"Devil Went Down To Jhorjah" Part 3

(Takes place two weeks after 'Part 2')

(Note: DWDTJ has now entered 'real time' with the main sim)

Principal Characters

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

Secondary Characters

Geerik, Corvallen trader
Sevok, Vulcan club patron

****

Jhorjah Dahnyehl City
Approaching Tcharlee's Place

Within two blocks of leaving the shuttleport, Victor knew why no major power had tried to come in and clean out the hive of scum and villainy that was Dahnyehl City - they'd have to destroy the planet because they'd lose too many troops any other way. He'd counted enough blasters to arm the entirety of the Third Fleet Marine Division before he'd simply ceased to care, and there had to be still more held in reserve somewhere - this was the sort of place where no one carried the best that they had openly to maintain an edge.

There'd been some real discussion between the Attendant and himself over what they should carry planetside, and what should be left aboard the Shabradnigdo in orbit. She'd wanted, oddly enough, to carry less than he had thought advisable, which placed them in the unique position of him trying to explain why they needed to make a show of force. Ultimately, however, her insistence that V'kala would not have married a man who needed to carry so many weapons was enough to get him to concede - something she hadn't expected.

Victor hadn't bothered to comment on her surprise. She'd been right, so he'd agreed, that was all there was to it. If she wanted to believe that he would oppose her simply because she had a different opinion than he did, then he wasn't going to waste time trying to dissuade her. There was no point to it.

He'd likewise acceded to her plan to leave the Shabradnigdo in orbit around one of the three scratchbuilt orbital stations that Jhorjah sported in synchronous orbit around her equator. They hadn't had any choice, since by virtue of some complex arrangement between the criminal groups that had founded the colony, actual starships were only permitted on the surface to load or unload cargo, all other transit was managed by shuttlecraft (available at a ruinous rental fee on the orbital stations if you lacked your own) or by transporter from one of the orbital stations (who jammed orbit-to-surface transport except for their own shielded transporter pads).

Victor had pointed out that they had a cargo aboard that they could have landed to unload and sell - four crates of Romulan Blackfire fabric they'd acquired on Cross's World, and pair of crates containing Bajoran spices that they'd picked up a few weeks before - but the Attendant had disagreed, and held that they should hold it in reserve, as a bargaining chip. Victor wasn't certain what they needed a bargaining chip for, or who they'd be bargaining with, but he hadn't seen where arguing with her would serve a purpose either, so the ship and cargo had stayed in orbit.

With the ship secure in orbit - or as secure as it was going to be - they'd taken the shuttle down to the surface in order to locate the contact that the old Tiburonian arms dealer whose life they'd saved back on Cross' World had given them: Tcharlee, the owner of a small music club that catered to the few citizens and visitors that cared as much about the quality of the music they listened to as that of the alcohol they drank. Victor, whose taste in beverages ran to black coffee, and in music ran to silence, doubted that he'd find either where they were going.

He stepped around a body in the street, the smoke from a recent blaster bolt to the back still rising from the corpse, and suppressed a frown as the Attendant shifted with him, keeping the contact between them that they'd spent the last few weeks practicing aboard ship. The mechanics of it were easy enough to understand once she'd explained them to him, if a bit uncomfortable for at least one of them. As V'kala she would need to always be touching him when they were within a certain radius of each other. A hand on his arm here, a foot hooked around his calf there, sometime more, sometimes less... but always touching.

The difficult part was movement, learning the ways they needed to walk so that the contact looked natural, and Victor still wasn't certain that they had it right. In a moment of self-examination as they'd practiced the last time, walking on a tour of the ship as if it were a city street, he'd had to admit that the problem lay with him, and not the Attendant. It wasn't the contact that he objected to - it was the reason for it. If it were coming from the One, or even from the right kind of family, he would welcome it. But it didn't. It came from cold, calculating necessity, and nothing more.

The worst part of it though, the part kept him from completely committing to the act they were presenting to the world around them, was the thing that he only admitted to himself as lay there in the dark and listened to the Attendant breathe softly in her sleep. Only there, in the dark, could he admit that even knowing that it was false, even knowing that it was an act, he wanted the act to be real anyway, just to feel someone touch him.

"Is something wrong, husband?" the Attendant asked in her throaty V'kala voice. "Does someone follow us?"

"No one but the two that picked us up at the shuttleport," he replied, glad for the way she'd phrased the question. It meant he could answer it without answering it. "They're still staying well back."

"Good," she purred. "I didn't want to waste time with them."

"Pointless," he agreed. "They'd be replaced within a hundred meters anyway. They're obviously watching us for one of the syndicates that run the colony. No need to antagonize them needlessly by killing their watchdogs for no reason." Victor glanced to the side and smiled the smile he reserved for scavengers at a figure sidling up to them. "Find another mark, son," he growled.

The figure stiffened, shuddered once, and backed away.

"Hrrrrrrrrr," the Klingon woman next to him rumbled in his ear, one hand running through his hair. "I love it when you do that, Erik. Do it again for me."

"Later, wife; business first, pleasure after." Victor and the Attendant had spent several hours talking about how Erik's personality should work, what he should be like, how he should speak and carry himself, before K'vala had finally decided that the best thing to do was not to do anything at all, to just let Victor be himself. Or at least, the himself he'd be if he were really Erik and really married to V'kala.

The Attendant pouted, the expression fitting V'kala's face where it would have been totally alien on K'vala's. "Always business..." Her hand slipped down his chest. "What about me? What about my needs?"

He caught the descending hand. "Business, wife. Once we're done, then we will have plenty of time - weeks even - for me to attend to your needs."

"Promises," she hissed, her expression shifting suddenly, eyes flashing. "Always promises, never action. Why did I marry you?" She pushed at him, and started to turn away.

Victor frowned, and one hand reached out to grab her by the collar and jerk her back against the nearest wall and press her there. "You married me," he growled in a low voice as she struggled against his grip, "because no one else could give you what you need the way that I can."

"You arrogant..." she snapped, one fist sweeping up towards his face.

Victor slapped the hand away and leaned in close, aware that more than just the two pairs of eyes that had followed them from the shuttleport were watching as he grabbed her by the chin and pressed her back again the wall. "You don't want to do that," he growled again, as he leaned in close and the few remaining layers that hid what he was inside started to fall away.

"No," she agreed suddenly, "this." The Attendant jerked his head down to meet hers.

Again, as it had almost two years before on their first meeting in a dark corridor aboard the Galaxy, a jolt ran through him like an electric charge and stirred the same primal need inside him that it had awakened back then. Victor growled once, as he had then, and kissed her back as the need he kept buried deep inside himself roared to life and shoved his conscious mind away.

Her lips were warm and moist, and the feel of her as she wrapped herself around him was more of an intoxicant than any drink he'd ever had... and then the moment was gone and she straightened up and pushed him away as she'd done when the lights came on in that corridor in the Galaxy and she'd realized who she'd kissed there in the dark. "toDSah!" she hissed, just as she'd done before, but in a different tone of voice this time, making the insult into something more like an endearment than a death threat.

Victor blinked once, shook himself and then smiled at her, not quite letting the thing inside him steal control. If that was the way she meant for things to be, then he'd play along, even if part of him was still screaming for the lie they'd just shared to continue, willing to accept it's untruth out of need. "Careful, wife - you're playing with something neither of us can control," he reminded her.

"Good," she breathed huskily as she grabbed his shirt and pulled herself up so she was no longer leaning against the wall. "Life has no meaning with danger."

"There's enough danger here without adding to it," he answered as she pressed herself against him for a moment and then spun away with a laugh as he reached for her.

"Never," she replied, eyes smoldering. "There's never enough...." Her hand shot out and grabbed someone from around the corner behind them, a grunt and a squealing sound sounding from her prize as she drug them into view. "Ha!"

The shorter figure at the end of her arm was a Tellarite in scruffy, non-descript clothing, eyes wide as his hooves scraped on the alley floor. "N-no!" he wheezed. "P-please, I was just..."

"Spying," the Attendant hissed. "On us. Since we left the shuttleport." She shook him. "Worse, you spy badly - my husband and I are insulted at your pathetic skill."

Victor scowled past her shoulder obligingly.

"Ah... ah... I wasn't...."

The Attendant shook him again. "You lie as poorly as you spy!"

The Tellarite gurgled in response.

Victor eyed the portly alien and decided that he'd had enough to make their point. They didn't want to be taken for fools, but they also didn't want to be thought of as homicidal lunatics, either. He got enough of that in his normal life. "Let him go - he's nothing. We have better things to do with our time."

"Bah," she spat. "I would be doing his employer a favor by killing him."

Victor closed his eyes and let the thing inside him, already dangerously near the surface, rise to the top. The Attendant shivered once in acknowledgement of what had just happened behind her, but said nothing. "Give him to me, wife," Death whispered as it smiled with Victor's lips.

The Tellarite squalled as she wordlessly allowed the spy to be taken from her, and plea after plea for mercy and escape filled the mouth of the alley. "Silence," Death commanded as it leaned in close to the terrified alien.

The man stopped in mid-word.

Death caught the alien by the jaw and studied him for a moment, first with face turned one way, and then another. "Go home," it finally said as it dropped the spy dismissively, "and rethink your life."

The Tellarite scrambled backwards, crablike, and then scrambled to his feet and fled without a word.

Death closed its eyes, shook itself... and Victor opened them. "That should delay his report for a while," he observed as the pair started back down the street. "Long enough for our purposes, anyway."

"Should we dispose of the other one?" the Attendant asked as she slipped an arm around his waist and fell into step with him.

"No," Victor decided. "Not unless he does something stupid. "That was the one we were supposed to spot anyway. No need to make ourselves appear *too* good - they'd just start using sensor drones or something, and we couldn't stop that."

They walked on a few more steps before the Attendant leaned in and whispered into his ear, as if murmuring an entirely different sort of thing, "'Go home and rethink your life?' I didn't realize you had a sense of humor."

"I don't," Victor replied.

She chuckled with V'kala's husky voice and murmured again, "Or is it that you are only so amusing when you stop pretending to be what you truly are?"

Victor turned his head and looked at her. "That depends," he said quietly as he drew her head close so he could whisper into her ear under the cover of her hair, "on what you find... funny."

****

Jhorjah Dahnyehl City
Tcharlee's Place

The club was not what Victor had expected. Like a hundred places he'd been in to retrieve someone or check for Fleet personnel, the lighting was dim, and the tables and booths slightly crowded even this early in the day - but after that it was all different.

The floor, the whole club, was clean. Not the clean of 'swept out once a day,' but the clean generated by an actual staff of individuals who did more than show the floor a holo of a mop once a week. The clientele was diverse: humans, primarily, but a strong showing of Klingons at several tables and one booth, some Orions taking up another pair of booths, several Tellarites at a table surrounded by empty glasses, and, oddly enough, a group of five Vulcans sitting at a table near the stage and looking uncomfortable and remote as only their race could.

The music was quieter than he'd expected as well, and better in quality than some recordings he'd heard. At the moment, a pair of women of near-human stock dressed in outfits that were conservative by local standards were on the small stage, singing a slow song in Standard that had something to do with both of them loving the same man to a string-driven musical undertone.

The staff was likewise conservatively dressed, albeit somewhat oddly, in heavy blue sleeveless coveralls that fastened just below the collarbone and ended above the knee, clingy short-sleeved white shirts under the coveralls, boots, and wide-brimmed hats that curled up at the edges. They also smiled and laughed a lot. Too much.

Victor frowned in the shadows after no less than three individuals smiled - or attempted to - at him while he and the Attendant let their eyes adjust. No one was that cheerful he decided, even a Ferengi loose in a planetary latinum reserve. The management must be doing something to alter their behavior - drugs perhaps. He didn't recognize any of the specific signs for the ones he was familiar with, but a place like Jhorjah probably had chemists knocking out new product for sale on a daily basis.

"V'kala!" The voice was friendly, which checked Victor's immediate response as fast as the hand the Attendant laid on his arm and left there. "So good to see you again!"

The speaker, an average-sized Corvallen, smiled broadly as he walked up. "It's been ages, hasn't it? What... six Standard years? Seven? I thought you were still somewhere in the Federation at one of those..." he waved a hand "...'happiness asteroids' I believe they're called?"

The Attendant bared her teeth in something that was more feral grin than smile. "No, not any longer."

"Splendid! Splendid!" The Corvallen laughed. "Of course, I could see that for myself, but this could have been a... What's the term the humans use... 'work escape program?'"

"Work release," Victor offered quietly.

"That's it," the alien nodded. "'Work release,'" he repeated, s if to fix it in his memory. "Such a people for words the humans are." He laughed. "But I forget myself, sir; I don't know you, even though my friend V'kala here," he nodded at the Attendant, who placed her other hand possessively on Victor's shoulder in response, "obviously does."

"Erik Todeshändler," Victor replied as he laid one hand atop K'vala's hand at his shoulder.

"Geerik," the Corvallen replied with a nod. "And you two are...?"

"Married," Victor answered in a flat tone.

Surprisingly, Geerik laughed again. "Married? Marvelous?" He looked at the Attendant. "You always know how to make things lively, my dear. Tell me, does Hraask know yet?"

Victor didn't move, but he felt the thing within him stir, readying itself for the moment when he let it free in response to the trap the Corvallen had just obviously laid for them.

"Hraask?" The Attendant's voice was a low hiss, like a serpent, and her eyes narrowed. "Is he here?"

Victor frowned. The Attendant's tone betrayed with certainty that she knew exactly who 'Hraask' was. He didn't mind her not telling him what she knew, but the fact that it might endanger the mission was something that he'd be speaking to her about as soon as they were alone again.

"He's around here, somewhere," Geerik nodded. "I saw him just last night, and he seemed to think that *he* was still your husband. He even told me he had some plan to rescue you from that asteroid or something like that."

The Attendant smiled coldly, like the serpent she'd hissed like a moment before. "Hraask is a fool. If I waited for him to do anything, I would be old and gray. Erik is his superior in every way."

"*Every* way?" Geerik asked skeptically, with a look at Victor.

K'vala laughed and slid her arms around Victor in the manner she'd demonstrated in front of the mirror weeks before. "Yes," she chuckled throatily. "Especially that one."

"You must be an impressive young man," Geerik said with a smile. "V'kala doesn't impress easily."

Victor smiled for him, letting the layers hiding his inner self slip for a moment as his thoughts raced. He thought he understood now. The venom in her voice, the comments about her sister seeking to hurt her however possible... and the one about no longer being married.

Geerik blinked and looked at Victor again, as if seeing him for the first time. "Ah... I understand now. Yes, yes indeed, definitely superior to Hraask. My apologies, sir."

Victor stopped smiling and nodded. "Nothing to apologize for." Noting the Corvallen had to apologize for, anyway. The Attendant was another thing, entirely.

"Good, good." Geerik looked relieved. "Might I steal your wife for a bit sir? To talk over old times? I assure you that I mean her no harm."

Victor glanced at the Attendant, who nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "Don't be too long," he told her as she slipped away from him and started to leave. "Remember, we have business."

"I remember," she promised, and was gone.

Victor turned back and found a place at the bar where he could watch most of the floor without turning and looked for faces he knew. The odds were low that someone he'd arrested was here, but one never knew. No one present themselves, so he contented himself with watching the Attendant as she talked to Geerik off to one side, while he tried to figure out what the Vulcans were doing here, and watched the Klingons in the booth across the club as they eyed the Attendant with undisguised interest.

He almost missed the signal from his com that the Attendant had a lead and was pursuing it, but caught her look as she followed Geerik out the door. Victor tossed off his drink, the bartender having seemed to understand why he wanted synthehol without asking - likely because most customers wanted to keep a clear head - and turned to follow... only to be halted as a slender Vulcan man interposed himself and raised a hand in greeting. "Excuse me, sir," the Vulcan said with a polite nod. "My name is Sevok. I could not help but overhearing your earlier conversation with the Corvallen merchant and wondered if I might ask you a question?"

After a few seconds spent considering his options, Victor decided that simply answering the question was likely the fastest way to dispose of the Vulcan and follow his partner. "What?"

"I have been taking a survey as my companions and I travel, part of a study I started some years ago as an academic project, and I think you may be capable of providing me with information that will assist me to a conclusion." The Vulcan paused to look over his shoulder at the table where his companions waited, the lone woman there waving a hand as if to tell him to ask his question and return. "To be concise," he continued after he'd turned back, "the information I seek relates to your conjugal relations with your wife; specifically the level of pleasure that they bring you. You have the air of a man who has experienced much, so perhaps you can tell me... Is it true, in your experience, that of the races who do not exert pheromonal influence over their partners, Klingon women make the most passionate of lovers?"

As Victor stared at him and tried to formulate an answer, he kept being interrupted by a part of him that insisted on asking why things like this never seemed to happen to other people that he knew. Perhaps it was because he was living his life incorrectly in some fashion? Confidentiality Notice: This e-mail is from a law firm and may be protected by the attorney-client or work product privileges. If you have received this message in error, please notify the sender by replying to this e-mail and then delete it from your computer.

"Breaking away"

Lt. Brianna O'Shea, Chief Engineer / S.C.E. Specialist
Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor

:: Over on the Freighter ::

Brianna and Karyn were taking to a small room, where the two nasicaan guards held them. Karyn was leaning over against the wall, clearly trying to sort out her memories from those of Cutter's. Anna was standing there slightly between where Karyn was and where the Guards where standing. Finally the Chief Engineer sat down at the table and tapped her fingers on it lightly as she tried to think how to best get her and the hover chair bound Dallas out of here,without to much risk. One woman couldn't take on two male nasicaans without some serious fire power, so a head on attack against them would be stupid.

So Anna began to look around the room. She noticed that the nasicaans had placed her tricorder down on the door beside the door. So Anna stood up and walked over. "You'll never get away with this, this ship is going to be destroyed. Whatever cargo your hauling will be destroyed with it." Anna said, as they began to ignore her she took her foot and slid the tricorder back behind her feet, then slid her foot back, followed by her other. Until she was back at the table. Sitting down, she leaned down and acted like she was massaging the back of her leg, and picked up the tricorder.

Holding it under the table she saw it was a medical tricorder, probably one Karyn had brought over. Using her lap as a table, she began to break the it down and began to rewire some of it's components. It took nearly hour, before she got it back together. Now she had it wired up to in the form of a crude taser. Looking over at Karyn, she then stood up and walked over to the door. Standing there for a moment, she then easily touched the probe against the arm of one of the Nasiccans, he cringed and fell to the deck. When the other turned, Anna quickly got him as well with the modified tricorder, he to fell to the deck. Putting the tricorder on her waist, she then bent over and got the weapons off the Nassicans.

"Commander, lets go.." Anna said, then turned and grabbed Karyn's chair and began to push her down the corridor. Resting a weapon on Karyn's shoulder incase she needed to grab it quickly.

“Annoying Thoughts”

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer

LOCATION: Main Engineering

Nara tapped her fingers on the console as she leaned on it shifting her weight. She was annoyed. Annoyed with her thoughts. Even more annoying was the fact that the predominating thought wasn’t about the current mission or the current crisis. It was of Saul.

Her mind went from how cute he was when he would seem to get nervous, and then to angry when she wondered if it was typical guy, tongue in throat when he liked a girl, or simply hiding something. From feeling as if she were in a fairy tale when he called her princess to angry when she thought of his little trade business on her home planet.

She didn’t know if he was driving her crazy or if she was crazy about him. Maybe both. Maybe they just go together.

She thought of Kastanza then. She was definite how she felt about him.

One thing was clear. She loved to hate Kastanza and hated to love Saul. Except she hoped someday she would love to love Saul. He just confused her now.

The computer beeped bringing her back out of her confusing thoughts. She pressed some buttons and watched the core a moment. ~I need to focus!~ She shook her head. She wondered how the away team was doing. She wondered if that horrible beast was still there that she found in her sweep when they were in memories.

She kept looking at the core and did a scan telepathically. It was there. She gulped as curiosity and anger got the better of her.

~Ok. Whatever you are. I’m gonna ask one more time. Why are you tormenting us?~

Her shields were down. She wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s never answered her before.

"Vulcan Mindfrel"

By Lieutenant jg Tarin Iniara

And Lieutenant Commander James L. Corgan

The sickbay smelled of antiseptic and anxiety.

Precisely why James wanted to stay away from such places. Their sterility reminded him too much of a deathly smell, not fetid and diseased, but a chemical reminder that it was still around and needed to be covered up by such powerful astringents.

Nobody was really dying in sickbay, but the tension was there nonetheless. There were a few people in for memory swap related illnesses, such as bumps and bruises from distracted who were too engrossed in the memories to watch where they were going. Through grumblings and agitation, the doctors ministered to the slightly wounded.

T'lan had the privilege of laying on one of sickbay's medical beds, still resting from the effects of her first memory swap. She dared not close her eyes, for she saw paled, clammy flesh encased in beetle black technological carapaces, with a grasping claw that still felt constricting on her neck.

She was aware of the presence of her superior officer at the side of her bed, and was all the more thankful for it.

"I'm sorry about this, Lieutenant." Commander James Corgan leaned down and spoke with a note of sincerity and worry, "I didn't expect that to happen."

T'lan turned to her side to face her commanding officer, rasping, "The memory swap phenomenon is by no means your fault, Sir. You could not affect the results. The odds of that exact memory afflicting me were negligible. I was a victim of chance, nothing more."

Corgan sighed, "Still, it was an intense memory, and it still bothers me to this day. I can barely sleep at night, and that's after living with it for years. I feel bad about my... experience harming you. Not to mention, I too experienced one of your memories, and I feel that I have violated your privacy because of it, so I owe you for two faults."

"Think nothing of it Commander. It is beyond our control." T'lan waved it off, but then backpedaled, "What memory did you experience."

"Oh... dear." James blushed, chuckling, "You were... meditating."

T'lan look confused, "And why would that be embarrassing?"

James stuttered, "You were dressed... in less than I usually see you in."

The Vulcan security officer raised her eyebrow, "I am aware that I dress more comfortably during my meditation sessions. Human males can be easily aroused by physically provocative imagery. I find this... curious."

"Well... that's not the easy part to say." Corgan shrugged, feeling all the more sheepish.

T'lan's eyebrow arched. "Could you clarify?"

"Marsh?" James ventured.

T'lan was taken by surprise, "How much do you know?"

"Nothing I already figured out seeing you two interact, T'lan. And don't worry, I will not tell a soul..."

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

Iniara had seen Corgan come in, for she was already in for her daily visit to Sickbay. Sitting several beds away she watched the pair silently, waiting for her assigned nurse to complete her ministrations. She still hadn't talked to Corgan about helping T'lan since the senior staff meeting. Now it looked like she would have her chance.

"Done yet?" she asked quietly to the nurse.

"Just a few moments more, Lieutenant."

Iniara sighed and directed her attention to the readouts displayed on the wall behind her. As one of the many telepathically gifted crewmen on board she had been experiencing more than her fair share of memory and perception swapping, and had eventually broken down and visited Sickbay to see if anything could be done to help the situation. If not for her safety, she reasoned, then for the safety of the rest of the crew. Some of her relived memories had been rather violent; some had even had some unpleasant psychosomatic side effects. She knew she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if anyone got hurt because of them.

"All done." The nurse's voice brought her out of her reverie, and she focused her attention once more on the readouts. "Neurotransmitter levels are within normal ranges. Just keep those mental shields up and you should be fine."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then." She slid off the bed, tugged her uniform jacket straight, and headed across the room.

"Excuse me, Commander, Lieutenant," she began quietly, stopping to stand a few feet behind Corgan. "I apologize for interrupting. Is there anything I can do to help?"

James turned to regard the fellow Hazard Team officer. He breathed a sigh of hopelessness, "That... I would like to know. I know virtually nothing about psionics, but I was inside the head of a Vulcan for a few moments. Maybe something will come up."

A memory of Earth washed over James, a flicker of snowy peaks, nothing more.

T'lan spoke up as the memory faded, "Lieutenant Tarin, I would value your insights on this dilemma. I am afraid that I am... shaken by this experience, though it is not my own."

"We experienced a memory swap, and while I experienced for the first time what it was like to have total calm and serenity, she was on the USS Thunderchild while the Borg tried to overrun the ship." Corgan filled in, taking on a tone that was wistful and melancholy, "I was there during my cadet cruise, trying to get away from a few other things. My girlfriend wasn't being faithful... my parents perished on the USS Odyssey... my marks were dropping and I was being diagnosed with depression. I still qualified for the trip... so I took it. Hell, the ship was staying in Sector 001. It was far away from the front. My professor thought I had nothing to worry about."

T'lan jumped in, quaking, "Nobody predicted the Borg's arrival. A fleet mustered at sector 001. He... I was issued my first phaser."

"T'lan." James halted her, "You don't have to do this."

"Please sir, I must." T'lan insisted, shivering, "I was there as much as you were. I was as scared as you. I had never seen combat before, and I heard so much about the Borg. The battle wasn't going well, and everyone was wondering when the Enterprise would come in... then the ship was hit. The shields were down. In the security office, we heard of drones breaching one of the decks, so we responded."

"What happened then?" she asked quietly. Empathic abilities were not necessary to feel the pain they were both experiencing. She only hoped she would in some way be able to help.

"Commander Sandi called me to follow him. We were low on personnel and the drones were all over the ship. We raced towards the nearest security breach and engaged the drones. We used our phasers... it was the first time I killed, and it made me sick. Those pallid faces and blank stares, their relentless march... the frustration of their sheer numbers and then fright and hopelessness felt when we found our phasers ineffective..."

She gulped a lungful of air, her eyes darting frightfully as sweat beaded over her sharpened brows. "We had one left, but he adapted. He hewed through two security officers, and then... that claw... he grabbed my commander by the neck and... snap. Such inhuman strength. Such horror to see black nanoprobes course through the necks of assimilated men. But then it saw me..."

"I panicked. I couldn't run. I was too frozen to run. I tried to readjust my phaser, but my fingers were trembling, and I didn't know exactly how. The Borg... oh... grappled that claw down on my neck and was about to..."

"Until I shot him." Corgan interjected, "And stayed for hours, that beast... twitching like it was not yet dead, its claw around my neck, wondering if it really was dead, or if it was going to get up and finish me, or if one of those officers would get up as Borg zombies, the people I knew, the officers who called me 'kid'... would be the ones that kill me. But no, I was given the hard way out... I was rescued."

James turned to Iniara, "I still wake up to those nightmares. They're not as bad as before, but they are still there. Since then I've had scores of counselors, bad relationships, enough killing for a dozen lifetimes. Please Tarin, she does not deserve to have this forced on her. What happened to me should not happen to her. If you can help her, do so."

For a moment Iniara remained speechless, trying not to imagine the scene too vividly in her mind.

"Such cold brutality should not have to be experienced by anyone," she replied after a moment, shuddering slightly. "Unfortunately, I only know of one way to remove the memories entirely. Deleting memories from a person's head has been accomplished by quite a few doctors over the years, though from what I understand it involves deleting entire stretches of memory, not just isolated memories."

"I dislike the idea of memory deletion, but I must be pragmatic. It may be the only way to go." T'lan stated.

"However, there is one Betazoid technique I know of, which is used to help those who are unable to control their own natural abilities for one reason or another. It involves the suppression of the telepathic and empathic senses of the affected person by one or more others who are trained in such procedures."

"I've never actually used the technique myself, though. I only know so much about it because for the first four years of my life I was the recipient of such treatment." Iniara paused, contemplating the best way to continue. "The technique may or may not work with Vulcans, or on such a vibrant memory, and if it works at all will almost certainly not correct the situation in just one sitting. But with prolonged treatment the memory should eventually dull and fade, until it disappears entirely."

"But you do have the ability to do this, right?" Corgan asked.

"Most Betazoids have the ability to perform the technique, yes. But having the ability and actually having the expertise to use it are entirely different things, I'm afraid."

"I see." James nodded. He had faith in Iniara's abilities, but for precaution's sake he wanted a psyker with more experience and expertise. "I would personally wait until we find a person specializing in psychic surgery, or at least consult the doctors."

"This memory is invasive." T'lan cut in loudly, "I want it out immediately! I cannot sleep. Traumatic memories cause degradation in the synaptic relays of Vulcans. If it is to be removed, it must be removed soon."

Iniara looked from T'lan back to Corgan. "I'm afraid our options are limited, 'Commander. For the time being, we may have no other choice."

"Can it be done here, Iniara?" Corgan cut to the chase, and simply asked.

"Yes, though I would prefer a more private location. It may take some time, and doctors can become annoyed when non-medical personnel work on their patients." Iniara looked around the room, eyeing the personnel milling about.

"I will be discharged in three hours, twenty five minutes." T'lan piped up, the urgency in her voice un-Vulcanlike. "My quarters are private enough. We should do it there."

"T'lan, it will be evening by then. Most people will be going to sleep." Corgan reminded.

T'lan looked solemnly at her commanding officer. "It will be most difficult to have a restful sleep while this memory is in me. Is it not true for you?"

Corgan nodded, grumbling, "I've had plenty of nightmares."

T'lan finished, "It would be more prudent to start before I am affected by Corgan's memory in a most vulnerable time."

"Alright then. Four hours. T'lan's quarters. We'll get started." Corgan ordered, "Iniara, can you be prepared by then?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then let's do it. T'lan... take care. Let me know if you need anything."

[BACKPOST]

Corgan
London

Branwen was working out in the gym. She liked to do it every day, because as a psychologist she wanted to prove herself as a combat marine even more than the rest. Right now she was coming to the end of her routine, and as she had gone an extra round today she was pretty tired.

James Corgan had nothing, combatwise, to prove.

But as he worked over the punching bags, smacking flashing targeting sensor fields, feet and legs shuffling as he tried out the evasive hand to hand tactics he learned recently, James felt he had the whole world to prove wrong. He was strong, clearminded, deadly, invincible!

The score that lit up over the punching bag was proof enough. The score grew astronomically as James used only his feet to hit the moving, randomized light targets. He was gathering an amazed crowd, watching, cheering on the security chief as he ran up the score. Not that he noticed. The light targets were all like his problems. He wanted them detroyed.

*pafff* James hit the final target. A clarion like burst from the bag's speakers stopped the exercise. With the final score tallied, the spectators clapped their hands.

Corgan casually toweled the sweat off his forehead, ignoring everyone else.

"Dammit." He ruefully looked at the score, "Bruce Lee made it look so easy. I only have a tenth of his score."

"Nevertheless you did well, sir." Branwen said approaching him. "You have to be in security. I know you are not a marine." She smiled. "I am Branwen London, marine staff psychologist and XO. I would love to spar with you one-day."

James extended his hand, but then retracted it back. He toweled off the offending palm and then shook hands. "Lieutenant Commander Corgan, Security Chief. How do you do, ma'am."

Though he kept a friendly face and a calm voice, Corgan's red alert klaxons were blaring. Something about the word psychologist sent his mind in a frenzy, seeing her as a stealth shrink designed to sucker him into a psychological evaluation.

She was female as well, and from James past experiences, many of the women he meet had a hard time of letting go, loving him or clinging to him in ways that made separation harder. Recent experience taught him that he needed time away from the fairer sex, in a place such as a convent. However, he was on a starship, and staring down the barrel of a ship's psychologist, whom from what James guessed already cooked up a Freudian sex-and-violence glimpse into his mind just by watching him play kick the sack. The co-ed arrangements would have to suffer on James irritation for awhile longer.

~"Awww sh*t."~ James thought underneath a veil of smiles and good humour.

The body language was obvious enough, another one who hated marines obviously.

"I'm sorry, sir." She said blushing. "I shouldn't have bothered you. It wouldn't do at all to make an enemy out of the chief of security."

~"Christ sakes, am I always wearing my heart on my sleeve?"~ Corgan thought to himself. He thought he was being cordial and kind, but came off as apprehensive. Backpedalling, James apologized to the Marine. "Sorry about that, ma'am. I try not to colour my perceptions of people from my pasts experiences with both of your professions, but somehow apprehension slips out. Forgive me."

"Why are you calling me ma'am, sir. I just graduated the academy and you are a senior officer." She didn't understand him at all.

"Oh? Oh...." James hummed. "Too polite? Spacers and Terranborn have different social mannerisms, so I've heard."

"So tell me, Marine." Corgan shifted the focus onto her, which proved to relax him, "What's on your mind?"

"I am a little bit apprehensive, sir. You seem to dislike marines, and I had hoped our departments would work closely together. He also dislike psychologists, so I'm afraid you will dislike me." A shy smile.

It was James turn to feel shy. Here he was, a woman giving him some attention, and he was acting like a jerk. "Sorry about that. I've known some decent counselors, but they are the exception and not the rule in my experiences. Same goes for marines. Don't take it personally. I just don't have the 24th century knack for ignoring prejudice. Come, take a seat, sit and chat."

"okay, sir." She sat down. "What would you like to talk about, sir?" Bran still didn't know how to place him exactly.

"Oh..." James was taken aback by the way she shifted the conversation to him. ~"Wasn't she the one that wanted to talk?"~

But he was reminded that perhaps, by some subliminal way, he was the one initiating contact. It wasn't as if she was a Naussican. He appeared to be an attractive (another one!) female taking interest. James was already suckered in. The tendancy to find himself around women concerned him, but to think of it any deeper would have caused an obvious lapse in the conversation.

Vowing to keep the conversation businesslike. "Well... I guess I can tell you about the last time we had a marine detatchment on this ship."

"yes please. I would like to hear about that." Branwen said pleasantly.

"Alright... here we go. We did have some marines." James sighed as the unhappy memories flooded in, "Our last captain, a crusty old son of a bitch, was a former marine himself, so he tended to favour the marines on board more than my staff. Giving them more training time, plum assignments, equipment priviledges... I just hated that. The marines treated my men like lesser sentients, and it obviously started a few feuds along the way. Personally... I could have worked with them... if they wanted to work in return. So we ignored each other until our old captain took on another assignment, and took not only the marines... but a few of my best deputies with him. I'm just glad to be rid of them..."

Her face fell a little. No wonder he didn't seem to want her and the other marines here.

"But... there was one upside." James pointed out, "I'm in great shape, better than even during the war. Do you know why? Because the marine corps has a top notch physical training regiment. They subjected us to a light exercise at first. We had to train together, and theirs was much tougher than ours, so we had a hard time keeping up. Over time, my department and I were able to go pace to pace with our rivals. Eventually, we could do the harder exercises. Man... the first time I beat their CO in a footrace, my department gloated for a week!"

She smiled. It was not always true, during her youth she had trained a lot with the older sister. And she wasn't at all sure she could beat that particular naval officer even today.

"That wasn't all though. Their weapons training, squad tactics and equipment gave me ideas. Some of these ideas formulated into our first Hazard Team, probably the first and last greatest accomplishment of my career. Despite my prejudice towards the jarheads in green, I have to thank them. Without their prodding, I would have never tried to outdo them, and the Galaxy would not have a Hazard Team, nor would we rank as one of the best trained security regiments on any starship."

"I am glad something positive came out of it for you. To hear your story, a totally understand if you dislike us. I never understood why marines and navy have such a difficult relationship. My sister at first was not happy that I chose the marines. In fact she was bloody angry. She is a first officer now. Before that a security officer on a ship and when I lived with her security instructor at the academy in San Francisco. She saw it at first as a betrayal. Until I explained that I wanted to make a career for myself without help. From my 14th until my 18th year I lived amongst navy personnel however. I do hope we can be friends, sir."

His reservations aside, James felt somewhat more at ease with Branwen. A friendship wasn't out of the question, but James didn't know what to do with such a forward female. He found himself pressed for conversation, but once he found it interaction was much easier. James also thought he wasn't in the market for a new girlfriend.

It was the 24th century! Not every male/female relationship had to have sexual undertones.

Thereby, James considered the budding friendship cautiously, seeing it as a wait-and-see situation. He would have to know more about Branwen before he could know what to make of her.

"A Starfleet family? Get out." Corgan chuckled, "I'm a fleet brat myself, though my mom and dad were the first in our family. Mostly entertainers, vagabonds, thieves, rogue traders, the usual galactic riff-raff with a serious case of wanderlust. But the odd thing about Starfleet... nothing much changes. I still travel the stars. I still do a dangerous job. Only difference is that I keep the peace for a change."

"Only my sister, we are excommunicated from the rest of the family for the choices we made." She said a little sad. "And my mothers brother was in the fleet. He was killed by pirates when I was little."

"oh..." James trailed off, "Bad subject to discuss. Sorry."

"No, no it isn't. I love my sister very much." She smiled. "She is never a bad subject. What about your family, are you close?"

"Ummmmm...." Paused a startled James. He had a father whom he always argued with, and a mother who was very distant. Both were killed on the Odyssey when the Jem'Hadar attacked. His sister, the CEO of Corgan Media, rarely had time to talk and they visited once every two years (approximately). As for cousins, James hasn't heard from any of them in decades, and even then the Corgan name was rare.

"...Not really." James had to truthfully confess.

"I am sorry. I guess you are more a friends person." She smiled.

"Oh?" James, caught off guard, gave the typical male response to surprise (by way of looking astonished in a comical fashion). He didn't expect Branwen to say something of that magnitude. ~"Holy hellfire, she was looking for a man? Didn't she see my pips? Didn't she listen to me when I told her my rank and station? Christ sakes, I don't want any more trouble."~

"Yes, I guess you can say that." James sheepishly laughed, "I just broke up with my ex-girlfriend. For the time being i'm more of a friends kind of man."

"I am sorry to hear that. I am sure it is her loss. You seem like a nice guy." She smiled.

"Why thank you. That's quite kind of you." James smiled.

"Any time." She got up. 'Now I have to get back to work. It was nice meeting you, I hope our departments can work together well in the future."

"Can do. Thanks for the discussion." James picked up his towel, draping it over his shoulders. "I should hit the showers. Catch you later."

James waved goodbye to Branwen, and beelined to the shower room. With Branwen fresh on his mind, he set the sonic shower to cold and shrill, and tried his best to forget any temptation.

"Big Talk"

Lieutenant Corran Rex

Settling into a diamond formation, the Vanguard positioned themselves between the Galaxy and the Dreshaya vessels, becoming the tip of the spear as it were. Tacanalysis was up and running on the three craft that were so bold as to try to impound a Federation starship on a rescue mission.

The Dreshaya were not breaking off, Corran noticed. Pressing an all-band comm channel, he hailed the lead vessel, the one that had delivered the ridiculous order. ["This is Vanguard Leader to approaching vessels. You are interfering with a rescue mission in interstellar space. You have no authority to impound our vessels. Cease your attack, break of your approach and pull back by six hundred kilometers."]

He didn't really expect a response, though he was surprised when he got one.

["Vanguard Leader, this is Captain Adair of the Dreshaya. It is you who are interfering. The people on that freighter are under our jurisdiction. You are interfering with their capture, and by doing so, you have placed yourselves in our jurisdiction. Surrender now."]

Rex had been many things in his years, including a diplomat. That part of himself was not present today. "Big talk from a guy in a little ship, Captain Adair. You're outta your home territory Adair. I have a squadron of well trained starfighter pilots, and a Galaxy-Class starship with one helluva big phaser cannon on it behind me. Come closer, and we will open fire. This is your final warning."

The Dreshaya gave no further answered, one of their attack vessels resuming their attack on the freighter.

"Right then." the Trill muttered to himself, and tapped the Squadron frequency. "Three flight, protect the freighter. Two Flight, take the second cruiser. One Flight, we'll tackle the first. Move it."

Acknowledgements filtered through as he tapped the comm that would put him through to the Galaxy. "Rex to Galaxy, Captain, the Dreshaya refuse to stand down. We're engaging them, and a little cover fire form that big gun of yours would not go unappreciated."

["So noted, Lieutenant."] came the rich voice of M'Kantu. ["We'll have it for you. Attack Pattern Four-Delta."]

"Roger that." Corran replied, flicking his eyes to the HUD. His squad was already moving into position - they'd heard the Captain's orders.

Corran led the charge on the lead ship, opening his pulse phasers to full power, and launching full spreads of micro torpedoes. Each of the Vanguards came at the ship from a different angle, their weapons draining the shields with their repeated blasts. The shields on the attack craft flashed repeatedly with each hit, as power was drained form the ship's shielding.

They weren't doing much other than softening the blow though, as a moment later, that Galaxy's phaser cannon finished the attack pattern, punching right through the remnants of the Dreshayan vessels' shields - and it's hull. It cleanly severed one of the vessels warp nacelles, and put a nice, big hole in that ship's engineering hull.

Yeah, she was out of the fight.

"WOOOHAH!!" Corran yelled over the comm, forgetting himself a moment. "Allright, two , you're with me. Three, four, help three flight - get them off that freighter." he ordered, even as standard issue phaser fire from the Galaxy began lancing out at both smaller vessels.

"High Hopes" - Part I

By Captain M'Kantu
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy

Appearances by:
William Warbeck,
Asst. Chief Tactical Officer

Tarin Iniara,
Chief Operations Officer

On the Main Bridge of the USS Galaxy, all were held enthralled by the audacity of the Dreshaya who bolted in with such blatant disregard for life both in and out of this region of space.

The lead dart sped onwards, traces of projectile fire dotting the freighter in tiny burst of light as they impacted. The second one managed to separate the Guadaloupe, then proceeded to chase it off. Daren clenched his right hand around the tactical console, undeterred by the creaking as it resisted his grip. Firing upon Starfleet craft was an arrogance he could not allow.

"Vanguard deploying, sir." Warbeck's voice wavered. Not one person on this Bridge wanted or desired to enter combat, Daren knew, but the fast attack craft would be difficult to drive off, especially with the untenable diplomatic affairs in this sector.

"Remind them to fire to disable. No deaths." Not like those bodies that he'd seen blown out the airlock and bridge just moments ago.

"Incoming transmission from Lt. Rex, sir."

"Put it through." He twirled his fingers impatiently; Tarin was unaware of his motion.

*** Events of "Big Talk" ***

"Bring that dart in that Rex disabled. Lt. Tarin, you have the Bridge." With that, Daren trotted around the arch and into the turbolift.

*** Approximately 10 Minutes later ***

By the time M'Kantu arrived at the Tactical shuttle bay on Deck 39, Captain Adair was bellowing at the Security personnel who greeted him.

"How dare you! You are intruding on sovereign territory and have no right to detain me. I demand release immediately!"

"No one is going anywhere just yet." The dark-skinned Captain carried himself in a gait of 'don't dare bullshit me or I'll toss you out an airlock'.

M'Kantu's eyes blazed with a fire at the olive-skinned being that stood before him. Adair stood close to 5 and a quarter feet tall, lithe, with close-cropped hair. A little man with a big ego.

"You will gain nothing from me, whoever you are, Blackbird." The derogatory comment was not lost on M'Kantu. "You will release me or face the consequences."

"Or what?" Daren waved off the Security officer who had sidled up to the little man. His bulk far overshadowed the Dreshayan. Adair only pursed his lip in arrogance. "I do not need to prove my superior intellect to you, ape."

"Back off, Lieutenant." Daren stopped less than a meter from the Dreshayan.

"I don't want anything from you, Captain, except your ear." He wanted to return the insult, but bit his own tongue. The diplomat in him needed to rise to the surface. He would not be baited.

Adair's eyes shrunk minutely in wariness. If these Starfleeters and Federation took ears for trophies, they were barbaric indeed, and it was just that his planetary government rejected them.

"That freighter is causing more problems than just to your people, Captain. There are mechanical difficulties that are causing another species to suffer greatly. My staff over there and tending to repairs. Your blatant attack may have set it back."

"I have no care for your 'people', and if there are in fact, more of you or another in the area, then they deserve to die as well. This is our territory, at which none but Dreshaya are wanted."

"If you continue your insertions with warp in the area, Captain, there will be NO life in this sector at all, of which could carry itself into your own systems."

"Not my issue. Our scientists have issued no warning, and you Federation types are untrustworthy. You are trying to trick us."

"No, Captain, we are not. Call off your attack. My crew must return. I cannot allow you to take them prisoner."

"They are on our charge. Therefore, they are in allegiance. They will be brought to trial with the others. If they are truthfully not part of the crew, then our court systems will judge it so."

"And how long would that be, Captain?" He knew the answer, already, but this is how diplomacy works. For once, he wished Curran were here. The arrogance of both Adair and the Kelvan would probably get more accomplished.

"Could be months. I do not know. I'm not an employee of the courts."

"That is quite unacceptable."

"I do not care. That ship and all its contents are ours. Including all peoples on board."

"I won't let that happen, Captain. I could force the issue."

"You could, but then again, you are barbaric and uncivilized. How do I know you are not assisting them in their nefarious activities? I suspect you are." Adair sighed, as one who talked to a child when explaining an item of importance. "Reinforcements are already on their way, as I suspect you already know. You would best leave while you are still able to."

"High Hopes" - Part II

By Captain M'Kantu
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy

Appearances by:
William Warbeck, Asst. Chief Tactical Officer

Tarin Iniara,
Chief Operations Officer

Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer

Daren shook his head.

"What is so important about this freighter? It's ancient, and on the verge of decommissioning."

"As I told you before, I will not divulge any information to you. You are welcome to interrogate and torture me to retrieve the information, but it is doubtful you will succeed. Your ways are such as a house-woman would act on. Weak, brittle, emotional, chaotic. Absolutely no focus." He jutted his chin out.

"I will speak no more. Release me."

"Take him to the Brig." The same burly guard jabbed the Dreshayan in the ribs to prod him on, who only laughed.

M'Kantu crossed the deck plating to the communication panel to the left of the exit.

"M'Kantu to Main Bridge."

[Tarin here, Captain]

"What is the situation?"

[Vanguard has been able to transport most of the crew off the ship. O'Shea reports the warp bubble is down, but the engines cannot be saved. They're emitting high levels of radiation that cannot be repaired in time. Most of the freighter crew that worked in the area are heavily infected. All are reporting to Sickbay on arrival.] Her voice was sounding strained.

"Is there something the matter, Lieutenant?"

[No sir. Just a touch of headache. Won't interfere with my duties.]

"Get to sickbay when your shift is over. No chances." Curiously, he wondered if the subspace fluctuations in the region were the cause of her headaches. He shook it off. Let the doctor's determine that. He had to rely on his crew as it stood now. "Has Commander Henderson returned yet?"

[No, sir.]

"Let me know when he has. Oh, and be on the lookout for more Dreshayan craft on long-range sensors."

[Aye, sir.]

*** 20 Minutes later ***

[Henderson to Captain M'Kantu]

Daren slapped his commbadge as he left Sickbay. The away team was fine for the most part, but Fienberg had determined that they should remain for 24 hours for observation due to their exposure to the intense radiation. Plus, the compounded problem of his Second Officer and Chief Science Officer in switched forms was situational at best. The security issues involved merited a stay in Sickbay until a resolution could be found.

"Commander, did you determine what cargo the freighter was carrying?"

[High-grade weapons and... a biogenetic explosive.]

Daren's eyes drew wide at the insinuation of biological warfare. It must be what the Dreshaya were after. For what purpose? He did not know.

"I expect a full report within the hour, Commander. Report to Sickbay in the meantime."

[Aye, sir. Henderson out.]

Time to visit Adair again.

*** Brig, several minutes later ***

"Come to release me?" Adair was sitting up with perfect posture on the cot in his 'personal' quarters. M'Kantu glared through the lavender field at him. The pointed nose and beady eyes suited the Dreshayan perfectly.

"You want the weapons on board the freighter." Adair never even blinked.

"What weapons? I have no idea what you are referring to."

"Oh, I think you do. Were they planning on using it against you, or did they perhaps steal it from you? Or did you plan on stealing it for yourself? You should be aware that biological warfare is deeply frowned upon by the Federation. They will relinquish protectorate status from your world, opening it up to invasion by factions nearby."

Adair slowly crooked his visage towards M'Kantu.

"Ever stop to think that is precisely what we want? We do not want to be part of your vaunted Federation, the tumourous cancer it is. Weak, politically corrupt. Your damnable Prime Directive. It's contemptuous." Then Adair showed his first signs of emotion.

He stood up, walked to just shy of the perimeter of the forcefield, and spit in M'Kantu's direction. It sparked and fizzled against the field, which shimmered itself at point of impact.

[Bridge to Captain. All personnel and passengers from the freighter are on board. Long range sensors have detected more craft of the same size as the Dreshayan darts incoming, as well as a large cruiser.]

Adair smiled. "Looks like it's time for you to leave, Captain, but not before you give up the freighter personnel. Unless you yourself want to be incriminated by association.

"How's the Guadaloupe?"

[Already docked. Ensign Terrik and Ms. Alverez are on board and reporting to Sickbay to address minor injuries.]

Eyes drilling into Adair, he issued a command that he knew would drive it home to the Dreshayan.

"Ensign Warbeck?"

[Aye, sir?]

"Charge up the phaser cannon. Wide spread. Destroy the freighter."

"NO!!!" Adair threw himself against the field, his entire body glowing as the field shocked him right down to the molecules. He fell to the floor, still conscious.

"You can't... we need it to defend our world..." he panted. The ship shook slightly as the blast waves carried through. "You've killed us."

"No, Captain Adair, I think you'll be re-thinking that in the future when you realize we are there to protect your system without due interference, including the Federation if that is what you require. There are worse things out there in the dark, coming for all of us."

Adair struggles to his feet. How one so small withstood the neural blast of the field was interesting indeed.

"Your Federation will never be welcome in Dreshayan territory. You have no clue how much you are detested. Just leave and let us deal with our own problems. You bring enough of your own, so leave and take it with you."

"I cannot do that, Captain." He nodded to the guard to release the field. Without hesitation, it dropped. Adair approached M'Kantu, with nary a sign of weakness.

He spit in his face. The guard moved to manhandle the Dreshayan, but M'Kantu raised a hand to stop him, wiping the spittle off his face in the meantime with a kerchief that appeared magically out of nowhere.

"Take him back to his ship and release him. I think his own people will be hard enough in disciplining him."

As Adair was being led away, he stopped once to face M'Kantu.

"We will meet again, and I won't let you walk away. I will kill you myself. You have my blood oath on it."

"Stand in line."

"High Hopes" - Part III

By Captain M'Kantu
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy

*** 30 minutes later, Main Bridge ***

More Dreshayan Darts burned out of Warp just as Adair's own interceptor was unceremoniously pushed out of the Tactical Bay.

The combined collapsed warp bubble from the Freighter wave met the incoming warp fields generated by the Dreshayans in a crush of fronts. The resulting effect was another rift that split the subspace like a canvas, peeling back layers of old ebon paint with its waxy undersurface. Galaxy was yanked in immediately into the gap where it fluttered open for a moment longer, and slammed shut before any Dreshaya could follow in.

***

Daren drifted in the dreamscape for all time and no time. His mind sifted through images, scenes, sights, and sounds not his own. Some he recognized, others so alien he couldn't make any sense of. His mind drifted until one sound, one voice, rose to still the rocking and bring him to a standstill.

He woke up in the same meadow as before, but now there was a cornfield between the rock he was leaning on and the treeline. The cobs glowed with a radiant light of their own. Rustling in the stalks crept to his ears, but he didn't feel afraid. Streaks of red crackled overhead, signs of the warp breachings in subspace no doubt.

The corn stalks parted, revealing a child no older than 8, braids curling around the sides of her flawless complexion. They were decorated with a variety of beads. Her bright blue eyes called him to their gaze, locking him in a hypnotizing grip. Her lips, glossy, parted slightly as she saw him.

"Hello, Captain. I wasn't expecting you so soon. Do you want to play with me?"

Daren blinked as she spoke, but held under the mesmerizing gaze, he nodded in agreement. Standing up, he walked hesitantly to the girl and took her tiny hand as she extended it to him. They passed into the cornfield...

... and arrived in a field filled with beings of light.

"Who are you, child? What part of memory are you from? I don't recall you."

"That's because I'm not part of your memory yet. I will be, though." At his confused look, she patted his hand prior to releasing it. "Time has no meaning here, Captain. We can retrieve memories from you that have not occurred yet to you." She stepped back and faded into the light shared by the beings behind her. Their number was significantly less than before and their light was faded. He wept.

"Do not weep for us, Captain, for you have saved us. You have performed that which you promised us you would. As we knew you would. We are survived because of your actions. Do you understand?"

"I believe I do. The warp physics were impinging on your dimension, opening it up to the different physics of our own. We were killing each other's universes."

"He understands." Another spoke up. And another whispered, and another, and another... it rippled throughout the mass of dirty light.

"I am unable to make any promises for the inhabitants of this region, but we will deploy warning beacons of no more than Warp 5 in the area. Starfleet and the Federation will also be notified in the event the Dreshayans destroy our beacons. They refuse to believe."

"They are of no consequence. It is you we were concerned with. You understand, you believe." More echoes of the sentiment ripple through the throng. "We will return you now. Thank you for the memories."

Was that a sentiment? Before Daren could query further, the same cobwebbed effect fell over the beings of light, blotting out his vision. When his eyes cleared, he found himself on the Galaxy's Bridge again, without any sign of the Dreshayans.

*****

"The experiment was a success." The initial being who greeted M'Kantu rippled into the form of June, his ex-wife. The crackling red skies overhead ceased their devastation. The sun rose, clouds parted, and blue skies peaked out. The beings, once of dirty light, erupted in a brightness unseen, as they coalesced into various forms of humanoid shapes and colours.

"Yes, I feel... emotions?" Beside June, the form of Daren M'Kantu shimmered into being. "It was a dangerous test. I'm... glad (?) the theory held. Humanoids are difficult to predict behaviourally. I feared we would inherit only negative emotions from the memories.

"They risked their lives for us, when they did not know our true intentions." June flexed her hands, turned them over. She reached out for 'Daren', reveling in the feeling of touch. She ran her fingers over his calloused palm.

"These memories and emotions are so much more than we hoped. If only we could have obtained these from Captain Kirk all that time ago... it is unfortunate their lives are linear. I would like to have conversed with he and his Vulcan at least once more."

"Our understanding has evolved more so. It shouldn't be long before we initiate contact." 'Daren' had begun to weep. June touched her fingers to the moisture, marveling at its texture. She brought the finger to her lips and tasted it cautiously. Her eyes lit up in wonder.

"Oh, my... we have much to learn."

*****

As Captain M'Kantu filled out the last of his report, he mulled over the events of the last month or so. According to the chronometers on the ship, this mission had lasted over two months. Odd being that his own body and others only experienced a matter of only a few days. It was something only Science would be able to explain.

There were a lot of question marks when it came to the aliens. Why did they select his ship rather than the local inhabitants? Why did they not simply retrieve the beings on the freighter and have them deal with the situation? His mind tickled with possibilities and inconsistencies. All of which will probably never be answered. It just didn't fit right.

He keyed the communications panel. "Bridge? How long until arrival at Trill?"

[Approximately two months, sir] That was Cameron Bartlett, steadfast as always.

Daren sighed. The reduced Warp speed would just have to do. He decided to turn in. The exhaustion he felt, could only be related to being awake for months. At least, that's what he attributed it to.

"Mr. Bartlett. No one is to awaken me unless it's an emergency. And by that, I mean end of the universe type."

[Aye, sir] Daren picked himself up off his chair, lay out on the divan and fell asleep immediately, to dream of an 8 year girl he had yet to know.

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