"Politalk" - Part I

Commander Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security

Major Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO/Vanguard One

Lt. Doctor Klaus Feinberg, Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer / Lily Squad Leader

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Controller

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Deck Ten, Forward
USS GALAXY
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Aboard a Galaxy-Class starship, the area known as Ten-Forward was a place for many things. Most notably, a recreational lounge and mess hall, but often used for other venues. It was also often a place for discussion - and, indeed, most of the gossip on the ship started in this particular room.

Today, however, the discussion had turned to politics - not so uncommon an occurrence - but the disparate numbers of officers and crew had turned the discussion rather interesting.

"So," Miramon was saying, a cold glass of Iced Tea in one hand. He was sitting as always next to Saul Bental, but his voice was loud enough to be heard by the other people at the broad table and the nearby bar. "we've got all these major power-hungry factions running around - Breen, Romulans as usual, T'Kith'Kin and what have you, all of whom are aggressive towards the Federation in one way or another. Now, given that, is it realistic for Starfleet to maintain a diplomatically-minded policy? Why not instead apply aggressive tactics against such groups, allowing the Federation to exist because nobody dares challenge it? Just as a hypothetical discussion, of course."

Karyn, drinking a glass of lemonade sans alcohol or synthale, swirled the contents of her glass and thought about the Ensign's question for a moment. "Job security?" she deadpanned. "If we go around giving people bloody noses, doctors and counselors would be a joke, really. More than some people already make them anyway. "But seriously, if all we're about is aggression, we're no better than the people we claim to despise."

"I'm not suggesting that we go so far, not for a second. But I mean, look. Regulations tell us that we approach every situation on a diplomatic tack. But with a little more common sense, you'd think we could at least fire first when it's obvious things are going to get ugly. And why is it diplomacy is always the first and last resort? If Starfleet had acted when the Cardassians had been so aggressive towards my people during the Occupation, we'd have been out of that mess a lot sooner. Instead, they went through 'diplomatic channels'. So thousands of my people were subjected to torture and death. How does that reconcile with Federation policy?"

Not insensitive to Miramon's feelings, Karyn chose her words carefully. "Unfortunately, it all comes down to politics more often than reality. The Federation, at least if policy is any indication, is loathe to enter a conflict they don't have an exit strategy for. If we break it, in short, we're expected to fix it, or we become targets. The Federation is not going to get aggressive if our security isn't immediately threatened or if we think we don't have the resources to win. Speaking personally, it's not that simple to read people. Predicting ugliness is never an exact science, and once we fire the first shot, that bell can never be unrung. The truth is, we'll do anything to save lives, and at least with conflict, you're guaranteed more loss of life. If there's a way to prevent that, we go for it."

"If a fight can be avoided, I say by all means avoid it. Why kill anymore. We've all seen far too much death in our days." Klaus sipped coffee as usual, his doctor's teal jacket over his class-A. But he unfortunately saw himself on the fence at the moment. "I say that if there is a way. Any remote way to attain peace without too many concessions, then do it. I regret to say, however, that I believe that this... triad, of powers will be difficult to deal with without a fight. But conflict should be held professionally, and quickly. Perhaps quick tactical strikes on vital resources to mimize casualties on both sides."

Sharing a table with Cass Henderson, Corran Rex took this opportunity to weigh into this discussion. "I didn't get to fight at Havras with the rest of you," the Trill pilot started, "but I lost enough pilots there for that to make an impression. This - triad, as Klaus calls it - clearly isn't interested in peace. I'm all for every day I go without firing a shot, but I still don't understand the Council's thinking. People are going to find out about what happened, and that the Federation has three new, extremely dangerous enemies. When they do find out, it's just going to be worse."

"I agree with Corran," Cass chimed in as well. Initially he had been planning to sit back and observe. The topic of the discussion interested him, and he was curious to learn everyone's views on the subject. However, Corran had managed to catch him watching, and draw him over and into the discussion. Thankfully, he was out of uniform, so at least there would be that to remove him from his position as executive officer. "If I had my way, we would prepare, and strengthen our borders with the Breen and Hydrans. To a degree, we are. But at the same time, I don't agree with some of the more... vocal members of the admiralty. Preemptive strikes are not the answer. Not yet."

"Were my father still alive. He'd agree with you Cass." Klaus sipped again, his eyes on a blank spot on the table. "It pains me so much to think about the situation we're in. The Federation, I believe needs to be more cautious about it's defensive needs however. They want to fight us, and will likely look for any excuse." His head rised and he smiled. "How I long for simpler times."

"No such thing, Doctor." Miramon said simply.

Saul, which until then only listened and tried to stay out of the conversation, finally spoke up. "Yes. The last time times were simply, us humans were hunting wild buffalo with spears and stones, I'm afraid. I totally agree with Commander Henderson's take on this, but let me play the devil's advocate for a moment..."

Saul took a sip of the orange juice, glad he managed to get everyone's attention and was not ignored.

"Are pre-emptive strikes really that bad? Let me remind you that the fleet was weakened tremendously after the Dominion war, and did not get back to full power. This means that today, more than ever, we have to rely on wise strategy and minimum losses. After the Battle of Havras and recent assaults on various Starfleet outposts, we certainly have Casus Belli against the Triad. The question is, what do THEY plan?"

"Ah, yes. Casus Belli, the occasion for war. Yes, we do, but at the same time, we're not prepared right now," Cass replied, pausing to drink deeply from his coffee. "Since the Dominion War, we have managed to recover much of our strength in ships, but the sheer loss of tactically experienced officers will take many years to recover. Which is why the Federation Council's current stance is naive. We cannot deny what happened, and we do need to prepare for a conflict. As Corran said, the Triad is not interested in peace."

"If they are," Corran interjected, "They've got a damned funny way of showing it."

"Just a historic example of succesfull pre-emptive strikes I recently learnt in a military history course.", Saul said, "At the Human year 1967 A.D., the state of Israel on Earth was threatened by its neighbours, and war was imminent. It was a matter of days, months at best, and everyone knew it. They didn't have a 'Battle at Havras', but border skirmishes got stronger. The Israelis knew that if they weren't going to play smart, the next war might be the last. So one summery day at June they commenced a sudden attack against their opponents' airports and within a matter of hours vanquished the majority of the air forces of their opponents. The war lasted for six days. SIX DAYS gentlemen, before fire was ceased and the state of Israel came out victorious."

"Normally, I'd agree with Saul. Decisive strikes work wonders. Hell... if we didn't press on near the end of the Dominion War when we saw the chance... we would still be fighting."

Suddenly appearing like a wraith in the mists, James Corgan made his presence felt with his words of conviction. As one of the few veterans in the room that saw the worse aspects of warfare, he felt as if he had to give some insight.

He also felt that political arguments, as well as religious banter, were the best ways to piss people off, but that was a risk he had to take.

"True, but then again there are cases where decisive action failed miserably. You can bring up the case of the Americas Offensive instigated by the Eastern Coalition during World War 3. They thought they could wipe out their enemy with a surprise attack too... only to have their asses handed to them as they squandered their numerical superiority to keep their small gains on the Americas front. Eight days of fighting brought small gains... after that it was many bloody years without an inch of gain. Sad, that."

Corgan introspectively looked at everyone, his voice as confident as it was somber, "I do not look forward to war, and I would not desire to seek it as well. However, I would not want to stand idly by while others are oppressed. So my view on whether or not the Federation should be more... 'hawkish' or 'dove...ey' is that both are inanely stupid. You can fight for what's right without charging in at every little provocation. And you can foster peace even if you decide to charge into an area with phaser rifles at the ready. It's just a matter of standing up for what's right... its just that working out when you should fight and when you should not that's tricky."

"I guess it all comes down to the question : Whether the fleet should invest its resources in war machines or exploration.", Saul commented, "Offensive or defensive stance - against the Triad, the Dominion, whoever - is just a result of the current situation, and I hope the admirality is good enough to know how to act and react. I think the big question is whether we're going to see more warships come out of the shipyards, and more battalions of marines - or more exploration expeditions."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Corgan quipped. "Our production facilities are pretty good. At least now our shipbuilding infrastructure is modernized thanks to the war. Besides, most of our exploration ships were designed to fight off most alien war vessels. Our exploration ships, for the most part, can match tonne for tonne with most alien warships. It was when we built an ACTUAL fighting vessel that we showed what we are capable of. Do you remember the shock of seeing a Defiant class in action for the first time? It scared the hell out of most people to know we could make something so savage."

Saul shook his head. He had no doubt that Starfleet had the technology and the capabilities to do both fighting and exploring. "And yet, I do hope that eventually, Starfleet will return to the way it were prior to the Dominion war..."

"Were they ever really that way, Saul? I don't think so," the executive officer shook his head. "Just before the Dominion War, there was talk of war with the Klingons. And before that, the cold war with the Cardassians. No, there hasn't been a time of primarily exploration for... a long time." {To Be Continued...}

“How to tell if she likes you”

(Takes place immediately after ‘A Place In The Queue’)

Principal Characters:

Lt. Ella Grey
Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

~~So,~~ Ella signed as she continued to eat some of the Indian dish Victor had placed before her. ~~Do I get to learn who the mysterious 'she' is?~~

"Which 'she?'" Victor returned, as he speared another Guntaba.

~~The one you went on this mission with.~~ Ella replied. She wasn't sure that she really wanted to know but then again she wasn't sure that she didn't want to know.

"Oh." He shrugged. "I assumed that made its way around the ship before I left." In fact, if he were a betting man, he'd place his entire savings on it. "The Attendant."

So that was who Angie had been harping on about a while ago. Naturally, jealousy reared its ugly head that this Klingon woman had been spending all this time with him but, at least, it wasn't that psychopathic pilot bitch. ~~The one who likes you?~~

“No.”

Certainly spends enough time with him, she thought. "You just don't understand women." Ella spoke, laughing.

“She promised to kill me, Grey,” he pointed out. “I would think that even the Klingons find it a bit difficult to develop an interest in a corpse.”

"Klingons always threaten to kill people." Ella said with a shrug.

“Then what was stabbing me in the lung a sign of?”

Ella's eyes widened and she almost choked on her food. ~~What?!?! Why? How did it... did you get it fixed?"

“No. It filled with blood and I almost drowned in it.” He gestured at his left side absently. “I have a new one now.”

Ella goggled at him.

Victor looked at her expressionlessly. “Is something wrong, Grey?”

"Well, YEAH, something's the matter. That... that bitch." Ella spluttered, absolutely furious. If only she had the skill, she'd hunt down that woman and show her some of the techniques Daro had shown her. But since the Klingon wasn't there she turned her anger on Victor. ~~Why can you NEVER stay out of trouble?~~

With a frown Victor shook his head. “I get paid to find it Grey. It’s what I do; you know that. I find it and deal with it so it doesn’t find someone like you.”

Someone like her, Ella wanted to grumble. ~~Well, why did she do it?~~

“Because I did something she didn’t want me to do, Grey.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed. It wasn’t even the first time I was stabbed on this assignment.”

Ella pushed her plate away back after finishing the last bite. ~~I don't want to hear about it anymore tonight.~~

“All right.” He tilted his head to the side and regarded her for a moment. “You sound upset, Grey. Why?”

~~Because I don't like feeling angry at you.~~ Ella signed, scowling.

Grey was angry with him? Victor turned the idea over in his head, but couldn’t quite grasp the reason for it. Was it something he’d done?

Something he’d said? Finally, confused, he asked, “Why?”

~~Its been a long day, Victor.~~ Ella signed, purposefully ignoring the question. ~~I'm going to get my overnight bag and then get some sleep.~~

Ah, Victor decided, that was it. The night demons. It had been months since he’d been here to keep them away, and Grey might not have had a good night’s sleep in all that time. That would certainly make her tired and angry for little or no reason. “I’ll clean things up and unpack a little while you’re gone,” he told her as he stood. “You’ll want to sleep on something more than a mattress.”

I'd sleep on a rock as long as you were here with me, Ella wanted to say. And ALIVE. Damn the man. But she couldn't make herself say either.

~~All right.~~ Ella signed.

OOC: Current day. I'll continue Curran's Lost and Found backstory during free writes and/or flashbacks.

"Pomp and Circumstance"

By Legate Kylar Curran,
Chief Liaison Officer

*SMACK*

The glove followed up the initial impact on the cranium of its opponent in a rain of blows that tumbled the Ekosian to the mat. Still the lithe figure squatted over the humanoid to jab him several more times in the padding around his face, giving him a swift kick to the sides as he was pushed away by the stand-in 'referee'.

"Whoa, stand back there, Johnny Lawrence! No one to impress here, man!" Curran fell back into the neutral corner of the ring, pounding his gloves together in anticipation of the kill. He clicked his tongue against the mouthpiece that slipped in and out between his teeth.

In the recreation area of the Emerald Princess, Curran had hitched a ride when his sabbatical to Kelva II had come to an end, as semi-fulfilling as it was. The merchant liner had crossed paths with a Kelvan light cruiser, at which after a heavily delaying inspection of the liner facilities by the Kelvan customs squad, the Liaison Officer was allowed - or rather the ship's crew had been ordered under threat of impounding - to board the liner and assigned quarters of reasonable comfort.

Now, several weeks later - as liners were hardly ever found to reach speeds past Warp Four - they were but a day out of port at Starbase 212. Only after reporting into the Diplomatic Corps post at 212 had Curran been informed that he would be accompanying a Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor as she was shuttled to Starbase 212 herself to be transferred to the Galaxy. She was already on board the Princess and prepared to receive him.

That was approximately five Terran days ago. Since then, he'd introduced himself to the inept bureaucrat. The meetings ongoing with her and her staff did little to put the Kelvan at ease. Her demands and obvious loathing for his offices and their newly engaged powers over Starfleet were more than obvious to those trained in reading them. Humans were so predictable.

His orders were clear. He was to attend to her needs while in transit with the Galaxy to her relieving Commodore Jerdberg of his command of Deep Space 5. All other duties while on board the USS Galaxy were secondary, even those of Captain M'Kantu's. Starfleet and Federation civilian interaction would be left to those personnel in his department that he had yet to interview and determine capabilities.

The Ekosian wobbled to his feet, shaking off assistance from the referee who was quite forcefully trying to have the beaten opponent retire. Curran smacked his gloves together once more and snapped the mouthpiece back onto his gums.

Shifting his feet into position, he showed the humanoid no mercy in a left jab to the stomach followed by a solid sideways uppercut that dropped the alien's hands to his sides as he slowly tilted back on the balls of his feet, swaying. Kylar's eyes danced back and forth with the motions of the male, then shoved him backwards with two solid blows to his chest. The Ekosian fell motionless to slam into the mat with one bounce, and then was still.

Immediately medical personnel swarmed the being. Curran never waited for the decision. He knew he'd won. He was sated for the moment.

He left the ring with nary a glance back.

*****

After showering off and cooling down, the Kelvan consulted his agenda. Yet another meeting with the Admiral was upcoming. Thankfully he was able to purge the majority of his negative emotion with kickboxing match earlier. The rage he felt at the inadequacy of human logic had been quelled for the time being. At least until he was through with this meeting.

Dressed head to toe in the black formal attire of his office, Curran approached the double-doors of the regal quarters the Admiral was taking advantage of while on board the liner. Her connection with the Captain of the independent liner had allowed her to take ownership of the grand cabins, displacing the Ambassador of Pacifica and his family from the entire floor. The diplomatic relations in the event could only be listed as horrendous. How Starfleet could condone such an act from one of its top-level officers was insulting to the institution.

Padding the lavender carpets of the corridors empty of all personnel except her personal guard, he was continually stopped and inspected for anything and everything. He was finally at the doors that would take him to the Admiral's quarters, and for the umpteenth time, he was ordered to partake in a head to toe DNA and inspection scan. He understood the reasoning behind the scans, but if Proctor were this paranoid, she should have taken a Starship.

As mentioned before, humans weren't that bright. Yet another reason to conquer them. They needed guidance in determination and efficiency. Taking a luxury liner to your destination was both inefficient and dangerous for an Admiral of some importance. He mentally shook his head as they ran their scans over him.

"He's clean. I'll need your authorization papers." As per regular and routine duty, the Kelvan passed his isolinear chip containing his appointment date and topics of the meeting. The huge Capellan - they make wonderful security officers - slipped the chip into his scanner, watching as the data scrolling on the screen matched his own. His partner, an equally powerful Horta due to its acidic capabilities, watched him carefully. If he could assume it was watching him. It shuffled in what Curran always thought was hungry anticipation. He wondered how long it had been since it 'disposed' of a perpetrator.

"Admiral, Legate Curran has arrived. Do you wish to see him now?"

[Let him enter, Lieutenant.] Such a dry voice for a female. Almost sounded husky.

The Capellan stepped back, passing back the chip. "Enter. Admiral Proctor is waiting in the receiving room." The double doors shimmered away. Holographic forcefield. That costs credits, most likely. The Captain and ambassador must be having words on compensation right about now. Neither one would be satisfied with the Admiral's annexation of the most prestigious quarters on the ship, but knowing her friendship with the Captain, one never knew. Pacifica had a lot of influence in tourism affairs, though. It could prove more costly for the owner/captain than he anticipated.

Curran stepped into the enormous lobby that swept out to a seating area regaled with pillows and cushions of a scarlet shade aligned symmetrically amongst a series of divans and other seating arrangements. An old-fashioned grandfather clock chimed against the far bulkhead, signaling a time on Earth of what humans would term 'lunchtime'. An open portal, grander and more expansive than a viewscreen looked out upon the stars ahead as the quarters was situated just above the Bridge. Above him, a concave dome expanded outwards, its surface painted with a variety of idols from many worlds. A rather overlarge chandelier decorated with hundreds of gleaming crystals dangled and sung a chime of soothing delight hung from the center of the dome.

The rest of the room was a vista of ancient Terran history of approximately 500 years previous. During the French Renaissance at or around the time of the Industrial Revolution if he wasn't mistaken. Terran history was certainly not a strong suit with him, nor should it be. Paintings of celebrated artists hung in strategic positions around the room, head sculptures of popular strategists stood at attention at equal distances from the monstrous fireplace that had a roaring fire within.

"Just in time for lunch, Legate. Please, have a seat." Curran glanced to the voice from the left, recognizing the Admiral immediately. Her hair was cut short, shoulder length, wavy and dark. Her frame, of average build, was fairly attractive, but otherwise not very noteworthy. She was of course dressed in her casual Starfleet attire.

Olivia Proctor slipped into one end of a button cushioned divan, tucking one arm over the 'rest, the other along the crest long top. Casually crossing her legs, she postured herself as a diva, smiling without sharing the emotion. Cold and practical. "Sit." It didn't take much to decide she wasn't asking, so the diplomat uneasily seated himself in a Louis XIV inlaid chair.

'Livia clapped her hands, and from out of a pair of alcoves a pair of servants emerged carrying serving trays wafting with sensuous aromas. Setting up minor tables with which to pick their food off of, the waiters settled individual plates of roast targ fresh off the grill, cold meats, vegetables, cheeses, and various wines. Quite grandiose, and a waste of resources.

Whyever do humans desire such flamboyancy? It was imbecilic. This Proctor was all about... things. The twenty-fourth century doctrine of casting aside materialism was lost on this one. Her infatuation with items was likely costing her membership in a circle of power at Starfleet Headquarters, so they cast her out so far along the rim, 'things' were much harder to come by.

Still, DS5 was the vanguard against a Hydran incursion. A strategic standpoint. Starfleet had already lost outposts along the Typhon Expanse; a military presence was at a low-point. The station was so far out of the safety of Federation territory, Starbase 212's taskforce would take days to reach it in time. Only a daily pass of Border Patrol craft and an occasional starship in the area were its real external defenses. Proctor must surely realize she's expendable in taking control of the station. Starfleet had likely written it off as a viable tactical point, receding the Federation borders even further.

The Liaison Corps' Diplomatic personnel were stretched thin trying to hold planetary governments within the Federation. Any more losses would be even more detrimental. Member planets were losing faith in the Federation's ability to protect them, and the politics have been steadily progressing in this direction for well over three years now.

So why send this idiot out along the important stretch that bordered the Romulan Star Empire and Hydran Sovereignty? It made no sense to Curran, but it was a chess move by someone else. The Kelvan picked at a carrot, twirling it as he thought of a dangling root just out of reach of the burro. Proctor was the burro, and DS5 was the root.

"... need staterooms located as nearby the main bridge as you have them, Legate." Admiral Proctor was waving about a stalk of celery in one hand, a flute of white wine in the other. Curran waved off a server who proffered him a glass of the same liquid. Alcohol was not tolerated easily in his system. Only under extreme and well-prepared situations would he imbibe, but not here. Not when this try-as-she-might tactician was analyzing him.

She'd been droning on while he was in thought. He did this often. Much she had to say was hardly worth ingesting. Tales of tactical genius that were not hers to be credited with, candy-coated stories that were so obviously not true - or if they were, magnified into something outrageously unbelievable it was difficult not to laugh in the wrong places. It was all... humans would call it... 'bullshit'. She knew of the Kelvans taste for strategy, and attempting to impress him, most likely. It was an utter flop.

So, he tolerated her, as he was ordered to do, and took his stresses out in the recreation deck. The Ekosian was an unlucky target of a story relating to her singlehandedly leading a contingent of starcraft into Havras to save the Galaxy. He knew she was never there in the first place. Sitting in a safe room on a starship that was the rear guard for deMercereau's taskforce, watching the battle from a viewscreen terminal.

It was this utter distaste for her not entering the field of battle and taking credit for doing so that made him want to vomit. It was likely the only battle she faced was in which lie she would tell each moment. Put a phaser to her head, and she'd likely crumple under the stress.

"... need access to the ship library systems at all times. Inform Operations on the Galaxy...." Ramble, ramble, ramble. He'll make sure, all right.

"The Guest VIP quarters on Deck 3 have been set aside for you already, Admiral. All will be attended to when we arrive."

"Yes, well, I have requirements that will need to be met in that nature, Legate." Setting down her never-ending glass onto a diamond-rimmed coaster on the heavily wooden-inlaid coffee table, she produced a PADD from behind a vase of orchids that in themselves gave off a rather delightful aroma.

"I've completed my list of requirements, Legate. Please be sure they are met." She pushed it across the table to the Kelvan, who raised an eyebrow as he caught some of the details.

"Daily intelligence reports, personnel files, fresh fruits, mint on pillow..." He clenched his jaw. The Galaxy was not an inn! Starfire episodes? Ridiculous. He was a diplomat, not a butler! Of course, she likely was doing what she could to demean his offices. Starfleet Admiralty were not keen on the Liaison Corps intruding on their domains, at all.

"I... will... do what I can, Admiral." Oh, how painful this assignment would be. He hoped for a Capellan during his next bout in the recreation deck.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you will. Now, how about a game of Strategema?"

Kylar groaned inwardly. Another game he had to 'play dumb' on, and let the Admiral win.

Thank god, they would be at Starbase 212 within 24 Terran hours.

"And the memory remains"

By 2Lt. Jebidiah Baile
Furies Red Team Leader

USS Galaxy ----------- In a hostile place

The thin cord wrapped itself around the throat of the Cardassian without a sound. Only too late did the powerfully built Cardassian notice what was happening. Baile slammed his knee into the lower backside of the alien in front of him and pulled at the ends of the cord with all his might.

It was a butal way to die, but firing a weapon would set of the sensors. The Cardassian was strong, as all Cardassians, but Baile had placed his knee in the right place and continued to pull backwards.

His arms ached from exhaustion, his body burned from stims. Suddenly the Cardassian went limp, but Baile kept the cord tight around the neck. It had cut deep into the neck of the enemy, blood oozing out when he finally let go.

The body dropped to the ground, landing on the back, the face twisted in terror and pain. Baile crouched low and started to search the pockets of the corpse when the eyes opened and a hand grabbed his. Then nothing but pitch black darkness opened up around him.

His hands clawed at the opponent, struggling to get away from the dead hand. Something was wrong, he could feel it, but at the same time he had to get away from the hand. He pulled with all his strength, but the hand wouldn't let go.

A sense of helplessness crept over him, making him furious and terrified at the same time. He pulled his gun, not caring if the enemy found out the special ops team was there or not. Dead people was supposed to stay dead.

He lined up the gun with the stubborness of an injured Grizzly, slowly, ever so slowly, the gun moved towards the head of the Cardassian, its grin slowly disappearing as the gun came closer.

Some marines didn't like to use phasers for various reasons. Baile was one of them. That is not to say he didn't use them, he simply preferred other guns. Handguns hadn't stopped developing just because phasers were introduced. Quite the opposite.

Guns from the 24th centuary had about as much in common with guns from the 20th centuary as catapults had with artillery. Sure, the idea was the same, but hardly the end result.

Baile's gun was a wonder of modern technology. Light, durable with all the trimmings. It's armorpiercing pullets punched a hole through most armor worn by humanoids and what it didn't punch through the rifle did.

He didn't really know why he preferred the handguns instead of phasers. Traditions probably. Some species were remarkably tough, but that didn't matter at a distance of three inches. No one was that bulletproof. Especially not a Cardassian.

Baile bared his teeth in anger, determined to shot the already dead Cardassian to Kingdom come. With a final feat of strength he pressed the gun against the head of the soon to be dead again Cardassian.

That's when he woke up.

As usual he had just crashed on the bed, hoping unconsciousness would claim him before the nightmares did. He felt the cold metal of the barrel against the temple. For what felt like an eternity, sitting in his bed, he toyed with the idea of pulling the trigger. It would be so easy. One tenth of an inch would do it.

But as usual he exhaled, tired and worn out, and lowered the gun. He clicked the release and the clap bounced down on the bed, silently holding its deadly payload. He watched the clip come to a halt, watching the black metal in the poorly lit room. It reminded him of some of the small ugly bugs in Roth Valley, one of the few places he would never return to even if ordered.

He tossed the gun next to the clip and rolled out of bed. It was hard to breathe, almost as if the cord had been around his own neck instead of some damn Cardassian. Sweat ran down his spine like raindrops, as it always did when the dreams got this bad.

Baile stumbled into the tiny bathroom and turned the lights on, leaning heavily against the small sink, watching the face looking back at him in the mirror. Silently he wondered when he had stopped recognizing the face in the mirror.

"I see the child I was, and lay flowers on his grave.." he whispered to the man staring at him in the mirror. His former CO, Colonel Caileb Smith had said those words once, during a very drunken shoreleave at yet another unnamed hellhole Starfleet had sent them to.

"Tell me.. " he whispered to the mirror. "What do you see?" It stayed silent, of course. The icy water he splashed his face with didn't chase away the demons in the back of his mind.

With an empty look in his eyes he pulled off the drenched t-shirt. There was no chance in hell he'd get back to sleep again. He switched off the lights and stumbled back out into the small room again, pulling on a fresh t-shirt and joggingpants. The room was, with one word, sparsely furnitured. So while most of the ship was asleep, Baile headed down to one of the gyms. The demons never slept.

It wasn't the workout he wanted. It was the pain and the sense of mental numbness when repeating the same move over and over again. So he did push-ups. Ten sets of fifty. Then situps. Ten sets of sixty. Benchpress - five sets of fifteen at 175 Ibs. Crosspulls - five sets of fifteen at 80 Ibs. Triceps - five sets of fifteen at 60 Ibs to name but a few. He followed the routine miticiously, working his body until every fibre screamed at him in exhaustion and pain. Then he repeated it all one more time.

One

The images from Roth Valley refused to give way. Baile gritted his teeth, refusing to give in and let the images fill his head. He had been there once and that was enough.

Two

The sweat stung in his eyes. He concentrated on the breathing, slowly exhaling as he pushed the 175Ibs barbell up.

Three

The shouts from Caileb still echoed in his head. "Take out that floater!"

Four

Barring his teeth in a snarl, closing his hands around the barbell until his knuckles turned white.

Five

"Flea! I don't care how you do it... just fucking kill them... all of them!!" The words echoed in his mind.

Six

And he had. Every single one of them.

Seven

They had deserved it. Every single one of those fuckers.

Eight

Frustration and anger stacked high in Baile. He could almost feel the stench of Roth Valley, feel the stench of blood, entrails, fear and death assault him like it had then.

Nine

He had been an invisible death, a lightningfast plauge killing everyone near. How good it had felt to end the lives of those miserable traitors, watched them realise they were dying.

Ten

Their lives had been in his hands. Just as the people the beasts had slaughtered. And just like them he had closed his hand, crushing them.

Eleven

How many had lost themselves in Roth Valley? How many survived but never came back?

Twelve

His arms wanted to give up. The barbell seemed impossible to lift, but Marines didn't give up. They didn't quit until someone ordered them to. Inch by inch Baile pushed it upwards, his muscles shaking, almost cramping from the effort. The pain was good, it stopped him from thinking about the hell named Roth Valley.

Thirteen

The fury he felt, from both memories and the pain in his body, fueled him, pushed him, gave him energy to push himself to the point of collapse.

Fourteen

A part of him had stayed in Roth Valley. A part of everyone that had been in Roth Valley had left something there.

Fifteen

For Baile it had been his belief in the Federation. It had been eroded over time, but Roth Valley had taken a big toll on it. He still believed in what he did, still believed in the Marines, more than ever. But he didn't believe in the Federation. The ideas that had once founded the Federation had been overrun by the harsh realities of life. With a growl he pushed up the barbell one last time, feeling the sweet relief as the muscles could relax.

He sat up, wiping the sweat of his forehead. The demons were quiet for now, but they would come back.

They always did.

"Time to Leave”

(Occurs after 'How To Tell If She Likes You')

Principal Characters

Lt. Ella Grey

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Ella sat up in the dark, gasping for air, and quickly kicked back the covers so that she could run to the bathroom. The lights that she called for in the bathroom reminded her of the blinding sun after she had run out of the cave on the desert planet.

She shook her head and tried to breathe normally again, leaning over the sink just in case a sudden wave of nausea hit again.

When she felt the cool touch on her naked shoulder - why hadn't she worn the flannels - Ella couldn't help the revulsion that swept over her or the fear that suddenly took hold. She turned and gasped.

Curtis reached out for her and she couldn't help but shriek as she backed up quickly. She backed up quickly and tried to ward off his hands.

"Don't hurt me, Curtis." Ella cried out, finally able to say the words now that she hadn't been able before. It wasn't the only reason she had gotten the chip implanted but it had been a strong argument.

It was a full minute, while she was trying desperately to become one with the wall, before she realized that she wasn't in her quarters. She was in Victor's and he had come to make sure that she was okay.

And then she realized what she had said.

Oh. No.

"Curtis?" Victor's voice was as quiet and even as ever, but there was an undertone that wasn't normally there, something that signaled that his inner self was closer to the surface than normal. "What did Geluf do Grey? How did he hurt you?"

~~Victor?~~ Ella signed even though she knew now where she was. She had to think fast and that was always fun at three in the morning. ~~Oh! I'm sorry I woke you. I must have been dreaming.~~

"You were dreaming," he agreed. "I want to know what Geluf did that made you do this," he indicated her position against the wall. "Was it after you crashed? Before the Klingons found you?"

~~It was just a dream, Tiger.~~ She signed trying to laugh it off. And though it hurt her to do it, she continued on with another lie. ~~I once dreamed that you were trying to drown me. Doesn't mean anything, just imagery.~~

Victor frowned. "I wouldn't drown you, Grey, you're my friend and it's too slow, too painful. If I had to kill you it would be quick and painless."

Ella forced herself to laugh but it didn't work very well. "Good to know."

"You've never reacted to me like this, Grey, even when you should have." Victor looked at her without blinking. "Why are you doing it now, over a dream about Geluf? What did he do to make this happen?"

"Nothing." Ella whispered.

"No," Victor decided after a moment. "He did something. You never reacted like this to any of the other night demons, but they were old. This is still new, still raw." He took a step back "I'll ask Geluf why." His expression shifted, until there was little of Victor in it and it sent chills down Ella's spine as he added quietly, "He'll explain it to me."

"Victor! No!" Ella yelped, running to block him from the door. ~~I told you it's nothing.~~

"I know what nothing is, Grey," Victor stopped and looked at her, once again wholly Victor. "This isn't it."

Time for an amendment of the plan, she decided. ~~You... have to promise not to hurt him.~~ Ella signed.

"Why?"

~~Because he's my friend too.~~ Ella replied, moving to sit down on the bed.

"Tell me, Grey," Victor repeated, still frowning.

~~When we got stuck on that planet a lot of weird things began to happen; I don't know if you read about it. Corran could control those voices he kept hearing, Cutter- well, I'm not exactly sure what happening with him, and I was so wired that I could hardly sit still. The Professor's hearing became so enhanced that he could hear someone breathing from miles away.~~

Ella broke off to make sure he was still with her.

Victor nodded, his attention split between listening to what Grey was telling him and trying to decide why it bothered him so much that he was hearing this from her. He'd heard it all before, hadn't he? Why was it different now that it was Grey telling him? "I'm still with you, Grey." If this went where he knew it was, Geluf, however, might not be.

~~Just giving you the back-story. I think all that extra sensory perception drove him a little crazy. The dehydration and strange foods didn't help either. He started to think we weren't going to make it and when you're stranded somewhere and need to start over...~~

There it was, what he'd known was coming. "Geluf tried to start over with you," he said flatly, his voice scrubbed clean of what little emotional inflection it normally had. He'd never killed someone that he talked to before; he wondered if he'd miss Geluf afterwards.

~~I got away before anything happened.~~ Ella assured him, as she had assured Cutter and Corran. ~~It's not his fault; he was sick.~~

"Of course he was sick, Grey. They're always sick; they wouldn't do things like that if they weren't."

~~It wasn't like that.~~ She protested.

Victor ignored her. "But you didn't get away before something happened, Grey. You wouldn't have to act like this if you had." Geluf had terrorized her, taken advantage of their friendship to try and cross boundaries that should never be crossed. The kind of psychological scarring something like that left was real, just as real as the physical scars that the doctors had removed after they gave him his new lung.

Ella bit her lip. ~~No, I swear that nothing happened. I got away. You can even ask Rex.~~

"Was he there?" Rexa and Ar'resh were going to be disappointed if he killed Rex before they had a chance to talk to his symbiote. He also didn't understand why she kept insisting that nothing had happened. Geluf had terrified her, had tried to hurt her in a way that only monsters hurt people. How could she not see that his actions were *something?* "Something happened, Grey," he tried again to explain to her.

Nausea was hitting her again but she shook her head. Why wouldn't he just take her word for it? ~~Why won't you believe me?~~

She didn't understand. Maybe it was because she didn't want to see a friend as a monster. It was, he supposed all right. Even if she couldn't see it, he could. He knew all about monsters, and what you did to them so they couldn't hurt anyone else ever again. "It's all right, Grey," he said as he reached for her shoulders and gently moved her away from the door. "I know what to do." Victor supposed that it was for the best that he'd not unpacked yet. After he killed Geluf he'd be moving on again of a certainty.

"I... I...." Ella stuttered. What a bloody mess. How was she supposed to convince him not to go after Curtis.

The flat mechanical voice stopped him. It was horrid, like talking to a machine, worse even than talking to one of the androids that Mudd had brought aboard the first year he'd been aboard the Galaxy. "Yes, Grey?"

"I let him."

She let him? She let him frighten her, terrify her? That was silly; of course there hadn't been anything she could do. She hadn't asked him to do something like that. No one did. "No, you didn't," he assured her. "He made his own decisions, you didn't tell him to cross those boundaries with you."

"No, I..." Frustrated, she pushed her hair out of her face and tried like hell not to start wringing her hands. She looked down at them. "He was going to... and I couldn't stop him so I just... went along with it."

Went along with....? A tiny switch flicked inside Victor's head and suddenly everything was clear and sharp and made perfect sense. Something *had* happened.

Geluf hadn't merely frightened her, hadn't just *tried* to cross those boundaries. He'd done it. He'd hadn't merely done what Victor had done to Karyn Dallas months ago under the influence of the android's pheromones and the Klingon painkillers he'd taken; Geluf had completed the act because Grey hadn't had a hypo there to stop him the way Karyn had with Victor.

"I'd rather have sex with a friend than..." Ella began, and then trailed off as she felt Victor's presence start to swell, pushing at her with a physical force in a way it had only done once before. Her stomach felt like she had been pushed off a cliff. "You didn't know. You were talking about psychological... oh, shit what a mess."

=/\="Computer,"=/\= Victor's voice was hard and sharp, like the blade of a sword, undertones that seemed to carry the cries of the damned skittering along it's edge like light playing along it. =/\="Give me the location of Lieutenant Curtis Geluf."=/\=

=/\="Lieutenant Curtis Geluf has been reassigned off the Galaxy. He is not currently aboard,"=/\= the computer told him.

Thank God for small favors, Ella thought. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him!"

"It won't hurt, Grey," Victor replied, his voice still sharp. "He won't feel anything." Ever. He wouldn't feel anything ever again, not after Victor had found him.

"He didn't understand what was happening." Ella tried to explain. "He was sick.

Hell, he probably thought that I was Kiora."

Victor turned that idea over in his head for a moment, examined it, and then discarded it. "No. He knew." Victor had known. He'd known who Karyn Dallas was, and hadn't cared. If he'd known in that moment of chemically-induced madness and released restraint, then Geluf had known too - he, like Victor, just hadn't cared.

~~Victor~~ Ella signed, because it was less painful than hearing it out loud. ~~Technically, he didn't do anything wrong. I... helped him.~~

"You didn't help him, Grey. You submitted to survive. Rape is still rape." His presence hammered at her harder, almost like a series of physical blows now. "Stop saying that."

"Stop doing *that*" Ella shouted, referring to his presence.

"I'm going to kill him, Grey," Victor said quietly, the shimmering cries of the damned on the edges of his voice dripping to the floor like blood. Like Karyn Dallas should have killed him. Dallas was too devoted to life to do that though, too set on saving people. He wasn't devoted to life though, and he would kill. Kill to protect, kill to save, kill to... revenge.

"No, you're not!" Ella yelled. "I didn't put myself through... that so that you could kill him! I went through with it because he was a friend. If I thought he had been in his right mind, *I* would have killed him. Please, Victor! I want him alive."

"Why?"

"Because he's not a monster!" Ella frowned. She should have known that argument wouldn't work with Victor, who thought he was their King or something. ~~If you care anything about me, you'll let it go.~~

"Why?" Victor repeated, his presence still hammering at her, but growing no worse if it wasn't receding.

"Because his life is mine," Ella told him. "It's not up to you to say whether he lives or dies. It's my choice now. And I. Want. Him. Alive."

Victor frowned and shook his head negatively. Why didn't she see, didn't she understand?

~~Please.~~ She implored. ~~I just want to forget about it.~~ Ella moved to hug him, fought her way there against the push of his presence to hold him tightly. ~~Please.~~

"I...." Victor stood there, unresponsive. He had to kill, Geluf, it was what he did, who he was. He had to protect his sheep, to protect Grey. He had to do what Dallas couldn't and make sure that Geluf couldn't hurt anyone again the way he could. He had to be what he was, to let the things inside him out before it battered its way free and he hurt Grey. He had to... go.

Without a word he reached down and pushed Grey away, afraid that even that contact would be too much, that he would explode with the wash of red that took him when he was overwhelmed by his inner self and tear her apart. His hands shook after he'd pushed her away, and there was a roaring in his ears that drowned out everything. Her had to go, to get away from her, to get away from everything and let what was inside him fade before he became what he'd always feared, what his assault on Dallas had proved him right to fear, what Geluf had become - a monster.

Without a word he turned and picked up the first clothes he came to - the black leathers he'd taken off earlier - and walked out of the room, deaf to what Grey was saying.

He had to leave.

"Victor!" Ella was yelling as she pounded on the door. "Victor! Let me out of here!"

He keyed the lock, and then scrambled it so he couldn't open it again if he lost control while he pulled the clothes on. A few minutes later, he walked out of his quarters without looking back before Grey could override his bedroom door's lock.

Ella's hand flew to the comm badge she’d left on the dresser by the door, ready to call for Security. Her hand hesitated, hovering over her badge as she deliberated. Should she call Security? Or maybe someone else to try to talk him out of it. She didn't know.

=/\="Computer, which direction is Lt. Krieghoff headed?"=/\= She asked the computer.

=/\=”Lieutenant Krieghoff is in Turbolift 4, en route to the holosuites.”=/\=

She dropped her hand, stumped. That wasn't in the direction of either the transporters or shuttle bay. Ella backed over to the bed and started popping her knuckles as she tried to figure out what his plan was.

She stopped. Well, if he wasn't headed for the transporter or shuttle bays now, she could make sure he wouldn't change his mind later. She turned back and activated the LCARS panel I the bedroom and hunched over it, fingers moving rapidly.

"Politalk" – Part II

Commander Cassius Henderson, Executive Officer

Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer

Lt. Commander James Corgan, Chief of Security

Major Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO/Vanguard One

Lt. Doctor Klaus Feinberg, Chief Medical Officer

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Intelligence Officer / Lily Squad Leader

Ensign Miramon Terrik, Flight Controller

-----------------
Deck Ten, Forward
USS GALAXY
-----------------

Stars streaked across the windows of Ten Forward as the Galaxy rushed through space at warp speed. A small group of officers was seated next to a broad table, and some of them occupied the stools of the nearby bar. All of them were submerged deep in the conversation.

The Intelligence Lily Squadleader, Saul Bental, shook his head. He just concluded expressing his point of view on current affairs. "And yet, I do hope that eventually, Starfleet will return to the way it were prior to the Dominion war..."

"Were they ever really that way, Saul? I don't think so," the executive officer shook his head. "Just before the Dominion War, there was talk of war with the Klingons. And before that, the cold war with the Cardassians. No, there hasn't been a time of primarily exploration for... a long time."

"Not to mention the fact," Corran started in once again, sipping his own tea, "That a lot of people think we were responsible for starting the Dominion War - by mining the wormhole."

"That's absurd.", Saul Bental muttered.

Corran offered a shrug. "Oh, I agree. But that's out there. People think the damndest things, sometimes. But while the Dominion was busy attacking DS9, Admiral Murdock's fleet slipped behind the lines to take out those Dominion shipyards. I was aboard the Miranda back then, with the Rogues - that was a tough fight, but I'll tell you - the Dominion wasn't surprised to see us that day. Everybody knew it was coming down to a fight. I think that's what we're looking at again."

"If you ask me, The Dominion pushed us to it. They kept pushing on the Federation until a defensive action seemed required, and they used that as an excuse to attack." Klaus didn't like saying that, but he thought it was the truth.

"I wonder what kind of lame excuse would the TRIAD find for waging a war on us.", Saul said with disgust, "Actually, they don't need any. The Dominion war weakened us, the Romulans and the Klingons; That should be enough excuse for these scavangers."

"Well, The T'Kith'Kin have a hatred for machinery - anything technological they view as an abomination. They've probably only allied with the Breen and the Hydrans as a means to an end. The Breen, well they've always been..." the Trill stopped for a moment, trying to search for the right word. "ornery. For the Hydrans... Well,they've been quiet so long, who in the hells knows what their deal is."

"I remember reading history reports about the Hydrans actually be allies of the Federation during James T. Kirk's era." Klaus interjected. "Strange indeed."

"The Hydrans haven't been seen since Operation: Unity, when the galactic powers banded together to take the fight to the Andromedans in 2310. After that, they dissappeared from the galactic stage," Cass said, then continued. He gave away just enough information to sound credible without giving away that he had performed operations in Hydran space. "The thing about the Hydrans, and they've always been this way, is that their monarchal system mandates that they're the strongest race alive, and must rise to dominance. It's classic racial arrogance for the most part."

Saul Bental rolled his eyes, and he said what he imagined Nyoko Yuuri would say about the Hydrans.

"Darned French..."

"...There are other, more complicated reasons, but that's the most basic. I think for all three races that we're seeing in the Triad, it's an alliance of convenience."

"Making them even more dangerous." Rex replied. "Look - I, obviously, am a Trill. I know a thing or two about obsessive needs for paranoia and secrecy. It's never a good idea. Problems dealt with behind the scenes, without the public's influence, never turn out well."

"If you're talking about the battle of Havras, Major - me, too, don't think that the risk of 'Public histerya' is real, and therefor there should be no reason for us to hide the fact the battle took place. Actually, the more Hawkish Admirals and politicians actually have an interest to expose the battle, because it should grant them the public's support in reinforcing our fighting force."

"As for the Hydrans.", Saul continued, "Without giving away details, there's no doubt that SFI hasn't invested too many resources on them in the past decades. There were hotter spots in the Galaxy to spy on."

"It's not a matter of choosing Hawk or Dove anymore, it's about finding a balance. There are always going to be people who disagree with our policies, but really, with so many worlds to protect, is it any wonder we struggle with what to do next? If you ask me, the brass spends too much time on the appearance of diplomacy, while, excuse me, they fail to see the backbiting and wheeling and dealing right under there noses." Just a hint of Karyn's anger over lan'jep shone through. "I may have taken an oath to do no harm, but I don't mind saying that it's time for a little less conversation and a lot more action from our good friends, the Admiralty."

"Forgive my cynicism..." Corgan added after a long pause on his part from the conversation, "But the Admiralty of this generation has only done major decisions. Only a few of these people have seen major combat. Virtually none of them have participated in any horrors of war. They can argue that they've led men into battle, but they themselves for the most part have not fought rifle to rifle, blood to blood against another foe. So their viewpoint will be either 'hawk' or 'dove', without any understanding of what it's really like when they try to implement their 'policies'. Many of the hawks haven't seen what it's like to be an active aggressor, nor has any of the doves experienced what its like to sit on the fence... and see first hand the results. But we have, many of us have been in trenches, or on burning starships. This is the experience they lack, but we have..."

"I guess in short..." James said, "When it's our turn to lead, we will have insight our past generation will not. I think we here in this room understand that we cannot be limited by such political divides such as 'hawk' and 'dove' due to what we see as the mistakes being done today. I think... if we can survive the policies made by our current leadership, we'll be fine. But for now... we're still their instruments. All we can do is bicker about it in a bar."

"Admiral Price knows," replied Karyn quietly but with conviction. "I know what you're saying James, I do. But I'd like to think we're not completely alone in this fight. Lee probably better than anyone knows what it is we're contending with every day, he knows what it means to sacrifice blood and guts for a cause..." Dallas shook her head. "It's so damn frustrating. I refuse to be anyone's puppet. We have free will here, and Lord knows, it's not as if we've never said 'to hell with policy and done what we felt was right at the time. I swear, I have half a mind to return to SFC and start pounding on desks."

"For what it's worth, Karyn, I'd come with you." Klaus said quietly, his mouth not over the rim of his mug.

"I worked so hard to get out of SFC and get a post on a ship, I'm in no personal hurry to get back there.", Saul Bental said, trying to break the tension with a smile.

He looked around; Most of the people next to the broad table and the nearby bar were far more seasoned officers, who served for quite a long period on board the Galaxy. To hear their concerns about the leadership, about the conflict with the Triad, and about the possibility to go against the word of command made him feel slightly uneasy. Then again, Saul Bental wasn't a man of safety belts. When the moment of truth will come, and actions will be required instead of barside bickering, he won't have any hesitation to join the righteous side - in his opinion, of course.

Pretty soon, the conversation died, and one by one the officers left for their duty or quarters. Eventually, only Saul and Miramon remained, as none of them was in any hurry.

"Strange times.", Miramon said quietly into his glass. Saul noticed how quiet his friend was in the last, more subversive part of the conversation.

"Strange times.", He said with agreement. "As usual."

"Back in the Fold"

Mjr. Corran Rex, Vanguard Squadron CO
1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian, Furies Detachment CO

== Deck 5: T'Shani's Quarters ==

< After "Why Men are Stupid" >

["Remember T'Shani, if you are apprehended, we will..."]

She waved a blue hand at the shadowy figure on the holomonitor, "I know, I know: 'disavow any knowledge of your operation or whereabouts'. I remember the deal."

["Good, then I'll see you at the Starbase, when the Galaxy arrives. I have an important package for you. You'll recieve more information in a few days. Goodnight."] With that, the holoemitter blinked off, and the lighting in her study returned to its normal level.

Tish took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly through her mouth. ~I'm back in the fold,~ she thought to herself. And that was in more ways than one. The Galaxy, her contact...

* CHIRRUR-RUP *

Tish got up, moving from her small study, to the main room of her new quarters. Command priveledges were nice: she at least got a decent-size room with a nice view.

As she reached the door, she depressed the 'Unlock' key, letting it slide open to reveal...

Major Corran Rex stood at the door of his former pilot's room, his hands concealed behind him, holding a small gift. Extending it front of him, he revealed it to be a bottle of Dom Perignon, Circa 2332. "Since the phrase is to 'Beware Romulans bearing gifts'," he started, "You should have no problem accepting this from a Trill."

Tish arched her left eyebrow *and* antenna, simultaneously. Standing there, she studied her former CO, and the gift he was presenting. Silently, she sighed; she had been meaning to see him tomorrow, but she was genuinely heartened by his appearance.

"Trying to woo me, Lieu- um... *Major*?" she quickly corrected, noting the gold oak leaf on his collar. ~Well, that explain's Jazz's promotion,~ she thought to herself.

"It's a congratulations." the fighter pilot answered.

"I see," she said, turning back into her quarters. "Thank you, Corran. Though, what's the occasion?"

"For your first command." he clarified. "And you're back in the green, which, while I'm sure makes you happy, doesn't look quite right with your skin tone."

She smiled slyly, her antennas bobbing forward in both a show of gratitude and amusement. "True, but the white has never gone with your spots, Corran," she teased back.

"Care to join me in this little 'celebration' that you have brought with you?" she asked as her fingers unwrapped the gold foil wrapper From around the bottle's Spanish cork.

"Oh," he started, "I think I could be convinced."

*POP!*

T'Shani poured the sparkling champagne into two long-stemmed fluted glasses that Corran had retrieved from the replicator.

Corran held one glass, while the Andorian kept the other for herself. Between the two of them, they were in a unique position on this ship. They both commanded attached units - Corran, the Vanguards, T'Shani, the Furies - that were not, strictly speaking, part of the Galaxy's command structure. Their units could be withdrawn from the ship at any time, finding no support other than the personnel under their own commands, if situation warranted it.

"To your first command," he said, raising the glass. "And to being outsiders on a boat full of Fleeters." he finally added with a grin.

T'Shani smiled warmly, remebering how Corran had - when he was *her* Commanding Officer - often lectured on the importance of being 'nice' To the Starfleet officers, or 'Fleeters'. It had been a hard adjustment for her: she had spent all her life in military and Marine training. The Starfleet Corp was just too... aloof.

Tiliting the glass back, Tish felt the champagne bubbles tickle her nose, as the pleasantly complex sweet/tart taste of the fabled Earth vint enthralled her tongue.

She could feel the effects of the alcohol almost immediately, as a result of her Andorian physiology. This was due in most part that, in addition to a normal circulatory system (two hearts, four lungs, and a plethora of arteries and veins), Andorian cellular structures had the unique ability to transpermeate blood throughout the varying tissues, effectively transporting the blood by 'seeping', for lack of a better word.

Although a great survival redundancy (an Andorian never got frostbite or had her legs go to 'sleep' on her), it was hell when alcohol was introduced: it was absorbed almost four times more quickly than a normal Terran, and twice as fast as a Vulcan.

Pausing, she looked at the still half-full glass in her hand, then to Corran (who had a funny look on his face), then back to the glass. She knew what it would do to her, but... ~Aw, Thook it. I don't care, not tonight,~ she thought. She could use a night to get hammered, *Especially* after what Cass had *done* to her.

As if he was sensing her skepticism at his sentiments, Corran smiled. "It's different when you're in charge, Tish. You've got to make sure everyone under you plays nice. Doesn't necessarily mean you have to." he winked.

"Great. Just what I need: playing Den Mother," she said, while misplacing her step as she walked toward the window.

Corran frowned a moment, taking a look at T'Shani's rather obvious balance issues. "T'Shani, are you allright?"

"Sorry, Major," she grinned (which was strange for T'Shani, to say the least), "I haven't had the luxury of the 'real stuff' for some time," she said, before first draining her glass, then pouring another fill for both her and Rex.

Corran had intended this be somewhat of a bonding experience for the two of them - when she'd been under his command, he's been rather hard on the young Andorian. Perhaps unnecessarily so. This was a peace gesture of sorts, as well as a chance for the two of them to just talk.

If she continued to get drunk at this rate, he mused, she was probably going to get extremely talkative. "You might want to sit down," he suggested.

"Please," she haphazardly waved her arm towards the singular sofa in the center of her room, "sit. I apologize: the Q'Master hasn't gotten to this section for furnishings, yet."

"QM's always a little slow with returning officers," Corran chuckled. "I think he considers it an insult - like they should have stayed here in the first place." he said, pouring himself a second glass.

"So, how's the Vanguards, Corran?" she asked, while taking another sip - though smaller, this time - of her champagne. "I heard Jazz's your Exec." She paused, placing a blue hand to her temple as her antennas stretched back in pain... she was already getting a hangover. ~Good thing it's not Romulan Ale,~ she thought absently, remembering the first - and consequently *last* - time she had imbibed *that*, during Hell Week at Basic. Let's just say that the results were... *entertaining*... especially for the male members of her Recruit Company.

"I've still got a few of the people around from when you were one of my pilots, " he said, "But mostly, it's a lot of new kids. Seems like it's always kids, some days." he was starting to get a little light-headed himself, but champagne always seemed to have that effect. Ah well.

Tish took another swig of the funny Pinkskin drink. It was goooood. It made her nose feel warm, and her head swam in a pinkish-blue haze of, of... well, *something*. Corran Rex was actually kinda cute, she decided through the alcoholic haze.

Suddenly, the slight grin/smirk she had been carrying throughout the night flashed to a serious face. "Do you miss me, Corran?"

"Well, now," he smiled. "That's a loaded question, isn't it?" "Jus, shut up an anzer it, Spotty," she said, some of her words starting to slur together. "Do I miss you as a pilot?" he asked. "Of course I do. You're damn good." Absently, she waved her blue hand in his general direction. "Thas not whad I mean, Rex." "Ah. Personally." he said, and thought about it for a moment. "I'd have to say... Yes. As infuriating as you can be, you do make things interesting." "Intereshing? *How* intereshing?" ~Whoa, this is really getting to me...~

Corran chuckled, the champagne definitely causing him to find more humor in the situation that he probably would have normally. But, then again, even normally.. this would have been pretty damn funny. "Extremely interesting." he replied, emphasizing the first word.

Unabashedly, he cast a speculative gaze over the blue-skinned Marine. "I ever tell you..." he started. "That my last host, Vorrin, had a hell of a thing for Andorian women?"

Tish pointed her flute of champagne at Corran while leaning forward, her left antenna starting to lazily sway in small circles. "I could tell. He'sh got sumthin' for blue, huh?" "Oh," Corran chuckled. "The blue helps. The blue.. certainly helps." he said, and looked at her frankly, stretching out a single finger to stroke one of her antennae. "I think it was the antennae that really did it, though."

"Hu-hugh," she gasped, while a small shiver of excitement ran through her body, from the tops of her antennas to the very bowels of her sex. No one had touched her antennas in such a long time, not since Tron.

"Do you know sh-shal troov?" she asked, as another shiver - this time stronger - ran down her spine.

"Oh.." he smiled. "I'm acquainted with it."

Without words, he moved closer to her, and curved his hand, so that thumb and forefinger could stroke opposite sides of the antenna. Ever so slowly - teasingly, almost - he began to run his hand up the stalk, watching to gauge Tish's reactions. "It's quite... relaxing, I'm told."

She moved closer, while carefully setting the champagne down on the floor. "Hmmmmmmm," she hummed as the amazing sensations ran through her antennas. Closing her eyes, she focused all her thoughts (or as many thoughts as her drunken faculties could afford) on Corran's actions. Within her, she could feel the heat rising within her, and the wetness between her legs.

"It... it's been so long, Corran, I...ah, ah...!" she stopped, midsentence as his fingers ran to the peak of her left antenna's hood.

Corran leaned in then, whispering quietly. "That's okay. I think I can.. find my way around the curves." the Trill said, as he began to kiss the nape of her oh-so-alluringly blue neck.

She sighed heavily as his lips brushed that little spot midway down her neck, drawing pinpricks of pleasure as he worked down lower, toward her breastbone. Reaching up, she quickly pulled at the molozipper at the front of her uniform, while laying back on the sofa.

Following their age old purposes, nature - and the alcohol - took their course as the two became more and more.. comfortable on the sofa.

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

The next morning, Corran awoke, mildly surprised at the realization that he didn't remember them making it to the bed. Then, of course, the buzzing headache at the back of his skull reminded him why he didn't generally drink champagne.

He began to lift his arm to stretch, and then looked down at the tousle of white hair atop a blue head that was preventing his left arm from doing so. He realized then, exactly who he'd spent such an entertaining evening with. "Hunh." he said aloud.

That hadn't been expected, of course. For once in recent memory, Corran Rex had gone to visit a female without something like this on his mind. But then, admiring T'Shani's only partially-covered form, he smiled a small smile at nothing in particular.

They'd certainly gotten to know each other better now...

"Sorry I Was a Bitch"

Cdr. Cassius Henderson
Executive Officer

1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian
Furies CO

== Deck 2: Cass's Office ==

< The morning after "Back in the Fold" >

Cass Henderson scratched at his brow for a moment, annoyed by the sudden itching at his hairline. He sat in his office, alone for the moment, taking a break from what would probably be a stressful day. They were scheduled to arrive at SB 212 in three hours. Thankfully, he had just put the finishing touches on his crew evalutation report for Captain M'Kantu, leaving him with three hours to himself, a rarity given his job.

He decided to start by daydreaming, if only for a while. His thoughts turned to his private life, a much neglected topic. As her rolled the ideas around in his mind, he found that the period of neglect had left him with quite a few topics.

Of course, there was Rima. After so long, he hadn't wanted to admit his feelings for a woman that he considered to be at least mildly out of mind. Even though they had recently grown closer, it seemed like their relationship was rapidly settling back into its old patterns.

An then there was Janx. Lieutenant Commander Ekoma Janx, Head Tactical Analyst. She'd only come onboard a few months previously, joining them just before they'd passed through Dreshayan space. Since then, they had talked on several occassions for long periods of time, and had come to find that they had a lot in common. She'd been given a bridge shift recently, which Cass had supervised as part of her bridge certification exams.

She had passed with flying colors of course, but what was more interesting, to him at least (He suspected that Starfleet Command probably only cared about her test results) was that he'd caught her 'making eyes' at him on a couple of occassions. He wasn't sure what to think.

Rounding out his current issues was the 'new' Marine CO. He'd obviously done something to hurt T'Shani a'Akledorian, but he wasn't sure what it could have been. Sure, he had been short with her that night in his quarters, but proportionally, her anger over the incident told him that there was something more going on. That would need to change.

------------
Elsewhere...
------------

T'Shani a'Akledorian was having an... interesting morning. When she had woken up next to Corran Rex (of all people!), she had found much trouble in remembering what had happened the night before. Of course, being that neither she nor Rex had had any clothes on underneath the covers, as well as the empty bottle of Dom Perignon laying on the floor... she had a pretty good idea of what *did* happen.

~No wonder I'm sore,~ she thought as she stiffly walked down the halls of the Galaxy.

Between the headache that still lingered from either the alcohol or the sex (she wasn't sure which, but was willing to bet on both), and her confusion over what had happened, she wasn't looking forward to the day. *That*, and the fact that she was supposed to meet her contact at Starbase 212, a few days out.

As she entered a turbolift and called out her destination, she briefly thought of what she was going to say. She knew that she *was* sorry for the way she acted two nights ago, but still didn't feel that it was *her* place to apologize. Really, why couldn't Cass have been a little more understanding? Standing in front of the door to his office, she depressed the 'Call' button.

Cass blinked and wondered who it could be. Pausing his game of Strategema, he opened the monitor on his desk and turned on the hidden camera above his door.

"T'Shani," he whispered under his breath, at the same time unsurprised and caught off guard. He knew she'd be coming, but he hadn't been expecting it this soon. She'd been very upset, and he had expected at least another week.

Perhaps something had happened to change her mind. He pressed the speaker button on his desk. "Come on in, I'm not busy."

"Rhooz," she swore softly under her breath. Cass must have a concealed scanner embedded in his doorframe. It made sense, though: being a spook. She had secretly been hoping to surprise him; to catch him off guard.

She had no idea what to say to him as the door swished open. Somehow, her mind forced her voice to act: "Sorry I was a bitch, Cass," she said simply.

Now that was unusual. Something really had to have happened. "It's okay, really," he replied, "I was very sharp with you that night. Rima woke me up because she couldn't sleep. And then, sure enough, I couldn't sleep."

Tish let out a breath of frustrated air as she pulled out the seat from the desk, opposite Cass. She *wanted* to still feel mad at him, but really couldn't, especially not after what she *thought* she had done last night. "So, how is your little runaway?" she asked while trying to stall while she thought up a suitable apology.

"I'm never rightly sure. She's fire and ice, you know?" he shrugged, moving the Strategema board over onto a nearby counter, careful not to displace the pieces. Cass sighed, "I think we're probably settling into our old relationship, instead of moving forward. But how about you? How do you like the new command?"

"It's okay," she said simply, deciding she had apologized enough for now.

"'Okay'? Well, I guess compared to *other* work that you've done for the SFMC, it's got to seem like something of a vacation. Of course, I doubt you're really done with those 'other' assignments," Cass said with a confident smile.

Tish fumed quietly inside. ~Why are you so dense!~ she wanted to yell at him. He just didn't *get* it! Well, most men didn't, but Tish was hoping that maybe he'd take a 'hint'. He was just always too wrapped up in his damned intel world.

"I am done, Cassius," she whispered quietly. She had meant to tell him the night she retrieved her chaka. But, well... that hadn't gone as planned. Not with Rima there.

He inclined his head slightly to the left, surprised. "That's interesting. So what made you decide to get out? And I suppose you're being watched, right?" he asked. As interested as he truly was to have her back, this was something that could be important to the ship as a whole. One did not simply retire from SFI, or even SFMCI, especially not her branch. There were always memory wipes or watchers. Usually the first.

"I didn't 'decide' on it, Cass," a steel tone entered her voice. "And I am being watched, but not by who you'd think."

"And I take it that your new watchers are the reason that your old employers aren't watching you. How do you manage to get caught up in these things?" he asked... the shrugged. There were some questions that didn't need to be answered. He knew how she got mixed up them. The same way he did. So he changed the subject. "Do you remember how we met?"

She wanted to tell him everything. At least, everything she could remember. About the dreams that came to her at night, of the man with the strange eyes, and the old man with the glasses, and the strange 'Gray Man'. They would come to her, and say strange things, and...

She shook her head slightly, antennas flexing reactively as she cleared the images from her mind. She forced herself to answer Cass's question. "Yes. In the gymnasium. You were trying to tell me that I was lifting too much. Why?"

"No particular reason," he shrugged. "It just crossed my mind. I've been very distracted these last few weeks. I'm not sure what it is... But, that's not really important. I have a question. When we were in my quarters the other night, and I was harsh to you, you overreacted explosively. I know you're Andorian and all, but I know you fairly well, I think. Is there something more going on?"

~I'm in love with you.~ Of course, she didn't say it, but her heart wanted her to say it. How *could* she say it? He was supposedly happy with Pennington, though there was rumor about him and that new Trill bridge officer. ~Ohhhh, Trill...~ she groaned inwardly, remembering what she had woken to this morning.

"I...I can't discuss it, Cass. I can only say that I *did* overreact, and that I apologize. I...I just hadn't been expecting Pennington there." She paused before changing tack. "Cass, I have a feeling that something... Big... is going to happen, and soon. I don't think this 'milk run', as Captain M'Kantu has called our next mission, will be just that. I don't have to tell you about the Hydrans."

On the edge of her chair, she pressed the palms of her hands down on Cass's polished desk, eyes flaring and antennas pointing straight ahead. "Do you want to know *why* Tanner was forced to 'release' me?"

"I'd be lying if I told you no," he replied.

She leaned back while crossing her arms over her chest. "Deep Shadow, Cass. Guess who's got it now."

"My first guess would be the Hydran Sovereignty," he rubbed his tired eyes. "I could only distract N'Fth'Nor's cruiser for so long and still manage to come back for you."

She nodded, her antennas accentuating the gesture. "Right. And guess who's team took the fall?"

"Ah, that makes sense now," he nodded, then he too leaned back. He needed some distance for this one. "Did I ever tell you how I left SFI the first time?"

She was taken slightly off-guard by the abrupt subject change. Was there something he knew about it, maybe from intel? Now that she was no longer on the project, she wasn't privy to what was currently going on. Deciding to press him later for it, she decided to go along with his line of questioning. "No, you didn't."

"The only part of my personnel record pre-2376 that isn't an outright fabrication is my service at Dalson Center. Doctor Aleksander Leontiev was doing neuro-genetic research that Starfleet Intelligence was interested in," he explained, trying to offer a similar situation to her own. "Unfortunately, so did the Breen. They hit the garrison, which I was sharing command of with another agent."

"He dropped the ball, the Breen breached the installation. I happened to be the only to survive, so I took the fall," he shrugged, "It's not the end, though before getting my SFI commission back, it was frustrating always catching the watchers they sent."

She smirked, her left antenna stretching over her forehead. "It's not the watchers I'm worried about, Cass. It's the..." she paused, wondering how she'd term *them*, "it's the messenger." Suddenly, she stood up, becoming very self-conscious of what she was discussing.

"I've got to go, Cass," she moved to the door. "Call me sometime, or better yet, stop by."

"I'll be sure to," he replied as she headed out. Thought their encounter had left him with more questions than he'd started with, he took it in stride. That was how their conversations tended to be. "Take care of yourself, T'Shani."

She stopped in the doorway and turned to look over her shoulder, a sadness flashing across her eyes for the briefest of moments. "I always have, Cassius. I always have."

The doors closed shut.

"You worry me," he said, essentially to the door. Cass knew that he wasn't good at explaining feelings and was usually too wrapped up in his work. But it was true. He cared about the Andorian woman, no matter how much she vexed him.

And she did often worry him.

"Getting to Know You, Part I"

2Lt. Branwen London
Furies XO and Chief Psychologist

MrSgt. Yan-Se'Mano Ka'me'VaSju (NPC, M. Miller)
Furies Chief Signals Officer

With...

SSgt. Matthew St. Valentine
Furies Aide de Campe

== Deck 4: Branwen's Office ==

Branwen stood there with her boxes. It was the second move within a few months time. Before, her office had been in the counselling section. Not that she had much to do there. Patients were not plentiful, in fact she had mainly seen Naval patients.

She got some of the paintings out, scenes from home. Taking a deep breath, she started to find new places for them.

Then her intercom beeped.

"Yes?" Branwen said.

The crisp voice of Matt Valentine sounded over the intercom. ["Master Sergeant Yan-Se'Mano is here for her appointment, Ma'am."] "Thank you. Send her in."

Branwen did not know if Valentine would also be working for her. And somehow, she was a little bit shy about asking.

Almost immediately, the doors to London's office sighed open, revealing a very tall, very bald, and very exotic, beautiful Deltan woman. Gracefully - as if she were hovering into the room on antigrav boots - Yan-Se'Mano moved opposite the Lieutenant.

"Chief Signal Officer Yan-Se'Mano, reporting as ordered, Lieutenant," she said in calm alien-inflected tones. As a mature Deltan, her second voice (a clear one-third octave higher than her natural voice) resonated with a higher inflection of both interest and nervousness.

Branwen swallowed. Of course she had read that this NCO was Deltan. Yet she was not prepared for her own reaction. The Master Sergeant was properly bonded and shielded. And yet, this tall, sophisticated woman had a presence about her Branwen could not describe. If the Master Sergeant had been male it would have been easy, then she would have felt attraction.

"Master Sergeant, please have a seat." London very much tried to concentrate.

"Lieutenant - Branwen, if I may? - you may call me Yan-Se, if you prefer, or we can keep to rank, if you like. I prefer knowing my commanding officers more personally, if you don't mind," she said, while seating herself in a nearby chair. Her long, slender legs stretched out before her.

Branwen was taken a little bit aback, she was not used to Marines calling superior officers by their first name before asking first. Amongst therapists it was usual. So she didn't really know what to do. Was it a lack of respect? So she decided to be direct.

"Yan-Se, I to would like to know my people better. First I would like to ask you why you called me by my first name, and why you took the initiative. It's not common amongst Marines to be casual towards officers." She looked the Deltan straight in the eye and tried to ignore the strange sensations in her stomach.

~Ah, to be young again,~ Yan-Se thought to herself. She rememebered when nearly, ~No... it couldn't be? Seventy-five years ago?~

She had been a Greenhorn Corporal given her first fire team to command. She could see alot of that *youth* in the Lieutenant: trying to assert authority, but not quite sure of how to go about it.

Shifting her submissive voice to neutral, while adjusting her dominant voice for clarity, she held Branwen's eye. "Lieutenant London," she said clearly, "I had no intentions of disrespect. You have not dealt much with a Del'taan before, have you?" She was careful to not sound condescending. The Lieutenant reminded Yan-Se of her youngest daughter, I'li'No, in many ways.

"No, I haven't." She shifted uncomfortably. She was a long way from home for a girl who grew up hating everybody who was not Welsh. "I read about your species." She could not help but blush deeply.

Her submissive voice shifted again, surpassing her dominant chords. "I understand, Lieutenant. Sometimes in my old age, I must admit that I forget all the proper rules and procedures. I think it wiser to build rapport, than rote response, don't you?"

"I do. And as a therapist I am used to it. Yet as a Marine... " she let that trail. "May I ask how old you are? You don't look that old."

Yan-Se laughed, slightly, the odd two-chord sounding like an old earth windchime caught in the breeze. "I'm asked that all the time, Lieutenant. And, I don't mind. I am, in your earth-years, one-hundred and eight."

"Wow," Branwen said. She thought for a little while, then seemed to make a decision. "Can we speak off the record?"

Yan-Se supressed a bemused smile. The decision to speak 'off the record' was clearly the Lieutenant's to make. Though, the Deltan woman could sense very clearly that there was something more personal... that the Terran wanted to discuss. "Of course, Branwen," she smiled pleasantly, her crystal blue eyes seeming to peirce London's mind and soul.

"My commanding officer seems pretty tough, and she made it very clear that I am on probation. I never expected to be Executive Officer, I have just come out of the academy. I thought I would be focusing on my counselling duties.

"To be honest, I don't really know what to do. I know I shouldn't be telling you this, yet I really need a mentor badly," Branwen looked at her with puppy eyes.

Yan-Se smiled comfortingly to the young woman opposite her. She could swear that this young Terran was, in some ways, a reflection of her younger self. Scared, yet assured. Confident, yet self-doubting. And there was something else... something Yan-Se could sense, a... ~Sadness, a loss of innocence...~ she thought to herself, studying the girl before her.

Branwen noticed the protracted pause from Yan-Se and she shifted uneasily in her seat.

Leaning forward, the Master Sergeant lowered both of her voices to a soft, reassuring tone. "Branwen, let me tell you two things: I - as anyone else - can only advise, if you so wish it," she leaned back before continuing.

"Though, what you will become is what you already *are*, as I have found out through my own... trials. You need no mentoring for that. Only trial, to temper you. I cannot help you with that," she said in finality.

Branwen lowered her head a little bit. She was disappointed, it was not easy for her to ask for help. And even more difficult to be turned down. She wanted to do well, and yet she really had no clue how to do it.

Yan-Se could sense that the Lieutenant was a little crestfallen at her reply, and she could see why. To Branwen, it seemed as a refusal - polite and diplomatic as it was - but in actuality, it wasn't.

"Though," she said gently, her softer voice rising in assurance, "would be priviledged to consider you my friend, in addition to my Executive Officer, if you wish it."

"We are told at the academy not to fraternise with the troops," she mumbled. "I am sorry for asking, and hope I have not offended you, Master Sergeant."

Yan-Se uncrossed her legs and leaned forward again. "Lieutenant, I have two things to say. First, by 'fraternize', I believe the ethics council mean that you are not to involve in inappropriate romantic or sexual relationships with those in your chain command. I am not offering this, as - though I find you attractive - you would not survive any such encounters with me, or any other Del'taan," Yan-Se said, matter-of-factly. As a Deltan, speaking about sex was like speaking of the weather. Unlike humans, she had no hang-ups on the issue.

"As such, a normal friendship based on personal commonalities can be appropriate," she continued.

"Of course I was not suggesting that you would." Branwen blushed very deeply. "We are both women!"

The Deltan chuckled to herself while commenting, "My culture does not recognize such boundaries, Lieutenant."

"Well mine certainly does." Again she blushed. "So you don't need to worry about that."

Yan-Se paused again, studying the Lieutenant with her eyes. Lowering her dominant voice, she again spoke, "Second, if I may say: Though Lieutenant a'Akledorian may seem cold and withdrawn, she is quite the opposite. I served with her during her first tour, several years ago. She is a masterful fighter and strategist."

"She is so experienced. And she expects so much from me. And she also made clear that she will not tolerate any mistakes from me or she will replace me." Bran did sound a little desperate.

"Some experience, yes. But also young. At least, from my perspective. T'Shani's inner light is still hidden, even from her. As long as you don't threaten her, and you work well, she will allow you more trust and freedoms in your command."

"I just wish I knew exactly what she expects from me."

Again, Yan-Se smiled gently. "Ask her," she said simply.

"I will. So are you my highest NCO?"

Yan-Se nodded. "Yes, I am, for the Marines. Flight Sergeant Shavraa is the seniormost NCO for the Starfighter attachment," she said while shifting her vocal tones to a more professional, business level.

"Good. The first few days I would like to go through the day-to-day running with you. Until I get the routine myself. And inside this office first names are okay." She smiled.

"Good, Branwen. I would be more than happy to help you learn the administrative interactions between the Signals department. If I may suggest, it may be wise to call a small meeting of the other department heads that report to you, for introduction."

"Thank you. Yes I will do that as soon as possible." Branwen made notes.

Yan-Se stood up, and shook Branwen's extended hand. As their hands connected, the Deltan instantly could sense the younger woman's feelings... feelings of uncertainty, attraction, confusion, and embarrassment.

The young marine Lieutenant tried not to look embarrassed. She gave the other woman a brave smile. "It was good talking to you."

Yan-Se'Mano Ka'me'VaSju stopped in the doorway, turning back to Branwen. "Branwen," she said softly, "what you are feeling... it is natural, for you. You should not be afraid of it, or ashamed. If you need any help, I offer it to you. Good day, Lieutenant London," she said before the doors slid shut.

She left her Lieutenant speechless.

"Prelude to Galaxy."

By Ensign G'Bat'ea, Tactical Officer

----------
Starbase 212,
Docking Bay Area
----------

The heavy-set Nausicaan drew more than a few strange looks as he sat in the docking bay lounge of Starbase 212. Despite how diverse the culture of the Federation and Starfleet became there were always those who had not seen humanoids of quite that statue before. Which, of course, meant there were a load of people who were immediately intimidated by the sight of his size, not to mention his half-reptile/half-insectoid facial features. Which suited him at the moment, it ensured some peace as he read the data that had been downloaded onto his PADD on his arrival aboard the station.

His posting as a tactical officer aboard the U.S.S. Galaxy had come as a welcome suprise. It was a prestigious starship, and even a junior officer was bound to find himself of use. Being back at a tactical console, too, would be a refreshing change - there was only so many internal security patrols an officer could do before he began to get profoundly bored. He had expected a security posting to a smaller starship, but obviously his recent 'good behaviour' had been noted by Captain Iri on his departure from the Sutherland.

G'Bat'ea had been given the full details of his assignment along with starship specifications, deck listings, basic crew details and current status of the U.S.S. Galaxy. It appeared the vessel had been much more heavily refitted than was standard for a vessel of her age. Not that he was complaining, it would give him plenty of new tactical data and scenarios to study. It might even mean the Galaxy would see a bit more action than standard, and give G'Bat'ea's skills a much needed airing out.

His immediate superior was a Lieutenant (jg) with a lot of outside experience but not long a member of Starfleet - Not too unlike himself, he supposed. He was an Auban - a species that G'Bat'ea was not familiar with, which was unsuprising considering that nearly every day he heard of a species that was a Federation member which he had never encoutered. Starfleet must have been a Xenologist's dream, but for someone like G'Bat'ea who preferred a stable and predictable environment to work in (both from a security and Nausicaan point of view), it could be a little tiresome from time to time.

Unusually the Assistant Chief of Tactical outranked their chief - a Lieutenant Commander with a bit more experience in the fleet. He was of the race at the core of Starfleet - a Terran. G'Bat'ea had grown almost fond of Terran's - they had the same primal urges deep down as Nausicaans, but were much better at controlling them. Compassion and love often threw in complications that until recently were unheard of in Nausicaan culture, but once one found out what particular Terran's were passionate about their behaviour usually became quite predictable - although not as predicatable as the logical Vulcan race.

The other bridge officer of the department was also a Terran. An Ensign that had a reprimand and demotion on file - seemed like a familiar story. Perhaps they would have a little in common to ease their working relationship. Perhaps not.

Both the Commanding officer and Executive officer were also Terran with plenty of experience, as would be expected for the command crew of a ship such as the Galaxy. There was little doubt of their ability and integrity - hopefully neither was as tainted by the recent war as many commanders had become.

Eyeing over the duty roster he had yet to be assigned a duty shift, a task he assumed would be completed after his report-in discussion with his departmental head. After all, these days many command staff preferred to find out the strengths and preferences of new officers before assigning them to duties, lest they be put in a situation they dislike or are unable to fully cope with. He hoped he might get a shift on the bridge, even once a week and perhaps secondary shifts the rest of the time would even be acceptable. Of course he would accept the duties he was assigned, but he believe his experience would be best utilised in a fore-front position. But the choice, he knew, would be his chief's and possibly the XO's.

The chronometer sat before him, high on the bulkhead. So, all that remained was the few hours wait until the Galaxy was due to arrive at the Starbase, and then his new assignment would commence. That gave him a bit of time to switch his PADD back to the analysis of Wolf 359 by Zakdorn Captain Harmati - perhaps this time he would finally finish the paper.

"Daily Downtime"

Commander Cassius Henderson
Major Corran Rex

As he so often did, Corran elected not to go straight to his quarters after the end of Alpha shift. Instead, he headed for the ship's gymnasium. Or, more specifically, the small one-on-one basketball court located in one of the many private exercise areas just off the main gym. One of his hosts, Baledra, had first learned to play the game when she'd attended Starfleet Academy a century ago. Vorrin had actually invested part of his "earnings" in partial ownership of a team on Earth. Corran, though? He just liked to play. He was tossing shots from the free throw line when he heard the door open. A quick glance confirmed it was the ship's Executive Officer, Cass Henderson. The privacy of the one on one court made it a good place to talk, and both's fondness for basketball had lead to many an afternoon spent playing one-on-one. "Wondered if you were coming today." he said, passing the ball to the human. "Yeah. It's been complicated, given that we only have a day more hours before we arrive at Starbase 212," Cass replied, shooting from where he stood, and watching the ball circle and finally sink before closing and securing the door to court. "How long we hanging around for?" Corran asked, catching the rebound, and bouncing it up. He missed this time, the ball teetering off the edge of the rim.

Cass shrugged, "I've got plenty of time today. In fact, I have plenty of time until we arrive at the starbase. Most of my appointments are taken care of until Admiral Proctor comes aboard." Well, that wasn't entirely true. He did still have the dozen Starfleet Intelligence agents that he was handler for, but they took very little time to coordinate, just a spare few hours.

"You Fleet types." Corran chuckled, lining up for another shot. "So damn literal. I meant, "How long are we staying at 212 for?" "

"Oh that?" Cass laughed, heading out onto the court to join Corran. "As short a time as we can manage to keep it to. I'm not all that interested in this milk run taking any longer than it has to. There's got to be something more important for us to do than play transport vessel for pampered, spoiled brat of an admiral."

"Yeah," the Trill replied. "Yeah, I get that. 'Course, most Admiral's are spoiled anyway. But if you think you're going to be bored, imagine how my Vanguards feel? They know this means lots of simulator time for them. I'll be lucky if they don't mutiny on me." he chuckled.

"Yeah, I'll bet. I'll see what I can do to get them some real stick time. Maybe we can detour to investigate some comet or something," Cass offered, picking up the ball and passing it to the Trill pilot. "I'm sure I can run interference for a couple hours while your kids work out their frustrations. How's Anna Lewis shaping up? I remember you mentioning that you were a little concerned about her."

"Kid's good." Rex said, catching the pass, and bouncing it off for a quick shot. They saved the real competition for after their conversations, usually. "Raw, but nothing but time and experience to take that off.'

A strange expression passed over the Trill's face then. "So I had something of an odd night last night." he confessed to his friend.

"Oh really?" Cass replied, snagging the rebound and trying for a lay-up, which bounced harmlessly away. He was better from a distance. "After all the years of experiences that Rex has, you had a strange one?"

"Well, strange is relative." the Trill said, thinking about some of the things that could truly be considered strange. Temporal paradoxes, spatial phenomena, Tellarite mating rituals - now those were generally pretty odd. "Let's say.. unexpected."

"Ah. Now that makes sense. Care to share, or are you just going to be cryptic with me?" he asked, curious. The truth was often stranger than fiction, he'd found.

"I went to congratulate Tish on getting command of the Furies, and ended up sleeping with her." Rex said frankly, catching his own rebound and then tossing the ball Cass' way.

Cass, however, was a little bit distracted by that revelation, and the ball smacked him square in the chest. Fumbling for it, he finally managed to field the ball before it hit the ground. Pausing to catch his breath, he managed a reply. "That ah... explains a few things."

It was Corran's turn to be surprised then, even after he suppressed his laughter at Henderson's clumsy miss. "How's that?'

"I was expecting her to be cross with me for a lot longer," he replied. "I've been reasonably sure that she has something of a thing for me for a while. I think it became obvious when she kissed me before disappearing off the ship that last time. So I managed to piss her off when she got back. So this morning she came to me and apologized, something I've never known her to do. I guess she was feeling guilty."

"Wait, what?" Corran said, stopping in his tracks. "But she didn't say - "

The Trill managed to actually look a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry, Cass. I didn't know that the two of you were involved."

"Nothing to apologize for. We're not. I haven't exactly reciprocated her feelings... or acknowledged that I knew about them," he replied, frowning down at and then passing the offending ball back to Corran. "Honestly, she'd be a little too much stress for me to handle. Andorians, even ones less... energetic than her are still very aggressive lovers. And my love life is complicated as it is."

"Yes, yes they are." Corran replied, which drew a flat, momentary glare from Cass, and the Trill had to chuckle. "Sorry."

"Still," he continued, moving back to the free-throw line. "What's complicated about your love life? Except it's absence?"

Cass laughed, "At least I can keep it in my pants, Corran. No, Rima and I are still working things out... though I'm beginning to feel like it's time to search greener pastures. At least for a while. Rima really hasn't made her peace with her feelings for me, which she's admitted on a couple of occasions, and we're starting to settle into our old relationship, which was pretty antagonistic. I think she probably still feels like a relationship is too much work."

"Hey, I keep my pants exactly where I want them." Corran fired back. "And if you spend all your time around you waiting for the women in your life to make the decisions, you're going to be waiting a long time."

"You have to take initiative. If you want a real relationship - and I'm not talking about the kind of thing I usually have with women - then you've got to pursue them. Make them feel wanted. That's true of the female sex, no matter what her species is."

"You've got yourself a point, Corran," Cass nodded, "I suppose I really haven't put as much into it as I need too. I've been exceptionally busy lately, but that's no excuse. Speaking of which, whatever happened to you and Tara Reynolds?"

"Old, old news." he said, accepting the pass back and lining up for another shot. "She got command of the Concorde, my T'Rex's went into remission.. either of those things, they change a person."

He was thoughtful for a moment before making his shot. "And we had good times - really good times. But we weren't ever gonna get married, grow old together, have kids. I've been married nine lives out of twelve - including this one. I've fathered - or mothered - nineteen children in five centuries." The Trill thought momentarily of his previous host. "That I know of at least."

"Vorrin does rather skew the count, doesn't he," Cass nodded, thinking back to previous relationships of his own. "Yeah, I can imagine that lends a different perspective to your life. So, planning on just chasing skirts for a while?"

"It fills the time." he shrugged. "And the chase is always, always fun."

"Yet again, you've got a point. Though last time I really managed to do that was on the Havoc. It's been a while," he laughed. "So how did you wind up sleeping with T'Shani. I thought you and she didn't really get along too well."

"Yeah, that's the thing."

"The thing?" Cass cocked his head. "I'm not really following, man."

"Well," Corran sighed. "Her last tour, when she was under my command, we didn't. But I brought her a bottle of Dom Perignon last night as a peace overture, and one thing led to another.."

Cass had to laugh. "Yeah, alcohol will do that. So... she any good, or cant' your recall?" he asked idly, retrieving the ball. These sessions on the court were definitely the best way for him to unwind right now.

"Commander!" Rex chuckled, putting on a look of mock astonishment. "A gentleman never tells."

"Good man," he passed the ball back, amused.

"See?" he asked. "I do have some morals, after all."

That just got him an incredulous look, to which the Trill muttered indignantly. "I said *some*."

"I never claimed otherwise," Cass laughed, and passed the ball.

"Retrospective"

1Lt. T'Shani a'Akledorian
Furies CO

== Deck 4: T'Shani's Office ==

T'Shani leaned back in her chair, not able to focus on the many reports and requests and forms and procedures and... *stuff* on her desk.

This had been a restless day. She had interviewed several of the officers and senior NCOs of the detachment, filled rosters, drew up practice drills, even reviewed maintainance logs... *anything* to occupy her mind; anything to keep her from dwelling on what had happened the night before.

Of course, she didn't remember alot of it. She did remember getting drunk rather quickly, then Corran said something, touched her antennas, and... and...

~What?~

She couldn't really remember. She knew they must have had sex with him(the soreness between her legs attested to that fact, of itself), but she couldn't really recall *how* they had gone about it. The only thing she could remember was waking up next to a sleeping Corran Rex, in *her* bed.

Understandably, she had been surprised. She had quickly thrown the covers off and scrambled for the shower, trying to make sense of the reality she was now faced with, hoping that the hot water would just simply melt it all away.

~How could I sleep with *Corran*?!~ her mind now asked frantically. More deeply, though, she wondered, ~How could he sleep with *me*.~

Sitting back in her chair, she pondered the situation. It had been a long time since she had fostered a romantic relationship with anyone else before. And even then, she hadn't trusted him enough to let him go 'all the way' with her.

No, it hadn't been until she had met Commander - Cass - Henderson a year and a half ago, on this very ship, that those yearnings and desires had began to spark again within her.

At first, she hadn't wanted to admit it, for two main reasons. First he was a Pinksin. How in the great universe could she have feelings for a human? Second, he was *annoying*; always Mister "Gosh-it'll-be-better-tomorrow" attitude. It pissed her off! She knew better than anyone that life didn't give one goddamned iota about being 'better' or 'happier' on the magical 'tomorrow'. No, it sucked, and you just had to pick out whatever you could from it.

But then Rel'kessan came, and he had saved her life. She remembered how he released the cuffs from her wrists and ankles and carried her to safety in his strong arms. He *could* have left her. No, he *should* have left her. He was under explicit instructions to get the USS Hellfire back into Starfleet control. But he risked his life, his career, everything to come back to get her. That's when she saw the *real* Cassius Henderson, and had fallen in love with that man.

~Then...~ her mind groaned, remembering how quickly things had unraveled from there...

Cassius returned to the Galaxy, while she stayed behind at Starbase 51 for 'debriefing'. "Solitary confinement" was a better term. For six weeks, she was interrogated, mind-probed, and questioned about the 'failed' operation against the Romulans. Initially, SFI blamed her for the mishap. It was only during the invasive mind probe that they learned the truth: Korman Blackar wasn't dead, afterall.

Satisfied, they had let her go, warning her that her days in SpecOps were numbered. She had told them to "fuck off", or something like that. Markay'd'in had understood, though. He always had. He had told her that she would probably get another chance, a chance to prove herself. She told him that she was looking forward to that chance.

~What a mistake *that* was,~ Tish thought to herself as one of the commpanels illuminated. Swiftly, she touched it, let the computer scan her retina and cross-match her DNA, then shunted the datastream to a secured sector of computer memory that her operative had set up for her sole access. She'd read it later, when she was less likely to get caught.

Again, she turned to the stars, noticing that the subspace "Cochrane Effect" light distortion was growing longer, slower. They must be dropping to a lower warp factor, which meant that Starbase 212 wasn't too far off, along with her new contact.

Slipping back into her memories, she flipped the pages to where she had left off... ah, yes. Right there. Accepting another chance for grace. What a mistake that had been.

No sooner had she got *back* on board the Galaxy, Colonel Markay'd'in called her back, informing her of her chance. She could still remember that conversation clearly:

* "Tinis, you may not make it back alive. Not that deep into thier space. And if we lose contact with you, we can't come get you."

* "I understand, Alindal. Are you sure about this, this... what did you call it?"

* " 'Omega Stone', Tish."

And so, foolishly, she had accepted the assignment, but not without returning to the Galaxy, one last time. This time, she was only a visitor, and she had left her most prized possession (and consequently, the only one that mattered at all to her) - her chaka - with the man she loved most, Cassius. She had *tried* to tell him how she felt for him, but couldn't bring herself to it.

~What would he think?~

~What would he say?~

She didn't know, and couldn't force him to feel something that he either didn't, or wouldn't.

But *she* did.

That night, alone with him in his quarters, she wanted to tell him everything... but she chickened out. Instead, she asked him to keep the blade for her, assured him that the "transferrance ritual" was not binding upon him, and left him with a kiss on the cheek.

Then, he went to save Pennington, and she hopped a ride to Bajor, and the rest was, well... Classified.

But the mission had gone horribly wrong. It was a trap, from the beginning, and thier mistake led the Hydrans right to the Goose's Golden Egg, allowing N'Fth'Nor's fleet to intersect both the Galaxy and the Miranda. Because of her team's mistake, both ships were nearly destroyed, yet no one knew about it. It had been the blackest of Black Ops.

She had spent the next several months in hiding, knowing that if anyone found her, she was dead. Remembering her early survival training, she 'hid in plain sight', renting a small beach house on an island off the African coast, planning her next move.

Then, the man with the strange eyes had appeared, sitting on her porch one afternoon. He told her that she had to come to San Francisco at once, that he had an offer for her. Intrigued, she followed him.

~Dan- Das-~ she couldn't remember his name. She *could* remember sitting on a park bench, on the Presidio, late at night, and Strange Eyes telling her that she would be contacted again, when the time was right, whatever that meant.

Then she woke up in her cabana.

The rest was a blur...Al'indal showed up, and told her that her SFMC billet was being reinstated, but not under Tanner's command anymore. Instead, she was to return to the Galaxy, to become the CO of the Furies.

Which brought her to her current predicament.

No sooner had she gotten *back* on board, but her feelings for Cassius were renewed, her flame between Corran stoked, and the ghost of her failures return to haunt her again.

~Will I ever escape?~ she asked herself, leaning far back into the chair.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a soft beeping sound, her next appointment was here.

"Wolves, Sleazes and Hunks, Oh My"

8-Ball

with a bunch of NPCs (written by Lori C.)

**

Corridors of the USS Galaxy

Timber scratched at the carpet in an instinct to cover up his previous bowel movement. He knew his master would be upset, but his exploring had just started and he couldn't wait!

In hopes to make master think someone else did it, he trotted through the halls past surprised officers and paused at a corner and sat and licked his paw trying to look cute in case someone found him out.

8-ball, thinking about pretty much everything other than wolves walking around aimlessly on starships, moved through the corridor towards the holodeck. It had been awhile since she had hung out at the recreation of Big Man's bar and she missed the smoky atmosphere and the crowd of people that didn't believe in peace at all times, or even most times. Besides, her hands had been literally twitching to play pool, and she was beginning to think she was getting out of practice.

With her mind on pool and beer and boys, 8-ball turned the corner and stopped very abruptly. There was a wolf sitting there. In the corridor. By itself. Staring at her. And though the wolf might have looked cute to somebody with any idea that starships occasionally came with wolves, 8-ball was more than a little surprised to see it sitting there. Cute was not her first reaction.

This was her first reaction:

"AHHHHHHH!!!!" 8-ball screamed and ran away.

Timber tilted his head and stood. He trotted after the lady in case she was in danger.

8-ball looked over her shoulder as she ran. It was coming after her!

~Oh, I promise I'll never drink again, God~ 8-ball prayed in her mind. ~Well, I probably won't drink much, or I'll make an effort to drink or less or. . .Oh God you know I'm a boozehound and I'm not going to keep any promise made right now. Just don't let it eat me!~

8-ball ran around a corner and looked to see if the wolf was still there. It was, sitting and staring at her. 8-ball took a deep breath and then stood in the open corridor, looking at the wolf and trying not to backpeddle.

"Hi, Mr. Wolf," 8-ball said. "You're. . .you're a nice wolf. Good wolf. Good. My name's 8-ball, and I'd take it as a personal kindness if you found it in your wolfy heart not to eat me. I think. . .I think we'd both be happy. You'd find out that I didn't taste very good and I'd find out that I was dead and that'd be sad for both us, wouldn't it? So. . .so I'm going to go now, go walk over to my quarters now and go hide there and you're not going to follow because you're a good wolf who doesn't want to eat me, okay?" 8-ball took another breath. "Okay," she said and started to slowly back up from the wolf, waiting to see if it was going to come after her.

Timber heard fear and her voice and whined himself. He saw her retreating again, and he would follow her to make sure whatever she was afraid of wouldn't harm her. He slowly stood and lifted a paw to follow, and kept his ears focused for any other sound. He then sniffed the air. There wasn't anything there. He wondered what she was afraid of. He whined again.

8-ball couldn't believe it. The wolf was still coming. It didn't look like it was about to leap at her but she wasn't about to turn her back on it.

"Um, help?" she asked the corridor loudly. Surely somebody was around. "Seriously, people? This is a very not cool prank on 8-ball. Please,please, please help!"

George licked his fingers as he walked around the corner. Julia was one of those troublesome women that made you take them on least 2 dates before sleeping with you. This first date, she wanted to make him some kinda of desert. It wasn't bad, but he couldn't wait for the REAL desert. He giggled as he heard someone call for help. He saw a lovely woman, "Well, a damsel in distress my specialty!"

8-ball looked up and audibly groaned. She only knew George Kastanza by reputation, but that was enough. It figured that he would be the one to come to her rescue. Of all the people on all the ship. Where the hell was Victor "Death Boy" Krieghoff when you needed him?

Still, Georgie or death by wolf. . .8-ball would have to pick George.

Probably.

Or maybe it would eat him and 8-ball could run away while the wolf was distracted.

"That's great," 8-ball said to Kastanza as she stared down at the wolf. "You're obviously very spiffy. Now, do you want to help me or not?"

Timber saw the fat man and smelled something wretched. The woman did not need him around. Timber looked from the man to the woman curiously, ready to maul George if he laid a hand on the woman.

George saw the wolf and gulped, "Uh, hun you got this? Ok. Good. Bye." With that, he ran around the corner.

Timber felt satisfied he had run off the disgusting smell. He looked at the woman and wondered if that was who she was running from, and now that he was gone, she would be safe. He yawned and stretched and sat back down and looked at her, wondering if she would EVER come pet him!

8-ball shook her head. She thought about calling George a chicken as he did a very manly running away routine but decided against it. It wasn't like you would have needed a crystal ball to foresee that one coming! Besides, if the wolf would stop following her, 8-ball would have successfully run away too.

She stared at the wolf. It had very sharp, freaky looking teeth, and it could probably bite her in half, but it hadn't tried to disembowl her yet and have 8-ball cube steaks. And it had made George leave. There couldn't be a better wolf than that. So, maybe. . .maybe it wouldn't hurt her.

She took a step, very, very slowly, towards the wolf, trying to ignore her brain that was screaming things like "RETREAT! CODE RED! ABOUT TO MAULED AND DISMEMBERED! RUN AWAY! AHHHHH!" She hesitatingly put a hand out in front of her, waiting to see if the wolf would step up to it and let her pet him, or if he was going to pull a massive Fenrir and leave her with a bloody stump.

The wolf's ear's perked up and watched her move toward him. He still smelt her fear, but she was at least making an effort. He showed the same respect and stood slowly, and stepped toward her cautiously. He sniffed her hand. No food, but he'd come to expect not everyone had food for him.

8-ball's hand touched the wolf's head. A part of her was still screaming

~WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!~ but another part of her was now saying ~Hey, I'm petting a wolf here. Kind of nifty~. The wolf sat contentedly and did not munch her to bits. "Thanks," she said to it. "I appreciate the not eating me. You're a nice little wolf. Er, nice big wolf. Whatever. Anyway, I bet you're not supposed to be roaming the corridors, sneaking up on people, and scaring them to death, so what about we continue you not eating me and try to find whoever was crazy enough to own you. Okay?" 8-ball smiled at the wolf, hopefully in an encouraging yet peaceful way, and started to walk down the hall with the wolf at her side.

Timber shook his tail. Now that the woman wasn't running scared, she was pretty nice.

Moments later, a weary feeling Native American searched the halls, occasionally calling out "Timber!"

Timber stopped and his ears perked as he turned a corner, and stopped to see if the nice lady were following.

8-ball was. She heard someone calling and was relieved. They had to be looking for the wolf. After all, how many people did you meet named Timber, anyway?

Timber breaks into a run seeing his master. His master who had a nice tan complexion and muscular body that relaxed into a joyful relief seeing his wolf brother, "Timber!" He knelt down hugging and burying his face in the silver coat.

8-ball raised an eye at the owner. The guy had definite stud-qualities, and you had to give him props for not being afraid having his jugular that close to a wolf's teeth. "Hi," 8-ball said. "I think I found your wolf. He's nice, as far as wolves go, but I hope you don't mind me giving him back. He's kind of terrifying just running around aimlessly in the corridor."

He stood and smiled at the woman, "He's harmless really. Just a big sweetheart." He looked at her a moment, "Well I hope he didn't scare you too much." He bent down and held the wolf's face, "So, buddy, would you like to see more of your new friend?"

Timber perked his ears up and wagged his tail. He had no idea what was said, but it sounded good!

The hunk looked over at 8-ball and smiled, "Seems he likes you." He eyes shown his own appreciation.

8-ball turned this over in her mind. Timber the wolf was sort of cute. ..the Native American hunky man was definitely sort of cute. . ."Well, I wouldn't mind seeing more of him. Once you realize he isn't going to devour you in one bite, he's nice." She smiled at the man. "I'm 8-ball."

He smiled, "I'm Running Tree." He stood and held out a hand, "What are you doing now?"

"Nothing of any real importance," 8-ball said. "Now that I've returned said wolf, my schedule is pretty free. You wanna get a cup of coffee? Or something?"

Running Tree smiled, "Sure." He looked down to Timber, "But let's get Timber back home before he scares anyone else."

"Probably a good idea," 8-ball agreed and walked with Running Tree and Timber. The wolf momentarily forgotten (not an easy thing, on a starship), 8-ball looked at Running Tree with a smile. He was definitely cute. Maybe worth a fling, maybe more. Who knew? She'd have to learn more about him.

One thing, however, was essential to know right off the bat.

"So," 8-ball said as they walked together, "You don't have kids, do you?"

"Unless you count Timber, no."

It was an odd thing to see 8-Ball with a Native American and a wolf walking down a corridor. It would had seemed to fit better in a forest or something, but this is the USS Galaxy, where you just never know what to expect.

"Only One Reward"

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant Commander James Lionel Corgan

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

~"Oh god, what did I do this time?"~

Corgan approached the Captain's Ready Room with a healthy respect for what could come. It always seemed that whenever he approached those beige sliding doors that he was about to face a fire-breathing dragon ready to scorch him to cinders upon arrival. Then there was always the long wait, or what seemed long due to a perception of time that was distorted by the added pressures of anticipating a timely and decisive punishment. To make matters worse, there was always a paranoid delusion of having the entire bridge crew watch and wait behind his back, secretly snickering, jabbing each other in the ribs, and pointing fingers and blame at the security chief, the trouble maker, the bad boy of the Galaxy (or at least, this small ship known as the Galaxy).

James never looked behind him. He just didn't what to know if his paranoia actually turned out to be accurate intuition.

He was familiar with this ritual, familiar with it since his time as an Ensign. He faced the same apprehension when he engaged in an illicit love affair with Atole Tekri, the resident Romulan femme fatale spy. He faced those doors many times with former Captain Brhode, who treated these meetings as opportunities to brush up on his cussing and swearing. He may have even faced it once under Captain Robert E. Lee Price, though there were no real incidents of note that he could remember. During the war, different doors on the Thunderchild meant the same thing, as he was drummed time and time again just because he was in a suicide regiment that served as a convenient dumping ground for washouts, the mentally unfit (that was James' qualification at the time, due to severe depression and trauma from the Borg), and a heapload of blame that would otherwise simmer on the Captain's own lap.

These doors meant trouble.

But what this time? James was at a loss of words. He THOUGHT he was on his best behavior, and though he did not like to trumpet his accomplishments (might have been his reason for earning so few medals), he thought for once in his life that he did a good job on Trill and on the Galaxy. Depression and all.

James prayed silently in his head that he wasn't in trouble. Captain Brhode and James always butted heads. Captain Robert Price overlooked the security chief plenty of times, in favor of staff that had been around a lot longer. The Captain of the Thunderchild... was just a dickhead, no other explanation needed.

Captain Daren M'Kantu was the first captain in Starfleet that James truly respected, and had good reason to do so.

He hoped not to ruin that good start by making himself look like even more of a jackass.

The door slid open while James was in mid-thought, and actually started to close again before he stepped forward and interrupted its progress. The automatic sensors registered his advance, reversed the door, and prevented an embarrassing moment.

M'Kantu was busy, hardly a surprise given the reports and other projects still pending after the mission to Trill, but he set down the report he'd been studying as James entered and nodded to him, "Commander Corgan."

"Captain M'Kantu." James greeted cordially. Crazy or not, James was still an officer, and sometimes fancied himself a gentleman. He didn't want to be too unprofessional, yet avoid being a sycophant. Therefore, he erred at caution, using a familiar yet snappy salute, and a graceful landing on his chair when M'Kantu beckoned him to sit.

The older man stood and nodded towards the replicator as he picked up the three empty coffee cups on the desk and started towards it. "Coffee? They've finally gotten this thing adjusted so that it produces something that doesn't produce something closer to toxic mud."

"Please." Corgan winced. His ribs were still aching from his fight with Zeke Wikkens. Even speaking aggravated his aches and pains, but he kept himself in good humor. He knew Captain M'Kantu went through a dozen cups of coffee a day, which begged to ask 'How big is his ulcer?'. But to keep the conversation polite, James opted for a cup himself. "Strong and dark. I don't drink it for the taste anyways. Pure utility."

"You should try it some time, Commander. Each coffee, like wine, has a taste all it's own."

As M'Kantu walked to the replicator, James reflected that the Captain was in a neutral enough mood to mean a good sign. This meant two things.

A reward...

Or a trap.

James predicted trap. As of late, he was one hell of a cynic.

"Sir?" Corgan asked, "What is going on? You rarely call me to your office unless I f**k up, and frankly, so does everyone else. You don't look testy today, so to say that I'm confused is an understatement. What is going on?"

M'Kantu waited until James had taken the coffee to respond, "At the moment, Commander, I'm drinking coffee and talking to you." He sat down behind his desk and waved James to a chair. "Something to consider for the future, Commander: not every meeting with a superior officer is - or should be - a cause for worry."

"Ummmm... right..." James' said skeptically, shoulders slumped. His expectations were surprisingly disappointed.

"I rather thought that was the way you'd see things," Daren nodded. "But in this case, you've done nothing wrong. No reprimands. No dressing down. No demotions to enlisted rank. No reassignment to Breen or wherever it was that John Q. kept threatening to send people. Today we talk, and drink coffee."

"Hmmmm... fair enough." Corgan's lips touched the surface of his coffee. It is what he expected, hot and black. Very black... and bitter as a Cardassian diehard. He sipped a little bit of the bitter black fluid down his throat. Not an enjoyable experience, but he expected it to perk himself up in a few minutes.

The coffee and the ritual behind it was predictable. M'Kantu, as far as James knew, was not.

"You know, we rarely do talk, sir." James started the conversation rather than let M'Kantu do it for him, "Not a good habit. We wouldn't know where we stood with each other... otherwise. I'm willing to talk... but I don't know what to talk about. Would you like to talk business? Or other?"

"Other." M'Kantu smiled and reached for his coffee again. "Everyone was someone else before they became who they are now, what they are now. Becoming something new is a part of life, the gift that Allah gives us. Take you, for instance. I understand you had a successful musical career before you joined Starfleet. A very different life from the one you have now, I'm sure. Do you miss it?"

"Somewhat." James took another sip of his coffee, his eyes cast in a retrospective gaze, "I had a band in the Academy. Before that, musicianship was part of my family heritage. It was a hobby, just a successful one. The war, then my career in Starfleet became the primary focus in my life. I miss it a little bit, Captain, but not too much. I can still play music in my off duty time. But I am glad that I have something to fall back on if and when my career is over. Do you play an instrument, Captain?"

"Not in front of anyone whose opinion of me I value," Daren smiled. "The results are... embarrassing... to put the best face on it. Bagpipes were once classified as weapons of war back on earth for a reason - and a very bad piper is still better than me on my best days." He shook his head. "I almost started a war once, you know. Back when I was an Ensign, by playing an electronic keyboard at a diplomatic reception... I gave it up after that, it seemed the only responsible thing to do."

James laughed mirthfully, "But I have heard good bagpipes before. Need to talk to an actual Scotsman or Canadian to get it right though. Oh my god! The bad part is... I know exactly what you're talking about! I know the business, and my sister has her own recording company. I've seen bad artists do exactly what you did."

"I think the point of that reminiscence, assuming that there was one, is probably something like 'remember your strengths,' or maybe 'avoid your weaknesses." He shrugged. "But that's not what we're talking about." He shook his head. "I guess I've been doing this too long. Any day now I expect to look into a mirror and see a long white beard and hear myself start giving orders I the form of parables - at which point it will be time for me to retire."

"Starting to feel road weary already, sir?" James asked. M'Kantu, though old by past standards, still had plenty of years of service left in him. M'Kantu was only in his sixties... middle aged by human standards.

That was beside the point.

Burnout could happen at any time. When one questioned what they were doing, it was always a first sign. James knew this well himself when he started to question his motives in Starfleet. This called for something more personal than he wanted to reveal.

"I think 'tired' is a better word," Daren nodded over his coffee. "'Weary' may be a bit further down the road, yet."

"Sir, we get bored from time to time and want to do something else. I've experienced this myself. But I do enjoy my work on a personal level. I find that it satisfies my need for a challenge, my desire to help others and, I confess, a need to feel needed. That keeps me going."

Daren shook his head. "Oh I haven't gotten bored. Allah has always seen His way clear to make certain that never happens. I'm just a bit tired. Too many battles, too many missions one after the other." He smiled sadly. "Too little to come home to."

"That I understand..." Corgan sighed, "I've fought for most of my career, baptized myself in battle before I was ready, and none of it was pleasant afterwards. I have no real attachment to any planet... Earth or otherwise... and only a sister on Terra. But surely you have more of a home than I? Your Terran accent is a dead giveaway, and I remember someone mentioning you have family and loved ones on Earth."

"Less than you'd think," Daren said quietly. "My parents have both retired and are usually off-planet, I have three siblings - two brothers, both older, and one sister, younger than me. My oldest brother and sister were killed in the War, and my surviving brother Achmed is a physician in the Federation's Outbreak Containment program. I see him infrequently... and whether I still see her as my wife or not, the fact of the matter is that June divorced me after Wolf 359 when I wouldn't leave the Fleet." He looked into his coffee, as if he were seeing the past in its surface.

"Oh...." James sighed somberly. Terror always followed the Borg (he knew that fact all too well) and it translated into some unpredictable results. He wanted to change the direction of the subject to deflect from the awkwardness, "Any children?"

"One. Bahiyah." He set the coffee down and looked up. "I lost her because of the raider attack on Tevron VII two years ago, when the colony there was destroyed."

~"Oh no."~ Corgan shamefully looked down on the reflection in his coffee, watching a downcast, sorrow laden face stare back at him, ~"Did I turn the conversation in a direction he didn't want to face? No... if he didn't want to talk about this, he would have been testy... angry even, and most likely tell me to shut up. He wants to talk about this..."~

James then asked himself, ~"The question is, what should I let him talk to lighten his conscience, to get things off his chest? Should I sympathize?"~

Then the words came out, a sudden impulse, "I lost family as well, Sir. My mother and father were on the USS Odyssey. Some consider the crew of that ship the first casualties of the Dominion War."

"I would have placed the first casualties a bit earlier than that, in the small engagements preceding the outbreak of hostilities," Daren offered, "but I've always had a problem with pointing at the action that commences a war and saying that it started there. Wars start small and build up." He paused, and then shook his head. "But this isn't an academy class and I'm not guest lecturing, and the last thing I want to do is belittle the sacrifice made by your family."

"That's why I say 'some', sir." Corgan grumbled, taking an embittered sip of his coffee, "My parents died at an important flashpoint, doing their duty as the ship went to save some Federation citizens. The rest was tragedy. How were they to know that the Jem'Hadar could hit so fiercely? Even if the cost was too high... they still did the right thing."

"No one could - or should - ask them to do anything more," Daren agreed.

"Sir." Corgan wanted to change the subject away from HIS past, "It seems odd, both of us wanting to reflect on past pains. Are you sure you're ok with it?"

"Talking about the past,?" Daren smiled a bit less sadly. "It is a bit depressing, isn't it? Would you like to talk about something else? The future, perhaps?"

"Future plans?" James said, "Why not? But to save you the trouble of asking sir... I do not know what my plans are. At first, I thought I did. I was going to take my commander's test as soon as I got promoted. If I was offered a first officer's rank on a ship, be it this one or another, I would take it. Then I would become a captain, and stay with that until my 25 year minimal, or maybe even a full 40 years commitment to Starfleet, and the pension that it would bring, matures. After that I would either settle on a station and set up shop, or buy an older vessel and do freight in some more dangerous territories. Wife and kids... never put much thought into that, for I think that such thoughts only really mature after a long term relationship."

James paused to loosen his throat with the coffee, "But now? I was assured by Starfleet command that I will never go past my station due to my conduct with one Atole Tekri. I have made my mistake, and now there may be a slight modification to my life plan. If I am to stay a security chief, or much lower, then I will do so until my 25 years are up. After that... I might have enough for the freighter. If not, I'll think of something."

"I don't think it's as bad as all that," Daren said quietly as he set a small box on the desk and pushed it across towards James. "Allah moves us as he wills, and even the Fleet bureaucracy hasn't found a way to stop that."

Puzzled, James carefully handled the velvet black case. It had a bristly, yet smooth sheen to it, like a ring case a groom would use to hold an engagement ring. It was not big enough for a medal, which James suspected (but didn't hold his breath for) after the incident where he and a fellow officer saved a half dozen men from a collapsing building, or for Zeke's apprehension.

This box only came in one size, holding only one reward.

"Oh my..." James eyes lit up as he realized what he was holding in his hand, "How did you... why did I..."

Daren just looked at him silently and smiled. There were times when words would do nothing but spoil the moment.

At the insistence of M'Kantu's eyes, James slowly opened the box. There, nestled in silken lining and a cushion of hard velvet and plastic, laid his reward. A small brass, circular pip, tiny enough to balance on his pinky finger, but thick and stout enough to stand out on a uniform. It was his replacement for the lead pip on his collar, a pip rimmed with brass but holding an ebon core, one he would need no longer.

One tiny pip was his promotion to the rank of Commander.

James picked up the brass tack. He nimbly plucked his half pip off his collar, savoring not only the moment, but the light joke that for a few seconds he was technically a Lieutenant. The pip's magnetic base clasped easily onto his collar, taking its place among the others that were hardened by years of experience, trial, grime and pipshine.

He was a full commander now, and it felt like a heady bouquet of surprise concentrated perfume. He held no expectations of becoming a commander; in fact he was quite sure of up beginning a few months ago. But now with the surprise promotion, he could hardly imagine ever striving to be a commander, as if wanting to advance in rank, feeling the rise in rank as his due actually cheapened the experience of being promoted.

All and all, it was the happiest he felt in months.

"My god..." James breathed in exultation, "Thank you."

"I suspect that there are a great many more people to thank than just me," Daren offered. "But I am glad to accept that thanks in their name."

James placed the now unneeded half pip into its replacement's old case. His hand closed over its velvet surface and slowly lowered to case's lid close.

"Funny." James commented, "Mom was a Roman Catholic, and she always said God had a strange sense of humor. Now I know exactly what she means."

"Allah created *us,*" Daren said with a smile. "How could he not have a sense of humor?"

Corgan wordlessly thought to himself, lost and overwhelmed by what he was feeling. It was the accumulation of so many great factors over the coming few weeks; the rare oasis of calm and good fortune that relieved his tumultuous life.

Months ago, as was the theme from the first time he fought and nearly died in the Battle of Sector 001 so many years ago as a scared cadet unprepared for the fires of war, he was buffeted by forces unseen and uncounterable. Those unseen forces always wanted to attack, to chip away his armor until he was bare, and bare he was a thousand times over. So many times did the events that happened to him hurt him. It was not a twisting of the knife to the heart as most would describe it; James more akined it to the carving and dividing up of his soul, giving away pieces against his own will while leaving what was left to dry and harden into stone. Too often was he left to cry without tears, scream without a voice, express without a thought as to how.

He lost himself too many times, lost friends more than he could count. Watched many die, for real, in spirit, in progression. Watched himself die and was reborn again, only to fall into the same patterns, lacking the optimism to see a viable future or the will to struggle for something greater than himself, yet always feel that yearning to be part of a greater whole.

And when he was close to feeling the least bit happy about himself, his life, his direction and his purpose... it was always taken away, leaving him to try and find his path again.

But never, ever, in his life did he feel that the worse was over.

Until now.

Before he saw no chance of going further in his career. Other than being an efficient and deadly soldier, James had no other reason to be in Starfleet for much longer, for it was either quit to find something else, or martyr himself in battle all for the desire to feel that he was needed to save others and die trying.

Now he had a commander's pip, which allowed for much more potential. Now he knew, he felt in his heart that he could be something more than a soldier.

"Touche." James Corgan gave M'Kantu the first honest, unabashed, unrestrained smile of his entire career.

A chance to do more, go up, and not only that, he was not alone. He had a companion, and for the first time, people whom believed in him.

What could stop him now that war, rejection, trauma and blacklisting could not?

Daren smiled with him for a minute. "Congratulations, Commander."

"Thank you sir." Corgan shook the Captain's hand.

"You're welcome," Daren nodded. His smile faded after a moment. "Now I have to ruin the moment for both of us."

"Oh?" Corgan raised a skeptical eyebrow, his smile vanishing as his face set to a more serious, grim look.

"I received a message from Medical this morning, alerting me to a problem with one of your officers. I need you to deal with the situation."

~"Sh*t... another one?"~ Corgan thought, than said, "Ok, who is it?"

"Lieutenant Krieghoff."

Corgan's smile then vanished. He was somewhat appalled, but not surprised. Krieghoff was always a problem in some way or another; a fact that the Lieutenant himself would make note to others. To this, James asked, "What the hell did I miss, sir?"

"The Lieutenant's physical exam after his assignment off-ship turned up an anomaly." Daren picked up an isolinear chip from the corner of his desk and offered it to James. "He lost a lung in the War - it was damaged during an unprotected ship-to-ship transfer in hard vacuum. Nothing unusual there. Starfleet cloned him a new one and installed it. Also nothing unusual. The problem is... he doesn't have it any more."

Corgan asked, "Then what is he breathing with now, gills?"

"No. He has a new one. Brand new. Top-of-the-line cloned tissue, better than the one the Fleet gave him. Better even, than his remaining original one. There's just one problem with it: it doesn't have the cellular tags that have to accompany all work of the sort by Federation law."

Corgan's face not only fell, it clattered on the floor and broke like a clay mask. He then asked, "Sir, Federation doctors tend to clone organs from the original DNA as to prevent the violation of genetic modification laws, and even when genetic resequencing is needed it is carefully monitored and scrutinized. If Krieghoff is carrying an alien crafted organ that doesn't have our seal of approval... he could be carrying all sorts of modifications that break even more serious laws. Simply lacking any tags due to an off world chop shop job, or a simple transplant would be a minor offence if it doesn't completely change his physiology and make him superior to a baseline human. That would be result in a full medical exam of the organ in question, an inquiry, and if the circumstances warrant... disciplinary action. But if it's a modified organ that goes against our genetic modification laws... he's looking at the end of his career."

Corgan put down his coffee, and said seriously, "If I may recommend, sir, he should be ordered to report to sickbay for a more thorough exam and entire DNA deep scan of his lungs before any further action is taken. I want to be sure about all this before I send one of my own to the brig."

"That certainly seems reasonable to me, Commander. As to whether the Lieutenant will see it the same way..." Daren spread his hands. "Only Allah knows for certain." He sighed. "As you say, he's your man, Commander, and you're free to deal with this issue in your own way. If there's a satisfactory explanation, I see no reason to make things more complicated for the Lieutenant than they already are."

"Are, was, and always will be, sir." Corgan said in a resolved, resigned tone, "I'll take care of it right away."

"Milk Run" - Part 2

Primary Character:
Captain Daren M'Kantu, Commanding Officer
Commander Cass Henderson, Executive Officer
Legate Kylar Curran, Federation Liaison Officer

Secondary Characters:
Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor, Commanding Officer: Deep Space Five
Lieutenant Commander Mark Sheridan, Chief of Staff: DS5/Minor Schmuck
Sergeant Louise Markinson, Marine Chief Cryptologist/SFI Agent
Sergeant Ropp'tk'tk, Marine JAG Liaison/Giant Rat

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
USS Galaxy

It was Beta Shift when the USS Galaxy dropped out of warp in the Versad System. Cass Henderson, standing in for Karyn Dallas that day, stood up from Captain M'Kantu's chair and instinctively stepped toward the viewscreen. In orbit of Versad VI, a planet known for its many Vulcan monasteries, Starbase 212 was a majestic site, and a center of travel. Around the Starfleet installation, Cass could see dozens of spacecraft moving, including two starships, which he identified as the Prague, a Sovereign-Class Battlecruiser and the Virtue, a Hippocrates-Class Medical Ship.

Like components of a well oiled machine, the Beta Shift crew moved into action, delivering reports and transmitting data to Henderson's console.

"Commander, we've arrived in the Versad System. Warp transit complete," Miramon Terrik reported from the Flight Control console.

"Establishing communications with Starbase 212 traffic control," Lieutenant Jamson said, during a pause in his conversation with the 212 Traffic Controller.

"Detecting nothing that conflicts with the filed travel manifest for the Versad System on the current stardate," Raven Darkstar said stoically from the tactical arch.

"Good. Has the Starliner Emerald Princess arrived as of yet?" Cass asked, both to Jamson and Darkstar. One would query the Dockmaster. The other would scan the system.

"No sir," Jamson said, and moments later Darkstar indicated his agreement.

"Very well then," Cass said, already heading for the ready room door. "Mr. Miramon, take us into a stationkeeping orbit around Starbase 212. We'll await Admiral Proctor's transport here. I'll be in conference with Captain M'Kantu. Mr. Jamson, you have the bridge."

Heading over to the door, he rang the chime.

****

Reception Bay,
Deck 12,
Starbase 212

The airlock cycled in front of Cass Henderson, rolling aside into the door frame. They had arrived at Starbase 212 less than an hour earlier. M'Kantu and Henderson had already conferred before being admitted into the Starbase's expansive docking bay. M'Kantu had decided to give the crew one day of leave time, to help relieve the boredom that such a simple mission was no doubt generating.

Stepping out into the room, Cass was flanked by a pair of marines on loan from T'Shani A'Akledorian's SFMC Furies. Sergeant Ropp'tk'tk, a Imuzen male weapons specialist, closely resembled a giant humanoid rat. Sergeant Louise Markinson was a physically unremarkable, personally unassuming, otherwise quiet young woman from Talvas Colony. Perhaps it was those qualities that had led Cass to recruit her into Starfleet Intelligence as one of his agents. She had quickly become his eyes and ears in the crew, her observant but quiet personality allowing her to easily watch key members of the crew. Lately she'd been keeping an eye on Major T'Riasau, though he'd borrowed her for this occasion.

Already in the room were Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor and her 'retinue'. From the looks of it, Cass decided that there really was no other word for the group of sycophants and yes-men that the woman inevitably gathered. It was strange to think a Hawk as soft as her. The short, dark haired woman in her custom tailored class-A uniform was possibly the most spoiled officer he'd ever seen. Possibly, he considered, it was true that the Hawks were looking to get rid of her.

Glancing off to her side, he locked eyes with Legate Curran, who looked particularly annoyed to even be in the same room as Proctor. Then the attention of the room shifted to him. "Admiral Proctor?" he asked.

"Ah! Commander Henderson!" The woman who had been conferring with Captain M'Kantu's eyes lit up as she greeted the latest arrival to the slowly crowding room. The African Captain appeared almost relieved at the redirection of her attention, hardily burying the expressions lest one of Proctor's entourage report it in confidence later.

Olivia, or 'Livia as she preferred to be called based on the historical significance of her name in Roman history at the time of Augustus and Tiberius, veritably danced over to the Exec. Her eyes lit up in a flair of mosaic colors as she stopped just short of the Terran well within his personal space, but leaned to the side with a hand on one hip, the other raised to shoulder length relaxed at a perpendicular level with her chin..

"I read your file. You hardly look the part of intelligence, more so based on your past record."

Cass wondered exactly what an intelligence agent was to look like. His relatively plain looks and ability to blend into situations was what made men like him good at what they did. Of course, most of the record that she would have access to was outright lies fabricated by SFI to cover over the classified work he'd done. Well, with the exception of the Dalson disaster.

"Admiral," M'Kantu interjected before she could continue on. She'd questioned the Commander's abilities since the moment she stepped into the room. "I have the fullest confidence in Commander Henderson and his capabilities. You are here as a passenger as well, not assuming command."

"Careful how you address your senior officer, Captain." One of the unassuming members of the Admiral's staff intimated strength and emphasis on the first word, his eyes boring holes into the Captain.

"I'm well aware of the Admiral's rank, 'Commander."

"Captain! You will not address in this insubordinate manner. Pay attention to 'Commander Sheridan. You might learn something." M'Kantu curled his lip, clenching his jawline finely.

"Of course, Admiral."

Henderson set his jaw, prepared to grin and bear it. As loathesome as she was, she was his superior officer. He could only be thankful that their chain of commands didn't actually interact. "Admiral Proctor, it is my duty and pleasure to welcome you to the USS Galaxy. If you're prepared to come aboard, we are prepared to receive you. Accommodations have been prepared on Deck 10 for you and your staff."

The two marines fell into their assigned positions behind Admiral Proctor, her temporary honor guard. They'd remain with her for most of her stay on the Galaxy, keeping her safe and, in the case of Sergeant Markinson, keep an eye on her.

"Legate! You advised me of quarters arranged in the VIP suite on Deck 3. Why was I not informed?" She waved a finger at the Kelvan. "You are trying my patience. Get your act together and start communicating. I can't have my needs ignored or I will have your head. We haven't even left port and typical Liaison idiocy is already well at hand."

"Admiral, your quarters are arranged as stated. I'm sure Commander Henderson was only offering an alternative if the quarters I have arranged for you are unsuitable."

"How close are your offices?"

"Deck 17, Sec-"

"Deck 3 will be fine." She waved off the Kelvan, cutting him off. "The further from your ineptitude, the better." She waved onward. "Take me to my quarters. I need to cleanse myself."

~Cleanse?~ Cass wondered as he beckoned her party back on through the airlock. He dropped back as it happened, allowing Captain M'Kantu to take point. As they passed in the hall, he quietly told the commanding officer that he was going to switch her quarters up to Deck 3, for the sake of everyone's sanity.

Then he dropped back and called Operations. By the time he managed to get his first request through to Lieutenant' Tarin, Proctor had managed to come up with three other, equally unreasonable things that she absolutely *needed*.

Cass sighed. It was going to be a long mission.

****

Executive Officer's Office,
Deck 8,
USS Galaxy-A

Cass Henderson dropped into his seat. Finally, he was finished running back and forth across the ship, attending to Olivia Proctor's every wish, mostly so everyone else would stay sane, and she'd stay out of everyone's hair while they were at SB 212.

[What a bitch,] Sergeant Markinson muttered from his terminal, as he accepted her transmission. [Do I really have to watch her? She's so... childish. She's a little kid in an Admiral's uniform.]

"Oh, I agree with you. I just got done tracking down Altairian Flatfish for her dinner with Captain M'Kantu and myself tomorrow night. How ridiculous is that?" he gripped back, "I'd have told her to shove it if I wasn't getting to eat it too."

"Honestly, though, she's a Hawk. They keep her around for a reason, and I want to know why," Cass explained, "The Hawks have some very radical elements to them, and I wouldn't be surprised to find out that she's involved in some way. You know what to do."

[Yes, sir. But I want an extra holodeck ration for this, Mr. Ex-Oh,] the young marine demanded, [I don't get paid enough to put of with her.]

"You got it, Louise, but the normal rules apply," Henderson fixed her with a serious look. "You didn't get it from me."

[No problem, sir. Oh. I think A'Akledorian is planning some kind of trip over to Starbase 212. Do you want me to look into that?]

"Yeah," he replied, "Do that. And keep an eye out for Red Division marines. I'm sure one of your comrades is working for RD, and I'd like to know which one. Knowledge is power, Mouse. Remember that."

[Aye, sir. Well, the big bad witch has gone to bed, so I'm going to go catch some sut eye myself. Take care, sir.] The quiet marine moved to shut off the console.

"You too, Mouse. Handler out." He cut the feed and leaned back in his chair.

Yeah. This mission was going to take forever.

"Hello Again"

8-ball Hunter
Vrih Himne

8-ball walked slowly through the corridors of the Galaxy and thought about commiting suicide.

Oh, not very seriously. She wasn't quite ready to off herself and be done with this idiocy called space-living life, at least, not yet anyway. Still, as she trudged on towards her doom with the little demonic cretins called children, she could entertain herself with the idea of shooting a huge hole into the wall of the ship and leaping dramatically into the vaccuum of space. Then, at least, she wouldn't have to deal with any more "Tommy pushed me" or "Susie stole my lunch" or any of that other annoying nonsense.

8-ball figured it wouldn't be so bad if there was another adult there to talk to, bemoan her fate with, and the like. There were the teachers, of course, but 8-ball was relatively sure that no teacher was really human anyway: they actually wanted to be there with the little monsters, for Godsake. No, 8-ball needed somebody else dragged along to the mess, somebody who would hate working there just as much as she did. Somebody 8-ball could manipulate into helping her. . .

8-ball turned the corner and immediately smiled. There he was. The man to help her out. Otherwise, she'd kill him.

8-ball walked up to him. "Hi, Vrih," she said.

Vrih Himne looked up in surprise.

Due to the recent flourish of activity onboard the Galaxy in recent weeks, he had spent little time with Ensign Hunter, or 8-Ball as she insisted on being called. However, now was clearly not the time to remedy the situation - Himne spotted the cheeky-eyed youngsters pursuing her, and he recalled how she had been assigned to supervise the (what was that bizarre human word? Ah. yes) kindergarten children.

In Rihannusu culture, children were one of the most valued things among the upper classes, for they were the key to a dynasty - heirs. However, they were also taught respect and obedience, something that these youngsters clearly lacked.

Putting on his most charming face, Himne grinned.

"Jolan' Tru, 8-Ball," he bowed his head slightly in the customary Rihannusu aristocratic greeting, before hastily making his excuses. "I'd love to help you with your, uh. dilemma, but Senator Omar wants some. urgent reports." He stumbled on his words.

8-ball grinned tightly at him. "Uh-huh," 8-ball said. "I don't think so. I have a little problem here, and you're going to help me out. I have to get these little monst. . .ah, children. . .to the astrometrics lab for a field trip, and I need your assistance. And you know WHY you're going to assist me, dear Vrih?" 8-ball's voice lowered to a near whisper that could either be considered dangerous or seductive. . .take your pick. "Because if you do, and you're good, then I'll let you take me out tonight and then we can do a little more. And if you don't help me, by all the Gods in all the religions in all the worlds, I will find every curse for everything a Rihannusu male loves about his life. . .starting with boils and sores on guess which part?"

"Now," 8-ball said with a sweet, innocent smile, "what are you going to choose?"

Himne gulped, clearly more than a bit intimidated by her stance. His bodyguard approached, obviously worried too, however Himne raised a hand and the muscular centurion moved away, back down the corridor from where he came.

Well, perhaps he could give this a try. It wouldn't hurt for a few minutes. He smiled at 8-Ball.

"Very well," he bowed his head again. "How may I be of service to you?"

"Excellent," 8-ball said, rubbing her hands together. "I'm glad you've seen the light. Now I need your help watching the little ones in the back of the group. . .they keep running off on me, and I'm tired of chasing them. All I have to do is deliver all 22 of these frighteningly active children to the astrometrics lab, and then I'm free. Someone else, thank God, is taking them all home again. So just go stand back there and make sure no one runs off as we march on in our little field trip parade, and everything will all be peachy perfect fucking keen." 8-ball ran a hand through her hair and then leaned in confidentially towards Himne. "Oh," she whispered, "and watch out for the terror twins. They seem to enjoy getting attention whatever way possible. . .last time they simultaneously threw up on each other in the middle of lunchtime, and when everybody got a whiff while eating their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. . .well, you get the picture." 8-ball kissed Himne quickly on the cheek and made her way to the front of the crowd. "Have fun!" she called back to him.

****

Ten minutes later (or possibly ten decades, it was hard to tell sometimes) 8-ball and Himne had successfully delivered the children to the lab. She could use a drink.

"So," 8-ball said with a tired smile, "did you have a good time?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that," the attaché said, although the children had hassled him much less than with 8-Ball.

"It reminded me of a riot on my planet some years back," he joked. "With military officers at the front and back, herding the crowd around. Except these children would put those rioters to shame in terms of trouble."

"No kidding," 8-ball said dryly. "I can't imagine why people want to have them for their own. Just dealing with other people's for a few hours is enough. Can you imagine having one of those things living in your house, waking you up every five minutes for a glass of water or to put the boogeymen away or tell you stories? And what would happen to your sex life?" 8-ball shuddered. "No, thank God, any delusions I may EVER have had of having children have been broken by this experience. No kids. Ever."

"Anyway," 8-ball said, now looking at Himne with some interest. "It's been awhile since I've seen you around." She raised one arched eyebrow. "You haven't been avoiding me, have you?"

Himne looked up at the ceiling, and shrugged his shoulders as nonchantly as possible before replying.

"Things have been rather busy for me," he said. "First, the Galaxy's been rather busy of late, and then I had some business on Romulus to take of. Namely, I bought a mansion in the suburbs with all the money I've been earning. Actually, I borrowed a lot of money from Proconsul Omar, father of the senator. The estate was being sold quickly by a bankrupt aristocrat, so I got a good deal."

He then changed the subject. "So you don't like children? I must say, that's not the case among Rihannusu. Children are extremely valuable among the upper-classes, as who else will inherit your family name and assets?"

"Humans have sort of a mixed view on kids," 8-ball said. "Most like them because they remind them of their own innocence, or something hokey like that. I don't necessarily want all kids to fall into a meat grinder or anything, but I'm just not a big fan. And family name and assets? Heh. The name's okay. . .it's not Vulcan, at any rate. . .but right now all the assets I have are a beat up teddy bear, some old pictures, and a yo-yo. Nothing really worth leaving behind."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "So," she said, "do you want kids?"

"Myself, I plan on having a good few children one day," he smiled. "After all, no-one else would be fit to inherit my new mansion. Anyway, you wouldn't ever have children?"

8-ball raised the other eyebrow. She loved that logic. . .kids for the pure purpose of inheriting rich crap just seemed dumb to her. Who cared what happened to this little ritzy place you bought after you died? You'd be dead, so it just didn't seem that important. But she knew Vrih wouldn't agree, so she didn't bother arguing.

"Never is a long time," 8-ball said. "I wouldn't say that it's absolutely impossible that such a thing might occur sometime late in the future. But it doesn't appeal to me the way it appeals to most girls. I don't really want them, and I don't think they'd really want me. I'd make a pretty lousy mom." 8-ball briefly thought of Azra and pushed the thought away. A few months ago children were the furthest thing from her mind and now they were practically spilling out her ears.

"Anyway, let's forget about kids," 8-ball said and suddenly grinned. "If we ever get married, we can have the debate later, but I don't think either of us is looking for bells and veils any time soon. I did say that if you helped, we could have some fun tonight. Now, does that appeal to you, or are you going to be busy?"

Himne grinned. "No, I think I'm free. What do you want to do? I have a holographic recreation of my new house sent to me by my broker, if you'd like to go over to the holodeck. You could see what it's like to be a Rihannusu noble. Or have you got a better idea?"

8-ball restrained herself, with effort, from rolling her eyes. Himne's idea of courtship did not include wooing and red roses. It mostly seemed to consist of showing off cash and stating over and over again how rich and cool he was. Still, 8-ball liked Himne and she was looking forward to a night of fun.

"I suppose I could do that," 8-ball said. "I wouldn't mind seeing this splendiferous house and pretending to be Rihannusu noble chick. And if these ladies happen to wear heavy, thick gowns. . .well, maybe you'll be enough of a gentleman to help me out of them." She curtseyed with a grin and looked up at Himne. "Shall we proceed, your Lordship?"

Himne grinned. "Very well. Let's just deal with these youngsters here, and then we can be on our way."

"Oh, we're good," 8-ball said. "There's another aide, some peppy, freaky, child-loving volunteer, who's going to take them back to class as soon as they're done touring the astrometrics lab with whatever lieutenant that's in there. I actually don't have to hang around, so unless you like buddying up with the little kids, we're free to go."

"Excellent," Himne grinned, before beckoning to the exit - relieved to be away from the children (if you could call such exhausting creatures that.)

[BACKPOST] - Prior to arrival at Starbase 212

"Milk Run" - Part 3

Primary Characters:
Commander Cass Henderson, Executive Officer
Commander Karyn Dallas, Chief Counselor/Second Officer

****

Executive Officer's Log, May 2382

So now that we've set out for Starbase 212, with orders to pick up Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor, it's time prepare the midyear crew readiness report. Finally, one of the few forms that I believe is actually completely necessary to the operation of a Starfleet vessel. Of course, this also means that it's time for me to take care of a few personnel issues that have built up over the last couple of months.

Thankfully, for most of these things, I can manage it myself. For others, I'm going to need to consult the second officer before I send my recommendations to Captain M'Kantu. It's times like these that remind me why I was pleased to find out that the second officer here is also the chief counselor.

Okay. Time to go earn my credits. End log.

****

Main Conference Room,
Deck 1,
USS Galaxy

Cass sat in the main conference room, which he had commandeered for his use during the trip to 212. Spread out around him were the unclassified personnel jackets of several crew members. The classified ones were on a seperate PADD tucked into the back of his pants. Easily reached, not easily stolen. It helped to have the resources of SFI at your command, but you had to be careful with the information that it gave you.

After finishing up his notes on the newly arrived Ensign T'Ashaya, he put the PADD that contained the draft of his reports aside. It was time to discuss with Commander Dallas, before he could go any farther. Looking over at the chrono, he was pleased to see that he'd plotted his time correctly, and that he'd scheduled their meeting to begin in a few minutes. Leaning back, he asked the replicator for some more coffee, and waited for her arrival.

The doors to the conference room swished open a moment later to reveal Karyn Dallas in her hoverchair, a wan smile making her fatigued blue eyes sparkle somewhat. Filling two key roles on the Galaxy was exhausting, but after so many years, Dallas was skilled at hiding just how overwhelming it could be at times. The only sign that something might have been amiss was the strand of red hair that had fallen from her bun. Otherwise, her uniform was perfectly pressed. "Hello, Commander."

Cass smiled, and motioned to the place next to him at the table, where he had removed one of the chairs for her convenience. "Good morning, Counselor Dallas. Come on in and join me. You're just in time. I was about to go over a couple of special cases, and I'd like to get your expert opinion on them."

"Thank you," she said, indicating her gratitude that he had taken the time to remove a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, two specific cases that I need to make a recommendation on for Captain M'Kantu," he said, handing her a case file. "The first one is a question of possible disciplinary action against Lieutenant JG Bental, Saul, Intelligence, and Lieutenant JG Roswell, Naranda, Engineering, regarding actions that were taken on Trill without permission of ranking officers. Have you heard anything about this?"

"No actually. I'm afraid I wasn't given the pleasure."

Cass quirked an eyebrow. "Pleasure? I wish. This one's so convoluted that it's beyond ridiculous. Here're the basic facts. Lt. Commander O'Shea has filed a formal complaint, asking that a formal reprimand be entered into both of the aforementioned officers' files. Evidently, during our relief efforts on Trill, Lieutenant Bental helped Lieutenant Roswell to fake her death by collapsing a building on top of her."

Karyn made no effort to keep her jaw from dropping. "Why on all that is holy would they do that? Starfleet life is not always a picnic, but really."

"According to Lt. Commander O'Shea's report, Lieutenant Roswell believed her life to be in danger," Cass replied. It certainly wasn't a normal situation. In fact, as far as junior officers went, he hadn't heard of too many that were stranger, so the Councelor's reaction was pretty much justified. "I reviewed Lieutenant Roswell's file, which says that she took a three year hiatus from Starfleet to serve in the armed forces of Sakaria. Her father appears to be one of the leaders there, a retired Starfleet officer."

"And it's believed she was in danger because of this connection?"

"If I had to put my money somewhere, that would be it. All of the reports I've read regarding the Sakarian situation have indicated that it's brutality has been steadily increasing," he explained, "I suspect that unless something changes soon, we're going to see a situation similar to what happened on Nasser a few months ago."

Henderson did not need to elaborate on that comment. No one wanted more violence. "I get the impression you're inclined to give Nara the benefit of the doubt," replied Karyn. "I'm not sure what you're asking of me, however."

"Essentially, I'm looking for a second opinion, based on these initial facts. I still have meetings with Lieutenants Roswell and Bental, which may influence the outcome," he explained. After a brief sigh, he continued, "I wish I were leaning toward giving her the benefit of the doubt. Don't get me wrong, I do sympathize with her position, but at the same time, unless she has a very good reason as to why she didn't approach Captain M'Kantu or myself, let alone her department chief, then I think I'm leaning toward a formal reprimand."

Karyn nodded, sighing as she did so. "I agree. Some could argue a formal reprimand is not enough. Faking her death took deliberate planning and I find it hard to believe she couldn't have come to one of us before she did so."

"Some would, I agree. Commander O'Shea, for example, would like to see her demoted and transferred," Henderson nodded. "I'm not sure this really warrants that. I doubt this situation was born of anything other than ignorance of the regulations, and I really do not want to damage her career because she tried to save her own life. I do think she needs a refresher course on the regs, though."

"And counseling. Would you like me to sit in when you talk to both of them?" Karyn knew he wanted to be sure it was simply ignorance of regs and not something else that led to this mishadling of the situation.

"If you'd like to, you're more than welcome," he offered. He would have had to schedule another meeting with her after the interviews anyway.

Karyn nodded and made a mental note to make sure her calendar was clear for the meeting. "Before we tackle the next issue, what time do you plan to meet with them? I'll make sure I'm free."

"I scheduled the meeting for 2000 tonight," he replied, "It's the last thing on my agenda for the day. Are you free?"

"I'll make sure I am." Karyn said. She considered herself always on-call regardless of her duty shift anyway. "You said there was another matter?"

"Yeah, the second case involves Lt. Commander Brianna O'Shea and Ensign Marcus Slayton. Commander O'Shea and Ensign Slayton recently entered into a relationship, and one of the engineers raised the question of chain of command and favoratism," Cass replied, "Have you heard anything about this one?"

"Apparently, I subconsciously block this stuff," quipped Karyn. "I'm surprised they went public with it. It's one thing to date a fellow crewmember and another to date a superior officer, let alone one in the same department. What are you thinking of doing?"

"Well, I'm going to bring the concern to Lt. Commander O'Shea. She's a professional, and I'd be surprised to find out that she doesn't have a solution ready," Cass replied, "It's something I'd like to work out off the record."

"I'm surprised the complaining witness didn't go to O'Shea directly first."

"I wasn't told who complained," he shrugged, "They went through Captain M'Kantu and wanted to remain anonymous. Understandable enough, if they're an engineer."

"Certainly," Dallas replied, "but we should tread lightly. He or she was concerned enough to address it with the Captain, so any informal resolution may be perceived by the department as a dismissal. I'm curious as to what her solution will be. We must keep in mind, however, that O'Shea cannot be objective no matter how professional she is. Letting her handle it could also prove risky since there's a question as to her objectivity to begin with."

"Well, I'll certainly be overseeing whatever we come up with," he replied, "We certainly won't be dismissing it, but I don't think an on the record solution will benefit anyone. I'll hear O'Shea out before making any decision."

"Well, you know where to find me. I'd of course like to be kept in the loop."

"Of course. I'd be remiss if I didn't keep you up to date," he grinned, "So I'll see you at 2000 hours?"

"Yeah," she grinned, "I think I'll skip the popcorn."

Cass laughed at that, "Oh come on, I'm sure it'll be entertaining."

Karyn shook her head and smiled. "You do know I have the best poker face on the ship, right?"

"I'd challenge that. You know I used to do deep cover work, right?" he laughed, "I think we should organize a game sometime. This milk run to Deep Space Five sounds nothing but boring, so we should have time soon."

The chuckle started low in her throat and quickly turned into a full fledged laugh. "I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't laugh at your optimism."

"Oh you're on, Counselor. I don't think my skills have dulled too much with time," he grinned. He almost felt bad, knowing that he was still doing Intelligence work. But then, it was possible that she genuinely was better. Doubtful, given the nature of his training, but possible. He was still a little rusty.

"Actually," Karyn replied, still grinnig, "I was talking about the expectation that the mission will be boring."

He grinned, "If life on this ship were remotely normal, I'd take myself seriously right now. No, I can't imagine that we'll make it to DS5 without something interesting coming up. Just look at the medical supplies delivery to Trill."

"If we do manage to make it through without incident," Karyn replied, "I'll give up raktajino for a month."

"Looking to quit the caffeine?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. He could afford to take a few minutes to engage in some small talk with the counselor.

"I suppose I'd like to test my mettle, try to get rid of the crutches as it were," Karyn said with a mischievious smile.

"Worth doing," Cass nodded in agreement.

"So," Karyn said, crossing her arm, her eyes sparkling, "I've shown you mine, care to show me yours?"

"You'll have to take a rain check, Councelor," he laughed, getting up from his chair. "I'm afraid I'm due down in Main Engineering for an inspection in about half and hour, and I'd like to get a shower in between. Catch you tonight?"

"I'll be there," replied Dallas, taking note of Henderson's dodge. "I should get back and make sure the crew evals are up to date."

"Excellent. I'll see you tonight, then." he replied, leaving most of the crew reports lying on the table as he saw the Chief Councelor to the door. Once they were both outside, he locked up the conference room and headed down the hall.

[Backpost] - (Occurs the first night after the Galaxy leaves Trill)

"Not Your Place Anymore"

Principle Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff

Lt. Ella Grey

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

She had almost been close to sleep when she heard the doors to Victor's cabin hiss open.

Ella shot up like a spring and practically leaped in front of him. ~~You got some nerve, locking me in here like some kind of damned...~~

"Stop." Victor held up a hand and frowned. The battering sense of his presence was abated - not gone, but lessened enough that it no longer assaulted her in an almost physical manner. "Yell later if you need to, not now, all right?"

Ella crossed her arms across her chest and glared. "I think I've got a right to be annoyed, Victor."

He moved to the edge of his bed and sat down. "I'm tired, Grey. I don't really understand, even after all that, but I'll listen if you try and tell me again."

"What did you do?" Ella asked with some amount of dread. True, she had locked off the transports and transporters from him but Victor was a resourceful man.

"Holosuites didn't help, I couldn't concentrate. The trees were no good either, they couldn't tell me what I needed to know. So I talked to the only person I know that might be able to understand and explain to me why you won't let me kill Geluf."

~~Besides me?~~ Ella signed, her eyes bright considering it was close to five in the morning. ~~Who's that?~~

"Commander Dallas."

Ella blinked. ~~And what did she have to say?~~

"Lots of things, most of which still don't make sense. But I'm not about to explode any more, she managed to talk long enough for that to happen." He frowned. "It's safe to be around you now, but I still think I should kill him - just like she should have killed me."

~~You know that I don't agree with either.~~

"That's because you're not like me, Grey." He looked up at her. "It would still have been better for everyone if she had - you'd all be safer."

~~I'm too tired to argue with you, Tiger.~~ Ella signed. ~~Will you please just promise me that you won't do anything to Curtis?~~

Victor paused and thought. Could he promise that? Should he? "I..." he said slowly, "I won't go looking for him, Grey. If we meet by chance...I don't know what I'll do."

It would have to do for now, Ella thought. ~~I guess I'll let you get some sleep then.~~

He nodded. At least now he knew what demons he was keeping away. "All right, Grey." He stood up and slipped his jacket off. "You can stay as late as you want, like always, but I still have the early shift so you'll be here alone after I go."

She looked uncomfortable. ~~I don't think it's a good idea.~~

"No," he looked at her, "probably not. I'll wake you when I have to go and you can go back to your cabin. Even if Renkert isn't physically close to you, there will be someone in the same cabin."

~~No, I don't think I should spend the night anymore.~~

Victor stopped and looked over his shoulder at her with a frown. "Why not?"

~~I just don't think its a good idea.~~ Ella repeated. ~~For obvious reasons.~~

Of course she wasn't going to stay, not after he'd made himself into something that was as terrifying as the night demons she came to escape.

"Of course," he nodded. "There's no difference between me and what you fear

- we're the same." His eyes and voice held no expression, no hint of emotional reaction. "I told you that you would, some day."

Ella paused for a second.

And then exploded.

~~You are the most frustrating man in the universe! Do you know that?! I'm not leaving because I'm afraid of you, you big baboon! I thought it'd be better for you if I weren't around, if my nightmares are gonna cause you to have any more early morning chats with Dallas or need to start fixing all the problems in my life. I could give a flying fuck whether you turn all Prince of Darkness on me, which you're still kinda doing by the way. I just wanted you to get a whole hour of sleep without worrying about me or having to right all the wrongs in the and on the Galaxy. And maybe I don't like the idea of being..."

"...here," Victor finished for her, "with me." He turned away and continued to take his jacket off. The red tide inside him which had started to recede began to churn again, and he felt it start to rise once more. "You should go, Grey. It's better that way." He couldn't talk to her when he was like this, it wasn't safe for her to be near him.

The implant in her vocal cords couldn't quite express the true sentiment of the "Arrrrrg" that escaped her lips. "You must have lead plates for that skull of yours. No wonder nothing I say ever gets in there."

Something inside Victor's head started to whisper, a wordless noise like the wind in the distance. "Grey, you need to leave," he said quietly as he let go of the jacket in his hands. "Now."

"I'm not going until you understand." Ella said, stamping her foot.

The whisper flew towards him, louder and louder, picking up speed as it came, until it was about to overwhelm his hearing and block out other noise.

The red tide, still riding, was picked up and carried along with it, becoming a wall of crimson that bore down on him inside his head. "Grey, go," Victor told her again one hand making a fist as he pushed back, fought to keep this from happening until Grey had left even as his sense of presence shoved out again, pushing at her, trying to speed her on her way.

Ella gulped slightly but pushed back the feeling, ignoring the flip her stomach was making. She deliberately stepped closer to him. "I see I'm going to have to prove it to you."

Victor made a noise more appropriate to a failing piece of structural material and turned, the wall of red overtaking him, carrying him away to be lost in it. His presence was back, as bad as it had been before when he locked her in the cabin, hammering at her as he smiled in a way that Victor never would, or could, and stepped towards her.

"Victor," Ella said, paling slightly but still moving forward until she there was only Victor to move to. "I've faced death before and it was a hell of a lot scarier than you."

Wordlessly, still smiling that terrible, terrible smile, he stepped forward once more and reached for her.

In the back of her mind, Ella wondered if maybe she just should have waved to Victor and his aunts way back when and gone about her shopping. Her life would have been a lot less complicated, she thought.

"Whatever you try, it's already been tried." Ella tried to reason with him, fighting the instinct to retreat as his hands caught her shoulders. She didn't think he would try anything... like that but it never hurt to say ahead of him.

Wordlessly he lifted her up to his face as if he were about to kiss her and held her there for a long moment – then whispered, “Not dead,” again as he had on the surface of Trill, took three steps, and thrust her out of the door to his bedroom and into the main cabin, sending her stumbling back as the door closed behind her.

"Victor!" Ella snapped at him as the door closed.

When the door slid back open, Not-Victor had taken several steps back into the bedroom and was standing by the bed. At the sound of the door he looked up, his presence crashing out again. “Out!” he snapped.

She stood at the open doorway, hands on her hips. "You *really* think I would let you have any access to the locks on this place after what you pulled earlier?"

For a moment it was almost as if Victor were back in control as her looked at her and frowned – but the moment passed. He wheeled and moved towards her quickly, faster than she could react, his hands lifting her again even as hers came up to push reflexively at him. Once more there was that moment of examination, only this time there were different words, “This isn’t your place now,” he whispered as he carried her towards the corridor door. “Not any more.”

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ella snapped, anger overriding fear for a moment. "Just because I won’t let you kill someone?"

“Get out,” he said, ignoring her. “Stay out.”

"No."

The fingers on her shoulders tightened, the pressure enough that she knew there would be bruises this time. “Leave.”

"Hasn't anyone ever stayed with you when you're like this?" Ella asked, even as her brain screamed at her "WHAT?!" for what she was about to say, even as he continued forward. "I could."

Not-Victor stopped for a long moment at the words, as if they were being considered, and then moved forward again. “No. Leave – this isn’t your place now.” He stopped at the corridor door, holding her thrust into the hallway, feet off the floor. “Don’t come back, or it *will* be your time, and you won’t be not-dead… understand?” he whispered.

"You wouldn't hurt me." Ella said defiantly, even though the bruises in her shoulders had just proved otherwise.

His hands let go with a push that sent her back a few feet as she dropped to the corridor floor and struggled to keep her footing. “Don’t come back,” he repeated once more, his words cutting into her like knives of ice that moved in counterpoint to the hammer blow of his presence as it pushed at her.

~~Why?~~ Ella signed, in a 'voice' that was pitifully small.

Her only answer was the swish of the door as it closed behind him.

She stared at the door for a long moment, drew a large breath, and somehow managed to make herself start to walk back to her quarters. Not that she'd be sleeping anyhow.

Inside the cabin Victor stood in the center of his living area, hands shaking at the nearness of Grey’s departure to the point he couldn’t exercise any control at all. She’d finally understood that she couldn’t be here tonight, that it wasn’t safe for her and he could try and let the red tide inside him ebb away. It would be all right now, after this was over things would be normal again and she’d be back tomorrow or the night after, when he wasn’t like this, when he was Victor again. He was glad she had finally understood, and gladder still that he hadn’t hurt her.

Grey wouldn’t have done what was necessary, even after what he knew would have happened, what he knew that he would have done to her, so he would have had to kill himself.

(OOC NOTE : I think this should be classed as a back post now that the new mission has started. I meant to get it finished, and the ones that will follow, three weeks ago. but I kinda lost the plot a little, been a lil busy in RL. I have cached up on the reading and in the process lagged in the writing. but I'm happy to say there are only 2 posts in my in box and they are from today. so yey me!)

“Sweet Surrender”

Location: Trill, Leran Manev View Hospital, room 8, Intensive Care ward.

Primary Character; Dhanishta Eshe

(Note this has some reference to the back post titled “The Walled Garden”. I apologise for any confusion, as “The Walled Garden” is still a work in progress. Its completion is in the offing, and should tie up any loose ends this post leaves.)

Deep within; the scorched plains burned under the hot sun. Across the dust and sand the walled garden loomed. Its nigh on seven foot walls hid the continuous repetition within. Its tall wrought iron gates were still locked with a rusted old chain.

Down in the sand dunes, within the crater, the images, formed of dust, played themselves out, over and over.

Beyond the crater, far across the sea of sand, the ground began to change into earth. Fields upon fields of golden corn shimmered, like droplets of dew in the early morning light. Small tufts of green fresh grass spouted in the fertile soil. Nestled within its own valley the old wooden house stood. Behind it, the steep cliff face rose up towards the crystal clear blue sky.

Out on the veranda a rocking chair continued to rock back and forth, as if its occupant had only just left. And a petroleum lamp hung from the porch ceiling, still burned.

Far from the house; across the valley, to the walled garden, and past it. Past the crater and beyond.

Far beyond… out in desert, where the sand storms were fierce, where the sun sucked the earth dry, and it seemed as if nothing could survive.

That’s where she was.

Not in the house on the hill or the memories of past, or the garden of the child.

Out there, where there was nothing, *that’s* where Dhanishta was.

So far from anything, in a place full of nothing.

*That’s* where she had hidden.

Buried deep below the surface. Deep within the earth. Where the air was cool and the ground was damp.

That’s where Dhanishtas’ conscious mind dwelt…

****

As the last brick slotted into place, Dhanishtas view of reality was severed. Her accelerated heart beat vibrated through the earth, and her exaggerated breathing was the only sound that accompanied her. Curling into a foetal ball, retreating deep into the mud walls behind her she sat, shaking, until all her fears melted away into the nothing that surrounded her.

Slowly she felt herself begin to float. The sensation of weightlessness took over and she relished in it. Stretching out her extremities, pushing against the boundaries of confinement, her body began to relax. And finally she felt her mind unwind. For so long, it seemed, she had carried this burden, unknown to her except for its presence.

This presence bore through her mind like a dagger, sharp and dull. This presence that she could not recognise, or understand, yet felt every day of her existence.

Each single though, each chemical reaction that manifested itself into a plethora of unwanted emotions and actions, finally relinquished their hold on her tired, overwhelmed mind. One by one she could feel their claws retracting and dissipating.

It was such a relief to release. For so long her whole being had been crying out for this surrender.

These feelings that had overwhelmed her: A black hole of pain and sorrow that flowed like a river; ran hand in hand with a love that felt just as deep, yet raged like a tornado. A conscience torn by duty, and a need of the heart. A soul tormented by regret. She felt isolation and the loneliness which followed desertion.

Those emotions had threatened to consume her. They dictated her every reaction, took over any semblance of self. Alien to her of their origin; they weren’t hers to feel!!

Yet somehow she *did* feel them. Felt the pain, the anger, the guilt and the sadness. They mixed with her own conscious emotions and those that had been suppressed within her psyche for years.

And consequently she felt their extremes.

They pushed her over the cliff face of sanity.

And left her freefalling, into the unknown.

****

Survival and pain.

Pain is an interesting and complex element of the body’s self-defence mechanisms. When a part of the body is injured, it hurts. Fact.

But, depending on the severity of the injury the pain varies. For example; breaking a leg, the immediate pain alerts you to the injury. But soon the pain dulls. And this is because the repetitive electrical impulses that run through the nerves stop. If they continued, you would not be able to move. And survival dictates that you must. For you have to leave the danger zone.

Survival is an interesting, fascinating part of nature.

The natural instinct to get up off your arse and scedaddle as quickly as you can no matter the injuries you have sustained is remarkable. On rare occasions the brain still continues this function even when you have died.

Leave the danger zone.

At all costs.

And this is what Dhanishta had done.

The continual bombardment of this presence into her mind had caused a severe amount of damage. The presence, of unknown origin, had formed a link. Through this Dhanishta could feel everything the presence felt.

Dhanishta was unaware of this link. And it was quite possible that origin was unaware too. The emotions coursed through her body, taking over so quickly. She wasn’t prepared for them, and her Vulcan training was no use once they had taken hold.

The link slowly overloaded her brain.

Mental walls that had been erected by Dhanishta, securing her past emotions, began to crumble. Memory suppressers that had been implanted in her brain began to leak. And soon the once alien emotions, from the presence, began to feel like her own. Suppressed feeling of anger, pain, abandonment, torture and many more flowed through her from her own past. They mingled with that of the ‘alien’ and fuelled the extreme responses; blinding rage, perpetual fear, crying for no reason…. The Dhanishta that the Galaxy crew had come to know was a mess. So far from the calm serene picture her bio painted her to be.

*Maybe* someone should have taken the time to read her bio. *Maybe* someone should have spoken with her previous CO. *Maybe* then they would have found out that the dribbling mess of an engineer they had was not right. *Maybe* they would have found out sooner about the link, and stopped the torment she had undergone for two years. *Maybe* then she wouldn’t be lying in a coma, dying. Maybe, maybe, maybe….. they could go on forever.

Was there really anyone to blame?

If Dhanishta didn’t know, was it really surprising that no one else did?

****

Fight or flight.

In fact Dhanishta had done both.

It wasn’t until the last moment that she knew what she had to do; kill.

Kill the link.

Kill it and make it stop.

And once the decision had been made the actions took over.

Had she realised sooner that she was linked to another, when there was time to explore the options….

As the suppressed memories unravelled, a new option became available; retreat. Retreat to a safe place.

And for Dhani the safest place was within herself.

Deep within her own mind.

When Dhanishta was a child she had hidden here before. She had created a world that was calm, safe and beautiful. A place where she could come to hide. Hide, far from the painful procedures the doctors put her body through, day after endless day. And when they were finished with her body they confined her to isolation. Was it surprising that the five year old had found a way to retreat?

But this time she did not hide in the garden. She had been found there before. And they had taken her from that place of contentment. Ripped her from it and thrown her back into the real world. They had locked the ‘Walled Garden’ and thrown away the key. Never again could she delve into that world. Never again could she voluntarily comatose herself.

Or so they thought.

It wasn’t surprising that they had wiped her mind of those events. Taught her how to suppress the feelings that had forced her to find that place. It wasn’t surprising that they thought nothing could erase the memory suppressors they had implanted in her brain. For under normal circumstances nothing could.

No one could predict the future.

No one could foresee Ethan Suder.

So, as the memory resurfaced Dhanishta retraced her steps through her mind. She could remember things that she didn’t know had happened, but in that moment, fighting for her life, fighting for her sanity… it didn’t matter where the road came from. She took it. And followed it. Feeling herself being pulled from the fight. Watching it like it was some old earth movie.

As she walked across the sand, the sun beating down on her head, she watched the oval ‘screen’. It seemed to move as she did, following her across the desert, like a portal into another world.

Crawling into a cavern beneath the sand she stared at the view as she gathered the mud and shaped them in a brick like fashion. Her movements were mindless, her face expressionless, as she continued to stack the mud. Dhanishta could feel the damp earth beneath her fingers. It clung to her hands and caught beneath her fingernails, encasing her hands.

She watched emotionless as her body fell through the air, entwined with Suders. Still in mid air the fight continuing, the effort and determination clearly seen on her face. And then she hit the ground. And the view went black.

And the darkness took over.

It surround her with its silence.

In this place of emptiness there was no concept of time. There was no feeling, tugging at the back of the mind; that you should be doing something, somewhere, that you had left the light on, or the stove burning. It just simply was; nothing.

Totally devoid of feeling or emotion.

The voices stilled.

The sensations calmed.

Her body relaxed. And finally her mind emptied. And it was such relief.

To *think* of nothing. To *feel* nothing. To hear *nothing*.

And for a long time that’s all there was. It could have been a long time…. Maybe it was a second or a minute. Or even a year, or ten. It didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter.

Her mind was free from thought, and word, and deed and what she had left undone.

For this moment, this everlasting moment, such tranquillity. She felt as if she were floating, far out across a clear blue sea.

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