"Rattling the Cage"

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

Deep within Its mind, something stirred.

Or rather, someone.

The Dithparu occupant of the counselor's body was still awash in the dual euphoria of having this corporeal form and all the abilities and experiences that came with it, and the already growing success of the Kind in finding such a bountiful store of hosts. It was not surprising then that with Its focus diverted, Its guard down, so to speak, that It wasn't expecting to be reminded that the body's original owner still existed, no matter how deeply imprisoned and faint that existence might be. It had left the meeting with T'lan -- or rather, the other of its kind that now masqueraded as T'lan -- only minutes before and now made its way through the Galaxy's well-lit corridors to a pre-arranged rendezvous with some of the others. As It passed the unsuspecting crew that still inhabited the vessel It delighted in being able to suck emotional energy from them, to sense their thoughts and feelings while giving little more than a perfunctory smile in return.

But while those on the outside noticed nothing out of place in the counselor's behavior, the one locked away deep inside was aware that *nothing* was in place at all.

As It stepped into a turbolift, for the first time since assuming this form, It felt something else common to these bodies and minds, something It hadn't yet experienced: pain.

Stumbling slightly and grabbing his head in reaction, It at first didn't know what was happening. A flash of "otherness" -- not the ones It could sense outside Itself telepathically, but one here in this mind -- is what gave the clue. Not a thought, not a word, not even a memory . . . simply "something else" asserting itself from within in a spasm of something that wasn't quite consciousness. Leaning for a moment against the wall to orient Itself after this unexpected experience, It quickly understood what it was. The brief confusion and discomfort evaporated instantly, replaced by a smug grin and a nefarious chuckle.

"Soon you will rest silently . . . but not before seeing everyone you know come under our control as well. I now am you, and you . . . are nothing," It said out loud in Brian's own voice, even though the words were not meant for anyone who could have heard them.

The lift stopped, and It stepped out, chuckling softly to Itself again. To the two young officers waiting in the corridor to take the lift to another deck, it appeared that Counselor Elessidil was simply in a good mood. Nothing more.

"The New Councillors"

Councillor James Pennington, UFP Council Representative for Earth
Councillor Walter Paxton, UFP Council Representative for Mars

---------------------------------
Paris, Earth Office of the Councillor
---------------------------------

James Pennington eyed the walls of his new offices in Paris with an undisguised appreciation. The previous holder of his title, that of Earth's representative to the Federation Council, had had his offices in his native Africa.

To Pennington, his offices had to be in Paris. All the power on Earth, and much of the power in the Alpha Quadrant - all flowed to here. To place oneself away from the seat of that power would be to deny it's usefulness.

That might have been sound policy for Matthew Mazibuko, the previous Councillor, who'd resigned in protest ofer the matter of this "Section 31". Mazibuko had been an idealist, a consensus builder, one of Bacco's go-to people.

He'd also been exceedingly moral.

Both Pennington and his associate, Councillor Walter Paxton of Mars, viewed this as a rather significant flaw, for these two men one very specific thing in common:

A desire for power.

Paxton had built up a strong support on the Martian Colonies - still called that, though they'd declared their own independence form Earth well before even the founding of the UFP - on an isolationist, human-priority stance. Paxton beleive - or put forth, at least - that the Federation was a failed experiment, and that it's time was through. The new Councillor was quite adamant that it was time for humans to stop trying to fix the rest of the galaxy, and worry about themselves.

Pennington, on the other hand, showed a public face opposite of that. In fact, on the Council floor in recent weeks, they had often seemed to be at each other's throats, verging on almost physical violence. The Councillor from Earth put forth that the Federation had not failed at all, but that current policies were simply not enough to deal with the many threats to the peoples of the Federation. "Galactic Security" was a buzzword often used by both men, who were, publicly at least, very firmly in the camp of the Hawks.

How much of the public perceptions about either were true was up for debate.

Pennington adressed his associate casually. "It's been... quite an interesting few months, hasn't it?"

Paxton gave an indifferent shrug. "No more or less than we expected. This issue of section 31 is going to divide the Council down the middle. The nonhumanoids especially will be leaving in droves - the Ontailians were only the first."

"Something I'm sure will dissapoint you to no end." Pennington said with a shake of his head. He didn't understand his friends isolationist tendencies, which he knew Paxton played up for his public persona.

"We've all got our roles to play, Pennington."

"Indeed we do, Paxton," he replied, and ran his hand over the oaken desktop. "Indeed we do."

"Medical Away Team: On Our Way"

Commander Karyn Dallas, SO/Chief Counselor
Lt. JG Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer
2nd Lt. Rayne Sutea, Furies Intelligence Specialist
Ensign Le'on Khatrowen, Security Officer
Ensign Artim, Medical Officer
Ensign Rena Lanford, Medical Officer (NPC-Ian)

*** Shuttle Miramichi ***

Seated uncomfortably in the rear of the shuttle Miramichi, as it sailed over to the decrepit station hanging off the port bow, there sat a diminutive woman who was undeniably anxious on her assignment off-ship. Long, blonde hair tied up in a bun, she passed a hand over her left ear to brush past a loose strand, exposing the fleshy tips of her Vulcanoid ears.

She picked up the scents of the crew, and sneezed when her dark brown eyes passed over the feline member of the crew. It still made her ponder the method of logical thought processes that decided it was allowable to have a household pet remain as part of the crew, as ineffective as it could be as a Security officer. Intelligence would have been a more lucrative, if not limiting career.

The child doctor, newly transferred to the Galaxy when his craft had been retrieved from a likely death in space on the way with its pilot, was given temporary assignment to the ship while on its assignment to discover the means of the dissemination of the station. He had introduced himself as only Artim. She was curious how a child - or child-form if the case may be - will perform on this outing.

Counselor Dallas, whom she had only met in passing, was not herself of late. Quiet and isolated, her solitude infected the rest of the complement here, and it was reflected in the virtual silence inside the shuttle.

The others she did not know. Rena decided it was best to break the obvious tension, and obtain information on what is to be expected.

"Excuse me, sirs, ma'am," nodding in the general direction of Karyn, who still wore her expression of indifference, "I did not receive any information packet on the logistics of the mission. What are our goals and expectations?"

There are a few awkward seconds where the Commander did not say anything, and then someone who sat next to her turned slowly toward Rena.

"Yes, the briefing message arrived after the summon to sickbay, because of the urgency of the mission. I assumed everyone managed to read it before departing to the shuttlebay."

The man moved toward the passage, and so Rena got a better look at him. He was Human, wearing red-collared uniform. His brown hair appeared slightly shabby, and his chin was decorated with one day old bristles.

The brown eyes, however, were gleaming mischeviously, like two fog lightpolls in the middle of the Andorian bushland. Karyn Dallas turned to the female voice and offered quietly, "I'll let Saul explain the specifics, but suffice it to say, our initial priority is to attend to the wounded, after which we will see about ascertaining what happened there." Dallas turned to Saul to indicate he should continue. Perhaps her first impression was wrong, but she got the sense Bental wasn't pleased to be working with her. If that were the case, however, it was best to indicate she was looking for a partner now.

Saul Bental raised his voice so that everyone could hear. He wasn't in charge of relaying the briefing to all the away team members - some officer at OPS must've been slacking - but since he was appointed second in command to Counsellor Dallas in the mission, he reckoned he might as well repeat the major details.

"Our main task is to secure the Starbase's sickbays, and get them up and running as soon as possible. Once the sickbays are secured, any survivors on the station will be brought there for treatment... assuming there are any. We'll also use the sickbays to extract information from the... dead bodies on board, and try to shed some light on what happened here."

Saul shot a meaningful glance toward Le'on before proceeding. "There's also a secondary objective, unrelated to the primary one, which wasn't included in the briefing. Details will be provided once we secure the sickbay."

Saul's voice buzzed in her ears, losing cohesion. She blinked, feeling emotions well up from the pit she'd compressed them in, scrambling to escape the bubble she'd sealed them in. The buzzing grew louder, echoing throughout her skull, daring her to scream. She bit her tongue so hard, it bled. She could taste the copper in her mouth, the acid in her esophagus.

She forced her eyes to remain open; they misted up, but only with the greatest willpower she could gather was she able to prevent the tears from falling. She'd missed the majority of Sayk's words, but was able to read the lips, catching the occasional phrase as their head was turned to her.

"It's Ok, Rena was it? Just stay focused on the job and the rest will fall into place.", Artim said in his most reassuring voice

He was using that voice more and more these past few days. Since the moment he arrived on the Galaxy, unusual things had been happening. Unusual things that had everyone more than a little on edge. And Artim felt more than a little responsible. At least now, hopefully, they were going to get to the bottom of this thing.

And for that job Artim looked more like an over packed kid then a doctor. A field medic's pack on his back, a standard medkit slung over his shoulder, tricorder at his hip, and not to mention the Phaser Carbine he was polishing on the ride over. The 'kid' looked like he was ready for war, or whatever else they would find. And that was just the point, they had no idea what they'd find.

If Artim looked like an overpacked kid, then Le'on could only imagine what people thought of him as he padded into shuttle on all fours with his minitaure TR-116 Compression Rifle strapped to his back. His job on this mission was simple: Keep everyone alive. He wondered what a Caitian the size of a small housecat could do, but he didn't question his orders. Although, after the fiasco in sickbay earlier where he wound up in a kitty kennel, he was seriously considering a transfer. Le'on wasn't exactly sure what had infected him, or what had happened while he was infected, but he was getting the idea that it involved something that a common housecat would find intresting.

Opting for a place under the bench seats instead of the seats themselves (Starfleet Engineers didn't have anyone his size in mind when they designed the thing), Le'on found a nice, secure place right under what would've been his seat. If the shuttle got jostled, he wouldn't be going anywhere and he could jump out at a moment's notice. One thing he was beginning to appreciate was the fact that in being small, people tended to underestimate him and the amount of sniping/hiding places virtually tripled for him.

He noticed that Saul was still standing. The man was watching the other officers intensly. Le'on wasn't aware that this was the first away team where Saul Bental actually had some command responsibility. During his time in the Special Observation program, Saul was in charge of much more dangerous incursions, where he and his fellow officers were disguised as regular traders. Now, however, there was no disguise to conceal yourself in, no mask to hide your face.

Saul stepped into the pilot's cabin, and emerged back after a couple of seconds. "Buckle up - we're about to dock. I remind you that we're not going to use site to site transportation, and will reach the primary sickbay by foot. Myself, the Commander and Ensign Khatrowen will take the lead, and Lieutenant Sutea will keep the rear."

As a Tactical officer, one of his responsibilities was to aid in planning the away missions and coordinating them, so he took care of that part, whereas Commander Dallas was in charge of the Medical part of the mission and of the critical command decisions.

Hopefully, no such decisions would have to be made once they reached DS5.

~So the kitty gets to take point and I get treated like the vulnerable little doctor. Swell~, Artim thought to himself as they made the final docking manuvers. Truth was Artim was probably as good a shot as any of them, though in hand-to-hand combat he'd be a bit useless. Came with 300 years of fending for himself on de-civilized world with only a .22 rifle he had gotten for his 5th birthday for protection. He'd started taking lessons at that point and while the rifle was always too big for him, it was his most important tool. The phaser carbine he now held was of a more appropriate size for him, the little .22 still sat in his quarters, one of the few things he had from home.

While the commander was medically trained and had done a decent enough job at getting him patched up in the fighter, Artim was going to have to do the medical heavy lifting on this jaunt, so protecting her was a priority. He didn't like it, but he understood. They'd need her in one piece to get the sickbay up and running and treating injured. And he knew somehow there'd be injured.

Le'on nodded his understanding and got ready, moving toward the door that would be opening into the Space Station. The shuttle rocked gently as it docked to the station and the pilot nodded that it was safe to open. He used his baton to press the button and immidately darted out to find the best piece of cover he could find in the docking corridor.

At first running into the corridor, he noticed that the lights were out. ~Perfect...~ he thought since Caitians had excellent night vision as it was. He jumped into a corner and drew his Compression Rifle. The TR-116 came with a small headpiece that allowed the person to, quite literally, look through bulkheads. He scanned the immidate area and saw nothing through his normal vision or through the headpiece. "Clear" he said. "Lights are out though." he reported.

"So we proceed with caution," remarked Karyn matter of factly. She was using her biomechanical legs instead of her grav-chair, which was now standard procedure for her on Away missions. They weren't as comfortable as using her chair, but she was much more used to them than when she'd first received them from Endris Gakor. Karyn resisted thee urge to sigh. The former CMO of the original Galaxy was long gone, and now she was in charge. "Let's roll."

“Searching through the static” Part Two

Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe - Engineer
Lieutenant (Jg) Naranda Sol Roswell - Engineer
Turan Trelar Quentite Ambassador – Engineer trainee, under supervision of Lt Eshe
Lieutenant Michael Jamson - Operations Officer

(This is set directly after the Engineering department JP “Scooby Gang”)

"As for your plan, I believe that this type of radiation that causes all the problems to the sensors and front pallets could be emitting from some type of Delta rays, as they weaken certain types of metal in extreme situations. That's why the pellets situated on the hull could have been effected" Michael grabbed his chin gently.

"Delta Radiation?" Turan asked.

"It's rather old...22nd century, I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. Modern shields should protect us from it. Delta radiation is actually a particle radiation comprised of electrons emitted when ionising radiation passes through matter. *But*, on the other hand, this would cause serious injuries and illness among the crew members. And since we're on yellow alert, shields should have blocked it by now, so we should rule this one out".

Nara was irritated at the new comers. Too many freakin people! But there was work to be done. "No. Not ruled out. Just moved down on the list of options."

Michael moved on, "Don't be mistaken...we are definitely facing some sort of ionising radiation, but only as an added effect. Ionising radiation from Ion storms, for example, is the number one cause of sensor interference".

"Oh really?" Nara asked sarcastically, never once looking up.

Dhani tried not to show her irritation at Nara. Nodding she turned away from Jamson, staring at the deck as she leaned on the consol behind her, “What about a another type of radiation?” she asked.

"Theta radiation is also a good candidate" Jamson suggested another option.

"Such radiation which is used by Malons in the Delta quadrant?" The Quentite Ambassador added.

"Exactly..." Jamson agreed and elaborated , "Not only that contaminated antimatter by-products cause Theta radiation, thus, endangering humanoids health, this type of radiation is also known to block sensors and scans".

“True,” Dhani replied, she was listening intently to the man before her as he hypothesised and then logically removed his hypothesis from the discussion. She wondered; if she let this man talk for long enough if he could solve all the problems of the galaxy this way! “But then if that were the case the computer would have picked it up and warned us that the radiation was there.” She said shifting against the wall.

"Yes.” he replied “And the bio filters on every standard transporter should be able to filter Theta radiation" Michael summarized.

Dhani rapped her fingernails against the console . Her mind had already been through several of these options. And although she would love nothing more than to get to the bottom of what was causing the interference, something told her that it wouldn’t help in breaking through it.

"Another possibility would be polaric radiation. Again, polaric particles block scans" Jamson offered another alternative.

Nara rolled her eyes. Too many people; too much talk. She sighed heavily as she saw the newest results. She almost growled out, “Some of the pallets were not affected, they must be triple redundant; two on, one off. Those aren't exactly blind, because they are constantly changing; SOP rotation." She looked at Turan and narrowed her eyes seeing his confused look and explained in a very irritated tone; just so not to hear Dhani's voice explain it, "Whatever is blocking the sensors is actually doing more. It's actually 'blinding' the sensors by bombarding it with radiation or something similar; we need to figure out what.”

"None of these readings are clear, but at least we're getting something. We're not totally blind as we thought we were" Jamson remarked.

"Yes...SOP rotation happens all the time. It actually never stops, unless we need a 'blackout'. It's a good thing you've noticed it lieutenant" Michael looked at the screen of the Ops console in the science station.

Nara grunted disinterested in his compliment.

"Should I check those sensors once more?" asked Turan.

Dhani nodded.

Although there wasn't anything Quentite-like in her, the woman’s camouflaged neck and temple somehow looked familiar to him.

Something deep in the hormone drive part of the Quentite boy's brain tried to take over control. The woman’s head was picture-manipulated to a naked Quentite body. Obviously, the difference in colour and size was too much to play a role in a serious day dream, so the brain replaced the Quentite body with a female Trill one - of course naked like the first. This one met the head much better in colour and size. The large pair of breasts, nevertheless - a feature unknown to a non suckling Quentite, should have given the neuronal working part of the brain a clue; Turan was drifting away into semi-consciousness!

"Do it!" ordered Dhani.

There was a voice coming from far, far away - a distorted female voice ... "Dooooooo Iiiiiiit!". Instantly, the brain' neuronal driven part regained control.

"Ergh ... yes ma'an!" replied Turan. His fingers searched the Galaxy's schematics for hints about sensor arrays. Long Quentite fingers touched the outline of the displayed saucer part which made the display offer a four topic menu contain the objects; hull integrity, shield coils, phaser arrays, short range sensors.

Turan choose 'short range sensors' followed by the subtopic 'diagnosis'. Six green dots changed to yellow - accompanied by the flashing word 'wait' After about five seconds, the yellow changed back to green.

"There doesn't seem to be any problem with the sensors. They are reported to work within their specifications." reported the Quentite wannabe engineer. "Nevertheless ..." saying so, Turan brought the sensors back online and the sensor screen changed to the familiar white noise static "... as we can see, we can see nothing ... you see?"

Dhani looked over his shoulder and nodded at the read out.

"This isn't working...we need to think of something else" Michael started to feel frustrated. Something was turning the sensors, the precious 24th century technologically advanced sensors into useless pieces of machinery. The ship was blind as a bat, but just like a bat, it could still hear 'sounds'. It was up to the team to translate it into something useful.

Dhani sighed this was getting them nowhere. She stood up and stared once more at the read out on Nara’s screen and sighed. Placing a hand on her hip she rubbed her temple, she was beginning to get a headache form this.

“What about the long range sensors?” Lt. Roswell asked.

"What do you mean?" Turan asked.

"You said we need more sensors....what about the long range sensors???" Nara asked.

"Long range sensors are mostly in use when the ship is in cruising through warp speed. When travelling to sub light speed, the majority of these sensors are being shut down, and power is diverted to short range sensors".

"So, you want to use long range sensors?" Michael asked.

"Why not?" Roswell snapped. "It's better than standing around chatting all day!"

"It is possible" Jamson concurred. "Has anyone here ever heard of the huge array of telescopic radios?"

No one answered.

"Back on Earth, on the 20th and 21st century, Scientists used a large array of telescopic radios to detect EM radiation from billions of light years away. The power, versatility and range of radio telescopes were determined by their size and numbers. An array of radio telescopes worked as one. At the year of 2009, the Space Interferometry Mission was an orbiting interferometer that linked a pair of telescopes to function in unison as a much larger, one, virtual telescope. The goal was to detect various sized of planets nearby Earth, larger than Jupiter. This led to a new technology, called precision astrophysics; that eventually was able to determine the exact positions and distances of planets to Earth. This helped Astronomers to make new discoveries and eventually draw a map of the Milky Way galaxy, including several galaxies around" Michael explained. "This is similar to what we have here, we'll modify the existing non operating long range sensors into short range ones and use them to our advantage, as a huge array".

Dhani turned round to face Jamson, “To do that we need to cancel the warp to sub light ion deceleration detector.”

“In addition to what you've mentioned, we'll have to disable the warp activity detector and the threat analysis pre-processor; that is filtering the through strategic and tactical processors. Oh and also perform a standard risk-versus-gain assessment which is a must!” Jamson said.

Dhani nodded, “We will also have to increase the EPS performance, as this is going to need a power boost. And increase the low frequency subspace seismicity sensor.” Dhani began to gather up her things.

"Fascinating..." Turan remarked.

"Can we just get to it? Stories of a Century long past and contemplating isn't helping and time isn't stopping, waiting for us." Nara spoke flatly before turning to try to make some said adjustments.

"If we want to use the long range sensors as short range ones, we have to cancel some systems in order for the long range sensors to work. You see these systems work when we are at warp. In order for them to work while at impulse we have to cancel things like; the warp to sub light ion dece' detector. You don't need it, since you're already at sub light speed you’re basically turning the long range sensors into short range ones. Naturally, if you want more sensors, you need more power. So more is required from the EPS power distribution system you’ll have to do some of it from engineering”

Jamson scratched his chin, “There are small esp. powered force field generators that are minimizing sensor blinding and physical destruction. We will have to deploy some more and increase its strength. Not all of these modifications can be done from the bridge, we need someone to get down to Engineering" Jamson said.

“I know.” Dhani replied, “Roswell you stay here with Turan and begin the modifications. Lieutenant,” Dhani said turning to Jamson “You’re with me.”

Nara looked at Dhani and scowled, "Who made you Ms. Boss woman?"

~Because I outrank you!~ was the first thing that came to Dhanis mind, but she had already noted that they were in fact the same rank… and that infuriated her more than she liked. Visibly biting her tongue, to the point where she could taste her own blood, and feel it coursing down her throat, she answered through tight lips, her dark green eyes boring holes into Roswell, “Because you are incapable!” she hissed.

The tension between these two was clear, to everyone present on the bridge. It was almost impossible not to notice it. Jamson felt a bit uneased at first, but since he didn't know any of them, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Only in the event of personal bickering, that would interfere with their assignment, he would step forward and give his piece mind on what was going on. Personal emotions should be put aside when such important tasks were ahead. There was no time for useless quarrels.

Dhani turned sharply, quickly leading the way back to the turbo lift. Getting away for Nara just for a moment was going to be a relief. The woman was infuriating. She did feel a little bit guilty at leaving Turan with the ‘bitch from hell’ but then at this point in time she was glad to be away from him too, she didn’t want to take out her irritation over Nara on Turan.

Though Dhani knew well that Turan wouldn’t mind her snapping at him, in fact he would encourage it if it meant she got her frustrations out and made her calmer. But this wasn’t her Turan, this was a child before her. One that hadn’t matured as quickly as the one she had known. This one was spoiled by all the comforts that Starfleet provided. He hadn’t toiled the land with his bare hands. He hadn’t stayed up countless nights starving hungry, he hadn’t weathered the storms and survived the droughts. This Turan was still a child. And in retrospect Dhani wasn’t changed much either. She could remember everything of what had happened but it hadn’t changed her life style once she was back on the ship. She still ate replicated food and slept in a comfortable bed and played in holo suites!

"Breakdown"

Lieutenant (JG) 8-ball Hunter

There were breakdowns, and there were breakdowns. And then there was this.

8-ball had vague memories of getting back to her quarters, woozy and unconnected flashes of her walking down corridors, sometimes stumbling, sometimes not, her eyes blank and uncomprehending. Azra was gone and that was good, but it was bad that she had been there in the first place. 8-ball might have been more terrified if she hadn't felt so numb---shock had settled into her body, and the only thing her mind seemed to register was that she was cold.

Cold, and also in serious need of a drink.

When she reached her quarters, 8-ball wasted no time. A few days ago, Indigo had given her a belated-promotion present: Romulan ale, of course, good quality, not that it needed to be. Cheap or fine, as long as it had a high percentage of pure booze, it had a definite potential to get you where you needed to go. In this case, unconscious, and as fast as it would take her. 8-ball drank straight from the bottle. She don't need no stinkin' cups.

She found herself laughing without remembering why, and knew the alcohol hadn't worked that quickly: this was more of the shock, and knowing that didn't help at all. Her laughter was high pitched and hysterical, and it took a minute to stop so that she could breathe. She managed to take a shaky breath and drink more of the booze, which made her feel a little calmer, safer, and more sound. Not by much, of course, but anything was a step in the right direction, and at least that insane giggling seemed to have abated. Seeing dead girls plus giggling did not equal a solution that in any way pointed to anything remotely resembling sane.

8-ball's hand (the one that wasn't grasping the bottle of ale like it was her last and only line of defense) briefly touched her neck, and she felt the collar that was supposed to keeping her from going beserk. ~Good fucking job it's doing too~ 8-ball thought, and it was enough to make her start laughing again. She slowly slid to her knees, her grip on the bottle loosening, and covered her eyes with one arm, waiting for the laughing to stop.

When it did, 8-ball set the bottle of Romulan ale on the ground and put both hands to her collar, feeling around for a way to take it off. She figured that it was probably supposed to be taken off by somebody else, somebody not verging on crazy, but there were usually ways around little problems like that, and sure enough after a few minutes of tinkering, 8-ball slid the collar off and threw it across the room. Maybe not the brightest idea, but it wasn't like it was doing much anyway, and 8-ball didn't like the feeling of it around her neck. Sex might have been her major at the Academy but S&M was never her style. It would have felt more freeing, throwing the collar off, if it hadn't been for everything else that was going wrong.

8-ball picked up the bottle of alcohol and pressed it to her forehead, as though it were some kind of relic that she could find some measure of peace in. She knew what she had to do. Something in her mind was majorly fucked up, and she couldn't keep pretending that everything was okay. Maybe if it was the psychotic rage but not the little dead girl, or maybe even the little dead girl without the psychotic rage. . .8-ball might have been able to deal with one, but not both, not now, and somehow she didn't think things were going to get better. She felt the desperate need to hurt someone, to make them feel somehow worse than she did, and her nails dug into her palms, not enough to bleed but definitely enough to hurt. That was good, but not good enough. She wanted to see someone else in blinding pain.

And 8-ball knew if she didn't talk to someone, the feeling was only going to get stronger. Killing Eptgac had been horrible but acceptable considering he was an inanimate object. Killing another person was less than okay, and probably was the next step. She needed to go back to Sickbay or find a counselor or something.

Or she could just drink the rest of this booze and pass out before she could harm anyone.

That held the most appeal, but it was a temporary fix at best. 8-ball didn't really think there was a permanent fix to this, but she had to try something. She stood up shakily, leaving the bottle on the floor behind her, and stepped out of her quarters. As she walked down the corridor, she found herself walking side by side with a medical officer, and as they stepped on the turbolift, 8-ball decided to just blurt everything out.

"I'm going insane," 8-ball told the med chick. "I'm losing my mind, going berserk, seeing dead people, killing teddy bears, and you have to help me get better."

The Betazoid woman turned to 8-ball as the turbolift doors shut and smiled. It was not a wholesome smile, and 8-ball had a sudden feeling that she may have been better off getting drunk in her quarters.

"I'll help you get better," the Betazoid woman said, still smiling as she took a step closer to 8-ball. 8-ball stepped back accordingly, but there was only so much room in a turbolift. A part of her mind, that often overlooked, logical part, said that her reaction to this woman was just more of the current craziness, but 8-ball ignored the voice, knowing it wasn't true. There was something to this woman's smile that was very un-nice, and there was something in her eyes that suggested that nobody was home.

Or maybe just not the right somebody.

On another day, 8-ball probably would have screamed her head off. On another day, she might have kicked some ass. On another day, 8-ball might have even figured out the Vulcan neck pinch, run like hell from the freaky turbolift, and figure out what the fuck was going on. On another day, any of this might have happened, but today far too much had already happened, and 8-ball didn't have the strength to fight anymore. She closed her eyes as the med officer moved closer and tried not to cry as she mentally threw in the towel. She was probably going to die, eaten or beheaded or something, but on this one very, strange day, she couldn't find it within herself to scream.

"Don't worry, dear," the Betazoid woman said as 8-ball felt tears slowly roll down her face. "Don't worry."

"I'll make everything okay."

"The world in my eyes"

2nd Lt Jebidah Baile.
Recon Specialist Furies Detachment

Featuring: - a ghost.

Sickbay, USS Galaxy

Sickbay. Hospital. Two words that made Baile cringe. The sickbay was a place he had always done a good job at staying away from. Sickbays was run by do-gooders and do-gooders always made Baile nervous in a bad way. Doctor Peachy had only proven his point, taking him off the active dutylist just because some soon-to-be-dead asshole had poked his eyes out.

Alright. So maybe he was a bit harsh, but the point was he felt alright. Hell, he felt better than alright. Pain, well, pain was temporary and doable. Assholes like the doctor could be kicked out through the airlock.

'You don't like anyone, Baile' Anna had told him. Fuckin Amen to that. Right now he pretty much hated everyone in sickbay. In the back of his head a very gruesome scenario played over and over again. It involved him, sickbay, a gun and a lot of dying by others. It felt good in a petty sort of way to break the doctor's neck a few times if only in his mind. The staff left him alone, after all they had better things to do than babysit a Marine that had nearly strangled one of the doctors. Truth be told the Marine prefered it that way, being left alone.

He felt.. restless and angry, which in a way surprised him. That he was pissed off at the doctor he understood, but his fists ached for a fight and that he didn't understand. So he did the only thing he could. He waited.

"Hey Killer."

That voice. Baile's breathing stopped for a few seconds. Impossible. Slowly he turned his head and opened his eyes just enough to try and see the owner of that voice. It was as soft and playful as it had always been and therefor it cut him deeper than a knife stabbed through his chest.

But it was her. Dressed in that long grey skirt and the white top she had worn on Mars. He blinked a few times, but she was still there, her blonde hair just as wonderful as it had always been. Warily he sat up, fighting the urge to hurry over and just take her in his arms. "What.. how.. " he started with a coarse voice.

A smile. Damn how he had missed that smile. Her smiles never beamed in the true sense of the word. All she did was twist her lips upwards, just a little, but it was all it took. No. That was wrong. That was all she HAD done. She didn't DO anything anymore.

She walked up to him, placing a delicate finger on his lips, hushing him. She smelled just as he remembered her. Just a hint of lavendar and that damn soap she used. Or lotion. Or whatever. "You.." she said with a soft voice, "look like hell..".

Her skin was just like he remembered it. No, better even. So soft. "I've been better.." he whispered, having to fight to get the words out at all. Seconds passed by as her fingers caressed his neck, the touch of an angel. Seconds became minutes.

"You're not real."

"Are you sure?" Damn that voice.

He nodded and exhaled slowly. All the sounds around him became muted, like distant thunder rolling over the mountains. The delicate sound of thunder.

"Look at me." she whispered softly, raising his head with the tenderest of touches. "Look at me, Jeb."

Baile obeyed. He raised his head and looked at the face that was forever with him in his dreams, the face that had truly been able to light up the dark.

"Am I not real?" Damn that touch.

He shook his head. It felt it weighed a thousand pounds. "No.." he whispered. His throat felt very dry all of a sudden.

"Is this not real?" she breathed into his ear and kissed his unshaved chin. She felt real alright. As real as a bullet to the head. He closed his hands into fists, digging the nails into the palms.

"No.." he managed to whisper. It might have been that he just spoke in his thoughts or he said it out loud. Baile wasn't sure. It didn't matter.

"I killed you.." he whispered and shook his head. Strange. He had never been one to shed tears over anything and now that his body wanted to he couldn't.

"I know.." she replied softly, her fingers continued to stroke and caress his neck. "It's alright lover.. "

Baile's throat felt tight, like he couldn't breathe. Snarling he slid of the biobed and took a few steps backwards. The drums in his head started beating again, louder and louder. "NO!" he bellowed at the woman in front of him.

All around him people looked at the Marine. An awkward silence fell over sickbay for a few seconds. Baile opened his eyes, fueled by the pain from the light. "What the hell are you looking at!" he said out loud, eyeballing anyone that came into harms way.

Ethan Westlake turned to see what had set off the Marine. He had been afraid of something like that happening. Having people snap over headaches was bad enough, but a Marine snapping, that was definately not good. "Son. Calm down." Westlake looked at Baile, trying to look calmer than he felt. He still remembered the strength and the speed that had wrapped an arm around his throat.

"Calm down?! I am fucking calm Doc.." Baile snapped at him.

The woman next to him, that beautiful creature that caused him so much torment, placed her hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Jeb."

"You stay the hell away!" he growled, trying desperately to ignore the injured look in her eyes.

Westlake frowned slightly. If that Marine wasn't on the verge of getting violent then no one was. He put his hand into his pocket again, checking the hypo. The movement made the Marine turn his head and look at Ethan. It was most certainly very unsettling. He could live with the fact the Marine no longer had visible pupils, after all quite a few alien species had eyes that could be labelled as downright scary. It was the pure malice in the Marine's eyes that made him swallow.

"You try that, Doc.." Baile said in a very calm voice, not really sure where the sudden calm had come from. ".. and it'll take Deep Space explorers to retreive it from your ass."

She stepped infront of him, placing herself between the doctor and Baile. "Jeb.. calm down."

Ethan Westlake had seen his fair share of death and for a moment he had been certain he had been staring at his own. The Marine had been ready to kill him right there and then. That man was not fit to be on active duty until the councellors had checked him inside out.

Baile sneered at Westlake. The man was weak. Killing him would have been like cutting down grass. He froze for a second. Had he really been prepared to kill the doctor for that? Baile already knew the answer to that question.

"Shh.. " Damn that voice.

Baile sat down again, shutting out the pain from his eyes now that the adrenaline was fading. Adrenaline sucked. "Now I know you're not real." he mumbled when he opened his eyes again.

"Why?"

He winced mentally. He had heard that word from her before, only then she had been dying.

"No one else can see you." Hold on to that thought, he told himself. She's not real. She can't be. She's buried on Mars. You were there. You killed her, remember?

She smiled at him, seemingly not put off by his suspicious line of reasoning. "Maybe I am just a manifestion of the guilt you carry around, or maybe I'm a part of your soul wanting redemption. Maybe I am all that and more?"

"Or maybe I just took one too many hits to the head.." he mumbled, covering his eyes for a few seconds.

"Or maybe there is another explaination all together." she said with that amused voice of hers that put up with all of his antics just because. That had been the only reason, the only explaination she had given him. Just because.

At first he decided not to take the bait, but she remained silent, just looked at him with her head cocked slightly to one side. God, she smelled of summer. "Alright... " he mumbled again, "lay it on me, sunshine. What is the other explaination?"

"Maybe you are seeing the world through different eyes now." Damn that woman.

Ok. So that was unexpected. He blinked a few times and looked at her. "That's not even funny.." he replied to her.

"Never meant to be funny." she retorted in that matter-of-fact voice of hers.

"I know one more explaination." That's right. Hold on to that anger.

She laughed. Amused at his scepticism. She placed a hand on her waist and did her best Baile-imitation. "Alright.. lay it on me, Sunshine."

"A fuckin telepath is messin with my brain.. a soon-to-be-dead-from-me-ripping-his-balls-off-telepath.. " he looked around. He had heard the medical clowns talk about the telepaths, empaths, toilets or whatever and seen the collars they had been issued.

She touched his shoulder. "Paranoia never looked good on you, but the uniform did." she said to him with a sly little smile. She walked up to him, laying a hand on his chest.

He frowned as she touched him. Somewhere in the darkness thoughts and memories started stirring, but Baile slammed them down. Now was not the time to let the thoughts run free. "Look." he nodded towards the biobeds. "The only ones sick are the brainsurfers. Not me.. So why do I see dead people all of a sudden?"

She shrugged slightly. "You know. You really should take a shower. You smell like you've been laying in a cave for two days."

"A shower?" he asked with irriation. "A shower is so far down the list it needs a... wait.. what did you say?"

"That you really should take a shower." her voice played with him, caressed him and slapped him at the same time. "Preferably with me."

"Dammit, Maya.." he lowered his voice when one of the securityguards looked in his direction. "Maya.. do you know what has happened to me?"

"Does it matter?"

"Are you stupid?!" he replied, much louder than he intended to. When one of the securityguards looked at him again he stared back, challenging the guard to make a move, challenging him on the most primitive of levels.

"I'm not the one standing there and talking to myself." she said and turned her back to him. "You're right though, jeb. I could be a telepath playing tag with all the little synapses in your brain. Maybe I'm laying on one of these beds, having fun as I make you see the woman you thought would betray you and therefor killed. Maybe you should start looking, Jeb, before its too late."

He laid back down on the bed, it was all a little too much for him. Hell, there was no way he could remember her that well. Everything was right. All the gestures, the words, the tone. Everything. Or maybe he just wanted it to be. "Leave me alone. You're dead." he mumbled and lay an arm over his eyes."

"Or maybe, Jeb, it takes evil to recognise evil." she replied with a whisper so close to his ear he swore he could feel her breath.

He sat up again to look at her, but she was gone and yet the smell of her lingered. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Three's A Company"

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter

**Warning: Some explicit content

When 8-ball woke up, she found that she was split into three different minds, which was not entirely unusual except for the fact that two of them didn't belong there. Unfortunately for 8-ball (and the ensign about to run into her path) the two other minds were the ones running the show.

8-ball, herself, wasn't even on the stage. She was stuck in a cage behind the curtains, watching all the action as if it was happening to someone else. In a way it was happening to someone else---two somebodies, two Dithparu---but as she watched her body pick itself up from the floor, 8-ball realized she could still feel everything that was happening. If someone was to hurt her, she'd feel the pain, and if someone was to fuck her, she'd feel the orgasm. But she still couldn't take control. . .she was like a wooden puppet without strings.

~Goodbye, Alice~ 8-ball thought in her cage. ~Here's Pinnochio, coming at you~

A voice inside her mind (or outside HER mind, but inside her brain---god, this whole fucking thing was pretty trippy) laughed. It was a feminine laugh, an alien laugh, and also not a laugh of the mentally sane. ~This host is amusing~ the voice thought. ~She has an unusually unstable, yet functional mind.~

~I'm not unstable, you psychotic bitch~ 8-ball thought to herself, and then realized a minute later that her thoughts weren't entirely her own anymore.

The feminine voice didn't seem to mind being called pyschotic or a bitch. She laughed even louder at this statement, as if it was a cute remark made by a lowly and inferior pet. 8-ball did not like thinking of herself as a pet, and this only made her dislike this alien chick even more. Still, when the second voice spoke a moment later, 8-ball found herself liking the woman more.

~Instability is not a strength~ the voice said. This was a masculine voice, gruff, and somehow didn't come off as the laughing type. ~We should find a new host and kill this one. She's only going to be trouble.~

Before 8-ball could even begin to start requesting that she not be murdered anytime today, the feminine voice replied. ~You can find a new host if you want to~ the woman said. ~But I like this one, and she's mine to play with.~

8-ball realized that this woman's idea of playing was not going to include anything as wholesome as a yo-yo and a game of Candy Land, and therefore wasn't much in favor of this plan, either. Still, it didn't include killing her, at least, not right away, and there was something to be said for that, as pathetic and sad as it was.

8-ball continued to watch her body stand to full heigth and then move around, as if experiencing a new sensation, which she guessed was sort of the case. The last thing she remembered was standing in the turbolift, but now she was in one of the corridors, and the Betazoid woman who had infected her was nowhere in sight. 8-ball felt her hands slide her uniform down enough so that she could smooth her fingertips over her bare skin, touching her neck, her breasts, her waist---and then down on further into places where you weren't supposed to touch, at least, not in public. ~Okay, 8-ball said, ~okay. I know you guys are enjoying the ride, but let's invoke some decency here. Masturbation in the corridor: not a good.~

The masculine voice agreed with her, though not out of any sense of propierty. ~We should be moving~ he said to the other one. ~Once we neutralize the ship, then we can experiment with the bodies, but our priorities should be set.~

~Who cares about priorities?~ the woman asked. 8-ball concentrated on her voice, and realized that she knew the woman's name---Anlaika, a pretty name, for a psychotic, invading shitstarter. 8-ball tried to focus on the man's name but there didn't seem to be one that she could reach, and, 8-ball belatedly realized, they probably weren't actually male and female. After all, if they didn't have bodies of their own to go running around in, they couldn't really have the sex organs to make up the whole gender thing. Still, 8-ball thought of the second voice as a male, particularly, one of those non-humorous, grumpy types, who bitched every second of the way without really doing fuck about the situation. Anlaika, on the other hand, seemed much more amusing. . .but also much more insane, and definitely more evil than her counterpart.

~Great~ 8-ball thought to herself. ~Two types of crazies, running my brain. This is shaping up to be a SWELL day.~

Anlaika laughed again and finally removed her hands from all the nice, private places, though she left the uniform unzipped so that 8-ball's bare shoulders were exposed. ~There are others to do the heavy lifting~ Anlaika told the other voice. ~Let's have some fun while we're here, insteading of rushing everything.~

~What kind of fun do you suggest?~ the sorta-male said, and that's when Ensign Wheyson strolled up.

***

Ensign Wheyson (first name David, age 22) was not having the best of days. He was a relatively new transfer onto the Galaxy, and this ship was his first big assignment. He had desperately wanted to go over to Deep Space Five and poke around, but he got shafted for some other ensigns who had been on the ship longer and supposedly knew their shit. Ensign Wheyson was determined to prove himself worthy, but he couldn't do that very well if he didn't get to go anywhere.

Instead of heading over to the space station (which, in his slightly immature mind, he envisioned as a dark and shadowy maze of corridors, where he appropriately fought the gooey bad guy, rescued the girl, and was congratulated by M'Kantu personally as Special Savior of the Day), Ensign Wheyson decided to walk around the ship and mope about his bad luck. Wheyson was an expert moper---he could make sixteen entirely different unhappy expressions on his face, all denoting a different shade of how miserable he really was. Possibly his moping skills came from his cursed, boyish face. . .Wheyson was, indeed, 22, but most times appeared to be 16, and when he smiled, he looked 12, so bars were hell to get into. He had a spatter of freckles on both cheeks, red, curly hair, and an infectious grin. He looked like the Original Boy Scout, and had been fighting the image all of his life.

One of the ensigns from his department who was assigned to the away mission constantly teased him about his less than manly looks. Wheyson had consistent fantasies of beating Marks (the previously mentioned ensign) senseless, only to get a commendation of bravery somehow and a cute girl as a prize, but the truth was Wheyson envied Marks so badly he couldn't stand it. Marks hadn't been on the Galaxy much longer than Wheyson had, and it always seemed that Marks got everything he ever wanted. Marks got to go on all the cool away missions, Marks had actually met M'Kantu and supposedly shook his hand. Marks even had one of the hottest girlfriends around, some Betazoid chick from Medical who had the biggest tits you ever saw. You looked at her and wondered what the hell she was doing with a loser like Marks. . .but, Wheyson always realized, compared to him, Marks looked like the hottest ticket in town.

~I'll show Marks~ Ensign Wheyson thought as he moped around Deck 4. ~Someday, I'll get to go on an away mission and I'll show how much more I know than Marks, and he'll be stuck with all the desk duty back on the Galaxy. And I'll even find me a girl, too, one way hotter than that dumb Betazoid blonde he has hanging around. Maybe I'll even find her in the next five seconds, who knows? I'll show Marks just how much he's missing in his sex life.~

These were the thoughts Ensign Wheyson had as he rounded the corner and came across 8-ball standing in the corridor, her blue uniform sliding down her shoulders as she walked his way. Wheyson knew 8-ball's name by reputation but not on sight, so all he knew when he saw her was that he had stumbled on some pretty chick who looked about five seconds away from orgasming all over the deck. Wheyson felt something in his throat stick, and he was pretty sure that his pale skin was going six different shades of strawberry.

~Fucking Irish heritage~ he thought to himself. ~Fucking freckles.~ Outloud, he asked cautiously, "Are  you okay, um, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant smiled at him. There was something amazingly sexy about that smile, slow, langorous, and also maybe just a little bit evil. . .there was no question, this was definitely a bad girl. "No," she said, smiling at him. "I'm not okay. I'm in definite need of assistance."

"Yeah?" Wheyson said, and then mentally cursed. "I mean, what seems to be the problem?"

"Well," 8-ball said, "I know you're not supposed to, but I had this sort of illegal Romulan ale, and now I feel different after drinking it." She stepped up to Wheyson and put her hands on his chest, digging her nails a little through his uniform.

Wheyson felt himself swallow. "And how do you feel different?"

8-ball closed her eyes, her smile growing. "Like I'm. . .hot all over, like I'm running a fever, only I'm not, you know, and my body feels tight, like it wants something, something to enter it and make everything better and complete. And here, my breasts, they feel so sensitive, here." She took his hands and used them to cup her boobs, and this time Wheyson felt himself do more than swallow.

8-ball sighed, a long, slow, sigh of relief. "God, that feels good," she whispered to him and opened her eyes as she leaned forward and licked the side of his face. "God, that feels soooo good." She looked at him, still smiling, and whispered in his ear, "I really don't know what I'm going to do if you don't help me. I feel like I'm going to explode or something, if you don't do something soon." She moved her hands down from his neck to where his other head was ("the head that does all the thinking," his ex-girlfriend used to complain), and he felt like he was about to explode too. "Will you help me, please?"

Wheyson felt himself nodding frantically, even though he could barely speak. "Of course," he said, as his hands moved down her shirt. "Anything I can do."

****

Wheyson knew that the shuttlecraft storage area would be empty, and it was a hell of a lot closer than his quarters, so that's where he took her, all the way there resisting the urge to fuck her right in the middle of the hall, which she seemed frankly all for. But though Wheyson was horny, he was not exactly an un-private person, so he dragged them over to the storage area, and undressed her quickly, as though her very clothes were on fire.

She threw herself onto him as soon as his uniform was off, and he felt against the wall, somehow having no problem with the fact that she was essentially doing all the work. He breathed harder as her hands wrapped around his neck, scratching hard enough down his back that he could feel himself start to bleed. He kept himself from screaming, but only barely, and as they both reached climax, she seemed to feel no restraint. She screamed out loud, loud enough, at any rate, for Wheyson to wonder when security would rush in, but that didn't seem very important at the moment. Nothing really did. He sagged in her arms as she breathed deep. "God, that was amazing," he said.

"You have no idea," 8-ball said drily. "Considering you just fucked three different people."

"What?" Ensign Wheyson had time to ask before 8-ball quickly broke his neck.

****

Inside her cage, 8-ball stopped screaming, but as she watched Wheyson's body fall to the ground, she thought she might start again. She shuddered and held herself close as she watched her body redress itself and calmly leave Wheyson to be found by someone else.

~That was an complete waste of time~ the masculine voice complained, and 8-ball wanted to scream at him, his utter casualness about what had just happened. ~He wasn't even a psychic; we couldn't use him. We should have just killed him and moved on, or tried to plant the seed of mutiny. All of that sexual interaction was besides the point.~

Anlaika pouted. ~Are you saying that it wasn't good for you?~

~It was enjoyable~ the voice admitted. ~The sex, and the killing. But it wasted so much time. We have other things to think about.~

~Actually, I don't think it was nearly long enough~ Anlaika said. ~He came awfully quickly, and of course I got excited and rushed his whole death thing. We'll play a great deal more with our next toy. This one didn't even have time to be scared, much less in pain.~

~Our next toy? I thought we were going to get some work done.~

Anlaika sighed. ~Oh, honey~ she said. ~Didn't anyone ever tell you that all work and no play makes 8-ball a very dull host?~ She laughed, and then asked 8-ball, ~Was that good for you, baby?~

8-ball couldn't take it any longer. She screamed. She screamed and screamed until even her mind's voice had gone hoarse.

And when she was done, Anlaika was still laughing, and moving 8-ball's body through the ship, looking for their next victim.

"Let the games begin"

2nd Lt Jebidah Baile
Recon Specialist Furies Detachment

Sickbay, USS Galaxy

Something in the air had changed.

Like the sweet smell just when something starts to rot. Sweet, but with something hiding just around the corner. Barely noticable, but it was there, calling him, pulling at him.

The Marine was still laying down, his mind still working on the last thing Maya or whatever the hell it had been, had told him. "Maybe it takes evil to recognise evil."

What the hell did that mean?

Evil to recognise evil?

The only thing he recognised at the moment was the pace at which he was losing his mind.

Then again, had he ever been sane?

When had he stopped knowing the man that looked back at him in the mirror?

He had given it a lot of thought over the years, Consulted many bottles to find an answer at the bottom. A truly unnerving smile started spreading across Baile's face. How ironic that the answer had awaited him in that one place he had avoided more than anything else. In the damn sickbay.

A truly unnerving smile started spreading across Baile's face. The answer was far more simple than he had believed or suspected. He had been right when he had told Anna everyone had their part to play and he, well, he was just about to cheat. Baile-style.

Slowly he sat up, energized, focused at what he was and what he was supposed to do, not just now, but for as long as he lived.

Was he evil?

Maybe. But evil lay in the eye of the beholder. He had been called evil many times over the years. It sort of came with the job of butchering enemies in all corners of the galaxy.

No, evil wasn't what he was. Death was a part of the cycle. Somewhere, in a place he doubted he would ever come back to, someone had stolen his eyes and given him new ones, forcing him to see the world for what it really was. He would forever have to face his fears head on or perish. The smile on Baile's face welcomed the challenge. Life had been getting too damn easy lately.

The pain had faded into a dull ache, one which he barely noticed. It simply drowned in the rest of the pain his body felt in one way or the other.

Baile swung his legs over the side of the biobed and stood up. Slowly he rolled his head from side to side, just like he always did before entering the ring to fight. Releasing tension he called it.

It felt strange, like he tested his legs for the first time and it felt good. Charged. Powerful. Ready to kill.

Without hesitation he started walking towards the exit of the sickbay, taking his time as his mind came up with a plan to get out. His head turned from side to side much like the warrior sizing up the opposition just before the swords would clash.

*Flashback*

Baile worked best alone. Saar was good, but when it came to point Baile played ten leagues over him. Colonel Caileb had ordered Saar to stay with the rest of the team while Baile cleared the way.

Different terrains called for different tactics and Baile had no real favorite. He felt it important not to or else he'd risk getting caught in old habits. Old habits would become bad habits and bad habits got people killed.

His instructor had taught him to approach situations like a game. Different situations called for different plays. A playbook of sorts. Baile's particular playbook held a few tricks he had picked up over the years. But twist his arm and he might admit that jungle, especially nighttime, was his favorite.

When on point one thing mattered more than the rest - patience. The best rifleman in the world would get killed if he didn't have patience to take it slow. A good pointman never rushed. He worked methodically, ticking of the mental checklist one point at a time. That list was the reason he had found the boobytraps. He had chuckled mentally when he had found them as the stakes had been upped. That was the way he liked it. High stakes and skilled opponents.

One of the things that made Baile good was not his marksmanship or how well he could find a safe path. The Marine had a knack for blending in, reading the terrain to stay out of sight. Hendricks called it a heartattackskill.

Baile had to admit that the man placing the boobytraps was good. Real good. He had only managed to get a quick glance at the man a handful of times, certainly not long enough to get off a good clean shot. A miss against an opponent that skilled was like painting a big bullseye on the forehead. Shaking him off the trail would take hours and hours, time Baile didn't have.

When the darkness settled over the jungle the rules of the game changed. This was Baile's backyard. The darkness had never scared him. It kept him safe, created bogeymen for his enemies to be scared at. The mind was truly a wonderful thing.

When Baile killed the man who had managed to avoid him for hours it wasn't due to some elaborate plan. It wasn't with the help of some marvellous high-tech rifle that some fleeters refused to go into battle without. Patience and a thirty meter BlackDiamond Scorpion IV 9.4 mm rope. The trick had been to set up a pattern how he moved, make sure it wasn't too obvious and then wait.

Five hours had passed when the opportunity finally presented itself. Despite having to been sitting absolutely still, pressed up against the body of a tree nearly thirty feet up in the air Baile forced his body to do what he wanted it to do. The critical part had been landing the noose around the mans neck, but as soon as it caught the chin Baile committed himself to his plan and launched himself backwards, using the man as a counterweight as the rope slid over the branch he had been sitting on. The man's neck snapped as Baile's twohundred and ten pounds pulled him up.

When Baile stepped inside the hidden camp, Hendricks nearly shot him. "Goddammit, Flea.. I've told you not to do that.. it'll get you killed one of these days.."

Baile only grinned as Saar tossed the waterbottle to him. "And miss the chance to see you piss yourself, rifleboy?"

He sat down opposite to Colonel Caileb and tossed back the waterbottle. "It's clear, sir.. last one was a tricky bastard... " he shoved his hand down into the large pocket on the thigh and retrived two pieces of bones, rougly half an inch long. The end was covered in blood and what appeared to be flesh. "... but I got the fucker.. " He tossed them over to Slayne, the sniper. "Two more for your necklace.. real beauties.. "

Slayne grinned and pulled out his knife to carve off the flesh. "Wha's wah withut a trophy orh twu.."

*end flashback*

He wanted the guards to see him as he walked closer. Wanted them to see what he would let them see. Baile squinted, giving the appearance that the light was giving him a lot more trouble than it really was.

Standing there Cameron Grant, one of the two guards standing there at the door way looked over as the marine moved toward them. Turning his body slightly. "Sir... Are you alright?" Cam asked, as he looked over the mohawk cut marine.

Baile put a hand over his eyes, grimacing. "It's my damn eyes.. " he groaned. "Where's them hotlegged nurses when you need them.." he said to the guard and smiled weakly. *You'll know it when it happens..* The words of his old instructors echoed in his mind, the lesson had been when to act and when to not.

Cam walked over and took his arm to help him. Motioning his other hand, he told his partner to find a nurse or a doctor. "Let me help you sit down.."

The guard couldn't see his face. Had he been able to there was no telling what would have happened. But the smile was there. A very unnerving smile, the smile of a predator ready to strike. But the striking was not deadly or meant to hurt. "Thanks.. " Baile mumbled, finding himself in position after only a few steps. It may have looked random and clumsy, but it was nothing of the sorts. The Marine appeared to be stumbling, trying to catch himself on the nearest panel. A beeping sound was heard, followed by the sickbay drowning in darkness as the lights went out.

Cameron stood there and moved his arms. Wondering what was going on. Pulling his phaser he looked around just as emergency lighting came on and saw that the marine was gone.

Dr Ethan Westlake looked around. He had been just as surprised as the rest of the sickbay when the lights went out. Something wasn't right. "Guards!" he yelled, seeing at least one stand with his phaser at the ready.

"Grant to security... we've got a man just left sickbay. Erect force fields alpha one through delta nine..." Cam said, as he moved over toward Westlake.

The senior doctor wasn't the type of person that used foul language, but today was not a very normal day. "What the hell just happened? Where's Lt Baile?"

"I think he just escaped.." Cameron said, as he turned to leave. "If you'll excuse us, doctor.." He said as he headed out of sickbay with his parter in tow.

Patience.

The shadow watched the two guards run by, phasers drawn, looking for him. He leaned further into the shadows, waiting. He was in no rush. They would come look for him, but with the radiation outside, finding him with the sensors wouldn't be easy and he was a man trained to avoid detection whether it originated from Starfleet or elsewhere.

Something in the air had changed.

Like the sweet smell just when something starts to rot. Sweet, but with something hiding just around the corner. Barely noticable, but it was there, calling him, pulling at him.

Just maybe Maya had been right. Maybe it took evil to recognise evil.

But the again he wasn't evil.

He was Baile.

"Into the Shit"

Ensign Zev Raynor
Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

Warrant Officer Ronald Zackary Logan (NPC)
Marine Demolitions Specialist
Deep Space Five

Location: USS Saint Lawrence – Danube Class Runabout On approach to Deep Space Five

Ensign Zev Raynor sat at the helm of the Danube class runabout 'Saint Lawrence', as he ran a couple of routine diagnostics. Raynor had recently been transferred to the Galaxy from the Gamma Quadrant, and this runabout was his ticket to that assignment. To his right was Marine Warrant Officer Ronald Logan, who had been recently reassigned to Deep Space Five, which was the Galaxy’s next destination. They had to make one pit stop to drop off a probe to scan in-between the Sheliak, Yanek Imperium, Hydran Sovereignity, and Federation 'Neutral Zone' for low-level intelligence gathering, and then continue on their way to their new assignments. The probe would pass by Starbase 185 to be collected there.

They were on a different route than the one the Galaxy had taken, they had started from Deep Space Nine, stopped at Starbase 212 to re-supplied, and took a small shore leave on the Station, then moved on to Star 481, in where they re-supplied again, and from there were taking a long arced route to Deep Space Five. It was at Deep Space Five where Raynor would hook up with Galaxy. It had been way over a week since they left Deep Space Nine. The Runabout’s top cruise speed was only warp 5, and most ships usually went at warp six minimum to get from one place to another in a reasonable amount of time.

Both the Marine and himself were being transferred from the USS Strife, an Akira Class Heavy Cruiser assigned to help maintain the peace treaty in the Gamma Quadrant. Logan was being reassigned with no say in the matter, whereas Raynor requested transfer. Both of them had been delayed getting back through the Bajoran Wormhole, and subsequently missed their ride, to the Galaxy’s last stop.

The Saint Lawrence itself was being assigned to Deep Space Five. Some joker at Starfleet Command wanted to make sure that the Admiral commanding the station got some new equipment. 'Bureaucratic suck ups,' Raynor thought 'hate them'.

So each officer was now passing reduced to telling jokes to each other over beer. If you could call it beer, the replicators only made a substitute for alcohol, instead of the real thing. Synthol, or Syntol, or whatever they called it. Raynor called it piss in can with a splash of perfume so people wouldn’t notice.

"Looks like were running low da juice mon," Logan commented with his heavy Caribbean accent, partly chuckling from the previous joke. "Being da bartender, I'll havta insis you lay off for a little while, you being da designated driver."

Raynor sighed a little, then said in response "I could have had a nice, easy ride, with more to drink, but no... your parents had to fuck..."

Logan chuckled a bit then gave a sagely response, "Drinking will kill yea onena these days mon," Raynor wasn’t giving his attention to the statement rating instead his joke. He figured the chuckle was about a two and a half out of five, Raynor figured. Not one of his best jokes but he’d work on the delivery and specific wording anyways, then he realised what Logan had said and responded.

"You can't run from death forever..." Raynor half-heartily argued, the statement being highly contrary to his character, Raynor had a strong survival instinct.

"But you can make da bastard work for it…" Logan countered, laughing a little. Just then they got an alert.

Raynor twisted his seat looking over the sensor read out. "It's a shuttle… Pulling out of warp… hailing…" He waited for about 5 seconds… "No response."

"Bad, mon?" Logan asked, taking the other station. Raynor had spent the last few days 'refreshing' the Marine’s memory on Runabout operations. Logan began scanning for life signs, and warp trails.

Raynor began to run a registry check, before giving his analysis of the situation, "First off, Type 8 middle of nowhere there are no capital ships in the area, save maybe the Galaxy but that should be docked at Deep Space Five by now, and this shuttle's max warp isn’t really considered high enough to be wandering out here all on its lonesome. Second… its in critical condition, damage looks consistent with someone who has pushed their warp engines too hard for too long…" Raynor paused for a second, letting the registry check come back, before continuing, "and third… the shuttle is assigned Deep Space 5."

"Bad, mon…" Logan repeated, his voice now serious. He began reading his scans, "Two wasted, one faint reading here, mon... warp trails be cold..."

"Beam them aboard, I’ll take a look at our live one, and put the others into stasis... maybe a there will be some evidence to what the hell happened in those bodies. Meanwhile get everything you can out of that shuttle’s computer and try getting someone on the horn," Raynor said in assuming command of the situation kind of tone. Survival instinct was kicking in and he knew that calm rationally was called for.

"Aite... beginning transit..." Logan said, as Raynor made his way to the back. He to find a male Betazoid, with a bad phaser burns whispering so softly it was barely audible... but what he did hear troubled him... just two words: "Your dead..." Over and over again.

'Better try talking to him,' Raynor thought. "Hi, I am Ensign Zev Raynor." No response. "I’m going to just check you out here, and probably treat that burn you got there... problems with that?" Still no response... Not even a sign that the Betaziod had heard Raynor... just the damn whispering continuing whispering. "Didn't think so... And when you get a minute maybe you can tell us what happened or why your out this far..." No answer, just whispers.

Raynor hoisted the Betaziod on the biobed, and for a second wondered why they were given a medical module for this mission. Almost as if someone was expecting this to happen... but then he realized that Deep Space Five lacked that particular mission pod in its Runabout army, so they were being sent with this one to please the Admiral. He thought for a second 'Bureaucratic suck ups, if I didn’t hate them, I could kiss them.'

He picked up the other two placing them on two other biobeds and then methodically erected force fields and changed temperatures within those sections to help preserve the bodies. He could only hope that those two dead crewmen might hold some key to whatever might of happened on Deep Space Five. Raynor was assuming the worst and he knew it, but still it’s not everyday you come across a situation like this and assume the best.

Then he went back over to his live patient and began the process of cleaning the burn before applying the dermal regenerator, and then he heard the voice. For a second he thought it was from the Betaziod, then he realised who it was and calmed back down...

~He doesn't look so good Zevy Boy... He doesn’t look good at all... Maybe...~ the voice laughed a maniacal tormenting laugh before continuing. ~Maybe... you should turn back... piss off the admiralty... You know you want to...~

'Maybe you should turn back, Madden before I have I have to nail you against the cross and crucify you...' Raynor thought back in response. Madden was Raynor’s other side, his other personality. He was the result of a mental disorder that went unnoticed for too long, and couldn’t be properly treated this late in the game. He wasn’t in the mood for Madden’s twisted mind games, but then again he never was... Still he couldn’t help but hating every truth and every lie that Madden told to try and get Raynor to do what he wanted.

~Zevy boy stop flirting with me... you know I love it when you get nasty... one might think your coming on to me...~ Madden taunted.

'So what do you want to tell me?' Raynor asked, continuing to use the dermal regenerator on the burns, not ignoring Madden, but not concentrating on him either.

~This guy looks like his major problem is mental, aside from his burns… section 8 worthy~ Madden stated.

Section 8 an old term used by US marines in Vietnam War, were so mental they were actually sent home. And it had to be a lot more pyscho than your average nut job in order to be pulled out of that war.

Madden continued, ~I think we’d be walking into mental battle of insanity... and though it is my area of expertise... there’s no grantee that our shared body will last too long with everyone else going section 8 around us...~ Raynor glanced over the two corpses but said nothing. ~Of course this could effects of a insane battle in the real world... with well done tactics of fear... intimidation... surprise... death... I still think we should turn back... either way were fucked if we go in there with this heap...~

Raynor finished with burns and finally turned his attention to madden while his eyes stared at the whispering Betazoid... 'Your assuming the worse, this could just be some routine mission patrol mission, gone horribly wrong and has nothing to do with the station...'

~Unusually positive of you Zevy boy, ~ Madden commented.

Raynor sighed, and then thought to him, 'You've made your point... but, you haven’t looked at our power consumption, we couldn’t turn back even if we wanted to, we’d never make it. If worse came to worse we could try for Star base 185, Mirusa, or Ivor but all that still involves going past Deep Space Five. Either way were going...'

Madden simply stated ~You’ve got to be the dumbest Terran in the whole galaxy.You’re going to walk into that situation even tho-~

"SHUT UP!" Raynor yelled. Raynor waited for a few seconds. Madden finally quieted down.

"I did not say nothing, mon" Logan said from behind him.

"I was talking to the Betazoid," Raynor lied.

"Aye…" Logan said, having only just noticed the Betazoid’s whisper. Logan shook his head once, then he continued, "Da sensor logs off that boat be badly out of whack, mon… and da crew personal entries be weirder than flying toasters…"

"What the hell do you think this is?" Raynor asked. "Did you get anyone on subspace communications?"

"Nada peep from Deep Space Five," Logan started. No word from Deep Space Five was definitely a bad sign "was going to try sending a long range message to Starfleet next, but I figure... you be da mon for that job..." Logan said, his accent for a moment being slightly more pronounced.

"Alright..." Raynor said, not bothering to pointlessly arguing with him. It was a definite that people would’ve had trouble understanding him. Universal translators were good so long as you were speaking a different language. But if you’re slaughtering and slurring the same language… it’s a completely different story.

Raynor got in front of the damned transmitter, and spoke clearly, explaining the exact situation to Starfleet first of what they had encountered, and then every possibility that had popped into Raynor’s mind, and that they were going to head towards Deep Space Five to assess the situation. He pushed the send button, and he knew that it would be a week before anyone who counted heard this message, and another week before they actually even thought of sending anyone.

They were going it alone, with the exception of maybe the Galaxy. Raynor suppressed that feeling of dread he was having, like he was suppressing his urge to fart just then. He told Logan to get some sleep, as he punched the warp engines to their maximum heading towards Deep Space Five. It would take them just under eleven hours to get there... he hoped it was for nothing...

Ten hours pass by quickly...

Eight hours away from the station, the ship's sensors go out, and Raynor started timing their approach so as to know when to drop out of warp...

Five hours away, Logan relieved Raynor... so that he could get some sleep, he ended up getting about four hours rest... couldn’t really sleep though... he just stared at the ceiling waiting for it come crashing down out of no where... listening to the crazed Betazoid’s ever repeating whisper "Your dead"... his gut kept telling him that going to Deep Space Five right now was a bad idea... but he did nothing about it... He didn't have any proof about it just a gut feeling...

A gut feeling that could be wrong... That could be the result of too many beers, or too many taken memories that weren't his to take in the first, or simply too much trauma and paranoia as that had been developed as a child...

He just let time pass him by in silence... almost as if he was waiting for his own death... to occur just then... Then about half an hour away he got up and took his seat and began monitoring the timer, getting ready to pull out of warp...

The timer struck zero, he pulled out of warp a short but safe distance away from the station... he simply turned to Logan and said one thing: "Here we go... into the shit."

He began hailing...

"Shadow Council"

Major Corran Rex
Counselor Brian Elessidil
Doctor Mike Rabb
Master Chief Madden Jayce

That the Kind would be successful in their efforts was a forgone conclusion to the one now using the body, mind and, when needed, the personality of Brian Elessidil. That they would have succeeded so effortlessly and among a crew with many suitable hosts was most fortuitous, however. And It knew there would be many more once they had the ship under their control.

"The body of a Vulcan female, called T'Lan, has been taken," he informed to the others. That species utilizes a most effective form of psychic connection through physical contact, which has allowed us to gain control over one of the key members of this crew -- the one in charge of security, called Corgan."

The being once known as Doctor Mike Rabb smiled, though there was pain behind it. The constant fight against the strong-willed personality that was currently hiding within Its mind was taking its toll - the headaches were growing worse. Using the knowledge It had of the medicines of this day and age it quietly pressed a hypospray full of pain killers into its thigh. The rush of relief was enough to make it sigh. The real Doctor Rabb's accent was noticeably absent as it spoke, "That is excellent news. The body of Lt. Selok, this one's bondmate, has been taken as well. He is in the sciences department and has chosen to subvert as many as possible in that area."

"We have devised a plan to send many more suitable hosts to the station, using Corgan to order them into away teams. This one," It indicated the body It now possessed, "is their highest-ranking telepath and is able to engender trust in his fellow crewmen by virtue of his training and personality. I will use that to our advantage to assuage any concerns among those who have experienced ill effects by our presence."

"The other choice," Mike's lips twisted into an evil smile that had never before crossed her face, "Is to leave them to me. The sick will be subverted, those who are not yet within my grasp soon will be. I find," it confessed, "That I like making them scream."

"We have been still, silent, trapped for too long." the collected being that had adopted the name of it's host, Rex, said with a shake of it's head. "Your ways would take time. They would be effective, yes, but those beyond our reach would begin to realize we are not their comrades."

"We prefer a more.. direct route." Rex said, and indicated the crates of weaponry behind him. "We should seize this vessel by force. We know that the people here will be resourceful. Simply because no one has ever forced one of the Kind to leave it's chosen vessel, does not mean that they may not be able to discern a method, given time."

"Direct . . . but crude." Elessidil's occupant seemed dubious. "We currently face no organized resistance from the corporeals. An armed assault will immediately forge their opposition."

"We believe we should take the ship by force, quickly, cleanly. We have spread many of the Kind aboard this vessel already. Securing it under our control will eliminate the need for subterfuge. It will not take them long to organize against us once they become aware."

"Why are you doing this?" the soft voice murmured. The Betazoid woman cowered on the floor of the room on board the Galaxy, her arms clasped around her head as though they would give her a little extra shielding. She was strong. Too strong to reach, at least, at the moment. But They were wearing her down: she knew it, They knew it. It could only be a matter of time, really, though Madden had vowed she would hold out as long as possible, and that could be a while. "You don't need to do this. Just leave us alone. Please."

"Not likely." Rex said, giving her a cruel smile, made all the more chilling by the multi-tonal voice. "You already belong to us, little girl. You believe your mind to still be your own, but We are inevitable. Irresistible. You posses what small measure of freedom you now have by virtue of Our will."

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the tears of fear, frustration, desperation, lost hope. He -- It? -- was right. What could she do? Warn them? Who would really believe her? By this time, it had to be becoming clear that telepaths were being affected, that would do nothing to boost her credibility. Here she was, the only survivor of a terrible massacre, a powerful psychic adversely affected by the negative emotions and thoughts stampeding around the station as the crew self destructed and brutally slaughtered one another. And if there was any doubt, the Chief Medical Officer would weigh in as well as one of the assistant-chief counselor.

"Le -- let me go, I beg of you. Please."

"Never." the cruel voice replied.

"So this is the one this host communicated with when this ship first arrived," Elessidil commented, turning to Jayce's writhing form and regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. "She is strong. What an excellent host she will make." Was she stronger than the host It now possessed? It nearly shuddered with ecstasy at the possibility of being able to experience even more than It could now.

"Indeed." the beings called Rex noted, and turned to face the Chief. Externally, his eyes narrowed, but in the landscape of the mind, something completely different happened. Several of the Kind were released, misty, ethereal shapes that swam straight for Jayce, hammering her already weakened mental defenses.

"This won't take long." They said with assurance.

On reflex, she batted at the shapes a moment with her arms before backing away from them. She hit the wall faster than she expected, her body pressed there as she stared at the ethereal figures and then those controlling them. Starfleet Officers -- or, they were. They had the same look to them that those on the station had adopted; the air around their bodies was distorted slightly: what humans sometimes called the "aura". The uniform didn't fit them. Nothing did.

"Do you honestly think," she said, through gritted teeth, "that you're going to get any further than you did on the station? I can last longer than you think."

Even longer than she thought. The more dire, the more desperate the situation, the stronger her resolve. She found strength she hadn't known she had, defenses she'd forgotten. It was like running a marathon: just when you thought you were out of energy, your body fell into its rhythm; as tired as she was, her mind was keeping it up out of lack of what else to do. It was so well trained, so well conditioned, Madden wasn't even sure she could let her defenses fall if she had to. Beyond and because of that, she was becoming the MacGyver of the psychic world, able to pull up shields using a wink and a prayer. She would not let them beat her. They would not take her.

Though they might drive her crazy.

To Rex's release of more of the Kind to break the woman's resistance, the one inside Elessidil made its own contribution. Using the counselor's own telepathic voice, It reached out, ~Chief . . . it's me again, Brian Elessidil. Let down your guard, it's okay. There's nothing to fear . . . nothing at all.~ On the outside, It smiled, but there was nothing gentle or compassionate about it. It was enjoying confusing her.

Madden's large brown eyes turned toward Elessidil's shape, narrowing with severe hatred. "I won't fall for your whispers," she said, voice low. She chose a point in the air in front of the man's body and pushed psychic energies there, manipulating it enough to create a strong burst that sent his figure backward a few feet, onto his back on the ground. She saw the handheld phaser on the night stand, laid there by one of them, and she reached for it with mind and hand, willing it to come toward her.

She usually thought of her telekinetics as cheap parlour tricks for when a party was getting stale. She could pick up smaller objects, bring them to her relatively quickly, and she could push back larger objects, like a person, but not very far and only if she had enough time to concentrate. Also. In this situation, the cheap parlour tricks were risky and energy draining. But she needed something.

The Chief grasped the handle of the phaser and stood, leveling it toward Rex -- he seemed to be the leader in all of this.

"You're going to let me go or I'm going to burn a hole through this shiny new host of yours," she growled, blowing hair out of her face. "And finding another host quite as high ranking as this one with as much access to weapons and people is going to be a smidge difficult."

As the Chief's attention was on Rex, the Deltan security guard that They had infected earlier took aim and fired upon the Betazoid Master Chief, dropping her to the deck without so much as a word form any of the Dithparu.

"Her resistance is.. most impressive." the one called Elessidil commented.

"It is of no moment." "Rex" replied. "All fall to our dominion, in time. This one will be no different. And if she is, there's always the other way."

"Indeed."

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