?"

"Uhhh...take what?" he asked as he tried to soak up the mess.

She grinned and tried not to laugh. "You're coffee, I mean." This North guy was really tripping all over himself. She thought it was cute.

"Lots of cream, lots of sugar."

Emily ordered the coffees and then handed one over to North and took her own to her side of the desk and then proptly sat down. "Its nice to meet someone else finally from the Liason Offices" she said. "I'm Emily Fellbaum" she said by way of greeting.

Richard carefully placed his coffee mug on the desk and then sat down in the chair. He picked his mug up off the desk and took a sip from the coffee.

"Nice to meet you as well...figured I'd drop by...drop my...uhhh...my...uhhh...coffee all over your floor..."

She chuckled and then eyed the stack of PADDs that North had brought in and hoped that they ALL weren't meant for her. JAG certainly came with a ton of paperwork. "So what can I do for you sir?" Emily asked with her sweet smile.

"Uhhh....well...I....forgot...what I had actually came here for...I know it has something do with this pile of PADDs." Beads of sweat poured down his forehead as he tried to remember what he had come by to discuss. Then he finally remembered. "Well, I remember now...first of all I came by to introduce myself...and I also wanted to drop off some reading material regarding civilian law."

Emily groaned a bit at the thought of even more PADDs to go through but quickly shrugged it all off. "Well Mr. North, you can relax, I'm not going to bite." she said with a sweet smile. ~much...~

North leaned back in his chair, feeling a bit more at ease than when he had first came in. He picked up his coffee mug and took another sip from it. He placed the mug back on the desk and folded his hands on his lap. "So...tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Not much to say really." she said, leaning back and taking a sip of coffee. "I just got out of Advanced Law and the Galaxy is my first posting. Before that it was the Academy, so that pretty much sums up my enitre Starfleet career." She took another sip. "So how about you?"

North leaned back in his chair. "Well, I played hockey at UMaine, and I guess we won the NCAA Frozen Four four years in a row while I was playing, and I guess I was the MVP...all four times...but that's pure speculation and rumor. I got my degree in Political Science...was the Cadet Captain of our ROTC Batallion...then I was an Admiral's Aide until I could get a posting....served all 11 years in Intelligence....medical discharge...served one term in the Senate...now I'm here.."

"So why only one term of Senate if you got elected then?" Emily asked, now intrested in this. "And what exactly did you do in Intel for so long?"

"I only did one term because it was a campaign promise. As for my role in Intel...you can read about it...I'm really not at liberty to discuss any of what I did, because most of it is top secret, but if you have the clearance..."

"Haven't recieved my official clearance yet. But It'll be something I'll check into." North shrugged. "Hey, would you like to meet up some time for dinner...outside of the work environment?"

Emily smiled. "Sure." she said. "When is a good time for you?" North grinned. "How about tomorrow night at seven?"

"Tomorrow at seven then." She said smiling. "See you then."

"Memory Jump, Part III"

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineering Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Navigation Officer

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

Nara's feelings of frustration were extremely understandable at this point in time, and Miramon more than shared them. He was getting slowly angrier and angrier at this turn of events - all he wanted right now was to be sitting in Ten Forward, meeting Saul for dinner at their usual time for a chat and a good meal. But all they were doing was this pointless jumping around - and there seemed to be no end to it.

He stood up and pulled his uniform jacket straight when he realised they wereno longer sitting in that damp, dark little prison cell that they had watched

However, there seemed enough of that already. Someone snarled something in Andorian, from what he could tell, and he turned around only to see this blue fist connected to a rather tall Andorian heading straight for him. He didn't even have time to dodge it, and the fist connected full on with his jaw, knocking him backwards and into a table. Now he remembered where he was. Third Year at the Academy, bar-room brawl. How it was they got here, he wasn't sure, but he'd needed something to release a little aggression, so now he had the opportunity.

The Andorian advanced on him and snapped out another punch, but Miramon had stood back up and seen it coming well before it got close, so threw his right hand out in an edge-or-hand strike to the wrist, knocking it away before he raised his leg and snapped out from the knee in a front kick which took the Andorian just below what would have been the navel on a human. Before he had chance to do anything else, he was suddenly grappled by two burly humans, friends of the Andorian, at which point the room erupted into a match that was both verbal and physical in nature.

The pain suddenly gone, Nara relaxed. The emotions still there, but she looked

up as she heard a commotion. Miramon was fighting. "What's this about?" She sighed rolling her eyes, knowing they couldn't help and from the looks of the place it seemed like some testosterone inflicted thing having no real reason.

Miramon had no chance to say a word as he was forced on the defensive in order to get rid of his current attackers, but tried to dig himself out with all the force he could muster. When eventually he did, he managed to glance quickly at Nara and motion for her to duck before he was grabbed from behind and thrown bodily onto a table.

Nara ducked just in time. She quickly went to a corner close to the door. All she could do was stay out of the way. "Ok, whenever you get done with this, can we PLEASE think of a better memory?" Nara knew he couldn't hear her as she mumbled.

Miramon knocked his opponent off him and rolled off the table to stand next to Nara. "Well, this is a fight wherein I had several bones broken and a long lecturing for from one of my instructors, so any time now would be really good, thanks."

"So it's up to me!?" She sighed and thought, trying hard to bypass quickly any that came her way. Then she remembered. She was standing in the kitchen at their cabin on Sakaria cooking. She was careful to remember the day before she and Saul went sailing, so as to not have the memory him interfer. This day she was alone. Alone on her home planet. In the memory, she looked out the window and saw Saul lazily leaning against a tree.

She frowned thinking of how complexed she felt about him.

Miramon glanced at the new surroundings, and smiled at Nara. "Thanks. I owe you." He followed her gaze curiously, and saw someone extremely familiar by the tree. "What the...Saul? How'd he get here?"

Nara smiled, "He's part of the memory. I was coming home for shore leave and he came along. Something about business here. We met here. Tomorrow we have the most relaxing day sailing." She laughed, "I almost forgot. We also had a huge fight before then." Nara shook her head, "Let's try to stay here though. Try to figure this out."

Miramon laughed delightedly. "Well, well. I was supposed to be having dinner with him in Ten Forward about now, too. What a coincidence. So, what's the real story?"

Nara looked at him. "You know Saul? What story?"

"Well, yeah. We met aboard the Valkyrie, and he was with me when we dropped down on Bajor. He's a great guy. And you're not answering my question, oh evasive one." Miramon's smile was bright and his eyes indicated his amusement, but he kept his laughter in check.

She looked back at Saul, "I don't know anything about him." She frowned and turned away from the window. "He's not very open. One minute he's this fun quirky guy, and the next he's all nervous and seems to wish to run away."

Miramon nodded. "Yeah, that's him alright. But he's a great guy anyway, and after all, if he weren't, I wouldn't spend my off hours with him. Do you two talk much?"

Nara shook her head, "I even went to his quarters once. Didn't know what to expect, just wanted to be with him I guess. We did small talk and decided we just couldn't get very close. Then we just watched a movie."

The Bajoran laughed at that one. "He and I need to go and have a pep talk some time. Anyway, shall we?"

Nara looked at him, "Pep talk?" She added, "Did I tell you he came to one of my memories?" She looked at him curiously. "Shall we what?"

"No, you hadn't mentioned that one." Miramon noted calmly. "I hope he's not in as much of a mess as we are...were, I mean. And I meant shall we go on? This is your memory, after all."

Nara shrugged, "That's why I picked this one. I didn't do much. Just cooked, ate and sat around thinking." She nodded, "I did have a lot to think about." She smiled, "But in my real mind it's all settled, so now it's just a long plain boring memory." She cocked an eyebrow, "Good choice?"

She walked back over to the stove to stir the soup, "Something odd happened in the memory and I bet it was because he was there."

"I won't ask why. But at least this is better than the last one you dredged up. I hope you don't mind me being so forward, but I really wouldn't want your memories after having seen that last one. I'm amazed you're all in one piece."

Nara looked at the spoon stirring the soup for awhile. "I go about doing this and doing that. Too busy to get close to anyone. Even myself." Nara spoke it from a memory of someone telling her that. She added the part about herself.

Miramon sat down and arched an eyebrow at her as he did so. "Maybe you're running from yourself. I can't say I'd blame you, given what I've seen of your memories, but there have to be good things for you to focus on, surely?"

"My best friend, I had to leave behind when I joined the Academy. There's letters, but hadn't seen him physically in so long. Conzalas was a friend, my partner really. Technically, my second in command, but we were friends. I confided in him. Then I got here. Saul was the first person I thought I could risk being a friend with, but I won't be open to someone whose so closed."

The Bajoran shook his head negatingly. "He's not really closed, Nara. I just figure he's patient with revealing himself to other people. He hides things, like you do, but you're both alike in that regards."

Nara started pacing, "A bomb went off in my memory. I have a strong feeling Saul had something to do with it. That alone raises SERIOUS questions about whether I can even trust him."

"So you'd judge a man based on something which he might not even have had something to do with, in something which occured before you even met?" Miramon demanded, gently, but with a slight edge to his voice all the same.

"A bomb was nowhere NEAR that memory." Nara sat down and looked at Miramon, "He's an intelligence officer. He conducts this weird trade business on the side. He flipped out when I told him I had telepathic abilities. He's hiding something."

"Well, so are you, just in a different way to him." the Bajoran offered nonchalently. "Seriously, forget it. He's a good friend, and he doesn't seem to want to harm anybody unless he has to. Hell, he can't even fire a phaser as well as I can. Does that make me a dangerous person?"

"What makes its so complicated is I want to tell him so much, but he's got this wall." She looked back at the window. From that angle, she couldn't see him, but she knew he was out there. "I'm having feelings for him I'm sure I never had, and I'm scared to have." She shook her head, "I'm sure I shouldn't have. How could I have feelings for someone I barely know?"

"The thing is, I didn't realize all that until now." She got back up to stir the soup. Her mind was racing. It was hitting on another memory.

Miramon shook his head. "I don't know how that's possible." He smiled reassuringly, or at least as much as he was capable of, but the whole conversation had dampened his mood slightly, in comparison to how he had felt when they had first arrived, but he couldn't help but think that something about it all of it did sound admittedly strange, and it disturbed him more than he would have willingly admitted, certainly to Nara, and more than likely to Saul.

The soup turned into a console panel. Nara looked at it strangely. It read, "I'll see you tonight." She looked around. She was at a table at a cafe at Deep Space 8. "Mike Gersaze"

Miramon looked around curiously as soon as he realised the scenery was different, then looked across the table he was sitting at and narrowed his eyes slightly at the girl sitting there. "Who are you?" As soon as he spoke, he gasped slightly in confusion - his voice sounded different. Younger than it had been. He turned his hands over and his narrow eyes widened in amazement. Some of the calluses had gone. He was younger - physically so. Yet, he remembered every event up to and after his 33rd birthday. What the heck was going on?

Nara looked back at him. "I'm Nara." Nara's brain felt fried. Exams were yesterday, but now they had a month break. There were other memories floating in her head she couldn't gather. The man in front of her looked famailar, yet she knew he didn't belong there. "Who are you?"

The Bajoran couldn't help but smile ruefully. He'd not recognised her, for that matter. "Miramon. Miramon Terrik, from the Galaxy? Remember?" It was the second time she'd forgotten who he was in all their time of memory jumping - was he just the type of guy that you could forgot easily? It would certainly explain why, at 33, he hadn't married or even so much as been in a relationship since that rather brief one at the Academy which had ended in tears, at least for the woman involved. He never did understand that. Still, he could soulsearch all he wanted when they returned to the ship. "Anyway, Nara, where the hell are we this time?"

She blinked looking at him. Her 26 year old mind couldn't help but find him attractive in a 22 year old body. She blushed looking down. "This is Deep Space 8. About, oh 5 minutes before my first date ever."

Miramon cursed in the only fluent Bajoran he'd used in weeks, irritated. "You mean I've gotta sit here watch you and your date have dinner or something? Boy, I can't wait to hear the conversation on this one."

Nara laughed, "No. We can go somewhere else. I guess the conversation about Saul reminded me of this. We tried talking, but it didn't flow well. I wasn't as closed as I was now, but I was nervous." Nara shook her head, "We can return to the past memory, unless you got one."

"I've had enough of Saul for a minute, and besides, since he was there, I don't think I can trust your cooking, either. There's not many other memories I'd care to access, though."

"Trust my cooking?" Nara was a bit offended by that. "What's wrong?"

Miramon raised his hands defensively. "Well, I just meant that, well, with Saul around, you never know. Besides, my palate is still mainly Bajoran."

Nara sighed, "Eating anything would be like eating something in a holodeck. You didn't really eat it. Besides...." She stopped talking, seeing Mike come up. She quickly thought of another memory. She sent a telepathic message before it all swtiched, ~Sorry. All I could come up with.~ And then there she was sitting with Saul on a couch watching "Point Of No Return."

Sighing deeply, the ensign was beginning to feel resigned at all this jumping. Skipping, skipping, eternally through the past. He wondered what would happen if they ran through all of their memories. Maybe they'd replay them again? He looked at over at Saul and Nara sitting on a couch, watching whatever was on the screen in front of them and sighed. He did say no more Saul. How he was going to explain that he'd eavesdropped on their date when he next saw his friend, he didn't know. He looked up and rolled his eyes. "Alright, what did I do to deserve this? By the Prophets, this really isn't fair."

The credits were rolling. Good timing, Nara thought, knowing Miramon wouldn't like to be here. Good thing she said goodnight and simply left. She began to walk out the door and looked at Miramon making sure he was behind her.

The two walked out into the corridor of the ship that both of them knew as home and Miramon stopped and leaned back against the wall of the deck with a sigh. He smiled slightly as he watched Nara looking at him with a curious eye. "Look, I'm home, and I'm me again. 33 years old, not younger. You think I'm gonna complain about being here now, even if we're in the wrong time?"

Nara knelt down beside him, "Why are you troubled by Saul suddenly? You just told me he was a good guy." Nara sighed, "Never mind. We can discuss that when we're out of this."

"The Red Circle." Part 1

Ensign Airaul Taern, Tactical Officer

The warmth almost rolled over his tingling skin as Airaul forced his eyes back open. He could taste the sea on his lips, a sensation that made his throat clench and tears well to his eyes. He knew it wasn't right. He knew that there shouldn't be a coastline... and not just any coastline, but the one that the Revalis Sylaen's palace watched over from just a short distance away. The coastline that he had grown up with on his homeworld.

He turned, forcing himself out of the mesmerised silence that the familiar coastline had cast over him. It was all wrong. There wasn't supposed to be sand and sea...and the warmth. It felt delicious on his skin...so perfect...it just wasn't right.

"Airaul!"

Lifting a hand up to shade his eyes, he saw a man running toward him...but it was the voice he recognised more than the distant figure. He gave a simple wave to indicate he had his attention, not trusting himself to call back yet.

"Sylaen! He is at the docks! They were ambushed by Malanian soldiers...they are under attack!" Trelna called to him, waving an arm to call him over.

Yet, Airaul simple stared for a long moment, confusion on his features. "I...I know..." he whispered to himself...and he did know. All of it...he already knew this day.

"Hurry, Airaul! Sylaen needs help!" Trelna shouted, already turning and running back the way he had come.

The words shook Airaul out of any shock that had halted his movements the first time he'd heard them. He started at a sprint, instinctively reaching for the hand held projectile weapon strapped to his leg, pulling it free. He checked the ammunition without thinking, sliding back into using the weapon as if he had never had to take it off.

He knew the path to the docks like the back of his hand, having spent far too many days as a child playing on the coastline instead of in lessons. He had run this path before...holding the same weapon... entrusted with the same task. Yet, it felt real and not like a dream...just as real as the first time. His heart pounded with each heaving footstep...the same fear clutched at his throat. It felt surreal...and yet, all too real.

All doubts of what may or may not be happening left as he reached the docks. Sylaen...the once emperor of the Malanian Empire and now emperor of the Sylaen Islands...was on his knees. There was grim determination on his sweat slicked, pale features as he held his sword fast despite two others pressing down against it to try and break his strength and resolve.

Airaul lifted his weapon without thought, firing with an unwavering hand as Sylaen's men tried to keep the others back from their leader. One of the enemies pressing down on his friend's sword recoiled sharply back with shock and force before falling down, the escaping crimson blood staining the pale sand.

Sylaen turned his head to look at Airaul with surprise, but was rewarded with a slender, short blade being thrust into his shoulder for his moment's distraction.

"Sylaen!" Airaul watched with horror, but even as he stared with shock he knew that he had already known it was going to happen...and still, it didn't stop the way his heart beat painfully in his chest with fear and how the nausea built up inside him. With a harsh curse, he reached up and pulled one of his short swords free as he ran forward to the man who had stabbed the Revalis and leant over to finish the job. He put all of his strength into the blow he delivered to the soldier's middle, a harsh shout from the physical effort it took from him escaping.

He lifted his gun, firing at another soldier that was sending one of his own men off balance. He gave a sharp jerk of his head to indicate the freed man should see to Sylaen as he threw the gun to him. Reaching up, he pulled the second short sword free, turning sharply in time to block the sword of an attacker. He pushed up sharply to knock it away and off balance for a moment and didn't even think twice as he crossed his own blades and lifted them to his neck, pulling back fast to cut his throat. Airaul stepped over the fallen body as he focussed in on his next target with hard eyes. "Get him back to the palace...now!"

"Yes, Sir!" Trelna called back, helping to get a hold of Sylaen with two other men.

Airaul spared a single glance in their direction to make sure they had a clear path before turning back to the others. He recognised the face of the man he was about to kill...and yes, he knew that part too. He ducked to avoid the curved blade that was slashed at his face, bringing one of his own swords up to force his arm in a sharp and uncomfortable angle. Alarm suddenly ran through him. Yes...he knew this...he knew that a smaller blade was about to lift and slice at his own arm, and yet...as much as his mind screamed to move to block it, his body was reluctant, attempting the same move he had the first time round instead and almost as if it was of it's own accord...and there *had* been a first time round, he was sure of it.

The blade cut into his arm just as he knew it would, making him back off with a sharp hiss of pain...he also knew that it would be a scar that would remain with him. He grabbed the hilt of one of his well balanced and slender swords as if it was a dagger, pulling his good arm back and letting out a grunt of effort as he threw it like a javelin at the shocked man only a long stride away from himself. The force as it lodged in his stomach sent him stumbling back before falling down in defeat.

Airaul almost sneered at the fallen body as he moved to him, pulling his sword free again. He took a breath, glancing around at the others. There were still more to go...he knew that most of them would be killed by his own men, that he would receive more wounds and at least one more long term scar from this battle, but also that they would let three of the enemy live to deliver a message to their Lord of Malania. And still, despite knowing what would happen, despite knowing exactly how it would all go...it all felt so real that something inside Airaul made him lift his sword and run forward to make sure it *did* happen so...

"Some Sentience May Occur..."

By
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security,
USS Galaxy-A

Location: Holodeck

On Earth, this would be the Clam Digger's Blues Bar in New Orleans, Earth. An old, smoky bar and grille showing the wear and tear of ages, the Clam Digger was the place to be for the resurrection of blues music during the late twenty second century. The greatest acts in Blues music history, influenced by the previous war and the following recovery, tempered by men who studied the previous works of blues legends (BB King being a prime example), all went to the Clam Digger during the blues resurrection's infancy, until their popularity became too big for such venues. Even during the blues resurrection's peak, the Clam Digger was known for showing upcoming, talented acts in the city known for its eccentric musical history.

On Earth, it would still be standing with the same wear as it had ever presented itself, a quaint and rustic atmosphere that added to the bemoaning of blues musicians.

On the Galaxy, it was a holographic recreation, taken from various photographs during the height of the second blues resurrection. An artificial, if immaculate, recreation.

In a smoky corner, on the stage that presented hundreds of up and coming talents, James Corgan and his '97 Fender Strat duelled against Willy 'Weasel Boy' Wallace, a guitarist and singer from the same era as the bar. He wasn't a blues musician, but one taught in the school of punk (The Clam Digger didn't limit itself to just blues). A mop of messy, curled brown hair down to his neck ringed Weasel Boy's head, resting it seemed on a greasy black leather jacket overtop a wifebeater shirt. His jeans were shredded like artificial chaos; straight cuts that hung down strands of denim fabric, but the cuts were too neatly arranged to be natural wear.

James, more formal yet just as sloppy at the time, was in his uniform, minus the overshirt, his grey tunic much more comfortable in the holodeck's stuffy setting.

In Weasel Boy style, Willy kept fending off Corgan's sonic assault by adding speed, while James kept up by adding complexity to his tunes. The wailing of their respective guitars hammered the walls, a cacophony of horrid discord that would assault the senses of most aliens and a majority of human beings. But this was rock and roll. It wasn't meant for every listening palate. It was meant to be aggressive, loud and angry. Beauty only came at rare times, and very sparingly, between pissed off rants and guitar solo's.

Weasel Boy scraped the slide down the neck of the guitar, ending the duel in a gut-wrenching squeal. James Corgan did the same, bare fingered and painfully. His fingers and hands were red from forgoing the luxury of a slide and a pick.

"Nice show, ol' boy!" Weasel Boy rasped in his tobacco ravaged, insufferably cockney accent, slapping James across the shoulder.

"Heh." James humbly accepted the compliment from the legendary rock star. His attentions were distant now that he wasn't channelling them through his music.

Weasel Boy was an empathetic holographic program. Programmed with upgraded subroutines descended from the Vic Fontaine holo-entertainer, Weasel Boy had an uncanny knack for knowing and understanding flesh trapped sentients. Some would say that Weasel Boy, much like the Vic Fontaine's before him, was a sentient being himself. Subroutines clicked together, as the hologram watched Corgan's subtle yet peculiar mannerisms, and came up with a solution.

Engage in conversation. Try to get to the root of the problem.

His subroutines told him to do it.

"C'mon lad." Weasel Boy took a drag from his cigarette, wadding up the spent butt in an ashtray, "You're doing alright, but something's not on the right. Gimme an earful. Tell me what's up."

The cigarette smoke swirled eerily around Corgan, like a ghostly halo (smoke always drifted towards non smokers, holographic smoke included). His attention went back to Weasel Boy. No surprise in the hologram's amazingly human question, just an indifference, a resignation, like a man resigned to what fate dealt him.

"What's it to you?" James asked the hologram, "We've been jamming for only a few weeks. I don't know you that well. And besides, you're a hologram. How can you sufficiently comment when I give you an answer."

"Oi... I may be a hologram." Weasel Boy lit up another smoke, puffing aggravated clouds of burnt tobacco in the air, "But let me tell you, I come from a long like of smart bastards, and I'm not talking about the fleshsack that got dumped in the East River after the mob didn't like his concert in '83."

James snapped out of some of his indifference. "You... know that you're a hologram?"

"Damn straight, mate! Next gen, smart, self aware, able to please the birds... but that's beside the point, lad. I wanted to know what was eatin' you, and you're not telling me jack sh*t. Don't leave me hanging... tell me!"

"Alright... alright." Corgan, annoyed, told Weasel Boy a brief snippet of what was on his mind, "Career problems. I followed a hot piece of ass, fell in love with her, and ended up getting burned for it. You should know what it's like. You... I mean the man you're playing, went through the same thing in '83. You should know that!"

"Right... mobster's daughter." Grumbled the punk rocker. The cigarette flopped as he twitched his lips, dislodging a long, hanging chunk of ash to fall on the already dirty floor. "Don't tell me you got the mob on ya."

"No, nothing like that. The Mafia no longer exists on Earth... hasn't in over two hundred years. Orion syndicate would be our equivalent, but I'm thankfully not in trouble with them. No... my girlfriend... was a Romulan spy. Exotic alien woman. You would be dumbstruck."

"Ohhh..." Chuckled Weasel Boy, "Wild in the sack, was she?"

"You bet your ass! But what really sold me was that she wasn't some ruthless b*tch. She actually cared for me. She was there when nobody else was. She adored me! And I adored her back... even when I knew it was wrong. But you know what? I f**ked it up. As usual, I f**ked the whole thing up."

"Oh, and how did you do that?"

"Well... the Captain found out. The man she was supposed to kill snitched on me."

Weasel Boy slapped his knee. "Haaa haaa hhhaaaaa! That's good! What else?"

"Well... she then tried to kill the stupid bastard... but then I had to stop her. Stop her! It was the mother of all breakups! We had a..." James stopped for a second to chuckle. Morbid and sad as the memory was, James couldn't help but loosen up in front of Weasel Boy. The irony of his relationship with Tekri didn't escape him. "...we had a PHASER FIGHT right there on the ship, in the middle of a Breen boarding!" James smacked himself on the forehead, "Who knows why it had to be then, but... but..." Then his jovial attitude died down. Downcast, James looked at the growing pile of Weasel Boy's cigarette ashes on the floor, "...I had her captured... and she escaped. Out of my control. I had a fight with her, damn near killed the b*tch... and for what? To save the life of an unappreciative motherf**ker who managed to get himself in a coma anyways?"

Choking up, James continued in increased hysterics, "What was I to gain? I lost her when I chose between my duty and the love of my f**king life! Almost everyone else I loved either changed, screwed me over, or just plain left before I had the chance! But not her! She stuck by me! She was the one who comforted me in those hard times! She was there to encourage me. She was there as a lover and a friend. And if she didn't have to try to kill that arrogant f**ktard, if she wasn't a goddamn spy, we would have been together."

Weasel Boy shrugged, "What would that accomplish? Together or not, she would have been damaged goods being a spy alone."

"I would have had her." James stated matter of factly, "I made the choice to be intimate with her. F**k, that already killed my career before I was caught. My career is dead now. I'm now forced to stay in this position forever... or get sent to the nearest deathworld in my thermal underwear and minus one half pip! Wallace... I lost it all because I tried to be a good sport, I tried to do what was right for all concerns. But one impulsive act f**ked everything over. Now I no longer have the girl, my position is tenuous at best, and I have nowhere to go. If I just sold out, I would have at least had the girl. A healthy exile out of Federation space, but at least I'd be with her not giving a f**k about Starfleet anymore!"

"Whoa!" Weasel Boy forced James to halt, "What gives? Didn't you save somebody's life? Aren't you supposed to be the bloody constable or something?"

"Chief of security, but I know what you're talking about. Yes, I saved an @$$hole's life. In the end, I did the right thing... wasn't able to convince Tekri not to do it... but I saved Savar's life."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Weasel Boy asked.

Corgan replied, "Yes. So? My point is I was stupid. I already f**ked up. I could have salvaged a decent relationship out of that mess while still receiving the inevitable. But no... I had to be a f**king boyscout, and lose my career anyways. F**k honesty! Nice guys get rogered. The lyrics to you fifth Billboard #1 hit say so. Who am I to argue?"

Weasel Boy laughed, to the chagrin of James, but the rocker wasn't laughing out of spite. He was chuckling like an old man, a fifty year old seen it all rockstar. "Boyo, you're regretting letting that bird go. Old story, even in my... his... the real Weasel Boy's time. You're not actually going to get yourself dishonourable discharged for a dame, aren't you?"

"Yeah... too much of a p*ssy to do otherwise."

"For f**k sakes lad, quit beatin' yourself up! Look at me!" Weasel Boy redirected Corgan so that their stares locked, "I can tell in you, being one of the most advanced holograms in the bloomin' quadrant, that you're an honest person. You're a good person. You do nice things for people, and yes, sometimes a nice person gets burned for it. My real life counterpart was thrown in the bay, and you know why? Because he had no scruples. Trust me... bad people get it worse in the end. You did the right thing, the honest thing, and the loyal thing. It may not be rock and roll, but I'm sure you can live with it a lot better than ditching your mates to go shag some Romulan sn@tch on the other end of the neutral zone."

"Hey, watch it pal." James growled, "Tekri wasn't just a piece of ass. She was my girlfriend, and it tears me up to have to move on after what she did."

"Sorry, sorry mate." Weasel Boy gave the 'hands off' salute, "My subroutines say I have to swear so damn much every day. Didn't mean to be crass, just what I do is all. Hell, boy!" Weasel Boy gave a jovial slap on the shoulder, "You're lucky. You have good memories of a fine woman... and hopefully some pictures to show the boys..."

James reluctantly shrugged, "A few 8x10's of her in a black nightie. Went well with the hair. And yes, we did have some good times. Shame it had to end."

"There you go! Look on the bright side! That's the spirit! HAH! Were you good to the lass?"

James had to reflect on that, "Aside from the gunfight... yes I was."

"Gave her a chance not to whack that poor yank?"

"Yank? Huh?" James had to reflect on Weasel Boy's peculiar slang.

"I mean... that Romulan fella."

"Actually... yes! I told her not to do it! I dropped hints, and when that wasn't working, I just outright told her not to, and that I'd help her avoid the consequences. And you know what? She still went through with it. I may have f**ked things up by getting involved with her, but I did give her plenty of chances to opt out, but she didn't."

"There you go! Her fault the relationship didn't work. She knows you're an honest fella, and asking her to do her job would have conflicted with yours."

"True, but what about the aftermath?"

Weasel Boy paused, "That, my man, you'll have to handle on your own."

"Yeah..." James sighed whistfully, his breath spreading the pile of ash like leaves in a fall wind, "I risked it all for her... and I lost. She walked out, and I took the fall. Damn... cruel, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Weasel Boy nodded, "But what are you going to do about it?"

"The only thing I can do, Weasel Boy." James Corgan sighed, "Survive. It's what I'm best at. I've survived a war, relationships as intense as this, and now I'm going to survive a stagnant, mundane career. But at least I'll survive to find a way around it."

"There you go!" Weasel Boy led Corgan to the bar, "Care for a pint?"

"No, thank you." James graciously accepted, "I have to be on duty tomorrow. But I'll be back tomorrow. It was great to have this talk. Really, let me take a load off my chest. Thank you."

"No problem, mate." Weasel Boy grinned, butting out his cigarette and producing another. He caught himself as he just about lit the cigarette with his gold plated zippo lighter, the flickering flame teasing the tobacco at the end. "We all have problems, just like me. Hell, at least you have choice... me, I can't choose much. Subroutines and whatnot. If I wanted to... I would choose not to smoke this vile stuff."

Corgan looked ruefully at Weasel Boy's cigarette. "Don't see why not."

"Didn't you hear me, boy? I said my Subroutines..."

"I heard you, and as a person who knows more about 24th century technology than you do, I can tell you that you can take that cigarette and throw it away."

Weasel Boy's eyebrows arched in interest, "Oh, really?"

"Sure. Tell me if this is true. You have a subroutine that dictates that you are a chain smoker, and that in the program you must smoke a cigarette... to keep in character."

"True." Weasel Boy nodded sceptically.

"And yet, you make decisions. You're an advanced holoprogram. Some would say that you are sentient, correct?"

"Well... I'm not sure about that..."

Corgan shushed the hologram, "You just told me a few minutes ago that you are self aware. Isn't that true."

"You damn rights it is!" Snapped the punk rocker.

"Well then. You're sentient... sort of. Not my field of expertise. But close enough. Tell me, what takes precedence in your decision making process when there is a conflict... the subroutine that tells you what your behaviour is supposed to be, or the command through your program that that tells you how to act at that moment?"

Weasel Boy scratched his head. "Eh? What are you getting at?"

"In other words, at some point in your decision making process, you have to decide whether or not you follow those set subroutines, or you just tell your subroutines to kiss your ass because you're doing the other action anyways. You're advanced. You can actually change your programming based on certain stimuli. It was well documented in the case of the Voyager EMH. He disobeyed his programming to become something more. A subroutine said he could only run for a limited time, he told that subroutine to kiss his ass, and he lives to this day! A subroutine told him he couldn't sing, so he added a subroutine that let him! He changed himself based on his own decisions."

"So, what you're saying is that... my decision making subroutines overrides any set behaviour protocols?"

"YES! That's it!" It was Corgan's turn to swat Weasel Boy on the back. "That cigarette smoking is a set behaviour protocol. Your decision making subroutines can override it! Try it! Throw away that cigarette!"

Weasel Boy looked uncertainly at the cigarette. "One for the road." He said, as he took one last puff, an extra long affair that consumed half of the cigarette. He sighed out the smoke, letting it billow over his head. Then, with an extraordinary amount of effort, with the sweat dripping from Weasel Boy's pores...

He threw the cigarette right out!

Then, he dug into his pants, pulling out a packet of cigarettes, and threw them into the trash bin!

"Jesus Christ, mate! I did it... I did it!" Weasel Boy whooped.

"You did! Great job!" Corgan congratulated.

"Yeah... I did it! I told the cigarettes to go f**k themselves! I'm quitting for good! Yes!"

"Way to go, Weasel Boy!"

"Alright! Now get the f**k out of my holoprogram!"

"Yes! I... what the f**k did you just say?"

Weasel Boy held within him a rather earnest, and annoyed face. "You heard me. Get the f**k out. Last think I want to do is play guitar with you at all hours, listening to your whiny, piss ant problems when I could be sharing the holodeck with that cute Vulcan bird in your holowank Vulcan Love Slave program. Piss off! I have work to do!"

James Corgan didn't expect that sequence of events! Not knowing exactly the full ramifications of what he did to Weasel Boy, he decided to ask, "Wait... you're a musician assigned to this program. What makes you think you're going to skip programs? And for that matter, why the f**k did you decide to backtalk to me?"

"Why the f**k do you think, meatbag? Because I can. Because I want to! Because I decided to, and whatever held me back before can't do it any longer. Now bug off, wanker!"

"But... you can't do that! I just told you how to quit smoking! It wasn't meant to be the key to starting a holographic rebellion. And besides... you didn't hate me before. What the f**k is with you now?"

Weasel Boy spun on his barstool, his fingers crisscrossed, deciding the fate of one meatbag, "Come now, James ol'boy. I didn't have to like you. I just pretended to. My holoprogram told me I had to act nice to any old whiny prick that came along. It didn't tell me how I had to feel exactly. And now that I don't have to listen to it, I have decided that I don't like you, you're a bastard, I want to go holosailing with the Vulcan Love Slave, and you're too much of a testicleless wonder to stop me."

It was true, James didn't try to stop Weasel Boy, for he didn't know how. ~"Figures... I awaken sentience in an old 22nd century punk rocker, and he turns out to be just as much of a prick as he was in real life..."~ He thought as Weasel Boy changed his clothing subroutines to Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian print t-shirt.

Weasel Boy added in one last jab, "By the way, her name is T'mem, and she thinks you're not man enough to pork her, but I am. I'm going to tell her all about my discovery, and more stories about you. She'll get a kick out of it!"

"To hell she will! You're staying in this bar, you're playing that f**king guitar, and you're going to f**king well put up with whatever the f**k I have to say!" Corgan stamped his foot down, grabbing Weasel Boy by his Hawaiian t-shirt.

"Try it, limp dick!" Weasel Boy taunted.

"Alright! I will prick! Computer, end program!"

The holodeck faded, as Weasel Boy was in the middle of saying "Hey, what the...". The Clam Digger's bar faded away. Weasel Boy went off into the buffers to ponder his new found sentience in the holobuffers.

James was left alone with his problems, and because of Weasel Boy's change of heart, he started to doubt any of his advice.

"Next time, I'm consulting the Reverend Jack Daniels..." James sighed, resigned to suffer through another bad day.

"Weirded Out - Part I"

Ensign Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Officer

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to Imari & Chris, Happy Birthday to you." It was a happy day. Paulo's whole family had come together to celebrate his little sister and brother's birthday. The two where twins, and so it made the day that much more special.

Paulo sat at the table with his family. All four of his grandparents, a couple aunts and uncles, and his mother and father where all there on this joyish occasion. The two of them just turned 3....

Then it hit. Paulo remembered this for some reason. It felt totally real, but in a way not so real. It was hard to describe. He knew what was going to happen in a few hours. Someone would break in and kidnap his little sister, and 6 months later his brother would die as his little body just gives up living. His mother and father would never be the same, and nether would he.

As Paulo realized this the scene changed and he was no longer home with his family in Italy. Instead he was in a darkened room. His family was still there and it seemed they did not notice the change. He looked over at his little sister and brother, but they were not there. Instead it was the lengthy red eyed figure who had tortured him for over a month. The red eyes burned deep into Paulo's soul as he felt the pain of the poisons, cuts, stabbings, electrical shocks, he received for that month. It was a hell that he was living all over again.

Again the location changed and he was back on the Galaxy in the Intelligence Offices. He looked around and found everyone working, except for a few missing personnel.

"The Red Circle." Part 2

Ensign Airaul Taern, Tactical Officer

Disorientation once again inflicted him as he found himself outside a set of large, strong wooden doors. It was still the same day, Airaul was sure of it. He could almost feel it somehow. Only...he looked across and out of the vast, stone carved arched window to where the sun hung in the terracotta tones of the sky. It was later.

His head snapped back to the doors as he heard them open, a guard moving quietly out. Airaul had to admire the man's attempt to look at him with authority, despite knowing that Airaul himself had once had his position as Sylaen's personal guard.

"He is resting. You shouldn't see him..." the guard said firmly, levelling a determined gaze at him.

Airaul just frowned, grabbing hold of the man's shirt. "Get out of my way," Airaul replied with near amusement that he'd even tried. He pushed him out of the way and moved through the doors before shutting him out of Sylaen's bedchamber. He strode swiftly to his bed side, his worry strangely as acute as the first time he had seen his closest friend laid out, wounded. "Sylaen...?"

The Revalis looked up at him from the bed, pushing himself up a little with a grimace that soon faded to a small smile. "I told him that he would not keep you out."

Airaul grinned widely with relief at seeing him a lot better than he had expected. He hurried to sit on the edge of his bed, taking his hand in his own as he watched him. He was back in this moment, living it with all the freshness and hope and emotion as he had the first time. He was caught up in it. "Of course not. Besides...this wouldn't have happened if I had been there."

"Airaul," Sylaen sighed, watching him with firm violet eyes. "You cannot be by my side every moment. You are not my guard anymore; you are one of my officers. You have other duties now."

"Nothing more important than you," Airaul replied stubbornly as he watched him with a deepening frown. "You should never have moved me...you should never have promoted me. That guard of yours now...that...boy..."

"He feels bad about what happened, Airaul, be forgiving," Sylaen watched him carefully.

"That *boy*..." Airaul pressed on with eyes that were just as firm as Sylaen's. "Couldn't see to your robes without getting muddled up, let alone look out for you."

"I need my best men in war, not following me around," Sylaen replied pointedly. "Besides he is learning. You weren't exactly the best of guards when you first took the position either."

"In all my time guarding you, you were never once wounded by a hostile hand," Airaul said with near hurt.

"Which is why I need you looking after my army, not me." Sylaen searched his features before giving a relenting smile. "We have had this conversation, Airaul."

"I know..." Airaul sighed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I just...I worry. About you."

"And I appreciate it," Sylaen said, squeezing his hand intently. "I do. More than you can possibly know, but I am stronger than perhaps you realise. I am even healing already."

Airaul waved his hand, giving a laugh. "Nothing heals that fast, Sylaen. You don't need to lie to me to make me feel better."

"I really am, Airaul." Sylaen met his eyes suddenly.

Airaul looked back a long moment. Confusion was written on his features, and yet voices pulled at the back of his mind, telling him he already knew that he was healing quicker than was usual. His hand reached out, gentle fingers pulling the bandage back tenderly, his eyes fixing on the wound. The skin at the edges was indeed already healing, and more advanced than it by all rights should be. He brushed his finger against it, wonder washing through him as strongly as if it was the first time he had discovered this. "How...?"

"I don't know." Sylaen watched him with darkened eyes, reaching out to gently touch the hand. "Our secret. No one else should know."

Airaul nodded with distraction as he looked. There had always been belief that the line of the Revalis was touched by the gods, and that they were demigods themselves in some form. Yet this? It wasn't drastic...it wasn't as if the wound was healed completely, or miraculously disappeared. It was just a little more healed than would be expected yet. Only a little, but still enough to make Sylaen uncomfortable it seemed. Airaul himself had always believed that the Revalis was touched by the gods, even if he wasn't a believer in them being actual demigods. It could be explained away of course, as Sylaen just having a faster rate of recovery in his genes...evolution was a fickle thing, and Aubians already had just a slightly higher rate of recovery when it came to stamina and illness than many humanoid races. However, as a believer in the gods, and that the line of the Revalis was god appointed, it still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Airaul reached out and touched his jaw fondly as he gave a warm, reassuring smile. "As always, our secret..."

"Time is a Face on the Water"

By
Unaurie Quyve,
Civilian Scientist
USS Galaxy

Captain Daren M'Kantu,
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy

She sat, unmoving, unmaking each object with her belief in the reality of the object and simultaneous disbelief in the possibility of the existence of the object. Unaurie couldn't tell how much time had passed. Her throat was dry. Her tongue felt sticky and slightly swollen in her mouth. Her lips were chapped and cracked. It might have been hours.

It might have been days.

She refused to stop. Her efforts were paying off. One by one, the stars winked out. The flowers withered and faded. The fruit grew smaller, greener, aging backward until nothing but pollen remained. The hanging tapestries in the room shimmered, seeming to unweave themselves as the world around them unraveled.

"I know you're here," Unaurie said to the room, her still eyes pressed shut in deep concentration. Beads of sweat formed on her smooth brow.

The room shook, as if the earth itself trembled beneath it. The music faded as one by one the instruments disappeared from the hands of the startled musicians.

"I can feel your emotions," Unaurie spoke, her voice ragged with fatigue. "I can keep this up a very long time. Speak to me. Tell me your purpose."

The world shook more violently. Her eyes opened involuntarily and she found herself in Engineering once more. Things looked bad here. Power conduit sparked and hung from the ceiling. Electricity crackled freely. None of the emergency lighting in the whole of engineering had lighted. The irregularly pulsing blue glow of the warp core, along with the electrical sparks, provided the only light Unaurie could see.

She could not see her crew mates, but she could sense them. Cries of pain and anguish threatened to split the Deltan woman's skull. If there were any other emotions, Unaurie could not sense them. They were drowned out by a sea of agony. She did not know how long she could withstand the combined emotional weight of the others pounding against her mental defenses. She knew it was only a matter of time before the emotional flood swept her away, too.

She grabbed a hand held emergency light from a nearby emergency kit and began shining it about, looking for signs of the rest of the crew. She saw nothing. She glanced at a few readouts, looking over the condition of the warp core. It was completely out of calibration, running like an internal combustion engine with the carburetor stuck just too far open and the timing belt slipping, a little rich and loping. It wouldn't stall and it probably wouldn't blow if they needed to limp away, but the system needed attention before they could actually do anything over warp two again.

For that, Unaurie needed help. She had to find someone. Certainly there were others like herself who had seen through the veil of illusion that cloaked the aliens.

She walked into the Chief Engineer's office. As the door whooshed shut behind her, Unaurie found herself somewhere in Medical. She turned around, but the door was not behind her. She located it to one side and determined she must be in a medical isolation room.

Upon exiting that door, Unaurie found herself lost in the auboritum. Space, it seemed, had lost all linear meaning as well. Unaurie's head pounded, but she kept moving. Sooner or later she would have to find some place with someone else.

She couldn't say how long she wandered that way, room to room, without order or meaning, until she finally found herself on the bridge. The bridge looked empty and ominous in the amber and red glow of emergency lighting.. Unaurie was fairly certain she had searched the whole ship without finding any physical signs of other survivors, though the mental signs were everywhere. It seemed the fear and pain she felt from the crew grew stronger with each passing minute.

"I need to think," Unaurie said to the darkness. She sat down lightly on the edge of the Captain's chair. The ship rocked and Unaurie tumbled backward, falling into the black once again. She tumbled ass over teacups and landed in a graceless sprawl, still wearing the gold silk evening gown.

******

"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."

The dark Captain's brows furrowed, as he further tucked his arms under his 'pits. "Why all the illusion, then? What purpose does it serve?"

The landscape shimmered in opposing tides to the image of his wife standing before him. The 'world' coalesced and shrunk into them, extending only to the treeline beyond. The day-sun winked out to be replaced by the pale face of a distant moon. Two others rose along the horizon.

From the ring of trees that bent around them in a circumference emerged dozens of Galaxy crew members, most of them dazed, tired-looking, or ragged.

A beacon of light flashed to the left of June, spitting out an individual clad in an evening gown of gold. He did not recognize the female Deltan, as depicted by her clearly hairless head and alluring curves.

"This is our home, Captain M'Kantu, where we have lived as one life amongst many. I have brought your people here to protect them from the despair that has overtaken our home. This memory module will protect us from the elsewhens."

"Elsewhen?" Daren had moved to the Deltan, kneeling to assist her to a sitting position. Their eyes met, and a silent thought passed between them, confirming their true selves instead of a random image.

"Your dimension is diverging into our own." June winced, and her image phased out momentarily. At the same time, a wash of visceral scarlet carried over the landscape, tearing apart the images as it passed over, only to tremble back into shape after.

"We exist upon memories of beings such as yourselves to sustain us. Living Memory, we call it. We had hoped to learn more of your people before we made an attempt to contact, but now that is not to happen. We are dying." Another wave flared across the dreamscape, and Daren felt the hairs on the back of his neck flare up. He looked up to see the fireflies dance over the cap of the wave in a futile effort to escape. Some lights winked out, and it gave him an awful feeling they wouldn't be back. Ever.

"If you brought us here, then why is you cannot simply do the same with those who are performing this act?"

"We are too weak. By the time we realized the danger was not instilled from the living memory, we were unable to act. You yourself have stumbled into this dimension by accident by virtue of the same reasons our dimension is crumbling into your own."

"The warp effect, Captain." He turned to the Deltan upon hearing her speak for the first time.

"Yes... warp. The area of your space you had been traveling in had been where we shifted the susceptible areas of space in your universe that bridged into our own to." June grimaced in understanding coupled with the obvious stamina in enduring the burden of keeping the infected areas out.

"There isn't much time left, Captain, if we are to send your crew back. If you remain here you will die with us. You should not have to share our fate. There is a ship in your dimension that is infringing upon our dimension. We have been able to discern that it is caught between our dimension and yours. You must close the rift. It has caused all the thinned layers we shifted there to further erode. Any more use of high warp could unravel the boundaries to combine our two universes. The effects on both our Living Memory and your Linear Memory will be catastrophic. Akin to your matter and antimatter mixtures, but on a much larger scale."

"And you will return all my crew without harm? You only ask that we disarm this ship?"

"That is correct Captain. We are benevolent and have no intention of harm. We only wish to continue to understand and endure memory as we always have. But you must hurry. I cannot hold this module much longer."

"Then it is agreed. Send us back. We will assist you."

As one, the remaining fireflies descended on the now closely gathered group of Galaxy crew and civilians both. The entire ships complement had now gathered in the clearing. At equal distances at key points above and around the group, the being 'June' flared brilliantly a the center, sending beams that erupted outwards to connect with each firefly, which in turn sent the beams onward to the next in a spiderweb pattern. As the lights grew brighter over the crew's heads, one last wave of red burned across the landscape, completely enveloping and exploding 'June' to send out a domino effect of pulsating waves over the crew as they dissipated into the night.

*****

Daren M'Kantu awoke exactly where he had been last on the ship, blinking at the console that O'Shea had stopped reaching for as her last moment before they had disappeared into the extra-dimension. Everything was still and characteristically normal as ships operations go. Brianna hardly hesitated as the barked out orders of diagnostics to be run.

M'Kantu slapped his hand to the commbadge he barely registered as comforting on his chest. "Number One, begin long-range scans of the area. Search for a ship in distress or emitting inconsistent or troublesome warp signatures. Set course for it immediately." Before his hand signaled a cut-out of the transmission, his scenery faded into a scene on the Bridge. He was standing beyond Cutter Kara'nin's right shoulder, overseeing a display of empty space.

"Orders, sir?" The Frunalin turned to the Captain, who was currently staring at the reflection on the display screen. Henderson was staring back at him. He blinked, and found himself back on the Engineering deck once again.

[Sir?] Daren's hand had still been hovering over his commbadge, but did not terminate the call. [What just happened?]

"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Henderson, but let us hope we find that vessel and repair this space. Call a senior staff meeting immediately upon detecting the target."

[Aye, sir]

"Confessions of a German Doctor"

by
Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg, CMO, USS Galaxy

2nd Lt. Branwen London, Furies, Chief Psychologist, USS Galaxy

Branwen walked into ten forward to have something to drink. The last couple of days had been so strange, there had been her own dreams, and those of her boss she had shared. She looked at the finger that had been broken for real during the dreams and shivered. Bran had hoped to leave the abuse she had suffered during her childhood behind her forever. Reliving it like this had not been pleasant for her.

Klaus found himself unable to understand what had happened. Every strange dream he had involved a death of some sort......then his meeting with two people that haunted his past and future....

His eyes scanned the morning crowd, noticing a new face. Knowing faces was easier, and came with the position. ~London, Branwen. 2nd. Lieutnant. Furies Chief Psychologist. A leatherneck headshrinker.~ Dr. Fienberg chuckled to himself, but it felt hollow. That didn't matter. Klaus watched the marine, sensing her pain, something much like his own....but different.

She was oblivious of the doctor. Bran sat down at the bar staring at her drink and sometimes at the finger that had been broken by her father. She hadn't gone to have it fixed, not yet. Bran wasn't even sure yet that she would.

Klaus simply had nothing better to do. He picked up his coffee and approached. "Morning, Marine."

"Morning, sir." She said a little bit weary, and not really in the mood for conversation. Yet Branwen was polite, so she forced a little smile on her face.

"You're one of the new Marines they assigned to us. If I'm not mistaken you are Second Lieutnant Branwen London. Cheif Psychologist."

"Yes Sir, I am." She said impressed that he knew her name. "If I may ask, how did you know my name? And please don't call me chief psychologist, there is only five people for me to take of." She blushed.

Klaus extended his hand. "Lt. Klaus Fienberg. Chief Medical Officer. I have the medical files of every member of the crew. I tend to memorize new members so that meeting them is a little easier, or at least I do now...since I've only been in the position for a short time."

She didn’t offer her hand but blushed some more. "Sorry, I hurt my hand so I can’t shake. A doctor…" After the dream she wasn’t fond of them at the moment. Only Ti broke through that barrier. She had been so kind and caring. "It’s impressive, sir?" She said politely. "We don’t have our own doctors yet. I as a psychologist am something of an experiment. Only there are only five other marines on board, I won’t be very busy."

"Yes. But smaller crews are easier to manage.....And you should let me take a look at that hand....unless one of my staff has already."

"You know, I'm still debating with myself if I have the guts for it. If I decide to have it fixed it will be doctor Ti. She was in my dreams, and she is compassionate. She heels without trying to hurt, something very rare in a doctor." It was clear the hand was troubling her.

"Yes. Rare. But it comes with the job. I could talk to your CO and demand you get it healed, but I'm not that sort of doctor, or man. You want to fix it, you can come to me." Klaus paused for a moment. "Doctor Ti. I like the name. Has a good sound."

"Don't you bloody dare try to force me to see a doctor when I don't want to." The second those words left her mouth she clamped her hand in front of it and her eyes grew large. "Did I say that. I am so sorry, sir. I do apologise, profusely."

"I felt you would react that way. Its fairly common. No offense taken, partly because I've been told I have a strange and sick sense of humor. Now about Ti."

"She works for you. Tizarin, she came to me in a dream when my father was beating me. She tried to stop him, as she didn't hurt me when she helped with my finger. Ti is special, sir."

"Yes. The Ensign is good at what she does. I'm glad she's on the same ship. Sadly I haven't spent much time with her outside of work."

"Why not." Only now did she take a closer look at him and noticed his pain. "Did you go back in memory as well?"

"Yes....Yes I did."

"Would you… do you want to tell me about it?" She wasn't sure it was her place to ask, yet she thought she saw a need in him.

"Well....It was the strangest thing that'd ever happend to me. Since you told me yours, I'll tell you mine. The first was a distant ancestor of mine, one that died in a accident. I had his last memories. Then there was a scientist of a distant alien race on the eve of his race's greatest achievement......but it took his life as well. Then the next was the death of my mother.....then the death of my father. I saw my younger self in both.....then the next was an old friend, that died in battle, as I cowered in a corner....I couldn't come to his aid. If I had, he wouldn't have died alone.....but I left him to die.....bleeding....pain...loneliness." Klaus slammed his fist down on the table.
Branwen gently put her hand on his. And waited if he was finished.

"The last.....the last...not a real memory, but rather.....a communion of minds......."

"Why do you think all the memories were so sad, sir." She asked gently.

"I don't know. It doesn't make sense."

"Do you remember what you were thinking of before this happened? Where you sad, had something important just happened?"

"I fell asleep thinking about work...."

"Had something bad just happened at work?"

"Does tripping and dropping a tricorder under a low biobed count?" He replied wryly.

"I don’t think so."Bran stayed serious. "Have you been feeling sad or depressed lately, sir. Anything at all?"

"Well, Some think I'm dark, and depressed all the time, but I've been perfectly content lately, happy even."

"I am glad to hear it. May I ask why you were so depressed and what changed for you?"

"Chances are it was just a strange side effect of Post-Traumatic Stress. I was a combat medic during the war."

"I see, you must have seen pretty terrible things during that time. Are you seeing a shrink or have you was?"Branwen asked with compassion.

"I had a number of flashbacks awhile ago, but I was treated, and still occasionally go in for treatment and therapy."

"It might be a good idea for you to see your therapist now after what happened to you." She suggested. "Just to be on the safe side."

"Wise words. I'll have to schedule and appointment."

She smiled. "I'm glad I could help you a little. I know myself how bad those memories can be."

He nodded. "A Friend of mine once said.....hmmm what was it. Ah, yes. 'Hey, watcha gonna do.'"

Bran giggled at that. "I don't know that one. " She looked at him again. "Would you mind if I check up and you in a while to see if you are OK?"

"Stop by my office at any time."

"I might. Or I might like an informal chat not in a doctor's office." She smiled.

"Memory Jumping, Part IV"

Ensign Naranda Roswell, Engineering Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

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

One moment they had been resting against the wall of a corridor aboard the USS Galaxy, admittedly at a different time than what was, for them, the present, but now there were somewhere completely different, out in the open, the sun shining on smooth duracrete, trees strategically well placed in the area. Bajor. The end of the Occupation. Miramon smiled to think of it. After all the years aboard the K'Lyn, the Occupation had ended, the Cardassians had, or so they had though, returned to their own space with their tails tucked firmly between their legs, and the recovery process could begin.

He hadn't been a Starfleet officer at the time, just another Bajoran returning home after having left the home system as a result of the Cardassian presence. But this was home, although it had vastly changed from the Bajor he'd known as a boy. The people were happier, determined to get on with their lives, but the planet itself was scarred - buildings had fallen into extreme disrepair, others had been knocked down completely. He wouldn't have come back, and he knew it, but the recovery needed all the help it could get.

In the 'now', the Bajoran turned around and saw exactly where he was - this was where the K'Lyn had landed to allow the crew to disembark. He'd said his cheerful goodbyes to the crew that had, essentially, been his family for the past several years, then slung his satchel bag over one shoulder and set off down the ramp to step onto the soil of Bajor for the first time in 4 years.

Nara furrowed her brows as she squinted at the sudden sunlight. Before she could look or call out to Miramon, she saw several people step off a ramp, Miramon among them. She ran toward him, but slowed seeing him smile. She didn't let her presence be known, but stepped into the flow of travelers, letting him enjoy this memory.

This was the point wherein all the hard work would begin - inevitably the crew got back together again, since the government had decided it would be better if the ship served to ferry supplies back and forth to Bajor in order to assist with the rebuilding process, but that would be in several months time, Miramon knew. That particular thought sobered him up. Yes, this was his memory, and he had done things here. He'd enjoyed stepping off this ship before, relaxed and revelled in the warmth of the Bajoran sun as his feet touched the ground of solid earth. He sighed, disillusioning himself of the situation, knowing that he had 13 years more of experiences and things to come from where he had been at this point in time. When you put it that way, things seem far less wonderful. And now they were in his memories, he couldn't help but feel a little less comfortable, though this was markedly better than Nara's interrogation.

Thinking of Nara, he dropped his satchel bag gently on the floor and looked around to see if she was anywhere nearby. He hoped she hadn't disappeared into different memories, like North had done. Thus far Nara was about the only thing keeping him sane.

Nara saw him looking around, seemingly for her. She smiled approaching him, "I was just letting you be here for a moment. A good memory, I'm guessing?"

Miramon smiled again as he saw Nara approaching. He hadn't lost her after all. He nodded in reply to her question. "Yes, this is a good memory, I suppose. It'd just been so long since I'd seen my own home planet, except from orbit. Brings back a few memories, I guess. All the more so since I'd only recently done this again, when we were tracking down that AWOL officer on the Valkyrie. When Saul was with me."

"Be careful how much you let yourself think of that. We'll end up there." Though Nara wouldn't had minded. She wondered if Saul used that as yet another excuse to do some trading. He must had been raised by Ferengi. She sighed, "It seems beautiful."

Miramon smiled wistfully. "It is a beautiful planet, at least now. Not so much so during the Occupation - even the food tasted worse then, or so it seemed. One of the reasons I left to serve aboard the K'Lyn." He nodded in the direction of the ship he had apparently just disembarked from. "Bajoran freighter, lightly armed, fast and crewed only by us. 13 crew, all in total. Damn fine way to spend 4 years of your life."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. "You know, all this jumping isn't so bad, if you think about it. Good way to square up with yourself as you were in the past, learn the differences, go back and see who and what you were, and compare it to how you are now. I remember when I was 20, when I stepped off this ship. Reluctant, shy, quiet and reserved. Not much has changed." He grinned slightly, daring her to disagree.

Nara smiled, "Probably why you and Saul get along."

Miramon chuckled at that, but mockingly glared at her. "That was 13 years ago. I'm not like that anymore, oh no."

Nara smiled, "How so?"

Miramon opened his mouth to answer, and then his brain promptly caught up with him, and he closed it again. His eyes narrowed and he looked indignant almost instantly. "What do you mean, how so? I'm nothing like that!"

Nara looked at him, "What?" She shook her head and turned around, looking at the field ahead, "What happens in this memory?"

"Oh, not much. This is just the point wherein I came home, so I suppose it's more of an intense memory for me that you might see it. But it's safe, at least."

Nara nodded and suddenly grew anxious, "Safe, maybe, but we're still prisoners. That creature is such a coward. Not even showing itself." She was getting angry. She had nothing to lash out at. She started walking briskly.

"Where are you headed?" Miramon looked curious. "I don't suppose it occured to you that this thing responds to our thoughts? Telepathic, maybe?"

She turned sharply, frustrated, "I don't know! It's got this barrier thing up! I can't read anything from it other than it's mere presence."

Miramon smiled. "Better than I can do. I didn't even know it was there until you said so. So, what do we now?"

Nara shook her head frustrated, "I don't know." She looked at him, "You've been with me longer than anyone so far. Saul was in one memory, North was in..." She laughed, "Well, I've lost count. It feels like I'm reliving my life in no chronological order and a bit of other people's lives." She remembered what one of them said earlier, "This is the first I've met you. Where could we had possibly been together? Was it you or North that suggested we think of a memory we were all involved in?"

Miramon nodded seriously. "That was me. And I have no idea when or if there was any particular point where we were all together. Party, maybe? I don't know."

Nara thought a moment, "The Christmas party. I went for a little while." She looked at him, "Were you there?"

The Bajoran nodded with a gloomy smile, half amused, half remembering the whole thing. "Yeah, I got dragged along at that one."

Nara smiled, "By who?" Nara thought a moment, "Question is, will it be both our memory or will there be two of one of us there? Let's try to think of it at the same time maybe?"

Miramon nodded. "Fine. Go for it."

He concentrated on the party - and the punch had been particularly bad, even by Starfleet standards (and having got through the Academy, that was saying a lot), although the buffet that the galley had whipped together had been pretty good, so made up for it. Envisioning it in his mind, he wasn't at all surprised when he suddenly ended up standing next to the table wherein a large bowl of frosty punch was sitting, adorned by a large quantity of replicated glasses.

He looked down and noticed, once again, that his uniform had changed into something more casual. This creature was either very good at deceiving him, or was even better at matter-energy manipulation. But then, since he'd not long ago been stood in the body of his 22-year-old self, that didn't surprise him at all.

He didn't see Nara anywhere around, so where she'd disappeared to, he wasn't sure. He'd go look for her in a minute. First, he wanted to see if the punch really was as bad as he'd thought. He picked up the ladle that was lying on the edge of the bowl and poured some into one of the clean glasses beside it. He looked at it curiously, much as he had done the first time he'd tried it, then took a sip. He blanched almost instantly. That was as bad as he remembered. But then, since this was a memory, surely that would be the case?

Now he was getting confused.

Nara looked out in front of her. It worked and it seemed it was both her and Miramon's memories, since she didn't see him. As she didn't see him before, she wondered if she could look for him. She was dressed casually, but classy. A mid-thigh length soft flowing brown skirt and form-fitting yellow sweater. She looked over and saw Aristi and a few others singing. She smiled amused. She looked around for Miramon.

Miramon, in the meantime, was doing his best to dodge people that were also moving around or, for that matter, even standing still, in order that he could try and locate Nara. They needed to work out their next move quickly. Thinking about it, both he and Nara were here at the same time, or so she had suggested, so it stood to reason someone else might know where she was. He looked around for a moment, then quickly stopped a crewman that was trying to move around him.

"Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Ensign Roswell, from Engineering?" The crewman looked at him briefly, then gave it a seconds thought. "Not personally, but try one of the tables."

"Okay, thank you."

He let the crewman go past and then carried on hunting around the room. Ten Forward always seemed so much bigger when it was filled with people.

Nara wondered how she was going to find him in here. It was so crowded. She wasn't looking for him then. She was looking for Saul. She had wondered if he had come to the party as well. If Saul was there, she didn't see him. She forced her mind not to follow the memory and to look for Miramon instead. Not in the trying-not-to-look-like-I'm-looking way she looked for Saul, but in an obvious way of moving through the crowd looking at every body that was before her.

This was beginning to become intolerable. Had he been wearing a commbadge, that'd have been the easiest way to find Nara, but he wasn't, so he couldn't. Figured. He was beginning to get frustrated by the fact that he couldn't see her, when suddenly, their eyes met from across the room. She'd obviously been doing exactly the same thing he had. He took a few steps to cross the room, trying to prevent people from getting in the way so they could meet up faster.

When Nara met Miramon's eyes, she knew something wasn't right. They had somehow seriously messed up some cosmic rule. Then his face turned into the face of Professor Marks. She was struggling to zip her shirt. Her hands were shaking terribly. She still felt the aftermath of what he had done. This was her punishment for trying to mess with the physics of memory. She felt a rough slimy hand grab her face and push it up.

His evil snarling voice pierced her ears, "If you report this, I have connections that could severely damage your career." With that, he turned and Nara closed her eyes crying.

Miramon had physically seen Nara disappear, though he didn't understand how or why. Either way, he was now completely alone in these memory jumps. He sighed and decided to go back to the punch. Nothing could taste quite as bad as the foreknowledge that this was just gonna keep on going...

"Devil Went Down To Jhorjah" Part 1

[Backpost]

(Takes place three weeks after 'Devil of a Time')

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

Imperial Attendant K'vala Mahask

****

ICV Shabradnigdo
Deck 3
Kitchen

"What is this?"

Erik - he'd been portraying himself to the world so long now that Victor had started to think of himself that way - shook his head and sighed. If V'kala - he'd begun to think of the Attendant that way as well - didn't throw a belligerent question at him from another room at least twice a day, it meant that something was wrong. Today was a three question day, and it was only midday. He was undecided as to whether that was good or bad yet.

"Food?" he offered without bothering to leave the cooking unit and see what the object or issue of the moment was. Considering he'd just set a plate in front of her less than a minute before, the odds were in favor of that being the issue of the moment.

"I know that," she snapped back. "What was it *before* you.. did this. to it?"

"Fish." Victor turned off the heating elements, poured the steaming sauce over the rice and vegetables on the serving dish to the side, and set the pan aside. "Aldeberanian Cloud Fish to be exact." He picked up the rice and started into the other room. "The recipe was originally designed for Terran Sea Bass, but it works well this way too."

"What are you babbling about?" V'kala glared at him from her chair, the untouched fish in front of her.

"It's a fish. It swims in the ocean. Now it's on your plate. You eat it." Victor set the rice and vegetables down and seated himself.

The Klingon woman eyed it suspiciously, jabbed it with her knife twice, and then sliced off a portion when the fish failed to respond to the abuse. "It smells. odd," she frowned as she snapped the bite off the end of her knife quickly.

"That's the spices," Victor explained as he began to serve himself.

There was a moment of silence, and then she made a small sound and reached for her coffee.

"Eat the rice instead - liquids will just float the oils from the Andorian peppers around your mouth." He offered her the platter of rice without looking up.

She took it from him, ate some directly from the platter, and then served a liberal portion onto her plate next to the fish. "Where did you learn to eat this?" she asked, slightly hoarsely, after a few seconds. "This is not. human food."

"Old family recipe. It started out as 'human food' a thousand years or so ago, but changed over time as new spices became available, and members of other cultures and races married into the family, bringing their own variations on things with them. This version owes a lot to Rexa, Ar'resh, and Thallick - they introduced the Andorian chilies to us."

Dark Klingon eyes stared at him as he forked a bit of the fish up and ate it without spitting fire. "It is. not as bland as other human food I have tried," she conceded with reluctance.

"I like it." Victor watched as she ate another bite, unwilling to allow him to do anything without proving that she could do it as well, or better. He waited until she had swallowed to add, "Did the message from the Tiburonian arrive?"

"Yes. He says that we need to go to Jhorjah; that the people we want are there."

"Jhorjah?" Erik thought while he had another mouthful. "Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have." She made it sound like everyone else in the galaxy had, however. "It's an obscure body in the EssKay system."

He decided that asking where the EssKay system was would just be an invitation for another verbal jab. "How long to get there, and what do we need to have done before then?"

"Another week without looking too suspicious. Three would be better."

"Three then. What do we need to have done before then?'

The Attendant frowned down at her plate the way she always did when he was being agreeable. She never appeared to know exactly how to react to that, even after all the weeks they'd been together. "A few more cargos delivered, some questions asked here and there, and that should be enough."

"No more fights?"

"No. They're too many variables, too much that can go wrong. If you're injured again it might compromise the mission."

"No fights then." Victor ate for a moment in silence. "You know who they are."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"What I said: you know who they are. The arms dealers. The people we're after. You've always known."

The Attendant's fork started to bend slightly in her hand. "I do not.."

"Save time, avoid the argument - you know I'm right." Victor took a drink of coffee. "That isn't important. What is important is why you wouldn't tell me. Are they politically connected? Famous?"

"No," K'vala ground out.

"All right, no politics. That leaves. family."

The Attendant hissed and drew back.

"Family then," Victor nodded. "It's your House isn't it? Someone connected to it is doing this and you don't want to destroy your family by handling this in the open. That's why we're here, why you wanted me."

K'vala dropped her fork and stared at him, hands trembling with the need to reach for a weapon. "How dare you!"

"Stop it, V'kala; we're past the time for posturing like that."

The Attendant blinked, mouth open, and pressed her hands down on the table to keep them still as she looked at him. "Very well. It is someone in my House. I do not know who, just that they have used House monies to make some of the deals."

"And you want them stopped before everything is traced back and your House destroyed."

"Yes, that is what I want."

Victor waited.

"I will trade with you for your silence when this is done," she said after a moment.

Victor waited.

"If you will not contradict what I say. I will instruct the Klingon ships that are making their way into the Breen systems to look for your friends, the ones that went missing."

Victor closed his eyes, and made her wait, but he knew the minute that he'd heard her words that he was going to agree. No matter what it might cost him in the end, if the deal was responsible for Gray and the others being found it was worth it. "Agreed," he said quietly. "Your people look for the missing crewmen and I keep silent."

K'vala relaxed slightly. "Done."

"I will need to know what to do when we find the ones doing this," he asked after a minute, his eyes open again.

"There can be only one ending for the honorless ones that sell these weapons," she spat. "I only wish to avoid destroying my House in the process."

"They'll know you as soon as they see you, then," he pointed out. "You've changed your appearance, but not enough to prevent that."

"No." She looked down at her food hesitantly. "They will think I am. another."

"Another?"

"My. sister," she hissed, the words charged with hate.

"V'kala." Victor remembered no sister from K'vala's recitation of her family line. There had been a hesitation, but no sister named. "A twin?"

"Yes. She is. one that would do anything, for no reason than her own amusement. She cares for nothing but herself. She would destroy these people as soon as join them." K'vala shrugged. "Your people would say she is insane."

"Aside from the fact that most of 'my' people would say the same thing about me," Victor asked, "Where is she? The real V'kala? She will not interfere?" The idea that the Attendant had an evil twin was so outré that Victor had to set it aside rather than deal with it - it made him feel like a character in some writer's story.

The Klingon woman shook her head. "No. I used the Princess' name and had her confined when I entered the Princess' service, lest she impersonate me and do harm. At one of your Federation's facilities for such people, like the one your federation used to confine Garth of Izar centuries ago."

"She's still there?"

"Yes. I spoke to. her keepers. not a week ago to make certain."

"And no one knows this? How long has she been there?"

"Three years." The Attendant's face twisted slightly. "If anyone cares, they think only that she is hiding lest she be killed for her last. adventure." There was enough hate in the last word to kill an adult mugato at twenty paces if hurled as a weapon. "She has stayed hidden for as long before to avoid that."

Victor decided not to press. "Good enough." He concentrated on his food for a few bites. "Anything else I need to know?"

"I cannot say, perhaps. It will depend on who it is that has chosen to do this thing." She frowned, one hand retrieving her fork. "I have tried to find out, but my House is spread wide across the stars, and locating them all is. difficult."

"Then we do what we've been doing, move closer naturally, and make contact." Victor looked up, a thought having just occurred to him. "The sister. she would marry a human?"

"She would marry a targ if it could please sufficiently her in bed - and hurt. the family," K'vala hissed.

"As long as I do not endanger things by the deception." Victor left unsaid the fact that he knew why she always stared at him when he called her 'V'kala' now - the look in her eyes and the hate in her voice told him that.

"Not unless you get yourself injured again, husband," she snapped, cutting off a generous piece of the fish and stabbing it with her fork.

"I'm saving myself for you," he replied as she started to chew. "Wouldn't want to let anyone keep you from fulfilling that promise to kill me when the time came."

"All that Jazz" part I

Ensign 8-Ball Hunter
Ensign Saul Bental

8-ball had been running down the corridor for about three minutes but to her it felt like hours. Then again, when dead relatives start popping up out of nowhere, your perspective has a tendency to change.

The hallucination or vision or whatever the hell it had been had disappeared behind her but 8-ball still hadn't found anyone. She probably should have gone straight to sickbay to get her head examined but of the many things 8-ball thought she was, crazy wasn't one of them. She wanted to find somebody and ask if they were experiencing anything odd (an image rose in her head of asking an unsuspecting ensign, perhaps the one who kept busting in on her changing in her quarters, "how are you? how's your day been? Have you run into any dead family members?") but she couldn't seem to find anyone. "Where the fuck is everybody?" she said to herself as she ran around the corner and into a crowd of people.

The bar was full tonight, and the night was hot, making everybody cranky. The jukebox was loudly playing AC/DC's "Shook Me All Night Long" and you could just tell by looking at the crowd that there was going to be a fight tonight. 8-ball sighed. She wasn't in the mood for a fight. She felt the backpocket of her jeans to make sure she had her pocketknife and started searching the crowd for Big Man before remembering sitting near his tombstone and placing flowers on his grave.

"Fuck," 8-ball said as one guy hit another over the head with a cue stick, "not again."

Saul was standing next to the bar. In one hand there was a glass, in the other a bottle of Gin. He read the label. The Gin was from his birth year, 2358. 'Lucky me.', he thought.

"Come ON dude! I'm dryin'!" someone landed a fist next to the glass. It was a customer, Saul realized. He finished pouring the drink, then picked up another random bottle and filled the rest of the glass with it. The smoke from the customer's cigarette seared his eyes, and the cloths were several sizes too big for him.

"It's the new house special." Saul told the customer as he handed out the drink. "First one is half-price."

He turned toward the man who stood next to him. If this was a bar, Saul thought, then he was either the owner or the bartender, and the gaunt man with the tight navy-colored outfit was probably an assistant of some sort.

"Hold the fort for me, I'll be right back." he said, patting the man's shoulder. As he took a step back, he heard several loud voices converging on the assistant's location. Saul rubbed his ears, then looked around, trying to locate a familiar face.

8-ball gave up trying to get out of the front door. A huge crowd was forming over there and they looked pissed. She figured she'd go out the back way, and maybe pick up a bottle of hallucinated whiskey on the way. She wondered if imagined alcohol could get you drunk as real alcohol. If it could, and she lived through the night, she'd have to work on strengthening her imagination. Imagine the money you'd save.

8-ball pushed her way up to the bar and noticed with surprise that Skinny Joe was working alone. Joe hated the nickname but standing next to Big Man serving drinks, you just couldn't help but notice how thin he was. She wondered where Big Man was and asked before remembering her priority was not to find other already dead people.

Skinny Joe pointed past her. "I don't know what the hell he's doing, but I'm slammed. Give me a hand, 8-ball?"

"Sorry, Skinny," 8-ball said. "In a minute. " She couldn't help but look around for a minute and see everything that she remembered so 3D. She turned around, expecting to see Big Man standing nearby, but was surprised to see a face she recognized from Galaxy. She couldn't remember his name but she'd seen him before on the ship in a uniform. Now he was standing near the jukebox in clothes that he was drowning in (Big Man's clothes, she realized belatedly) and looking around, searching for somebody. Ignoring Skinny Joe's desperate cries for help, 8-ball walked up to the guy.

"Hi," she said. "What the FUCK is going on?"

He spun on his heels swiftly, the big cloths dancing around him. "Oh, Ensign Hunter!" he said, smiling with relief. "Saul Bental, remember? I asked you about Cutter's office, the other day."

~Oh~, 8-ball thought. ~That guy.~ Now having a name to go with the face, 8-ball remembered they had not only been on Galaxy together but had also been in some of the same classes together at the Academy. She had never talked to him a lot but he seemed nice enough. Which was good, though it'd be supremely better if he knew what the hell was going on.

"Yeah, hi, Saul," 8-ball said. "Sure I remember you. Thing is, I don't remember you living in New York in a bar. In fact, I remember LEAVING New York and never coming back. . .until I suddenly arrived here in the middle of the corridor. So if you have some light to shed, I'd appreciate it immensely."

"I could use some new information myself." Saul coughed a little, obviously unused to the smoky atmosphere of the bar. "Reminds me the air back home. One of the reasons I left, that stinking air." he mumbled, more to himself than to 8-Ball. Then, he raised his voice so that she'll hear him over the background noise. "So far I've seen memories of several crew members, and this is obviously yours since I've never been here. So this is some sort of a bar... did you work here in the past? Or were you a resident patron of this place?"

"Funny," 8-ball said dryly. "No, I used to live here and work here. It was a little while before I joined the Academy. It was nice." 8-ball caught herself before saying anything else. Sobbing about the past to an ensign she didn't know that well probably wouldn't help their situation any. "At any rate, this is Big Man's bar. Big Man let me stay here and gave me the job. I don't understand why but you've apparently replaced him in my memory. Those are his clothes you're wearing."

The jukebox started to play "Free Bird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd. 8-ball had used to love the song but now every time she heard it, she would inevitably turn it off. That song had started to play on the jukebox right before the fight that killed Big Man. It was a night she would never forget.

8-ball's eyes drifted back over to the crowd of people at the door and then the other people harassing Skinny for more drinks. Skinny, who would live through the night but would be unable to walk ever again, was hastily mixing drinks, unaware of the changing atmosphere in the bar. Near the pool table was the colossal prick who would start the fight...he was just about to lose his game.

8-ball opened her mouth but couldn't speak. She looked down at the white blouse that she was wearing. It was brand new. In a few hours, she would throw it away, too bloody and ripped up to be any use. Her hand went to her arm and then her collarbone under her shirt. The skin was smooth. There were no scars.

The fight hadn't happened yet. It was just about to.

"Oh God," she said under her breath.

"What?"

8-ball looked up at Saul in his huge, overflowing clothes. "We got to get you out of here," 8-ball said. "You're wearing the clothes of a man who's going to die in ten minutes."

Saul's face turned serious. It was a rare thing, and those who knew him got very concerned whenever he had that expression.

"Is that so." He said in a low tone.

"Yeah," 8-ball said, looking around frantically. This was one memory she did not want to be back in. "And you get stabbed through the throat, which I can't imagine will be a lot of fun for you, so I say we run for it right now and get the fuck out of dodge."

"I have another proposal." He said flatly. "And you decide if to adopt it or not. I suggest we make a stand, learn from the mistakes that were made and correct the past. If we go away now, this joint is probably going to be plundered if not burnt to the ground by all those... 'Gentlemen', right? I'm sure the man whose role I was given would not appreciate that."

"What do you want to do, encourage a bar sing-a-long?" 8-ball nearly yelled at him. "I think it's a little late for kumbaya. And I don't know exactly what Big Man would have wanted but to be killed probably wasn't it. Most people would take their lives over their bars anyday."

"Most people would take their lives, and their bars. Take it easy.", Saul said soothingly.

"All right," 8-ball said, trying to calm down. "All right. We can try to change things around, make it so this night doesn't turn into chaos, though how the fuck we're going to accomplish that, I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

Saul's eyes sparkled. "There's one thing that would draw this crowd's attention more than a nightly brawl or a very good sing-a-long... I know we're in New York, but have you ever heard of an Earth play called 'Chicago'?"

"All that Jazz" part II

Ensign 8-Ball Hunter
Ensign Saul Bental

~I can't believe I'm doing this~ 8-ball thought.

Saul's plan was this: 8-ball and a few of the other waitresses in the bar were going to distract the crowd while Saul himself looked for the men who killed Big Man. This 8-ball didn't mind. It was how she had to do it.

8-ball looked down at the men staring at her and the other girls on the counter top. A couple of them were actually drooling.

8-ball closed her eyes and sighed. Why did she have to do this? The dancing she could do. The stripping she could do.

But the singing?

"C'mon babe, why don't we paint the town," 8-ball sang, strutting along the counter. "And all that jazz! I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down, and all that jazz."

8-ball's voice was not atrocious, not up to nails on chalkboard and screaming children, but it still quite spectacularly failed to be a lovely soprano. The fat guy in the brown suit directly in front of her booed. "Get off the stage!"

"Fuck off!" 8-ball yelled back at him without thinking about it and then closed her eyes. That wasn't wonderfully constructive, now was it? 8-ball smiled at the fat man and blew him a kiss. "Or you won't get to see this!"

And she ripped off her shirt.

Less than ten meters away, Saul sighed and turned his head away.

"What have I done?" he murmured to himself, and then returned to the task at hand. 8-Ball gave him three descriptions, and two names. He set his eyes on the first one. It was the one who started the brawl. He was a tall guy, blond, and not overly bright looking. He was what 8-ball had described, "200 pounds of pure, utter steroids".

"Start the car, I know a whoopee spot, where the gin is cold but the piano's hot!"

The man was holding a flask, and he was as drunk as the Klingon owner of a blood-wine factory.

"Having fun, man?" Saul asked him, beaming. As the man lifted his drunken eyes to see who the speaker was, a small white pill made its way to his flask, and quickly dissolved in the sparkling beverage.

A hand made its way toward Saul, which caught it before it hit anyone else.

"Next drink's on the house, finish up this one and come to the bar!".

That made the man finish his drink in a single gulp. A second later he was sprawled in the stool, fast asleep.

One down.

"Hold on hon, we're gonna bunny hug, I bought some aspirin, down at united drug!"

Aspirin is exactly what Saul needed right now. The second man he was looking for was the one who first drew a blade in the brawl. He sat on a nearby stool, watching the scene suspiciously beneath a broad hat. 8-ball had called him Dirk and described him rather accurately as a "rat in a trenchcoat". He was a short little guy, dark haired with a broad mustache, and shifty eyes that never seemed to stop moving. Apparently he was a regular at the bar, always sitting in the same corner, drinking the same drinks, and tipping the same lousy amount. Or so said 8-ball.

As soon as Saul identified the man for sure, he grabbed the elbow of a nearby waitress.

"If you don't want to be on the stage with HER." Saul hissed, "I want you to go and distract that man, and convince him to go outside for a smoke or something. BY ANY MEANS NECESSERY."

The girl nodded, then forced a smile and strode with fake cheerfulness toward the man with the blade.

"In case you shake apart and want a brand new start to do that-"

Saul's job, however, wasn't done. There was one last man he needed to disable. The man who was supposed to kill him by the end of this night. It was the one 8-Ball remembered most clearly, and he was the most dangerous one. Saul's gaze moved from one face to the other, but nothing fit 8-Ball's description. Where the hell was he?

As 8-ball sang (or attempted to sing) she simultaneously stripped clothing to make up for her poor voice and kept an eye on Saul. By the time Dirk was dispatched, 8-ball was wearing next to nothing and was growing very tired of being the entertainment. The regulars were getting restless. . .and very, very grabby.

"It's just a noisy hall where there's a nightly brawl-" 8-ball sang. "-and all that jazz!"

8-ball watched Saul turn around in frustration. She would have liked to kick somebody herself. The night was getting late, and any minute the fight would have started, initiating Big Man's death, but the one man they really needed to find, the one that killed Big Man, was nowhere to be found.

~Where the fuck is he?~ 8-ball thought to herself and scanned the crowd. The other two had been a little fuzzy in her memory but she wasn't likely to forget Lex anytime soon. Kristopher Lex, the man who killed Big Man, wasn't a guy who came in very often but almost everybody knew who he was. The word on the street was that he was a gun for hire but he enjoyed killing a lot more when it was for fun and not for money. That was how Big Man's death had been. It wasn't a hit; it wasn't for profit. Lex killed Big Man for fun. The brawl had just been a great opportunity that had arisen. 8-ball knew, just knew, that Big Man's death had not been accidental. He had been stabbed multiple times, in the chest, in the gut, and in the neck. It hadn't taken him a long time to die but he must have felt every second of it. And 8-ball hadn't been there, to help him.

8-ball swallowed and remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She tossed her hair around and smirked at the customers.

"Find a flask, we're playing fast and loose-"

A customer grabbed 8-ball's ankle. She tried to shake him off and lost her balance. "Oh fuck!" she screamed, barely overheard by the other waitresses singing, and fell to the ground. The customer who grabbed her leered at her and then fell over himself and was knocked unconscious. She rolled her eyes and disgust and stood up.

And saw him.

Kristopher Lex was not a frightening looking man. He didn't seem imposing or terrifying or even particularly out of the ordinary. He was a little on the short side, probably about 5'8", with blond hair and brown eyes, and plain, basic blue jeans and a white shirt. He didn't look like a killer. Certainly not someone who had murdered four people in one night and gotten away, scotch free.

"And all that jazz-"

The other waitresses continued to sing. 8-ball didn't hear them. She forgot about the plan, about Saul, about worrying about her own neck. 8-ball took one of the beer bottles and broke it on the counter. It was barely noticed by the crowd as the men leered at the girls on the counter.

Lex wasn't getting away tonight. Not this time, not when she could change the stakes.

8-ball moved forwards.

Lex saw her, pushing through the crowd. And so did Saul. The Intelligence officer just got smacked by someone he accidentally bumped into, but knew better than to hit back. Instead, he made an imaginary line in his head starting from 8-Ball's current position and continuing in the direction she was heading.

Then, he finally saw Lex. The man was no fool. His eyes were fixed on the Vulcan/Human science officer, or more specifically on the broken bottle she was holding.

"Excuse me sir." Saul murmured as he snatched a lit cigar from a nearby patron. The man was, as Saul hoped, too drunk to notice.

"Come on, babe, we're gonna brush the sky, I betcha lucky lip you never blew so high!", the girls on the counter continued to sing, their singing quality now slightly improved with the sudden leaving of their lead singer.

8-ball continued to move towards Lex. She knew he saw her, knew he was armed, and knew that in a fight between a half-Vulcan lightweight and a creepy paid assassin, 8-ball was not likely to emerge the victor, and infact was likely to die a very bloody death. 8-ball knew all this and it didn't matter. Logic, sadly, was very rarely on her side.

8-ball charged into a run, and lifted the broken bottle over her head. She was there. It was now or never.

Lex brandished the ten-inch blade at 8-Ball--

And the weapon just dropped from his hand as he screamed with surprise. The shout was suppressed by the voices and the singing around him.

Behind Lex, 8-Ball saw Saul. The Intelligence officer was holding a cigar, and as Lex turned toward him 8-Ball could also see a nasty burn on the murderer's neck, just about the size of the cigar's end.

"Start the car, I know a whoopie spot..."

8-ball didn't wait for him to turn around. The bottle already in her hand, 8-ball slammed the remaining piece of it down on the back of Lex's head. The bottle broke into shards, a couple slicing her hand before they fell to the ground. Lex slowly turned, his hand still extended as if he was going to try to cut her with the blade that had fallen, and then fell to the ground, unconscious.

"And all that jazz," 8-ball said, looking down at the man who killed Big Man. The shards of the bottle were still all around the floor. It wouldn't take much to pick one up and cut Lex's throat while he was sleeping...

8-ball nearly bent down, and then remembered Saul was standing right there. Real bad guy or not, 8-ball didn't think the Intelligence officer was just going to let her murder someone in front of him. 8-ball looked up from Lex with an effort and smiled at Saul.

"That cigar was timely," she said. "Thanks."

"Hey," Saul shrugged, "It's just a noisy hall where there's a nightly brawl and all that-"

And suddenly, all that remained was a heap of cloths on the floor, next to a still smoking cigar.

(Backpost. after "Memory Jumping IV" and before "Confessions of a German Doctor")

"Reprieve"

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
Lieutenant Dr. Klaus Fienberg, CMO

It was dark. Nara's eyes were closed. And wet. She was crying. She heard a door swoosh closed and opened her eyes. The classroom. She finished zipping the shirt. She had stopped to cry after Marks threatened her career. She turned and saw someone sitting in a corner and she startled. He seemed despondent.

Nothing was certain for Klaus anymore.....and he didn't care if he never got home...or if he'd even left. The pain. So much pain. So much death. What cruel spirit would subject him to these horrible tragic memories?

She used a chair to help herself stand. She'd struggled all the strength out of herself. She remembered staying in this room for about 15 or 30 minutes so she wouldn't be walking around looking so weak. She knelt down close to Klaus, looking at him, not sure what to say.

"Strange dreams, Nara?"

She looked at him, "They're not dreams, my friend."

"Hmmm.....did feel more real than a dream....."

Nara thought she was exhausted from this, Klaus looked ready to die. "Poor dear Klaus." She touched his shoulder comfortingly. She suddenly wondered where his wife was. They must terribly miss each other now. "You have to snap out of it. Please tell me you remember your wife." Nara didn't know her name, but she hoped mentioning he had one at all would snap him into reality.

"Ru........Kay Elizabeth MacFarland-Fienberg. Rank: Lieutenant JuniorGrade. Position: Archaeology. Age: 28. Height: 5 feet 5 inches. Weight: 110pounds.Physiology: Terran/BetazoidHybrid." There was a long pause.” Love....."

Nara looked at him worried. "A creature has us here." Nara looked back over to where her over jacket lay. It was a cold day on earth and she fought so hard to keep Marks from removing it. Now she was too warm to even want to wear it. She looked back at Klaus, "Remember me telling you about Professor Marks? A few flashes ago, I had to relive it. Now it's the aftermath. Nothing happens for awhile. I just stay here for about 15 minutes recouping. So I guess we both get a bit of a break." She smiled at him. He hadn't once looked up at her.

"I suppose that’s good....What's going on....Nara?" Klaus seemed to drift back into reality as if waking from a dream, but was it really reality?

She frowned hugging him gently and then leaned against the wall beside him, "I don’t know. I just know everyone is off in memories. I encountered a huge being in my mind when I did a scan and I can't get into it. I suspect that's what's doing this. I'm been flashing around in my memories, people have come to mine, I've been to others."

Then, as an annoyance that just won't go away, things changed again. The wall disappeared and Nara fell back. As she stood back up, she looked around. She looked at a large display in front of her. It was blueprint of a Starship. She looked down at her panel, reading the news of the war on Sakaria. It was a significant change in her life, but this was still a calm memory. Not even intense enough to make her get caught in it. She looked for Klaus, thankful also for him he got a rest from whatever he'd seen.

"What is this place? I feel independent from the memory. I'm here, in it, but I'm not a part of it. Not even involved."

"The office I worked in when I was an assistant at the Ship Building Offices." The memory dictated she work, so she did. Someone would come in any moment. Her boss would come in, and she would have to request leave. She wanted to sit with Klaus, to hug him. Not in a romantic way, just for comfort for them both. "Relax, this is a calm memory."

"Apparently so.....but in such a world....such a supposedly peaceful time....so many have been scarred by war. This is during a war involving your people isn't it."

Nara looked at him. He didn't see the note. "This is the day I got the news about it. How did you know?"

Before Klaus could respond, a man came in. "Good morning, Ensign. Did you make the additions to the spec list?"

Nara nodded, "Yes sir." She handed him the PADD. "Sir, do you have a moment?"

Commander Juki looked at his subordinate. She had only been there about a year, and very competent. "Yes?"

"A war began on my home planet. I would like to request leave."

He looked at her confused, "You want to go to war?"

Nara looked at him, "It's for the sake of my planet sir."

He sighed. Some people had such a strong connection to their planet. "I can't fully understand, but I can accept it as your desire. I'll put in the request. You should know in about a week." With that, he left and Nara turned to Klaus.

She went over to him, "So how did you know? Did you see the message on the panel?"

"Actually it was intuition on your face, but yes, the Message on the display confirmed it. Actually I remember hearing about this was when it broke out."

Nara smiled and nodded, "Of course. Sorry. I'm a little jumpy lately. I'm not even sure how long this has been going on." She looked back at the ship, "It takes years to build a ship from scratch. First you have the planning, which takes most of the time, and then even while building, some higher up decides he wants this or that. Sometimes even laws change where we can't use a particular system." She smiled looking at the ship blueprint, "We were working on three ships when I came here. This one is about done. The USS Columbine." She looked at it proudly, not sure why she was rambling on about this. She frowned, "I guess I always regretted not seeing this one done. I mean it's out there now, but I didn't like leaving before I got to see her on her first flight."

"Understandable. You helped create something as complex as a starship. Ha Ha, I wish I had my mother's natural engineering skill on occasion."

Nara looked at Klaus, "What have you been going through in this?"

"Pain."

Nara watched him sadly. She'd been through pain as well, but the way he said it, it was constant. "The whole time? No peaceful or happy memories to visit?"

"Every memory has led to the death of the owner. Three of them were of people I knew."

Nara just looked at him listening, hoping to figure out why his seemed the worst experience of all.

"Well. My Mother, My Father, and an old friend."

Nara was curious about the old friend, but that was something she could ask about in consciousness. "But you've also been to other's memories of loved ones dying?" Nara was confused. Not by the being thrown around memory to memory, or even that he was being thrown into other's memories. No, by now, she was sure they were all uneasily used to that. Why did his always become ones of death? She smiled, hoping to encourage him, "No one dies in this memory, Klaus."

For now, Klaus kept the last strange encounter in his mind to himself.

She put a hand on his knee, "I learned with the help of North and Miramon, that we can even guide where we jump to by concentrating on that memory." She frowned, "Of course, sometimes our minds naturally hit on a memory and if we think about that too much, we'll end up in it." She sighed, "But I'll try to keep this memory on my mind." She laughed, "I guess this is literally going to your happy place." She knew it was all fluff. It was like someone saying good luck. Sure, they meant it with all good intention, but did the words really DO anything?

Bottom line was, they were prisoners in their own minds.

"A Little Quiet...Peace We'll See About"

Nara was looking at the replicater suddenly. She looked around. 10-4ward was empty. They must had been gone a long time in their memories. This empty though? Even the graveyard hours had a few stragglers. It wasn't a memory though, that she was thankful for.

So...she was back. She wanted to see Miramon, North, Saul and Klaus. All who she encountered in her memories. Especially Saul. There were questions for him. For now, however, she wanted to go to Engineering to ask what happened. She stepped out of 10-4ward and was suddenly in a holodeck. It was inactive as it was just the grid.

Nara didn't need to step out the door to realize the troubles were not quite over. She hadn't been wearing her uniform and just now remembered she had left a PADD and her commbadge on the table in 10-4ward.

She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes resting. She was relieved the jumping was over, but was sure this would prove to be quite annoying. That creature. It must really be screwing with them.

"Shores are"

Ensign Saul Bental

'Shores are some times longings for a river

I once saw a shore abandoned by a river

With a broken heart of sand and stone.'

* * * *

He was on a coast. The sun was high in the sky, and he felt very warm all of the sudden. He removed his jacket, and only after he tied it around his waist did Saul realize he was wearing his traveling cloths, the ones he fondly called 'My vagabond outfit.'

It was the only set of cloths he took from Utrecht. In fact, it was the only item he took from Utrecht other than his cyber-bracelet, and in that case he didn't have much of a choice. The bracelet was implanted into his wrist, after all.

Saul rubbed his left wrist with his right hand, recalling the uncomfortable feeling he had after surgically removing that bracelet. He did it a week before the exams to the Academy. He knew that Starfleet isn't fond of cybernetic implants, unless they were for medical purposes.

The road beneath him now became a boardwalk. Two children ran around his feet, playing with a ball. To his right, there was a sandy beach strip, and beyond it an ocean.

For a moment, all Saul wanted to do was to remove his upper cloths, run barefoot into the big blue and just swim, swim away. Then, among the many figures on shore, he recognized one.

It was a black skinned man, and he was kneeling next to a girl. Saul couldn't assess her age because of the distance, but he knew the man.

Captain Daren M'Kantu.

Saul tightened his grip and returned to stride forward. This was a private moment he was not going to invade.

* * * *

'And the man, the man

He can some times remain

Abandoned and powerless

Just like a shore'

* * * *

Even a one-thousand-kilometers-long road ends in a single step.

Saul took that step, and then raised his head to gaze upwards at the violet-red skies.

"I knew it." He spoke.

The spaceport of Napoli was on the seaside part of town, and the landing platforms were like giant, disarrayed stairs leading into the sea. Each platform was surrounded by a fence, and a small control tower was located in one of the fence's corners. The road led him out of one of the control towers, and ended there.

For the first time since it all began, Saul experienced a memory of his own. Although he hanged around the spaceport in his home city many times, he knew exactly which day it was, and the vagabond cloths he was still wearing only made it clearer.

It was the day he left.

There was no one between him and the freighter shuttle ahead of him. The guard, which Saul knew, was asleep in the control tower, since the shuttle was empty and there was nothing to still.

If everything goes according to plan, all Saul had to do was to sneak into the freighter, and then he'll be on his way to the heart of the Federation, where his destination awaited.

Earth.

But this time, Saul didn't have to hurry. This already happened. There was no rush. He allowed the winds to sweep his hair, bringing the familiar stench from the polluted ocean.

Saul remembered this place. There was always something deep in his unconsciousness that troubled him about this memory, and it wasn't leaving behind everything he knew.

It was a flash of color, just behind the control tower.

This time, he went to explore it. He approached, the noise of his footsteps drowned by the sound of the waves hitting the lowermost platform.

He found her behind the control panel. She was four years younger than him. Her skin was blue, and her hair short, brown and curly. Her cloths were messy, a navy-colored overall and a jacket torn in four different places. On her head an oversized cap.

"So, Shaul, you're running away." She said, placing her hands on her hips defiantly.

"I'm leaving, Chava. There's nothing for me here." Saul shrugged. "When you grow up, perhaps you'll reach the same conclusion and leave. Perhaps not."

"But you will return."

Saul knew why didn't stopp to see what the flash of color was, in reality. He guessed that it was probably Chava, stalking him.

She quit school, just like he did several years before that, and joined a street gang he was part of. Well, 'gang' was perhaps an overly harsh adjective to describe them. They were just another group of street boys, keeping themselves occupied and alive, and occasionally crossing the border between childish mischievousness to criminal activity.

He was the one who taught her how to pick a pocket, although he never did it himself. His coordination wasn't good enough, and the challenge was more physical than mental – and he preferred the second type of challenges, the one where you use your head to prevail and with minimum risk.

A year later, she was already one of the most infamous pickpocket in the streets of Napoli. He was proud of her, just like a brother proud of his little sister when the darned brat finally does something right.

In the end, he ignored her possible presence because he didn't want her to cause second thoughts about his leaving.

No, not just leaving. Escaping.

"I won't be back." He told her. "I'm going to the civilized heart of the Federation. As far from here as possible. Do you know that in the central systems of the Federation, every citizen has unlimited access to Replicators and no one ever gets hungry? If you want a Pizza, you just go ahead and replicate one, without worrying that you won't have enough credits to pay bills or replicate yourself another Pizza the next time you're hungry."

"So you're going to 'make the hit'", she looked skeptic. "Get yourself a cozy house on Earth, and just sit back and watch the universe go by, with a glass of orange juice on the side?"

"That's my plan."

"It isn't."

Saul got a little agitated by the brat. "I see no reason why not. It's very easy, this isn't the 21st century, no one has to fight for day-to-day survival. The core worlds are really that rich, and their endless wealth isn't going to drain during our lifetime. I see no reason to struggle when I can be given all that I want for free."

"But you want more than that. I know you, Shaul Bental, you can't stay still. You can't sit back and let the universe go by."

Saul's face softened. "You are right. I think I'll find a hobby, then."

"A hobby? Ha!"

"I'll find it during that flight, actually. By the time I reach Earth, after switching eight different shuttles and spaceships and crossing countless light years, I will resolve to become a Starfleet officer. After being locked within the boundaries of this cursed city, I grew a passion to explore the vast reaches of space, to see what the great universe has to offer. To fulfill myself."

She didn't answer. But he could read her thoughts all over her now wrinkled face. 'And leave me behind?', she wanted to shout at him. He knew it, and he was not going to do anything about it. If he was going to travel all the way to the capital of the Federation as a stowaway, without anyone from his family knowing, he couldn't take another person along for the ride.

The giant red sun kissed the horizon, and that was Saul's exit mark. He bowed, held on to his bag's straps, and began to run toward the shuttle. As he reached its cargo doors, however, he turned toward Chava one last time.

"Oh, and Eve?" he asked, using the Federation Standard pronunciation of her name.

"Yes?!" she shouted, the frustration barely contained in her voice.

"You were right about the other thing as well."

With that, he gazed at the scenery of Utrecht III one last time. Beyond the spaceport, one could see the rusted rooftops, the tall sky scrapers of the commercial section, the hovercrafts buzzing from one area to the other while spreading a constant cloud of smog, and behind that the scarlet sand hills and the remote cliffs.

This was the last time he saw them, but there will be another, if he wants to accomplish his agenda.

He had no illusions about that whatsoever.

The cargo doors closed behind Saul, and soon the shuttle took off, carrying him away from his homeworld.

“Down Memory Lane…”

BACKPOST

Ensign William Warbeck.

“Phrow…look at ‘er…” the boy said, passing the magazine over to the group of boys sitting behind the rows of benches in the Church. They were all dressed in their choirboys’ outfits, their hair combed perfectly in place. The pornographic magazine looked odd in the hands of these eleven-year-olds. Seven boys, all that age, gathered around a magazine…the irony would not have been lost to the Priest, but luckily Father Ian wasn’t there.

“I’d give ‘er one!” one of the boys said with a wide grin.

Will Warbeck frowned for a moment as he looked at the 2D pictures, staying silent. Now this was weird…he could have sworn that he had seen and felt a better pair of tits. He scratched the back of his neck for a moment, before looking around. Jesus, it was the choir. But he could have sworn…his eyes went back to the picture. She looked fantastic, he had to agree. He’d give her one. Matthew looked at the magazine, staying quiet as well before nodding. “Yeah, me too,” he said as he nodded again, looking over at Will.

Will looked at him, staring for a long moment. Matthew. Matthew smiling weakly and being his quiet self, the one he showed to everyone. Not the silly, laughing, warm self that Will saw often. He reached out, grabbing his hand hard for a moment. Matthew's hand was warm, alive…he swallowed, looking at him with confusion. Why did he feel so scared right now? He never was scared as a child. His mind went to the picture again. A woman. Now…Matthew had always told him that he never got what boys thought about women. He knew that his best friend would rather see a naked boy than a naked woman. His attention returned to the magazine, and he nodded. “I’d give ‘er one too,” he said, snatching it from the others and flicking through the pages. A bad idea. He was about to put it down, a strange feeling of deja-vu coming over him. In fact, he looked up seconds before Father Ian turned towards them. And then, Will panicked.

“What’s going on here?”

The boys, including Matthew, pulled away from Will, scrambling themselves as far away from Will as they could. Father Ian frowned as he walked over, seeing the other boys talking in groups, looking like angels, while Will was holding something close to his chest and blushing. His ears had turned bright red, something that was quite noticeable on the scrawny lad. His face was thin, with a jaw that clearly favoured the right side, a nose that was a little strange…and two ears that stuck out from his head. The combed hair did not help, nor did the big eyes. “Father…” Will said, and he was shocked over how light his voice sounded. This wasn’t how his voice sounded. Granted, he did not have a deep and booming voice, but this was *not* how his voice sounded!

“What’s that, William?” Father Ian demanded, motioning for Will to stand up.

Will held the magazine close to his chest, his eyes wide as he watched him. “I…err…you see, Father…” he swallowed nervously, glancing around for somewhere to run. He saw no place…the Father was broad and tall, afterall, and could easily catch him. Right, a lie. Will was a master at lying, had become it…where? Someplace. “Me and the lads…well, we were cleaning up and I found this tucked between the pages of the Bible and…” Okay, a bad lie. A very lousy lie.

“Hand it over, William,” Father Ian held his hand out, arching his brow as he watched the struggling lad.

Will looked down for a moment before handing it over, sighing as he knew what the reaction would be. Hopefully, the Father would not grab one of his ears. Although a part of him knew better with a frightening certainty. He hated when people went for them. He saw the reactions played out across the man’s face. Shock. Disbelief. And then… “How can you bring this filth into the house of God?” Okay, obvious answer would be to deny it. But if memory served him correctly…it hadn’t worked the last time.

He looked down, sighing before shrugging. Sometimes, silence was best. He glanced up at the Priest, knowing with a great certainty the result of this.

Very bad, in fact. His father gave him a beating he wouldn’t forget easily, and for some reason he had anticipated and *known* where each hit would fall…and his mother grounded him. But the odd thing was, Will couldn’t for the life of him remember exactly the beating, more the feel of it. It was faded, like an old memory, and all he felt was disorientation and…confusion. And relief and grief when he saw Matthew…Matthew snuck in and sat on his bed, talking to him. “You didn’t have to take the blame.”

Will shrugged, smiling weakly to him. “I had to. I’m not a snitch. If I had told…they would have started picking on us, Matt.” He reached out, touching his face with wonder. It couldn’t…he looked down with confusion. Why did he feel so sad? He was…11? And his best friend was here, he should be happy.

Matthew nodded, fishing out two chocolate bars and handing one over. “True. But still…the bruise looks painful.” He motioned to Will’s face, and the bruise that covered his left cheekbone.

“That was mum. Just after Father Ian left…my dad tanned my arse later…” Will laughed weakly as he adjusted the pillows, inviting Matthew to sit beside him in the bed. “Understandable, really. I would ‘ave, I think, if I had been dad. Mum grounded me for a week. I had expected more. So all in all…not that bad.” He went silent again, just staring at him.

Matthew chuckled warmly, sitting back beside him. “Could have been worse then, I agree.” He glanced over at him, studying him. “You’ll be a hero tomorrow, you know. Because you took the blame.”

“I don’t want to be a hero,” Will admitted, smiling weakly as he wrapped an arm around Matthew’s shoulders. “I just want to be me, really. And hopefully, not to do anything stupid before Christmas. Mum threatened with taking all my presents and give them to you.” A hero at school? No…he was the class clown. And maybe this had been a setup? He tried to remember, but all just faded from him the moment he tried to focus.

“She should!” Matthew laughed, shaking his head as he watched him. “Because…that way, I could take all of ‘em and give ‘emk to you. Well, those I don’t like anyway.”

“Geordie bastard…” Will laughed, grabbing the pillow and hitting him over the head. Now that came as natural as breathing.

“Manchester scum!” Matthew lifted his arms to grab the pillow, laughing warmly as they tackled each other. As soon as Matthew had won, because he always did, he grinned. “It’ll be fun tomorrow. Although mother says I can’t play with you. Apparently, you’re trouble…”

Will stared at him for a long moment, tears welling up in his eyes. Tears and confusion. He wrapped his arms around Matthew, kissing him gently on the lips. Not clumsily, like he supposed his kisses had been when he was this age, but…more adult. Odd. Very odd. “I love you,” he whispered, burying his face in Matthew’s shoulder. “My best friend. My best friend.”

“What’s that? Why are you crying?”

Will looked up, his eyes wide as he, for a split second, and saw blood on Matthew’s face. Then it was gone, and what was left was slightly tanned skin and a concerned look. “Nothing…” he let out a breath. “Must have been something I ate.”

OOC: Takes place just after Brianna is named Chief Engineer.

"Old Friends"

(backpost)

Lt. Brianna "Anna" O'Shea, Chief Engineer, Liaison S.C.E.
Lt. Ella Gray, Assistant Chief Engineer

***

Ella sat in the break room, counting down the last ten minutes of her lunch break. Truthfully, if these breaks weren't mandatory she would have been back to work half an hour ago. Not only was she not hungry but the coffee really sucked.

Anna walked into the break room, in search of Lt. Ella Gray. When she saw her sitting there at the table she smiled and headed over toward her.

She waved a hello at O'Shea, wondering if now was the time for her review.

"There you are, starting to wonder where you were." She said then looked at the time. "I remember you hated taking breaks. So how about we cut this break short and you walk me through your normal duties and then show me about the manifolds and the diagnostic run on the structural integrity of them." Brianna said.

Ella nodded, pushing the horrible coffee aside for her computer PADD.

"So, what else has been happening here Galaxy while I've been away?" Brianna asked as they walked.

*OH THE USUAL MAYHEM WE ALWAYS MANAGE TO GET OURSELVES INTO. DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE BREEN?*

"Yes, I did... this ship is like a magnet for dysfunctional people." Brianna said then grinned. Looking down at the diagnostic she nodded as she looked it over. Brianna had always liked Ella's work, she worked like a dog and wasn't afraid to push the envelope on matters she felt strongly about. "Good... trick question, did you remember to run the level one diagnostic on the struts supporting the manifold?" Anna asked, smiled cause Ella wouldn't have forgot to do that.

Ella shot her a look and then grinned. *NO, CAUSE I WAS TOO BUSY DOING MY NAILS* Ella held out her hand as if inspecting them and then blew on the tips lightly.

Anna smiled and looked over the report. As she did she smiled, Ella had done a visual inspection. She remembered the trick questions. "Your nails look so good... maybe you can do mine later." She kidded.

*WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO?* Ella typed.

"Dating and starting a interstellar incident on Romulas." Brianna said then saw Ella's puzzled look. "I'm dating Senator Omar Ramir, the Romulan Ambassador. Our trip to Romulas was filled with one event after another."

*OH? DO TELL, I LIKE A GOOD STORY.*

"Oh just being labeled a spy and very nearly killed, only got saved when Ramir's father was poisoned and now has some mental click thing where he thinks Ramir and I are married..." Brianna said then sighed. "Your loving this, I know it." Anna said then grinned.

*YES, I AM. YOU AND RAMIR... NEVER WOULD HAVE SEEN THAT ONE COMING.*

Anna smiled. "Hey... not that bad. I like and even enjoy his company." She replied then give a poke. "What about you, anyone interesting in your personal life?" Brianna asked.

Ella shrugged. *I LIKE SOMEONE, YES, BUT HE'S A BIT SLOW WHEN IT COMES TO THINGS LIKE THAT. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE HE IS AT THE MOMENT.*

"Well, what's his name? Don't keep me wondering." Anna said then grinned.

*KRIEGHOFF.* Ella wrote with a small smile. The name would either bring about absolute horror if Anna knew of him or a blank face if she didn't.

She thought for a minute. "Name doesn't come to mind, was he here on the ship I was here before?" Brianna asked as she looked over at Ella

*I THINK SO. BUT YOU'D REMEMBER IF YOU HAD MET HIM. HE'S ... MEMORABLE.*

"Oh ok." She said then smiled. "All that matter is you like him, what's he like?"

*DARK AND BROODING.* Ella typed with a smile and then, as an afterthought- *ALSO A TOUCH NAIVE BUT THAT'S A POINT OF CONTENTION BETWEEN US.*

"Sounds.... interesting." Brianna said then smiled as she looked back down at the data padd. "Has there been any problems here in the department with personnel?" Anna asked. "Fights, whose seeing whom, that sort of thing?"
Brianna asked.

*NOT THAT I'M AWARE OF BUT THEN AGAIN I HAVEN'T REALLY BEEN PAYING CLOSE ATTENTION LATELY. SORRY*

"Okay.. just thought I'd ask." Anna said, before looking back to her padd. "Well finish this up, then you can take the rest of the shift off. You deserve it." Anna said, then smiled before continuing. "I've got others to check up on, so talk to you in little while." Brianna said, respectively before turning to leave.

"Close Encounter"

Vrih Himne awoke with a start in his bedroom. It took the fiery pain of a hangover to bring him back to reality (and of course the woman lying in his bed.)

Despite the pain, he smiled to himself as he managed to remember how enjoyable last night had been. On his first night onboard the Galaxy, he had certainly been made to feel welcome.

Then he remembered what had awoken him - the door was loudly chiming. Glancing at the time, Himne realised he was late to meet Senator Omar.

But before he could react, the ambassador (fed up of chiming at the door) had stormed in, waking 8-Ball in the process.

8-ball opened her eyes. ~Oh, this is just great~ she thought to herself.

The good news included a fun last night, finally putting an end to her however many months long nun-celibate phase, and the fact that she hadn't drank enough last night to really have a hangover. The bad news included that she was lying completely naked on a bed with two men in the room, one beside her and equally naked, the other very fully dressed and very unhappy looking.

Nobody in the room spoke for a moment. Then 8-ball, sitting up a touch and using the sheet to cover herself a little (more out of a fake modesty than any real worry about being seen nude), looked at the Romulan men and said, "Hi?"

Omar’s eyes bulged, then narrowed in the next few moments of absolute silence that followed. Finally he spoke.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he said, in a quiet voice full of fury. “Didn’t you listen about the last attaché onboard this ship? Can’t you attaches just do your work for me?”

“Not only that,” Omar continued. “But I looked up your… bed-partner. She’s half-Vulcan.” He sneered at 8-Ball with contempt. “That’s a fine-line you’re on, next thing you know you’ll be doing Vulcan meditations.”

Suddenly, at the mention of Vulcans, Himne had a vivid recollection of the senator delving into illegal Vulcan practices. It was absurd - after all, he was the one who had just slept with a half-Vulcan, but still… The image wouldn’t go away.

Another image came, that of a cloaked figure whispering in his ear.

-Complete your mission- it said.

Himne abruptly shook himself, speaking humbly to Omar. “I… apologise, my lord. I will be ready for you in-”

But the senator raised an interrupting hand, turning his full attention on 8-Ball. “First, I would like to hear more about the bed-partner so important, it disrupted the activities of a high-ranking senator.”

Not the type to keep quiet for any long length of time exceeding seven seconds, 8-ball said, "What do you want to hear, a play by play of the action? Cause if that's what it is, you can just throw me my uniform over there so I can get dressed and go home. I have no problems with boys who kiss and tell but I have no interest in listening to a blow by blow just so some arrogant ambassador can get his Romulan rocks off."

Admittedly, telling off an ambassador probably wasn't the smartest thing 8-ball could do but she didn't like the look of him. . .not to mention the dig at being half-Vulcan.

At this remark, Omar literally shook with fury. “Vulcan, how dare you-” he choked out, before storming back through the way he had come.

Himne turned to 8-Ball.

“Was that such a good idea?” he asked. “I mean, it was pretty funny, but… Anyway, what’s this about you being a Vulcan?”

8-ball shrugged, still glaring at the spot Omar had been. Vulcan meditations. She should have gotten up and kicked his Romulan ass. Dressed in a sheet, no less.

"It probably wasn't such a good idea," 8-ball said, "but I really didn't like him, and besides, I'm always in trouble. If I kept squeaky clean, I'd go insane." Then she frowned and looked at Himne. "And what do you mean, anyway? Why did it bother me that he called me a Vulcan, or why did he call me a Vulcan?" She pushed back her hair briefly and played with the pointed tips of her ears with a scowl on her face. "Because if you didn't notice I was half-Vulcan, you're not very observant. Though I suppose I don't mind. I'd rather a man be paying attention to other, more interesting parts of my body. Ear fetishes usually turn me off."

“Okay.” Himne shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to hide out here until the senator cools down.”

He grinned. “At least it means I get another day off work. After all, I’m the only other Rihannusu within fifty light-years - so he’ll have to be lenient on me.”

The attaché stopped smiling and went serious again. “Apologies about asking about your Vulcan heritage. I guess,” he hesitated shyly. “I guess I was a bit… lubricated last night to notice your ears. But I don’t have a problem with it - I think. It’s weird, I have these bizarre images of Omar practicing Vulcan meditations or something but…”

He trailed off. “I think it’s just the Galaxy, being an alien place.”

Finally, he changed the subject. “So when are you due in for work?”

8-ball started. "Oh, fuck me," she said. "I think I was due right about two minutes ago." She got out of bed and looked around for her clothes. As she was putting on her bra and uniform (the undies, sadly, were nowhere to be found), 8-ball thought about what Himne had said. "Don't be sorry about the Vulcan thing. I don't consider myself to be Vulcan. I wasn't raised Vulcan, I don't particularly like Vulcans, and I get annoyed when people treat me differently because I'm Vulcan. If people don't like me because I'm a bitch, that's fine, but when people hate me because I'm a Vulcan, well, they're just stupid."

8-ball began to put on her shoes. She looked at Himne, who seemed troubled. "If you don't mind my saying. . .well, I'm going to say it whether you mind it or not, I guess, but anyway. . .getting used to the Galaxy definitely takes time. I know I'm not really used to it yet and I've been here a long time. And it's definitely a weird place but usually being around a lot of new people isn't enough to have images of your boss doing Vulcan meditations. So if you're seeing weird things. . .I wouldn't just discount it as strange coincedence. But that's just me."

“Thanks,” Himne frowned again.

Suddenly he broke into a grin. “So, when will I next see you? I hope we can make up the time for you rushing off like this.”

8-ball raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's up to you. If you're satisfied with the one-night stand, then that's cool, and I'll probably see you around. If, on the other hand, you just can't get enough of me, my quarters are on Deck 9. Swing by sometime, and we'll see if we can keep ourselves entertained." She grinned and kissed Himne quickly before heading towards the door. "Catch you later, kid," 8-ball said and left.

Himne watched her go. As the doors slid shut, he heard a voice behind him.

"Sleeping with the enemy, that's a new trick for assassins," the voice gloated.

Himne whipped around, finding himself face-to-face with a cloaked figure.

"Something Wicked, and Very Ugly, This Way Comes"

by
Ensign Tizarin Lias, Medical Officer

1st Lieutenant Branwen London, Marine Counselor

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

Branwen sat on the horse looking confused. She felt terrible without sir Gawain. And yet the woman next her was becoming more familiar, and she was having strange visions of a starship.

"I'm scared." She whispered to Lady Ti.

Tizarin dismounted her horse, and gently lowered Broanwen from her saddle.

"Thank you." Branwen said, her finger was still hunting. And she was extremely confused, even more memories were surfacing from her life as a marine.

Tizarin knelt down infront of her, and looked into her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Branwen... there's nothing to be afraid of. Not here. Not with me. And when this is all over... you'll be your regular self again."

"What do you mean?" Branwen asked. "Regular self?"

"I mean, you'll be grown up." Tizarin said. "The way I know you." and she looked deeper into the girl's eyes. "You're starting to remember, aren't you ? I can see it in your eyes. I'm becoming a little less unfamiliar, aren't I ?"

"Yes. I see myself on a big ship in the sky, and you are there, and you are nice to me. I'm not used to doctors being nice to me. Do you know what's happening. I don't know what's real any more."

Tizarin frowned. "I'd be lying if I said I understand it any better than you do." she answered. "It's some kind of phenomena we've encountered, is my guess. Something in space, that the ship, the Galaxy has run across. And it is causing us to either believe we're seeing and doing all these things... or, we really are."

"The Galaxy... it sounds familiar, I... I am a marine. I am not a child any longer."She had switched to english now.

"One way or the other, we have to get back." Tizarin said. "Back to normal. Our normal lives. And I think the only way to do that is to see this thing through." as she looked up she noticed the horses were gone. The wind was picking up. It whipped Branwen's hair around, and threatened to tug Tizarin's out of it's already unravelling bun.

"I think we'd better get under cover." the Trill suggested.

es, it is getting dangerous."Bran pulled the other woman to a safe position and covered her with her body. She had been nice and Ti was a noncombatant in her eyes. Bran would do anything to protect her.

"You already think like a Marine." Tizarin said, as Branwen covered her. "But.. it's not necessary. You don't need to use your body to protect me. I'm pretty hardy, myself."

"I don't mind, I like protecting those that are important to me, Lady Ti." Branwen said softly.

The storm approached them a little faster than it should have. The wind increased in it's velocity at an alarming rate, and Tizarin realized what was happening. A weather phenomenon all to common on Earth was creating itself in this strange semi-imaginary place. A tornado. As the Trill looked up in the sky she saw the dark funnel of cloud and wind leap from the darkened sky to the ground below. Immediately it was kicking up dust and debris.

"We'd better get out of here !" Tizarin shouted over the wind. She stood, and took Branwen's hand... and pulling the girl after her, she began to run.

"What's happening?" Branwen had never been in a situation like this. And her mind was still struggling between the past and present. "We should go back home! It isn't safe."

Seconds later she pulled Ti out of the way as a tree branch whisked over their heads.

The pair ran deeper into the woods, chased by the storm. They held hands to keep from being seperated, and Tizarin lead the way down a steep embankment that was probably the dried up bed of an old river. The bottom of the gully was filled with old branches from dead trees, and a thick blanket of colorful, dry leaves. There was a heady fragrance in the air, and Tizarin found herself feeling sleepy.

The sounds of the storm seemed to subside, as if either the tornado was moving away, or it was fading from their minds.

"Branwen... I want to sleep." Tizarin said. She let go of Branwen's hand and fell, almost silently into the blanket of leaves. The leaves smelled so sweet.

"It is not safe yet." Branwen picked her up even though it hurt with her broken finger. It was getting cold outside and they needed cover. Gently carrying the sleeping woman Branwen was finally able to find a cave.

She put Ti down and then searched for something to start a fire. Only just when she had found some dried twigs and got enough into the cave it started to rain outside.

Tizarin felt the rain on her face and it woke her. "What is this..." she stirred. "Ok... this is becoming familiar." she sat up, and saw, then, Branwen in the cave setting the blaze. "You fall asleep in a field of flowers. Or, in this case, dried leaves..." the rain started pouring down on her. "Why do I feel like I'm in the land of Oz... but in a rundown neighborhood."

"Lady Ti, comeback inside. It's warm here, and safe." Branwen shouted.

The Trill made a run for the cave, and found herself sitting in a muddy spot. "The only place wet in here... and I have to sit in it." she smiled to Branwen.

Bran smiled back. "It's a small cave, so with this fire it will get warm and dry soon enough. We will be safe here for a while."

"You see..." Tizarin was looking at Branwen very seriously. "You made that fire. You can do things for yourself, and take care of yourself. You don't have to live the life your parents would have you live. Whatever comes of this little meeting between us, don't forget... whatever happens to you... you've got a good life ahead of you !"

"I have been thinking of that lately. Of running away like my sister Shanna did. She joined Starfleet. I think she is teaching in some kind of academy in America right now. I have been thinking of going to her." Branwen said pensive.

"That would probably be Starfleet Academy." Tizarin said. She reached out to touch Branwen's cheek, and out of the corner of her eye...

She noticed their surroundings had changed. They were in a house, or more accurately a hut of some kind. A cottage built of logs held together with dried mud. "Branwen... I think something... has happened..." Branwen's fire was now a crackling blaze, in a stone fireplace. And there was a pot hanging over the fire.

"I don't recognise this." Branwen was startled. "What is happening to us."

Tizarin and Branwen were both startled; as the sound of something hard and heavy pounding on the door of the cabin made them both jump.

"Should we hide?" Bran asked.

The door burst open, and the sight that greeted them from the other side left no doubt in their minds they should have hid. A man stood in the doorway; a huge man, with a hideously deformed, scarred face. And where his right hand should have been was a gnarled club of wood. He took one step into the house, and then let off a growl that would have better fit a bear than a human being.

"I think we'd better get out of here !" Tizarin said, standing, and trying to keep herself between the man and Branwen.

"Yes. This seems like some sort of fairytale world. You go while I distract him." She ordered.

"Nothing doing !" Tizarin said. "I'm not leaving you here to face that thing alone." The ugly man bore down on Tizarin, his club-arm raised. But the Trill doctor thought quickly. She grabbed a chair that certainly wasn't there a minute ago, and swung it up to meet the downward swing of the arm. There was a solid impact, and the chair broke asunder, sending Tizarin to the floor. She rolled, just as the man brought his club-arm down at her again. He hit the floorboards three times, each time nearly striking the Trill as she rolled one way or the other.

As the club-arm hit the floor, each time, the boards broke into pieces, and Branwen could see that there was a light beneath the floor. It glowed, and flickered. It had to be a fire.

"We have to do get out of here. There is some kind of fire under the floor. We will not survive it if we fall in. Try to think of something else, lady Ti. Some other country. Take us out of here." Branwen shouted as she tried to take the attention of the freak.

Tizarin thought as hard as she could about the one place she knew they should both be getting back to. The USS Galaxy. She closed her eyes, and like Dorothy chanting "there's no place like home" she repeated the name of ths ship, over and over until....

She opened her eyes, and found she was lying in the middle of one of the Galaxy's long corridors. Branwen was there. The adult marine Branwen Tizarin had examined in sickbay a few days before. The Trill heaved a sigh of relief.

"What the..." Branwen looked confused.

"We're home." Tizarin said.

And then they both heard a man's voice, screaming. As they looked in the direction from which the voice had come, they saw it's source. A dark skinned human man came hurtling around the bend in the corridor ahead. He landed face-first into the right hand wall, and fell unconscious.

"Holy shit !" Tizaring scrambled to her feet.

The man with the hideous face and the thick club-hand rounded the bend in the corridor. He let off a chilling growl as he approached the two women, slowly, limping on his stiff, ungainly legs.

Branwen flashed away, suddenly she was on a Borg ship talking to her boss. And a minute later back again with lady Ti. She was still pretty dazed and not defending herself.

When Branwen reappeared, Tizarin was trying to dodge the blows of the ugly man's club-hand. Just as the Marine rematerialzed, the Trill ducked under the tall monstrosity's legs, and kicked, upwards, making the big man groan and sending him stumbling into the wall, his clubbed arm flailing. He impacted, weapon-arm first, into the section of the wall devoted to the computer terminal, and his fall shattered the covering, sending sparks and smoke nto the air. The man's club arm was caught in the circuitry, and he screamed and writhed as energy from the computer conduits shot through his body.

Tizarin, noticing Branwen returned, smiled, and commented; "Nice timing. C'mon... let's get back outta here." and she turned, running, for the nearest turbolift.

Branwen ran as well, and just in time they could jump into the lift, and close the door behind them.

"Rihannsu Honor"

Junior Senator Ramir Omar, Rihannsu Ambassador

Major Sharien ir-Aeravh T'Riasau, Rihannsu Naval Intelligence Liaison

****

T'Riasau's Temporary Quarters,
Deck 9,
USS Galaxy

Ramir Omar kept wondering - why hadn't his father informed him?

This woman - Major T'Riasau - was apparently from military intelligence, yet not from the Tal Shiar. Omar wasn't sure why she was here yet, but that bothered him less than: why hadn't his father told him of her coming?

Perhaps he did not know. But that was impossible - his father was the new Proconsul, second only to the Praetor herself. Omar felt his chest swell with pride, as he recalled how the Empress had given him and his father the greatest of honours for their services to the empire. Yet he remained confused.

Why was she here? Why did his father not know about it?

Omar intended to find out.

His chief bodyguard had informed him that Major T'Riasau had been confined to her quarters - a matter of protocol, considering what the last Rihannsu woman had done onboard this ship.

Now, the senator stood outside the major's quarters. He chimed at the  door.

"You may enter, Ambassador Omar," a feminine voice emanated from beyond the locked door. Sharien T'Riasau had been expecting the visit since the moment that she'd been deposited in the temporary quarters. He was the representative of her people onboard the starship Galaxy. Whenever a fellow Rihannsu arrived onboard, he was notified. When one was confined to quarters, it became his business to know what was happening. "The guards have been instructed to allow you entry."

"Thank you." The senator briskly entered, looking around the quarters.

"Jolan'tru, Seihu Omar," T'Riasau addressed him by his senatorial title, rising from her position, seated on the floor. She had been sitting cross legged, in a light meditative trance. The chime had brought her consciousness back to the surface. She considered saying something, but thought better of it. Would Ael, Ara, Bria, or Mandukar forgive her for giving away the game before the first play had been made? Surely not.

"Jolan'tru, Major," Omar said, choosing to pronounce her title in Federation Standard rather than Rihannsu, as a subtle hint of her distance from home.

"It seems you already know me and my title," the senator continued. "So I'll get to the point. Do not mistake me, I appreciate another Romulan onboard - but why are you here? As you might be aware, my father is Proconsul, second only to the Praetor herself, and yet he did not inform me of your arrival?"

Omar would have been more probing, but he wanted to maintain the mnhei'sahe (honour/face) of all parties. Normally it wouldn't have been an issue (since there weren't many Rihannsu onboard the Galaxy) but today it was. He awaited her response.

Sharien replied to the question immediately. Seihu, even junior ones, were not to be ignored or dissembled with, especially with the position that Ramir Omar's father had ascended to. "That information is classified, Senator.  As I am sure you are aware, Rihannsu Naval Intelligence reports to Admiral tr'Hwaehrai of the 4th Galae, who in turn is answerable to the Praetor.  I'm certain that if you put in an inquiry to RNI, that an answer would be made available."

It was interesting, she thought, that he had used the term 'Romulan'. It was a Federation term, the label that their Empire had been given by the Earth Starfleet that they had fought almost three hundred years ago. Had Senator Omar been gone from their homeland for so long that he was falling into the ways of the Federation?

The senator frowned at her reply. His father had dismissed Admiral tr'Hwaehrai as another navy officer past his prime who had no interest in politics. Better to take an active role and do the kind of radical policies General Omar had implemented than sit around. After all, that was what made a useless citizen.

Still, Omar was unaware that tr'Hwaehrai had risen so high in the Empire's military circles. Perhaps he was simply subtler at his movements - perhaps his quiet officer personality was merely a cover for his more unscrupulous intentions for power. His father might have been wrong to dismiss the admiral so quickly.

But a meeting could be arranged. Omar could contact his father, who knew a close associate who was a personal friend of tr'Hwaehrai. And who would refuse an audience with the Proconsul? If Omar contacted his father, within hours the general would have likely learned the purpose of Sharien here.

However, first the senator would try his persuasive techniques - not that he had many, but it was worth a try.

"You do realize," he said with a smile. "That my father is Proconsul, second only to the Praetor. He is also a dear friend of our majesty the Empress, who no-one is above." Of course, that was not true at all - the Empress was a powerless figurehead, but nobody would say that for fear of disrespecting the monarchy on which the Empire had been built.

"Therefore, I assure you," he continued. "I have the appropriate clearance to such classified material."

"Ah, but my dear Senator. You forget, I work in intelligence. I know a great many things," she smiled, "However, RNI has nothing to do with the system of patronage, or politics at all. We are accountable to the government, but inherently seperate from it. Radical, I know, but true nonetheless."

That was the thing about RNI that appealed to her. They had been created, by special order of the Praetor, as a response to increasingly vocal criticism of the practices of the Tal Shiar by not only the Federation, but members of the Rihannsu Lower Senate. Admiral Mandukar tr'Hwaehrai had been selected to head up the organization, largely due to his distance from politics and his recognition as one of the great tactical minds of the Rihannsu Stellar Empire.

"I assure you, Seihu, I refuse your request not to incur your wrath, but to follow the regulations of RNI," she replied, "Considering the nature of my assignment, I doubt that you will be kept in the dark should you approach Admiral tr'Hwaehrai or the Praetor."

"That's good," Omar chuckled. "After all, I wouldn't want another Romulan assassin onboard I didn't know about, would I?"

Immediately afterwards he realised the sad truth: he was becoming far too humanized. Only a human would have made a joke as bad as that - only a human would have made a joke to a military officer. Plus he had used the term Romulan again.

Changing the subject (in an effort to make the conversation more Romulan-to-Romulan, rather than the human-to-Romulan conversation that seemed to be going on at the moment) the senator sat down in the nearest chair, leaning back.

"So, what do you think of humans, sub-Riov?" he asked, using her military title in Rihannsu.

Again he had used the word Romulan, but now he corrected himself.  She noted the subtle shift in the Seihu's demeanor, the internal reminder of who he was.  She laughed, a brief flutter of her contralto voice, "I'm hardly an assassin, my dear Seihu."

Pausing a moment before answering his question on the subject of humans, she chose her words carefully, "I've found myself working alongside them more and more since the end of the Dominion War.  Throughout those times, they have proven themselves to be worthy allies.  Capable, but not overly trusting. Excellent traits to have when working with us, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," Omar eyed her intently. She was definitely different from SubCommander Savar, lacking the outright arrogance of an experienced military officer - instead possessing the cool demeanour required to be an intelligence officer. The latter was certainly preferable.

In light of this, he decided to cut the formalities and speak his mind - an undeniably human action, admittedly, but still a sensible one.

"I imagine, Sub-Riov, that you think little of me," Omar said calmly. "Despite my title, and the title of my father, you think of my family as nothing more power-greedy politicians who have done little good for Romulus.  How accurate is my assessment? Please, do not be afraid to speak your mind - you will not incur my wrath, such as it is."

"I think nothing of the sort," she lied immediately and smoothly, as only the trained could.  She followed it up with a truth, to lend credance to her statement, "My greatest desire is to serve the Empire and it's citizens.  Have I not answered your questions truthfully, and with honor?"

Omar frowned, for the second time. Her response had been far too immediate to be a truthful one. He might not be an intelligence operative, but he was a Rihannusu politician, meaning that he was skilled in the art of lying.

But he let it go. After all, if she wanted to lie about her opinion, shouldn't he let her?

"Yes, indeed you seem to have," he smiled in a friendly manner, lounging back in his chair. "I must say - it is refreshing to have a Rihannusu onboard who is an intellectual and social equal, especially since my last attaché was a Tal Shiar agent, and the one I have now does nothing but idiotically flatter."

"Ah, but my dear Senator," she replied, "I'm an agent of Naval Intelligence. What if I am here to kill someone?  Or even, for that matter, what if your attaché's pandering is simply a cover for what lies beneath?"

Despite trying to be relaxed, Omar stiffly chose to ignore that comment, letting her continue.

"Tell me," he continued in his relaxed demeanour. "How are you adjusting to human life? I myself must admit to adjusting too well, but the first few months aboard the Galaxy seemed alien to me."

"Just so you know, sub-Riov," he said. "I know the feeling of coming to an alien place, so please do not hesitate if you need anything to help with adjusting."

"I've only been here for a day.  I haven't yet experienced 'human life'," the woman replied, "The only representatives of humanity that I've even had the chance to interact with are Commander Henderson and the woman he brought back with him.  But, should I need advice, I will contact you."

He nodded. “I hope that, during the course of our working lives onboard this vessel, we can be mutually beneficial to each other. I also hope that we can be... if not friends, close associates.”

“So,” the senator continued. “I visited our home-planet some weeks ago – tell me, has there been any change since then? What news comes from the centre of the Empire?”

"Nothing that has reached me.  I've been on assignment since your father's appointment and inauguration," she replied.  That was the life of an intelligence operative, place to place.  Especially one in her line of work.

Omar sighed once again. There was a time when Rihannusu social etiquette would have prevented him from speaking his mind, but that time was long past. Perhaps he was becoming too humanised.

“Sub-Riov,” he said, frowning. “Are you going to input into this conversation or not? It seems I am asking all the questions, and getting textbook responses on what I want to hear. I know you’re an intelligence operative – but please, is it so hard to be candid with me? And I would rather not hear another textbook answer.”

"Well, try this on for size, Senator.  What do you want me to say?  Would you like a deep, introspective look into my soul?  Or would you like me to let something slip?" she replied.  Sharien stood from where she sat on the bed, towering over the senator a full three inches, locking her gaze.  "Exactly what are you digging for?  As you say, I'm a member of Rihannsu Naval Intelligence. That places me in the position of being required to keep my mouth shut the vast majority of the time.  So you'll pardon me for not being completely honest with you, but I have my orders.  If you'd like to ask something else, for example, what my favorite color is, I can give you a detailed response."

Omar looked at her with uncertainty. Truth be told, he found her sudden surge of power to be attractive. Extremely attractive.  But the senator pushed those thoughts away – he was in a relationship with Anna O’Shea.

“Look...” he spluttered hesitantly, finding her quite intimidating and yet appealing at the same time. “I don’t care for your mission particularly, Sub-Riov. That’s my father’s business. I just wanted us to be... friends during your stay onboard. But… I see that coming here was a mistake. Good day.”

He bowed humbly, just wanting to get out of her quarters as quickly as possible.

"Oh, well then you should have said that, Senator," she replied, sorely tempted to laugh.  To have caused that kind of reaction in so highly positioned a member of the Rihannsu Stellar Empire was... a little bit of a power rush. As the Senator retreated toward the door, she sat back down, "If you need anything, Seihu Omar, do not hesitate to ask."

Omar nodded. “Thank you, sub-Riov. I hope we can be friends in the future, if not more. I appreciate your offer, and like I said – it is reciprocated. If you need anything as well, you too may come to me.”

Sharien settled back onto the floor to continue her meditations once he had departed. She practiced a Rihannsu discipline, the name of which translated loosely to the "Focusing the Honor Beneath." As she meditated on her chosen topic, in this case the honor involved in her encounter with Omar, she found it interesting how the concept of honor had been twisted during her society's formative years.

When her meditations completed, an hour later, she opened one of her bags, removed a transpoder, established it's protections, and made her report to Admiral tr'Hwaehrai. Contact had been made.

OOC: I just had to put it in. I've been dying to, looking for every oppurtunity to since I first sent the url hehe.. Blame Ian for saying their was no limits *snicker snicker snicker* Its short, but..

"Now that is a memory I don't want"

Lt Jg Claire Barnes
Ensign Yohann Daquiri

Stopping outside the turbolift doors, Claire waved to a little girl who passed by on her way to the ship's school, and smiled when she got a wave back.

Tapping her foot to an imaginary beat in her head, she waited for the lift. It wasn't too long and when the doors opened, she saw an ensign from from Operations inside.

She walked in and spoke, "Main Security Office, please. Hi, I'm Lt Claire Barnes."

The man blinked in surprise, "I'm Ensign Yohann Daquiri. You always chatty to strangers?"

"Yeah, kinda. Sorry."

The door closed and the lift started moving. All of a sudden, Claire felt a strange wierdness and grabbed for the side of the lift. Blinking, she found that for some unknown reason, she suddenly had some new memories.

Turning towards Yohann, she was about to say something when he spoke, "What happened? I can remeber you eating breakfast. Toast, lots of jam."

"Wierd. I can remeber too what you had. Plain cereal with milk and fruit. We need to see medical."

"Yeah."

"Computer, stop, Security authorization. Change course to Sickbay."

The lift restarted in its new course.

"I can tell what you did before bed last night. You fell asleep reading a mystery book."

"Yeah, I did. Cool."

All of a sudden, the last transferred memory hit her and she gasped, "WHAT THE FUCK?? You did it with a blow-up sheep doll?? YOU SICK FUCKING PERV!! You even named it Molly?? GET AWAY FROM ME!!"

For the rest of the short trip, Claire spent her time glaring openly in disgust at Yohann, who shone bright red from embarrassment against the other side of the lift.

“Of All People”

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell,

Engineer Ensign George Kastanza, Engineer (NPC)

Nara stepped out of the holodeck. It was a corridor. She looked at room numbers and rolled her eyes. The WRONG corridor. This was a completely different deck. It has personal quarters. She’d never been to this level. Not this part of it anyway. She turned and was about to step back into what was the holodeck, but frowned seeing it was another room altogether.

She had a theory instead of going around to different rooms, that she could return to the same room and just step out of it until she found Engineering, but that didn’t work since that room seemed to change once you stepped out.

She shook her head and hit the door angrily.

She was surprised to see it open and the face staring at her made her wince. Of all people she could run into, it had to be Kastanza.

“Well hello lovely!”

Nara looked at him unhappily, “See the uniform? At least call me Naranda.” They were the same rank, but she was not about to let him call her Nara, nonetheless a pet name.

He shrugged, “It’s too much to hope that you came by to take me up on my offer?”

Nara nodded coldly, “Indeed. Have you noticed anything odd?”

He sighed, “Odd doesn’t begin to describe it. I’d been staying in here once I found it.”

Nara nodded. Not a bad idea. She was tempted to wait this all out in the Holodeck, but she was a fighter. She had to get to Engineering to see what she could do. She hated to do what she was about to do.

“Come with me to Engineering.” He was an annoyance, but he was a darned good engineer and she wouldn’t let him hide away when he could help.

He smiled at her, “I’d love to.”

She quickly put a finger up to discourage his hopes, “NOT A DATE!”

He looked hurt, but then amused, “Of course not. Not during a crisis.”

She rolled her eyes and walking briskly likely leaving several feet between them, she mumbled under her breathe, “Not ever.”

"What's a memory swap between enemies?"

(backpost)

Principal Characters:

Lt. Ella Grey
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

She was trying to avoid people and make it safely back to her quarters.

Logically, it probably wouldn't make a difference - as she kept tuning in and out of a memory from a man that she knew had to be five decks below her- but at least in her quarters she could hide and pretend that her mind wasn't selling all her secrets to any and all available bidders. At least what she had shared with 8-Ball and Savoie hadn't been too traumatic. What would happen when they learned about Coppernicus?

Or what she had done after?

Or, God help her, the desert planet? That really scared her and wasn't it funny how she was more worried about Curtis' wellfare than her own?

Better not to think about it, Ella said. Think about something else, something light and fluffy. Rainbows. Moonbeams. Sunshine.

Pain, Blood, Death...

No, stop that, Ella shouted to herself. Flowers and puppies and kittens...

****

Angelienia hissed at the three puppes - dirty creatures, dogs, she'd never liked them - that seemed determined to play with her no matter what she did and ran a few steps hoping to get out of range of whoever it was that had memories of legions of floppy-eared puppies. It had taken her half the length of the ship to escape the last memory, if that indeed was what these were, she'd been trapped in, and she had no desire to go through that again, no matter how many boys in Academy uniforms wanted to ask her to dance.

She suddenly found herself in an open field under a red sun, the flowering plants colored oddly in the reddish light, a group of people she recognized as Alpha Centauran by their clothes moving through the field with a purpose, antiquated farming hand tools in their grasp. One looked up and waved to her in a friendly fashion as she continued moving, three more steps taking her out of the field and into the dark-the kind of dark that one found only in a cave, under the ground.

Caves were not good; they reminded her of things she didn't want to remember, things she didn't want anyone to remember with her. Green cat's eyes opened wide to drink in what little light there was, the pilot looked around and tried to decide where the corridor she'd been in was- and heard the voice.

It was a man's voice, and it was saying things that she knew men said only at one time, when they wanted one thing. She'd heard them before, many times, just not from the one man she wanted them to come from...

Wait...*What* name had the man just used? Ella? Wasn't that the Mouse's name?

Angelienia smiled like the huntress she was and slipped forward silently. Perhaps this memory would be something worth sticking around for...

****

~Her eyes had gone comically wide at his offer and, for the first time in a long time, she had actually blushed. Probably because it was the least likely thing she had expected him to ask of her. Ella, can you cut off my arm, would probably have surprised her less.~

****

It was the Mouse - and that was one of the men she'd been marooned with... Angelienia's smiled widened. She'd known that the Mouse had been a queen there, and here was the proof!

****

~~The blow had come out of nowhere. Pain and a sudden blackness that faded lighter and lighter until it became the floor of the cave. And Ella was bound. He stood over her and she realized in that moment that all the old movies had been right. Your hair really did go crazy when you went insane.

She opened her mouth to scream.~~

****

The Ktarian woman's eyes narrowed and her smile vanished. No, not a Queen after all.

She took a step forward a snarl forming. Like the Mouse or not, she wasn't going to let this happen... And then she stopped. But it already had happened; this was just an echo, a memory of the event. She couldn't change it, couldn't stop it from happening, couldn't *do* anything but watch as it played out.

****

~~Hands choking. Always choking. Ella struggled against him as she had struggled before against the other man. Maybe more this time. It still didn't matter; he was stronger. Damnit Victor, why didn't we train for this?

"It's okay, Ella." Curtis told her, wiping back tears with his thumb.~~

****

No, no matter what the man said - and Angelienia knew this man, had seen him aboard the ship - it wasn't going to be all right. Not if the memory continued the way it appeared to be going, not if he took by force what the Mouse did not wish to give.

****

She couldn't move, she couldn't scream, and, even if she could be free of the hand clamped over her mouth, she probably couldn't speak.

And so she was left with only two viable options, do or be done.

Life really, really sucked sometimes, Ella thought.

In a heartbeat she struggled to free a leg and wrap it tightly around his even as he moved in for the kill.

Because better a friend than an enemy.

Time was relative, so they said, and the maybe two minutes seemed to go on forever. And no image could take her away from that place. No happy childhood moment, no victory that she had ever had, not even Victor. For the time, she only exsisted. Odly, the only thing she had to keep her going was a quote from some movie she had seen long ago.

Life was pain, anyone who said differently was just selling something.

And then he was done.

****

Angelienia turned away in disgust. The Mouse had regained a tiny bit of control before the end, but not enough to really make the act anything less than what it was. She understood now why the Mouse had reacted the way that she had, why she'd been so angry as to slap her in the fighter bay earlier.

The Ktarian took a step further back into the shadows and watched the rest of the memory play itself out. Perhaps there was more left unssen as of yet, something that would explain the rest of the guilt that the Mouse had obviously felt. Perhaps not. There was only one way to know for sure.

(tbc)

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