Ensign Correy Smith,
Flight Control officer,
USS Galaxy

"A `helping` hand...."

His time onboard the Galaxy had already been cut short. After checking in with Ops and dropping his bags in his new quarters, he already had his first assignment. Being unable to find his superiior, Lieutenant Savoie, Correy had taken it upon himself to make his own plans.

It didnt take him long, after entering the main shuttlebay, to find himself sat in the pilots seat of a shuttle, and as he walked along the now charred streets of the place he'd been only hours ago, he thought back to the swift silent journey he'd shared with a shuttle full of new faces.

He'd been walking for about five minutes now, not really taking anything in. What he did know, was that he was walking away from the landing site of his shuttle, and toward the mass of smoke that was rising in the far distance, obviously being the centre of the crash zone.

He was concerned that he wasn't showing the same levels of awareness as the countless drones running about around him. he stopped dead in his tracks. Looking down before his feet, he felt sick. Surrounded by damaged buildings on either side, he pulled his hand up to cover his mouth and to stop himself from being physically sick.

He moved on and took no oppurtunity to glance back at what he'd just seen. He picked up his pace and after a while came into a more built up area. The personell around him seemed to be operating in a totally eratic manner, so he decided to do the same. Deviating to the right, he turned off the main road, and set his sights on the equally damamged side road.

He knew this road, he'd been walking down this very sport three days ago. Visiting the ~~flight museum~~ he thought as he turned to face the building.

Darker in colour, and partially collapsed, he looked on at the historic building that he'd admired such a short time ago. Now it was just....ugly...ruined. He started to move towards it, and held up his tricorder. He didnt know what he was looking for, but found something.

The tricorder beeped to indicate lifesigns inside. He hesitated as he eyed up the building ~~safe?~~ he decided on yes, and made his way up the large steps that lef to the main entrance. He chose to use the door, even though the large fracture in the wall would have sufficed.

Entering the building he noticed complete difference from his visit earlier that week. The large 19th centuary replica plane was now laying smashed in two pieces in the main foyer.

His attention was robbed from him as he heard a cry. The tricorder shot back up into the air immediately as he tried to figure out where it had come from.He looked ahead of him, three large corridors. One was completely blocked, one completely open, and the last was just dark.

He was certain that the noise had come from the third corridor, and his tricorder backed his prediction up. He moved forward toward that very corridor, slightly put off by the dark. The dust and smoke hit him hard and caught him off guard as he moved further into the darkness. Choking and struggling, he produced a torch from the bag he'd been carrying since he left the shuttle.

Attatching it to his arm, he placed his other hand over his mouth. The dust stung his eyes, but after a few moments he could see again. He stood completely still, about three hundred metres into the corridor. He listened for the sound again. He felt a shiver up his spine as the erriness of what was happening hit him. He took a step forward and felt something at his feet.

Taking a gulp, he slowly lowered his torch. He let out a gasp, sucking in a huge mouthful of dust. Stumbling forward over the body infront of him, he fell to the floor as he tried to get back a clean mouth of air. He wriggled away from the body quickly as the contents of his bag were sent sprawling across the corridor.

Still pitch black, he sat, hand still covering mouth, thinking of what to do next.

~~Why am I even in here?~~ he thought. The tricorder was lost in the dark somewhere, and so was he.

He felt around him with his hands, terrified at what he could come into contact with. Then there it was again.... "help" a whimpering cry of "help". It came from infront of him, further into the corridor.

Armed with just the torch, he slowly got back onto his feet, and made his was carefully down the corridor. The Dust seemed to get thicker with every step, and the darkness remained just as merciless as before.

"hello?" he called out, which was immediately followed by a splutter and a cough.

"Can you" cough "can you hear me?" he got louder as he stopped dead and waited for a reply.

Nothing.....Then a rumble. He felt the building shake. He stood still. Completely still, and waited. The rumbling turned to a growling as he was sure the whole structure was about to collapse.

He span round as someones hand felt his shoulder. Letting out a scream, he pushed whoever it was hard. He heard the thud as they hit, what he could only imagine to be her skull, off the marble wall that trapped him in this corridor. Now facing the same way, he immediately elevated the torch. Trying to catch his breathe, he focussed on the person.

The sweat that was now dripping from his head, was causing the dust to stick to his face. He wiped his eyes, as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. The torch wasnt much help. He moved slowly forward, toward the wall, and the body. "hello?..."

He got no reply this time. He lowered the torch, and the face of a middle aged female came into view. Her eyes were closed, and from what he could see, she was bleeding from the head.

"hello?!...." he stated again, this time in a far more concerned tone. Nothing.

"Shit, dont do this to me...." He knelt down beside her. Her body propped or sitting up against the wall. He slowly moved his hand towards her neck. As he did, her arm shot up and grabbed his. He jumped and screamed again, her grip was firm, and he couldnt have moved if he had wanted to.

"help me....." she whispered. A whisper that pierced sharply through the darkness. He froze for a second, not knowing how to respond.

"h-hh-help....me" she pleaded. The tears rolling down her face were having the same effect on her as Correys sweat was having on him.He said nothing, and acted on his natural instinct to grab her. He pulled her in itght and hugged her. Still struggling with the dust "you're guna be okay..... can you get to your feet?"

He didnt wait for a reply, and dragged the woman to her feet. Leaning her weight on him, he put his arm around her waist. She didnt struggle. He slowly but surely remembered his was back down the dark corridor, stumbling along the way, and having to take three or four stops to gasp for more air.

"Nearly there" he said out of breathe. The woman seemed to get heavier and more limp as he carried on moving down the corridor. ~~just getting tired, come on~~

Finally, he saw light through the dust. He sped up and made his way back out into the foyer of the museum. There were three other officers now present.

"we picked up lifeisngs in here" one of them shouted to Correy. He didnt reply, but carried on until he was sure they were out of the corridor. He stopped just short of the replica plane he'd seen on the way in. Then the exhaustion hit him, and he slumped to the floor. Banging his knee caps, and loosing hold of the female, he felt his head go light.

The three officoers raced over. One of them to Correy and the other two, to the woman. It took him a few seconds to become aware of his surroundings again, and one of the officers passed him some water.

"dead" he heard one of the female officers say

"she....s-he ca----cant be....." Correy muttered. " I was just........" He slowly looked down at the womans limp body "I was just talk- talking to her...."

"Looks like she injured her head pretty bad...." Correy looked up at the young ensign who was speaking. Wearing a green medical uniform she continued "what happened to her? you know?"

"N-No" Correy said "I erm.....I Picked up lifesigns like you guys did.....When I got in here I.....I erm....." he looked down at the lifeless corpse once again. "I erm..... she was speaking to me...."

"hey hey, its okay" said the medic "lets get you looked at, you've taken in a lot of crap air....David" she said to the man next to her "Get this officer to a medical centre to be check over"

"Aye m'am" came `Davids` reply.

Correy heart skipped as he was moved away from the museum. Everyone else was just getting on with their jobs. He pushed away from his minder.

"ive got orders to take you to..."

"Take a walk" Correy muttered "I dont need minding, I need to be helping."

"Yes, but you're not fit"

"I'll show you fucking fit in a minute if you really want" glancing at the mans collar "crewman". The insult of the low rank always worked. "take a walk, thats an order....clear??!"

".....yes sir" the mans face turned bitter as he turned away from correy. Correy was left in the middle of the square, outside the museum.

"safety first"

by Turan Trelar

Turan looked at his pad. According to the map, they had reached the city's main shopping mall. According to the horrible view they faced, not much remained of the bargains, the crowded street with boutiques and restaurants.The area had changed into a desert of rubble dust and death. Even a day after the crash and several kilometers away from point zero the sweet smell of burnt flesh still filled the air.

The Quentite giant climbed up onto a large flat concrete block and reached out his hand to help the others up there, too.

At the far end of the city where the Akula finally hit the ground all buildings had been flattened to the ground. Not even the silliest fool would expect to find any survivor in that area. Not mentioned the radiation which still didn't allow to stay there for much more than 30 minutes without adequate protection - at least a shielded EVA-suit.

Obviously the shopping mall area wasn't hit directly by any parts of the Federation spaceship. The houses rather looked like blown away by an enormous shockwave. While most of the smaller houses build of pale yellow lime stone only carried moderate damage many of the higher tower-like buildings seemed to have collapsed like card house.

Wind blew over the main square forming small twisters of pale yellow dust. The whole area seemed to be abandoned besides the base of what had been a skyscraper not long ago. A large crowd of people, all of them covered with the omnipresent fine pale yellow dust tried to advance into the remains of that building carelessly removing rock by rock with their bare hands.

"Looks if they expect survivors down there in the ruins" stated Turan.

"Possible" confirmed crewman Chen, the fire fighter of Asiatic Terran heritage.

Lt. Ryan, the red haired fire fighter group's chief approached, looked at the rather uncoordinated crowd of men and women eagerly trying to rescue their families, friends or just fellow citizens unknown to them.

"Ok, Mr disaster management specialist" he addressed Turan "what is your advice? Shall we get down there and help them?"

Turan shook his head. "No sir."

"So enlighten me with you thoughts, young man ..." ordered Ryan.

"If I'm honest, sir, I'm not sure how to handle that. " answered Turan.

The older red haired Lieutenant looked at him with an impression of curiosity and distrust on his face while the other fire fighters formed a half circle around their chief awaiting his orders.

"I'm not sure how to handle it. But if they continue removing the rubble they will weaken this decks foundations." Turan pointed at a large tile of former concrete ceiling.

"There's a strong threat it will slide down and bury them all!."

The fire fighter chief nodded. "Right answer, Mister Trelar." For a moment, a smile rushed over his face.

"Retan Vax?" he addressed the fire fighter standing to the right.

The Trill fire fighter stepped forward. "Sir?"

"Get down there and keep them from digging their graves ... Chen?"

Crewman Chen stepped forward.

"Hail the engineering folks and tell them we need hydraulic supports and a hand full of zero-G-carriers and ... god damn ... find me some trucks to get rid of the rubble. It's impossible to work with all that laying around."

"The rest of you ... Let's get down and have a closer look at the situation."

"Going Planetside"

Ensign Tizarin Lias, Asst. Chief Medical Officer

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Control Officer

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

Shuttle Aurora, en route to surface of Trill.

With typical nonchalence in his flying style, Miramon wasn't really paying attention to the descent of the shuttle as it reached the atmosphere of the planet and started entering the exosphere, though he was busy looking at the planet itself rather than the sensors he normally used to pilot with. Even from orbit, the devastation was pretty obvious as a result of a spreading dustcloud that was being created due to the massive impact of a ship into the surface of the planet.

As the heat of the atmospheric landing began to make itself known to the shuttle's outer hull, the craft started shaking a little with the turbulance or switching from vacuum to magnetically-held atmosphere, but with the inertial dampeners online, it was but brief and inconsequential.

As the craft descended and dipped below the cloudline, the scene was one that you'd only really have thought to see on the news or on holovids. Buildings were collapsing and there were fires all over the place. If they'd not known the circumstances of the incident, you'd have assumed an orbital bombardment or some natural disaster had caused something like this. As it was, it seemed you had a lot more than just the lives of that Prometheus-class starship to account for.

Tizarin was speechless, as she sat beside the Bajoran officer, watching the ruin of her homeworld as it happened.

Her big, round eyes went from viewport to pilot; "I've seen Bajor, though not immediately after occupation." she said. "But... nothing compares to this. I guess... you feel it more when it's 'home'."

The pilot nodded. "Yes, you probably do. I was never really on Bajor much, and I was born during the Occupation, so I suppose I was used to not seeing it in it's tranquility as it is now. But here the devastation is more...apparent, perhaps. Are you okay?"

Tizarin nodded a smile on her face- more to reassure Terrik than to convey any emotion she really felt; "Yes... I ... I will be, as soon as I can get to work. Just get me down there to a few patients who need me... and I will be able to get my family off my mind."

"Your family? They're down there?" the Bajoran asked, nodding indicatively towards the city for which the shuttle was headed.

"This is where I grew up." Tizarin said. "Ground Zero, or whatever it is they're calling it. It's my hometown as they'd say on Earth..." her voice trailed off as the shuttle passed through a particularly dense cloud of smoke.

Miramon couldn't help but express his surprise with a low whistle, though he could quite imagine what they'd find when they got down there. It was going to be hard enough for Tizarin to get work done if her family were down there -hopefully they'd locate them quickly enough.

"Well, in that case, we'd best get ourselves down there. Start cleaning up the mess."

Normally, for this type of landing, the pilot would have activated their internal signal beacon, which would have relayed the name of the shuttle, the ship from which she had departed and the nature of the crew aboard, along with a request to land. It was polite, and it was also an excellent way of being assigned a landing spot. But since there weren't exactly any landing facilities left, they'd have to go in as best they could and just find themselves a clear spot where they could touch down without getting in the way or causing any harm.

He dropped his view from the window and looked down at the sensor display before him, looking for an appropriate spot close enough to deploy the medics near to the people they needed to treat, but at the same time giving the casualties a wide berth. As the sensors indicated a spot of charred grass just outside what appeared to be what was left of a building, the Bajoran returned his gaze to the window and began procedures for landing.

As the shuttle neared the ground, Tizarin busied herself by going through her medical gear. She ahd stuffed everything imaginable into her medkit, and also into the large bag she has carrying that contained the kit and several other odds and ends. By the time she was assured that she had packed everything she felt she was going to need, the shuttle had landed, and Tizarin was brought back to the moment by the sound of the shuttle's landing struts touching ground.

Once the runabout had touched down, Miramon got up from his seat and watched as the medics began removing their equipment and headed out of the shuttle via the rear doors. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be doing at that point, and really had two options - return to the ship, or stay here. He gave it a second's thought while the medical teams were getting themselves together, then reached out and tapped Tizarin on the shoulder before she managed to leave herself.

"Doctor, I'll remain on station in case you have any patients you feel need to be taken up to the ship for medical treatment that your triages can't give. Permission to accompany you?"

"Granted." Tizarin replied, smiling. She was hoping for the Bajoran's company. And she knew she would need all the help she could get. "Let's deploy and see what we need to do first. I've got some medical gear stowed in the shuttle's cargo area, as well as in this kit." She gestured to her overstuffed bag even as she hoisted it up on her shoulder. "Do you have an emergency kit on this craft ?"

"Presuming one of your people hasn't swiped it for use themselves, then yeah, sure."

"Bring it... you'll need it." Tizarin said as she popped the hatch on the shuttle, and jumped out, trying to balance her bag as she went.

The Bajoran nodded and walked deeper back into the craft, opening a small compartment behind the passenger seat in the cabin, removing a solid bag containing emergency medical supplies. He turned back and slung it over his right shoulder, looking at Tizarin. "Ready to go, Doc."

Tizarin nodded her aproval, and began leading the way into what looked like the rubbled ruins of an ancient city, half swallowed by the earth. Her heart sank as she trudged forward. She was glad of Terrik's kind face and strong demeanor to keep her from cracking, as she walked intot he center of the greatest tragedy in her people's history.

"The Brenari meets the German"

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg, CMO
Ensign Eytan, Medical Officer

Location: Emergency Triage/Medical Staging Area, Leran Manev

Eytan glanced around at what was going on in what used to be Leran Manev's main city square as he walked toward the converted medical staging area. About an hour ago he'd heard that the USS Galaxy's medical staff had finally arrived planetside and had taken command of all medical rescue efforts in the city, and as soon as he could spare the time to get away from the EMA control center near Ground Zero, the Brenari had made his way to the city square to find his new department CO at last.

"Excuse me," he said politely to a Starfleet doctor passing him by. "Could you point me in the direction of Doctor, uh...Klaus Fienberg?" he finished, having to take a second to recall the name (it had been a couple months, after all). The Starfleet officer pointed Eytan toward a large tent located in the middle of the square, and Eytan thanked them before hobbling over to the tent. He paused outside the entryway, trying to figure out what to say to Dr. Fienberg, when a bespectacled Trill man in a Starfleet uniform brushed by him on his way out of the tent. Eytan and the Trill glanced at each other in passing for a second, and Eytan hoped that the man didn't have any family in Leran Manev. Once the Trill had disappeared, Eytan took a deep breath and walked inside the command tent.

His eyes immediately fell on a large, bulky piece of machinery with a surgical biobed on top of it, accompanied by another Starfleet doctor. ~Hologram,~ Eytan automatically thought before shifting his gaze elsewhere. Another Trill, small of stature and with beady eyes, was also there; and finally Eytan saw another Starfleet doctor standing near the Trill, looking over a computer monitor. Eytan approached him and stopped a couple of feet away from the computer, clearing his throat politely to get his attention.

"Doctor Fienberg?" he asked, automatically coming to attention. "I'm Ensign Eytan, sir; I was assigned to the Galaxy a couple of months ago." He smiled slightly. "Reporting for duty, sir...uh, finally."

"Ha...Of course...Yes....Temporal anomalies will do that. Welcome to my staff. I've heard some interesting things about you."

The doctor walked around, checking on something his creation was working on.

"So...I assume you've had a bit of experience with the Trill since you've been here." Klaus tried to laugh to feel like the mood was lightened...but it just wouldn't come. Probably not for a while either.

Eytan frowned. "That's correct, sir. When I arrived here on Trill to meet the Galaxy I stayed with Doctor Mazrin Nox. He is...was...a Trill physician and a retired Starfleet officer. During the last two months I sort of became his protigi and he instructed me in Trill medicine. I wish I could say I didn't need it, but the last day and a half or so...well, you know," he finished, gesturing outside beyond the tent.

"Well, you obviously don't believe in any human religions, but I've always thought 'god works in Mysterious ways.'"

He looked around again, busy, waiting for any more removals and implantations. He thought for a moment..."I think I should ask for Jack while he is away. Have you seen or met the Slen symbiont or it's current host?"

"I don't think so, sir," Eytan replied with a slight shake of his head. "I haven't actually really met anyone from the Galaxy yet except for you. Wait, could you be referring about the man with the glasses who I passed on my way in here? He looked sort of agitated about something, I just figured it was for the obvious reason." He paused. "If you don't mind my wondering, sir, why do you ask?"

"Actually, no. That man is the son of a previous host. Only half-Trill at that. And that's Jack, when you're aboard you'll learn to ignore him."

"Oh," was all Eytan had to say about that.

"So what about you. Your medical records state that you're of a species I don't recognize. Brenari?"

"That's right," Eytan answered with a nod. "And I wouldn't expect you to know much about my people, Doctor. The Brenari are from the Delta Quadrant." He stopped there, deciding that it would be better to not assume he knew what Dr. Fienberg would ask next.

"Hmmmm...really. The only explanation is that you're allied with those Blue Monkeys the Kless, or you hitchhiked on Voyager. It's a neat little tidbit, but not something I find vitally important to pry about. What I care about today is how good you are with a laser scalpel."

Eytan smiled. ~Finally, somebody who doesn't feel like it's his duty to pick and pry into my past,~ he thought, both relieved and surprised.

"Well, I'm pretty handy with one, sir," he continued, focusing again on the situation at hand. "And I've had a lot of practice in the last twenty-four hours."

"Good." Being the intuitive man he is, Klaus added. "You'll find me to be almost sub-telepathically intuitive. There will be plenty of time to pry into your past later. And don't mention anything to "Axl." Seems to be a personality flaw from my programming combined with Dr. Zimmerman's. He will question you until he's satisfied he knows everything. He's never satisfied, however."

"Sounds like another holographic doctor I know," Eytan said dryly, glancing over at "Axl." He shrugged. "I'll keep it in mind, sir. So what's the situation here? I've been over at the EMA control center at Ground Zero since this whole thing started, it's pretty bad over there..."

"Well, We get a lot of serious yet movable cases over here, and we've already had several symbiont removals. All 3 of my staging points are capable of the surgery, but I would like the most serious here if possible. Axl has been programmed with the procedure as performed by Dr. Bashir, as well as the other techniques performed by the Symbiont Institute staff. And now I have you, a man who's had first hand experience right here, right now. I'll want you ready to surgery. You're going to watch the procedure a couple times, because I would prefer your..." He noticed the gloves "...hands at the operating table while Dr. Slen is away."

Eytan nodded as he listened to Fienberg. ~Symbiont removal?~ he suddenly thought to himself. ~I lived and worked here in Leran Manev as a civilian doctor for thirty years and I was never told of such a procedure!~ He blinked in confusion and shook his head then, realizing that it was quite impossible for him to have been living on Trill that long.

He reached a hand up and rubbed at his scar in thought as Fienberg finished speaking. "Of course," he replied, his hand dropping back down to his side. "I'll get cleaned up and prepped right away."

"Oh...I apologize for not mentioning. It is actually possible to remove a symbiont from a host without killing the host. This fact had been hidden from the Rest of Trill culture to keep the culture intact. Along with the fact that nearly 50 percent of the population is physically capable of joining, with around 40 or 30 percent, I think, are psychologically capable. I'm not sure about that last figure." He turned to look at the Brenari, focusing slightly on the scar. "Our reasoning is that if either the host of Symbiont are dying, that if we can't save both lives, save at least one of them."

"Right," Eytan said slowly. "Of course. We want to save every life, but unfortunately that isn't always possible. At least this way, we can hopefully help some of the victims survive instead of none." He nodded. "Will there be anything else, sir?" he added before glancing around, looking for where he should go get himself prepped for surgery.

"No..that is all. But I wanted to hear what you've heard about the Mind of a Joined Trill. I've heard alot, but mostly that the memories of the previous hosts are in there somewhere, as well as smatterings of, and occasionally entire personalities from the previous hosts."

Eytan thought about it for a moment. "Frankly, sir, even after two months of living here I still haven't been able to completely grasp the concept. Apparently an unjoined Trill and an unhosted symbiont are two separate individuals, the Trill with his own thoughts, memories, and personality, and the symbiont carrying those of all its previous hosts. When the two are joined physically, so are they mentally and emotionally. The host's former self merges with the selves of the symbiont's past hosts. As far as I'm concerned, it sounds to me like the unjoined Trill's whole being is wiped out of existence and replaced by a conglomeration of those minds carried by the symbiont and their own.

Like I said though, I still don't really understand how it works. This is just the way it appears to me; my opinion could be influenced by having grown up in a quadrant that is largely controlled by a certain other species that forces a collective mind into someone else's and destroys their previous existence."

"Well. Think of it this way." Klaus became very blunt. "This is not your culture, and you don't have a choice on how they live their lives. Besides. I find the concept fascinating."

Eytan nodded. "Believe me, sir, I'm certainly not going to hold their culture against them, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me." He frowned and looked toward the prep area again. "Unless there's anything else, sir, I think I should get myself ready for surgery so that I can see how this new procedure's done, and we can get back to the business of saving lives." He looked over at Doctor Fienberg again, awaiting his approval.

"I like the sound of that."

“The Walking Cloak”

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer

LOCATION: Tunnels below capital city of Trill

Nara looked at the light shining through the grate up ahead. It was a dim light. It was moonlight. She peeked into the light and saw that the surrounding area was pretty empty. She saw shining lights moving about as the search party continued their work. She frowned.

After she heard the explosion of the building above her, she took off her uniform and changed into an trill-style outfit she replicated quickly before she left. On top of that was a long, caped, dark cloak. She had to leave behind anything that would connect her to her true identity. That included her tricorder that would allow her to find victims.

Now she pulled the hood over her head and quietly removed the grate. As quietly as one could be with a grate. She emerged and tried to stay away from any lights and moved stealthily as if she were back on Sakaria on a covert recon.

{{OOC: Contains mainplot-related information}}

"Nerve Center" part II

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

Intelligence Officer,

The small roofless ground vehicle crossed the wasteland of crumbled buildings and dusty rubble, its engine humming quietly. Its driver concentrated on avoiding the obstacles which now spotted the treacherous road, while the passenger surveyed the landscape using binoculars.

"Still nothing, Xil.", Saul informed the man next to him, as he put down the binoculars and gave his eyes a short rest. The driver's mouth was a thin line of frustration, and he barely spoke since he rendezvoused with Saul twenty minutes earlier.

Saul leaned backwards in the uncomfortable seat, placing the binoculars on his lap. He closed his eyes, keeping the dust out, and tried to organize the recent events in his mind.

There was a lot to intake.

* * * * Central Starfleet Intelligence Station, Leran Manev, three hours earlier * * * *

After Cora departed with the Station's commander, Saul was showed the way to the station's 'War Room'. The War Room was like the neural core of any Intelligence station. Every new bit of information first arrived to the room before being relayed to the other sections of the center for processing, analysis and later research. It was a large, circular chamber, with screens and computer consoles towering above the heads of the Intelligence officers occupying it. In the middle there was a broad table, where three officers sat and drank Raktajino.

Saul was quickly introduced to the three. Like on any planetside SFI station, the officers were a mix of natives and 'aliens'. The Trill personnel on the station were selected carefully and screened for radical political opinions or any other sign of potential for betraying Starfleet's secrets to the local government, even if it meant damage for their homeworld. After all, SFI couldn't take the risk of a potential security breach.

At any rate, radical political opinions or not, the two Trills sitting next to the table seemed infuriated. Saul wondered how mad would he get if a ship crashed into his own hometown. He didn't have any reason to like it, quite the opposite, and yet…

"Wish we could meet under better circumstances." The third officer, a Tellarite, muttered what became the common welcome greeting the Galaxy officers received.

"Same. Saul Bental, USS Galaxy."

"I am Redar, Intelligence Researcher from the station, and these are Jandi Xil of the station and Feora Lias, Intelligence officer from the USS Somek."

Saul shook their hands. When he reached Feora, he asked her if she's a relative of Tizarin. The female Trill responded negatively, and was obviously not in a mood to explore any possible family ties with some Medical Officer.

"We just had a conference with the Intelligence officers from the other ships in orbit." Said Jandi Xil. "None of them had any information to provide… most of them from transport ships, it's amazing they even have Intelligence officers there."

Saul sat down. A Raktajino was offered to him, but he refused politely. Since the Galaxy had the most serious Intelligence departments from all the ships now orbiting Trill, the expectations the locals had from him were higher. Therefore, he decided to get into business as soon as possible.

"I went through all the recent data before beaming down. Were there any new developments in the last thirty minutes other than locating the black box?"

"Yes." Said Redar. "We found out where the Akula came from. We received a report from Starbase 82 that it was inspecting a Nebula fifteen light years away as part of its patrol route. That was three weeks ago. A scientific mission."

"In three weeks they could've been anywhere." Saul scowled. "Besides, doesn't Starfleet know what our ships are doing?"

"They do. The ship was ordered to patrol these sectors.", The Tellarite said, and moved his hand over a panel, fingers fluttering over the lit squares. A map of the space around Trill was projected onto the table. There were three colored balls between Trill and the table, which represented the sectors.

"So the ship was patrolling, and it was to be decommissioned in six months." Saul narrowed his eyes. "And yet, it is a Prometheus-class, a state-of-the-art vessel. My military expert told me they only started getting into service around 2374. This does not make sense."

"It does if you know the full story." Xil replied. "The Akula took one hell of a beating during the Dominion war. It was nearly destructed. After the war, it went through multiple refits, but according to the data we received from Utopia Planitia shipyards, they were unable to fix it completely. After the third refit, on 2380, Starfleet Engineering Corps decided that it was unprofitable to refit it once more, and that they might as well scrap the ship."

"So it was detoured to a duty fitting its current capabilities before giving it a mercy killing.", Saul suggested.

"Precisely.", Xil concurred. He took a long sip from his Raktajino. "They planned to dismantle it and use the functioning modules as spare parts for other Prometheus class vessels."

"If it was so messed up, isn't it possible for the crash to be an accident? Maybe they enetered orbit, and then something went terribly wrong…" Saul suggested.

Feora, who until now remained quiet, landed her fist on the table. The holo-projected map trembled, and so did her black braid and her lower lip.

"They established orbit without responding to hailings, navigated their ship VERY accurately, and hurled themselves into the pulsing heart of my planet. No, Mr. Bental, this was no accident."

"The planetside flight control center hailed them when they established orbit?" Saul questioned.

"Of course."

"And once the ship did not respond, didn't you try to intercept it or fire a warning shot?"

"Would you shoot at a Starfleet vessel? One which didn't power up its shields or weapons?", demanded Xil. "I spoke with the shift's flight ops chief from the flight control center on Meas Dakam. He assumed the Akula had problems in their communications array and diverted from their original course to get help in repairing it."

The Trill Intelligence officer sighed. He was a Lieutenant in his early thirties, not a green rookie. And yet, the disaster was obviously getting to him.

"I think the flight ops chief was on the verge of suicide." Xil continued. "He felt responsible for the disaster. I told him… that we were the ones to blame, for not providing early warning."

Saul wanted to tell the Trill that it wasn't true… but it was. One of the roles of Starfleet Intelligence was to foresee and prevent such catastrophes, and they failed. Miserably.

"Has anyone taken responsibility for this atrocity?" Saul inquired instead.

"No. And there were no hints or threats, no intercepted communications to imply such a plan, no hot tips from Humint sources… nothing.", said the Tellariate officer, Redar. "We have the regular suspects, but none of them have the motive to do this."

"Regular suspects?" Saul asked.

"There are a few political groups which oppose the government. The most radical party objects symbiosis as a whole. They think that the symbiosis connection is wrong, and that the symbionts are taking advantage of the hosts and of the entire race. Still, they are Trill themselves and will never cause such slaughter just to make their point. If anything, it would make the people hate them and resist their agenda."

"Plus, they don't have the ability to execute such an assault." Xil added.

The local Intelligence officers examined six other local groups. None of them had neither the motive nor the ability to stand behind the attack.

"Which leaves us with off-world groups." Saul concluded. "If that is the case, then Trill was selected for this strike because it is a member of the Federation."

"The local area was quiet as far as terrorist attacks are concerned... up until now." Feora said quietly. "Anyway, before the Akula…crashed… our sensors picked life forms from Federation species only."

Saul narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?"

"Yes. It wasn't piloted by Breen or Cardassians or anything."

"They could've been hidden." Said Xil. "There was some interference within the ship which jammed our sensor readings. It was assumed that the ship's bad shape caused it to emit particles which interfered with the casual scan."

"I guess the black box will shed new light on this particular question mark.", Feora suggested.

"Let's sum things up." Saul began, picking up a PADD and setting it to record audio. "The USS Akula suffered from irreversible damage, and thus was supposed to be decommissioned. It was assigned for the easy task of patrolling nearby sectors, and diverted from its course until it reached Trill. It is unclear how many people were on, but as far as we know they were mostly Human and none of hostile species. They didn't respond to hailings, and we can be quite sure that the crash wasn't an accident."

"Plus, no organization took responsibility. Trill organization or otherwise.", Redar added.

"There is also another problem." Saul suddenly recalled. "The damage radius is smaller than what would be expected, as terrible as that might sound."

The Trill officers looked shocked at that statement. "Isn't the damage enough for you?!", Feora protested.

It took Saul ten minutes to explain his point, using various diagrams and ship schematics. He was quite terrible at physics, but in the end he convinced the other three officers that something was very fishy.

"I would like to scout ground zero and try to answer both the question of the culprit and the question of the reduced damage radius."

"We can provide a ground scouting vessel. I'll talk with the Commander about it.", said Xil.

"All right. I am going to… follow a trail on my own." Saul lied. "It should take three or four hours, and then…"

* * * *

Three hours later, Saul and Xil were nowhere near solving the questions, Nara was already 'dead', and no word came from Janny about the meeting. Perhaps his cousin was killed in the crash, Saul mused, that would make things… interesting.

"What are you looking for?" Xil asked sternly as Saul returned the binoculars to his eyes.

"I don't know, Lieutenant… I don't know."

"This Doesn't Feel Right"

Ensign Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Officer

Paulo sat looking over the data they had collected thus far. The black box was in Cora's office and she would soon be looking over that, while Bental was working on some other things. Paulo himself was working on the sensor readings that had been collected by the Trill orbital defense grid which had finally just been brought back online a few months before. He was also in the possess of going over all data by passenger liners that had been landing and taking off at the same time.

Saul had actually been working pretty hard down on the planet and had gotten some good information. Apparently the Akula had taken one hell of a beating during the War and was due to be decommissioned and the SCE didn't see the reason to spend any more time in trying to keep the ship on life support, but instead carve it up for organs to use in other ships.

"You," Paulo said pointing to a crewman who was walking past. "I want you to get on the line with Starfleet Operations and I want you to talk to every last person you need to till you get me the patrol route the Akula was on, and ALL communications records. I don't care how classified the records are, just get them!"

"Yes sir," the crewman said as he ran off to do what Paulo said.

Paulo sat down at his desk looking over the data he had. It didn't make sense. The passenger liner had read life signs, but they got some interference so it was hard to tell the exact number. Life signs could be faked, just as well as blocked, so that was a dead end. Something about this whole thing didn't feel right. It's not like a terrorist group to attack something this big and not take credit for it. It just wasn't logical. They wanted the galaxy to know who did it, and hopefully get people to flock to their cause.

"On the Job"

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberg CMO

Ens. Tizarin Lias ACMO

["Ti. Where are you? Report to the Main Tent immediately."]

Dr. Fienberg was still wearing surgical dress, but thankfully with the last patient, both host and symbiont could be stablized. Dr. Axl was milling away the way he normally would, and Dr. Slen hadn't reported him. Right now the person that would probably techinically be considered his protegi was someone he wanted to see.

"I'm on my way !" the Trill doctor replied into her com, even as she stripped off her surgical gloves. "I'm just closing on a patient." Tizarin had been working for over an hour trying to repair severe internal damage to a Dopterian. "I wonder what he's doing on Trill ?" she asked herself as the patient was loaded onto a shuttle for further treatment aboard the Galaxy.

When Tizarin reached the main Triage tent, she was slightly out of breath, as she had run all the way from where she was working at one of the secondary stations. "What do you need, Dr. Fienberg ?" she asked, catching her breath and trying hard to smile at her superior medico.

The look of gloom on her face was not from the running- it was from her surroundings. She continued trying to block it out of her mind. But... the rubble, and debris outside was where she had grown up.

Klaus could see something wrong in her face. "If you feel you need to weep, or shout, or any display of strong emotion, please do. You deserve it. No one should have to see their homeworld in ruin like this."

Klaus remembered seeing pictures of San Francisco during the war, and his brother had actually been there. "But the real reason I called you here. What do you know about the removal of Symbionts?"

Dr. Plax was thankfully away assisting with the proceedure elsewhere.

"No, I can hold it together, doctor." Tizarin assured him. She moved to his side, and began studying his patient, as she spoke. "I've never actually performed the procedure." she answered. "But, I have seen it performed a few times, and I did perform it twice in a holographic simulation. As I'm sure you know, those things don't usualy cover all the finer points of something like this. But... I think I can do it. I definitely know what goes on inside from personal experience."

"We stablized her before your arrival. But I if we want to save them both, we need to remove the symbiont...." Klaus looked a PADD,"Jolco, out and into a vat before we can stablize them both and reimplant the symbiont if both survive after the proceedure."

"Is the symbiont still alive ?" Tizarin asked.

"Yes. Barely."

"What you're proposing is very tricky, sir." Tizarin told him. "As a matter of fact, you'll find most doctors on Trill will value the life of a symbiont far above that of a host. And, so, they'd probably just let the host 'go', and work on saving the symbiont for a new host. But... it is possible to remove and reintegrate a symbiont. Just... tricky. I can remove the symobiont, if you don't mind assisting ?"

Fienberg said nothing.

"all right... let's get it done." Tizarin smiled, slightly, at her superior officer. She then moved quickly to prepare herself for surgery. Despite the "meatball surgery" aspect of a triage tent, 24th century technology did allow the doctors a degree of sterility in their work environment. By the time Tizarin was finished with her preparations, she was masked, and her hands were covered in red, sterilized gloves.

She called for a nurse; "I'll need a laser scalpel, dermal regenerator, interior vascular tissue regenerative compound, and a placement tank for the symbiont." she ordered. "Fil it with a solution of water and hemoglobin type 70 compound. If we don't have any in the medkits, use that portable replicator and replicate three of the premeasured ammounts programmed into the system."

The nurse nodded, acknowledged, and went about her work. A medtech brought over a tray containing the supplies Tizarin needed, as the nurse prepared the containment tank for the Jolco symbiont. Tizarin handed Fienberg the laser scalpel. "You open, doctor. Removing a symbiont is a two-handed affair and it must be done quickly. Once I've removed the symbiont from her body, you'll need to cut the three arteries leading from the symbiont's tail into the wound. Then close them off, quickly. Or the host will bleed to death."

"Very good!" ~She knows what she's doing.~

"Thank you." Tizarin smiled at him, as she carried the symbiont over to the tank that had been prepared for it. The small slug wiggled a small portion of it's hind section that served as a small, finned tail. Tizarin tried to hold it still, as gently as she could, as she emersed it in the thick, clear fluid in the tank.

Klaus quickly closed up the arteries while Ti lifted the symbiont out. "Now to close her up and hope we can stablize her."

"Stabilize them both, actually." Tizarin said. "The symbiont can only live for 36 hours outside of a host, after that, we'll lose it. So, we need to get her stable enough to handle reimplantation in that time, or find a new host for this symbiont. The trouble is that the host will, likely, die a lot quicker without the symbiont. Once a symbiont is implanted the host-body begins to rely on it heavily."

"Actually. There are certain proceedures my friend here," Pointing to Axl "Has been versed with that would allow the host to go on without the symbiont. But I see no reason to seperate the two." Klaus's worn eyes seemed to light up with fascination at any thoughts of the Trill.

Tizarin regarded Axl; "You should share your findings with the Trill medical community." she said. "I've heard of several procedures, but none that actually worked. It would be a wonderful development for the Trill. Because sometimes a symbiont dies- they just get old- and yet they are joind to a young and vibrant host that has so many years left. It's unfair that that host has to die too."

"Well. This procedure was developed by an outsider. Dr. Julian Bashir of Deep Space 9. And the Trill Symbiont people are already fully aware. The Trill President had the procedured done to represent the unjoined more fully."

Tizarin touched some controls on the tank the Jolco symbiont was in, seemingly resting peacefully. "all right.. Dr. Fienberg, this symbiont is stable for now. Let's work on the host. What happened to her ? What's her status ?"

"Mostly concussive trauma throughout her body. She's lucky her bones weren't shatter. Also pepper with some shrapnel as you can see here and here." He pointed at spots of torn flesh. "Those will have to be removed to prevent infection. But this isn't impossible. The Symbiont is healthy, and will be put into a temporary host if neccesary."

Tizarin nodded; "I'm familiar with Bashir's work. all right.... now for it. The first thing to do is get the shrapnel out of her body." Tizarin bent over the broken and bloodied body of Jolco's host. She was a lovely woman. Tizarin could see her beauty through the bruises on her face. There was an expression of serenity on her face, and it almost looked as if she was smiling, despite the pain she would have had to be in the last time she was conscious.

The young Trill doctor went to work, a casual sideways glance to the symbiont tank keeping her informed of Jolco's considtion.

It seems like Klaus had barely done anything and in moments he had bits of duranium and other metals in a small glass bowl.

"That's all there is to do at this point. We'll have to just wait. Axl. Keep an eye on her." The Hologram nodded, smiling.

"Where else can I make myself usefull ?" Tizarin pulled off her surgical gloves, and pushed a lock of blonde hair out of her face.

"When it rains..."

Lt. Dr. Klaus Fienberd
CMO

Lt. jg Dr. Jack Slen
Pathology/General Medicine

Nexo Slen
Local Shop owner, and current host of the Slen Symbiont

And "Dr. Axl" of course.

A piece of the Akula hit here. A crumbled charred chunk of duranium and another materials lay in a smashed shop.

"Nexo's Mechanic's." Jack read the sign before entering. The large chunk of debris had slammed into this shop. The sign was there, but the entire storefront was shattered, and dust slowly floated down from hole through the roof. The shop looked uninhabited, and this area of the city had been evacuated. Jack had only been here once a few years prior. But he noticed one final thing......a signed, written in trill, that the shop was open for business.

A sense of urgency overwelmed Dr. Slen. Although he was searching for someone in particular, he wasn't going to turn down anyone in particular. He ran in kicking down door. The shop was filled with what appeared to be small mechanical devices, some old, some new, almost none in full working condition.

"Hello! It's anybody in here?!"

A groan came from behind the counter, next to a small pit with a large chunk of duranium in it. Getting around the corner, Jack found a tall, thing trill man with a whimisical smile, and stubble on his face. "Why do I recognize you...Jack?"

"How the hell do you....What's your name!" Jack almost shouted while examining the shopowner.

"My... *cough*My name is Nexo... Slen."

Jack had found the host.

"Is there anyone else here?"

Nexo lifted his head a bit. "You're the son of a previous host of mine...Yes. I recognize you....Do you like my shop Jack?"

Jack was annoyed as hell, Something his father would have said. Likely an trait of the symbiont. "Shut up and let me help you."

"Great....Slen's a crazy junk store owner now."

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

Dr. Fienberg sipped on some coffee still in surgical dress. A patient lay nearby, symbiont removed, and resting and awaiting re-implantation.

Axl looked alarmed for a moment. "Sir. I've been updated with a recent casualty report."

"Of course. Tell me...how many more."

"30 civilian's are reported dead. 2 symbionts reported dead. 1 Starfleet Officer...reported Missing in Action, Presumed Dead."

Klaus hated the sound of that. "Who and How!?"

"A one, Naranda Sol Roswell, Lieutenant Junior Grade. She was apparently reported missing after being seen entering a building which collapsed shortly afterward. She is already thought to be dead...."

A name Klaus did not want to hear. He was completely speechless. He just stared off at nothing, completely blank. He stood.

"I heard Fienberg. I know how you feel, but now is *NOT* the time for that! I found him...."

Dr. Slen stood in the entrance with a dieing trill man hung over his shoulder.

Klaus silently nodded and directed Jack on where to place the patient.

“The Wandering Dead”

Ensign Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
Saia Juis (NPC)

LOCATION: Capital city of Trill

The moon still shone as Nara walked slowly around keeping the cloak around herself. The smell still offended her nose. It was nothing she could get used to. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself now. She saw a medical tent set up. She decided to move toward it.

Later, she had entered the tent.

Someone approached her, “Who are you?”

Nara simply shook her head and saw an elderly female Trill reach for a glass that was just slightly beyond her reach. She ignored the question and picked the glass up and handed it to the woman.

The man came to her, “Do you speak?”

Nara decided to take the Ella route and simply shook her head.

The man scratched his head, “Remove your hood then?”

Nara clutched the hood over her face.

The man shrugged and assumed she was simply ashamed of some scar. “Very well. Help if you can.” With that, he walked off.

Nara nodded and stepped about getting people water and re-dressing wounds; simple first aid things. She couldn’t just hide and do nothing. What was wrong with hiding in plain sight? The next person she came to was a child, who seemed to have a hard time trying to sleep.

Saia wasn’t used to falling asleep without her mother or father near, but the medicine they gave her made her very tired. The result was a fitful sleep. Saia felt a hand brush her head. She turned her face and without opening her eyes asked, “Momma?” She opened her eyes and frowned seeing a woman wearing a hood, obscuring anyone from seeing her face.

Nara shook her head and removed her hand and lifted a glass and gently placed it in front of the child.

Saia found this woman weird and shook her head, “No thanks.” She closed her eyes again and tried sleeping. It still wasn’t easy.

Nara continued to help in whatever way she could without letting anyone know she was even human, therefore making Saul’s elaborate scheme become vain.

"Close but no cigar"

2nd. Lt. Jebidiah Baile,
Recon Specialist, USS Galaxy

Pvt. 1st Cl. Sorak,
Sniper, USS Galaxy, -NPC

------

Darkness had fallen, although with the dust filling the air it had simply gone from dusk till pitch black. The occasional light, mostly from the rescuesites put up by Starfleet dotted the area like fireflies.

A lot of ground had been covered, but a lot still remained. Catastrophies brought out the worst in some people and the Marines had been holding ground until the Security-teams could get there. Especially the Starfleet sites, where food and supplies could be found, was in trouble. But the Marines had done their job, running or driving from place to place - whatever got them there the quickest.

Baile sat down on what had once been the foundation to a building, took off the hat and splashed water in his face. The Vulcan was still with him, still unused to seeing a human act with even less emotions than him. Or rather - the emotions were there, just looking the human in the eyes confirmed it, but the emotions never got in the way. Everything not friendly was just targets. Plain and simple.

Swallowing a mouthful of water the Marine stood up and put the hat back on. He glanced at the datapad containing maps of the city that once was. Three clicks to the next marker. Shouldn't take them more than twenty minutes. He pulled down the lowlight goggles again and started walking, signalling to the Vulcan to follow him.

The duo moved through the dark streets like restless shadows, sometimes passing survivors and rescueteams less than ten meters away without being noticed. Still the two were ready to interfere with any hostile activity they might find on the way.

A faint movement up ahead caught his attention and he adjusted the goggles, zooming in on the movement. It took him a few seconds to find it again, but when he did he crouched low, causing the Vulcan to do the same.

A humanoid, six hundred feet out, went to great lengths to remain out of sight. "What do you make of it, Lieutenant?" Sorak whispered, keeping an eye on the surrounding area while Baile observed the humanoid up ahead.

The recon specialist shrugged, giving his backpack a push into a more comfortable position. Sixty pounds of backpack, rifles, sidearm and extra equipment could get in the way at times. "Probably just a looter.. just bag him and call security.."

Neither Baile nor Sorak had any idea they were watching a supposedly dead person and Naranda Sol Roswell had no idea two Starfleet Marines watched her through scopes.

Sorek swapped rifles and took careful aim. The target lit up like daylight in the scope as the Vulcan lined up the crosshair. This what was sniping was all about. Taking out the enemy before they knew someone was there.

The Vulcan's finger rested against the trigger, all it would take was the slightest of pressures to release the beam. Then the figure up ahead would fall to the ground, unconscious until security would come and pick it up.

Suddenly Baile held up a closed hand in the air, ordering Sorek to hold. Still watching the surroundings he listened to the new orders that came over the commlink. "Disengage.. They want use to clear a few buildings.. " the terran marine said and put the safety back on his rifle. The Vulcan nodded and lowered the rifle.

The pair double the pace, moving quickly, but still with vigilance and ready to respond to any threat with extreme force. With Security tied up in more places than Operations had regulations, the Marines would have to help out Security where they could. Even milkruns like this.

Baile spoke into the tiny microphone strapped to the throat, confirming they were on their way.

“Loneliness”

Atole Tekri was lonely.

Well, very lonely to be precise.

The new Prefect of the Rihannusu-Terran embassy fingered the data chip idly. On it was James Corgan's contact information, given to her by his sister. She hadn't figured out whether it would be a good idea to call him or not.

After all, he probably hated her deeply - she had most likely ended his career.

But - what if he forgave her? What if she obtained a transfer to the Galaxy, this time as a genuine diplomatic aide to Senator Omar. What if they got to spend time together like before?

It was these hopes that had kept her going. Now she was about to see if they would be fulfilled.

She inserted the chip into her communications terminal, and fingered the controls. Eager with anticipation, she waited for him to respond.

Suddenly the black screen came to life - displaying James Corgan onboard the Galaxy.

Before he could even speak a surprised 'what the f**k', she began churning her heart out.

"Hello James. Before you speak," she held up a hand. "I want you to know that I am extremely apologetic for what I did. It was wrong - and I'll do whatever begging it takes for your forgiveness."

"Please," she begged, ignoring the desperation in her voice. "James, I love you."

Tekri's blitzkrieg declaration of undying devotion came to James before he could be mentally prepared for her face appearing on his screen, much less for his male mind to register exactly what she said.

Therefore, there was a rather long and awkward pause, with James staring slack jawed at the screen while Tekri waited impatiently for a response.

"How did you get this number?" James dumbly probed.

"Your sister," Tekri explained simply.

~"SIS! Goddammit, i'm going to have to have a long talk with her!"~ James thought with venom powerful enough to poison his sister all the way to Earth. He had numerous questions, and they all uncontrollably came out. "Dammit. This was supposed to be a private number. Do you know how much trouble you could be by contacting me alone? Where the hell are you, and why are you not being dragged into a prison cell in a full neuro-restraint harness at New Leavenworth? And for that matter, how the hell did you escape the destruction of the brig? I thought you might have been hurt or worse! Jesus Christ Tekri, what were you thinking?!"

"James," she said, trying her best to smile soothingly. "Do you really think the admirals at Starfleet are willing to risk an interstellar war over a Rihannusu traitor who wasn't even one of their own? They simply regard it as an internal Rihannusu dispute even now, and I am in no danger from the Starfleet authorities, I assure you."

"God, do I hate the dealing between superpowers. Gets in the way of honest justice." Grumbled James.

She continued. "As for the brig, the force-field thankfully came down in time for me to escape. General Omar, pleased with his new glorious promotion, has made me Prefect of the Rihannusu embassy on Earth."

"You thought I might have been hurt or worse? As in you still care for me?" A smile played across Tekri's lips.

"That's not the point. I'm still pissed off at you." Tekri's smile vanished as James turned more stern, "The reality is, the Federation blames me for the failure of properly protecting Savar. They think 'you' seduced me... and for all I know they are right! So if you think they don't give a sh*t about an internal despute, then explain why my ass was raked over the coals. That stunt of yours has put my career in limbo. One more screwup... such as you appearing again, and i'll be on guard duty at the Arphista Penetentiary as a newly minted Ensign. Oh, and I do care about you... but you're scaring the hell out of me like this."

Tekri frowned - the last thing she wanted to do was scare James.

"I'm sorry James," she said. "It was a mistake going through with my mission. And I'll do anything you want in order to get your forgiveness."

"And that includes," she finished reluctantly. "Not ever speaking to you again, if you want."

"Please, James," she begged. "I love you."

"Alright..."

James paused, the words caught in his throat like a hairy clog. He could not get it out, his bravery sapped by Tekri's disparaging face. Oh how her lips pursed together and her eyes sparked... James could not resist.

But just like that, the words came out.

"I forgive you... but we can't be together again."

Tekri's face - relieved from James' first three words - found her face frowning despondently at the remainder of his last sentence.

"Please James," she begged for what seemed like the millionth time. "Why can't we be together? I'll do anything you want, anything."

"Look, James, I am leaving Earth soon. On my way back to Romulus, I plan on coming onboard the Galaxy to give a formal congratulation to Senator Omar on his royal award. His father has already arranged it with Starfleet Command."

"Are you saying that you won't want me to stop by your quarters while I'm there?" She smiled at him in the most seductive way she could muster.

"No Tekri." James replied somberly, looking down at the floor, "We allowed lust to dictate our actions. We cannot allow it to happen again. Please Tekri, no more of this. Lets end the relationship now."

Suddenly enraged, Tekri spat out her next words.

"Very well," she said harshly. "But I will be coming onboard the Galaxy nonetheless, albeit for a brief period only. When you see me, you will realise what a mistake you have made. How can you be so single-minded as to let our cultural differences destroy our relationship?"

No longer pleasant, her face was now contorted horribly.

And for one second, James was truely intimidated. To look upon Tekri and speak the words 'it's over' was an invitation to death in the cruelest, slowest manner. It was the precursor to years of harassment, false starts, relationship and sexual tensions. Too much bitterness, that he could predict.

"Ok. Then it's settled. See you later." James said without hesitation.

With that, he deactivated his communications screen.

He couldn't have a fresh start without a resolution. James walked away from the screen, flopping himself on the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a good hour, thinking about what he had done.

Tekri now knew that she had made a definite mistake. She was (as James liked to put it) full of absolute crap – there was no way Starfleet would let her onboard the Galaxy again.

At least not yet, anyway. Tekri smiled as she began to formulate a plan – it was time to call in a favour from Proconsul Omar.

"A Million Grains of Sand"

Lt(jg) Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer

Cora left her meeting with Commander Mialin and went directly back to the Galaxy. They'd spent a long time discussing the situation and looking at all data that had been collected so far. Sorting through all the information was daunting at best.

"Buried under a million grains of sand and a million more," Cora whispered quietly to herself. It had been hours since her return to the ship. Maybe far more than that. In that time Lt Dobryin had intently burried herself in the task of discovering the mysteries of the infamous black box.

Along the way her frustration level continued to grow. While Cora managed to siphon of small pieces that were only a tiny part of the big picture one key elemtn still eluded the Intelligence offcer. In her quest to make a break through Cora lost all track of time or anything else.

Until she managed to extract and piece together what she'd been hunting for, Cora didn't allow herself to take any sort of break. This tragedy deserved proper justice.

2294