"Writing Home"

Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik,
Chief Navigation Officer

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

Deck 5, Crew Quarters.
July 2382

"I'm too old to be doing this, Ziggy. Almost 33, and I'm still writing home to my parents."

Miramon was sat at the computer console in his quarters, typing out a quick message to his family back home on Bajor, telling them what had been going on over the past few weeks while they'd been at DS5. As he was doing this, for some reason, he was talking aloud to his cat - Ziggy, most of them time, and occasionally something less polite spoken in his native Bajoran.

He was, as it happened, allergic to Earth cats, but Sickbay gave him medication to keep the allergy in check, and he'd eventually given in and bought a cat, since a dog was way too much work and less inclined to be left alone than cats were, and were probably about half as smart as the average household feline. That said, though, what he hadn't been aware of at the time was just because cats were more intelligent than dogs, that wasn't necessarily indicative of the fact that they were in any way sane. This one certainly wasn't.

But if nothing else, it meant that Miramon wasn't quite talking to himself when he was working. Instead he could talk to the walking furball, and assume (as you do) that it was completely understanding of everything he said, and thus wasn't going to say anything in reply. Or at least, that was how it appeared to work.

He hit the start button on his keypad and began typing, speaking the words outloud so as to make sure the cat didn't start feeling neglected by silence, and also so that he could go over the way the words sounded openly, so as to serve as his own critic. Sometimes he thought it might be a good idea to put the same effort into personal communiques as he did with all the other work he did, just to be safe.

Mom, Dad, Illana,

All's quiet aboard ship for the moment. We've just finished having problems over at DS5, near the Hydran border. We were sent over here to deliver Admiral Proctor to her command, and when you're that close to hostile space, you tend to send the heavier fleet elements on minor missions, hence why we ended up with her. I've met many people since I've come aboard the Galaxy, but I don't think I've met many that have been as arrogant as Oliver Proctor. I swear, even the Captain looked tempted to have a go at her during some of the briefings we've had, but you'd get court-martialed if you struck an Admiral, so everybody gritted their teeth and did as we were told.

Anyway, when we hit DS5, we sent over an Away Team, and then weird things started happening all over the ship - crewmembers started acting funny and what have you. I grant you, that's not particularly unusual, given the size of the ship - with over 1000 people aboard, occasionally you can expect things to get a little strange. But this was just strange, regardless. Turned out later that the telepaths among our number were being, well, possessed by this weird ancient race of spirits, I suppose you could call them - classified as the Dithparu.

Miramon wasn't quite sure how they'd take that. Bajorans were, as a rule, very spiritual people and they didn't take well to the idea of people being 'possessed' or anything other than themselves - in reality, such a thing would scare the living hells out of them, since such a thing would be damaging to the Pagh of an individual - their spiritual life force. Luckily Bajorans themselves weren't telepathic, for if they had been, Miramon might have had an encounter with a Dithparu at very close range, and he doubted his parents would be particularly pleased at that - and they'd not exactly been close before. Still, like as not, this'd just give them yet another reason to send him a message telling him to go back to Bajor and settle down.

Like that was going to happen.

He gave a gentle chuckle and then continued with his typing.

We got rid of them eventually, and the ship is still well intact, thankfully, so we don't need a refit or any other form of repairs ourselves. We're in good shape, aside from the Telepaths - a lot of them had some hard experiences when under the influence of the Dithparu, so it's going to be a while before they get sorted out and normal life resumes aboard ship. Right now we're assisting with repairs and the like on DS5 so they can operate without assistance and we can get on with our next assignment, whatever that may be. While we're here we still have to co-ordinate with Admiral Proctor, but she no longer graces our ship with her presence, so we don't have to tiptoe around anymore and hope she dislikes anything we do. I'd imagine I wasn't the only one on command staff that breathed a sigh of relief when she transported off. Another one will likely be due when we leave the system altogether.

Aside from that minor interruption, we're all fine. I'm still settling into my new position in Navigation - I'm not quite sure why I got the promotion, but thus far it's all going well. Sure, it's more work and what have you, but it looks good on the resume, at least as a third posting, so I won't complain. I'm eating relatively well and keeping myself fit, so I'm in good health, although I'm due for a physical in a few weeks, so I guess if I'm wrong, I'll soon find out.

That said, I've got to get back to doing some work, so I'll sign off here. Hope you're all well.

With love,

Miramon

The Bajoran signed off quickly and prepped the message for sending. Most of the time, messages went out in a bundle - sent at the end of the day in a collected group and routed to one of the many communication posts spread out through the various sectors, so that each message could be re-routed to their destinations. His message would probably reach home in a day or two, which would mean that he wouldn't receive a reply until next week, thankfully. His family tended to bug him constantly if he didn't send messages - mainly a result of their disapproval of his leaving Bajor to join Starfleet after the end of the Occupation.

He shook his head and gave a gentle sigh, then turned back to the work he'd piled up on his desk, since he wanted to get a quick report written up on the proposed exercises he wanted to do with his department and those from various others - just to test how they worked with new officers in charge, and to give them chance to assess their ability to work together. And then there were the reports from Engineering regarded the status of the shuttlecraft and runabouts, catching up on the many and varied feedback reports that were coming back from his team, and the counsellors psychological assessments of them in their normal routine check-ups.

So much to do, all in such a short space of time. He turned off his computer console and headed over to the replicator. First tea, then work.

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
Assigned to USS Galaxy

Claria (NPC: Lori C.)
Telepathic Echo
Waiting in the "After Life" (Raynor's Unconscious)

Mark (NPC: Lori C.)
Telepathic Echo
Waiting in the "After Life" (Raynor's Unconscious)

Raynor's Quarters

Raynor was busy writing his mission report... which was a bitch because he had the memories of the Dithparu in his head as well as several now dead crewmen, so he had a better understanding of the overall chaos of not only what happened on the Galaxy more completely... but Deep Space Five as well.

He hated writing these things, but they had to be done. He summarized as best he could... He began to speak.

"Stardate: 50511.13,

USS Galaxy, Docked Deep Space Five Ensign Raynor - Intelligence Officer

Mission Report:

I was en route to Deep Space Five, originally from Deep Space Nine, on board the runabout USS Saint Lawrence, as ordered, with the late Marine Demolitions Specialist, Warrant Officer Ronald Zackary Logan. After completing secondary objectives I had been given, we encountered a Type VIII shuttle, which was thoroughly disabled. The shuttle was assigned to Deep Space Five. There was one survivor, a Betazoid, and two dead humans on board the shuttle. We beamed all three we beamed aboard and began treating them. The humans were put into stasis so they could be looked at later. After treating the Betazoid crewman for his injuries, I tried to question him. Unfortunately he appeared to be in shock, and unable to answer any of my questions. After assessing our situation and sent a message to Starfleet Command. With nowhere esle to go to, we headed directly for Deep Space Five to determine the situation.

As we got closer to the station, sensors and long range communications went out. Upon our arrival it became apparent that the Station had seen some major internal battle... The Galaxy was also there, but as wel tried hailing, neither responded. Before we could decide to do anything, the Betazoid had gotten out of bed, and I sent Logan to go check on him. A moment later, he was dead via lethal injection from the Betaziod, and I had gone for the phaser, after stunning him, I felt myself being attacked telepathically. After several minutes of resistance I was 'possessed' by alien telepathic entity named Kanin.

Kanin's race went by two names, Dithparu, and the Kind. They were responsible for the battle that pitted Starfleet Personnel against each other for control of Deep Space Five. Kanin then fired the phaser again, killing the Betazoid, who was at the time possessed."

Raynor paused momentarily. And then began to give an account from the viewpoint of multiple Dithparu and the Betaziod survivor. How they emerged from the 'Structure' Deep Space Five had recovered, like a Trojan horse. How they fought for the Station, and how several of them went after the shuttles. How the station’s personnel tore themselves apart.

He also noted that five other shuttles managed to escape Deep Space Five, and how many personnel were as of yet unaccounted for, most of them being Telepaths. It wasn't a happy thought that a few of them were still out there, but he continued.

"I also have reason to believe that, the Dithparu from the 'Structure' are somewhat mentally retarded. After being cooped up in that prison for so long, it’s easy to lose part of ones mind, and become damaged in some way. But this is just speculation, and in no way an actual fact."

He continued with events on the Galaxy. Of the confusion among crew members from the lack of internal communications, and how several crewman were helpless in figuring out what to do. Or the killings committed by each side, as a handful of the non-possessed were just as vicious. It was turning out to be along report. And of course how the Captain had acted in shutting out the entire computer, slowing the Dithparu's plans for taking over the ship entirely to a halt. A halt threatened unwittingly by Admiral Proctor, who had been tricked into believing a false story.

He had managed to know all this because of not only those who died on the Galaxy, but also from those who had near death experiences, or simply by people who had their life flashing before their eyes in a moment of panic.

It really urked him that he was the only telepath who could 'talk' to the dead. Because his reports ended up being just so damned long due to that ability. He looked it over, made sure that everything was clear... and then continued.

"Luckily for me, Kanin believed that his Kind were making a huge mistake all over again, using the same strategy as they used on Deep Space Five. He seemed intent on destroying the 'Structure' without the others knowing about it. This bought me the time to dip into my unconscious mind, and find what I needed to destroy him. Though the fact that I have a split personality disorder may have helped confuse him. And once he felt the mind of a more powerful Telepath he was trembling in fear, making my job, relatively easy. After regaining control of my own body I was unable to move, for a long while. The 'Structure' remained untouched by Kanin. Once I got up it was all over, the Dithparu had lost, and I reported for duty on the Galaxy.

End Report"

He didn't reporting how all the other Dithparu had been dealt with... he figured it wasn't his place to say and that it would be on several other mission reports/summaries... Suffice to say they were lured into a trap and dealt with.

Raynor stretched his arms back and yawned. He caught himself staring out the window. And minutes began to seem like hours...

He sat in his empty room, a blank stare on his face as if in a trance. Looking out into space. There was nothing ceremonial around him, yet he clearly was not all there, as if in a dream or meditation of some kind. In truth he was in the land of dead of his mind, wandering... trying to find the souls of the recently deceased.

Among the graves, stood a lone figure. A figure of a woman that once was. A figure who now only exists in spirit and in memory. Her death, one of misery and heartache over watching her own hands kill the man she loved. A death of exhaustion because of the entity that wore her body to death. A death that brought her here.

Pariah looked around the mindscape, tombstones were scatter about but they looked more like homes than anything else... and for some reason looked more happy than gothic. He couldn't put his finger on it. But then again his mind was broken, and there were some things here that definitely did not belong... he passed an image of a monkey fucking a coconut. He really didn't know why that was here, but he ignored it, and approached the girl. "Welcome to my mind." He said. "I am the Speaker for the Dead. What is your name?"

She turned and looked at him timidly, "Claria." She added looking around once more, "Where am I?"

"The unconscious of a person known as Zev Raynor, a human telepath. He has a habit to pick up many things that he shouldn’t... but in short you are remains of someone who has died." Pariah explained.

The realization hit her. It wasn't really a surprise. Nor did it matter. It was sort of a relief. "So what am I supposed to do here?"

"Whatever you wish, but first... I must ask... is there any messages you wish to convey to the living. Something you never really got the chance to say while you were alive, or something you realised as you reached the end?"

She sighed, "I had hope to talk to Mark, but he's no longer living." Her face showed great sadness, but she looked up. "Tell them to beware of Baile."

"Did he die recently as well? No, wait... you killed him... and if you or the after thought of you is here... should he not be as well?" said the Speaker, who was pulling out a lighter. He stared at the monkey a while, then at the lighter... and then seemed to think better of it and put it away. Flaming monkeys fucking coconuts were just a little too weird... even for this mind.

Then he finished his statement, "Perhaps we should find this Mark here?"

"If he is here, I would like to talk to him." Her voice was overflowing with guilt.

"We'll have to find him. If he has only recently arrived... then I will not know where he is... though it should not be too far from here."

Meanwhile, a young man was holding a flower. He had found it the instant he remembered being here. It was the first flower he had ever given to Claria. He knew within a week of knowing her, he'd hope he could be her Imzadi. Now he sat here holding a pathic happy yellow daisy. He knew what he was. He was a non-existent....nothing. Where he was, he didn't know. He just knew that somehow he had found Claria. The former Claria. The Claria he knew and loved. Not the one who went berserk and killed him.

The Speaker bowed his head for a moment and then just pushed off the ground lightly... he began to 'fly', but it wasn't flying... Raynor had been instructed in Zero gravity manoeuvres and tactics since childhood. He found it easier to manoeuvre like that sometimes... especially when he needed to think. He keeping an eye out for anyone who might be her lover... this was a new path for him. To absorb two lovers, 'echoes'. He was studied Claria a little, trying to understand her life, and learn what there was to learn from her. About Humanity.

Floating, or this Zero gravity manoeuvring helped him thing better sometimes.

"Perhaps we should go to the temple..." he suggested. It was really a church, with a flower bed in it, but he felt there might be some significance.

She shrugged, "It's your world."

"It isn't my world... it is the world which influences me, and my interpretations of it. Or more specifically Raynor. You are an influence are you not? You seem to have a will of your own. According to some, I should have an image of me raping my mother, or perhaps the other way around. And nothing in this world is ever solid... everything is manipulated over time. Right now its a planet... Tomorrow it may only be a city. A week from now, a Sun, or an asteroid field, or maybe even a battle roo-"

She gasped, "There he is!"

He looked over and saw the figure... he looked lonely and sad. He held a flower by himself. The Speaker was a little amazed... it was rare that an image ever needed a prop.

The man looked up and blinked. Claria? Who was that with her? He stood.

The Speaker, set his feet back on the ground... and walked towards the man introducing himself, and beginning to explain where he was.

He looked at Claria the whole time. Claria looked back and wanting so much to go to him, but scared of how he would react. When the speaker stopped talking, Mark finally said. "Claria, do you remember the flower?" He held it out to her.

Claria, definitely remembering, ran to him and wrapped her arms around him and they both cried. "I'm so sorry! It wasn't me!"

Mark touched her wet cheek, "I didn't think so. That doesn't matter now. We're here. Together."

Claria kissed him and added, "Did I ever tell you I think you are my Imzadi?"

The Speaker turned to Claria, then to Mark. "Perhaps I should take my leave and allow you to talk... but before I go, is there anything you wish to tell those who still live? Any messages to convey?"

They were still in each other's arms and looking at each other dreamily. Mark finally said, "Never let go of love."

The speaker bowed and turned to leave...

Claria added, "Too bad we couldn't had been married."

Mark glanced at the man, "Is it too late? I mean, I know we're like dead and all, but..." He looked back at Claria, "I would love to be hers forever."

Claria smiled, "I would love to be yours forever!"

The Speaker stopped... "I can perform the ceremony... I know the passages, and I have spoken in religious ceremonies before..." he said. "I'll just skip the 'Til death do you part'"

They both nodded and Claria started to remove her clothes.

The Speaker bowed his head slightly... and suddenly they were in a small church made very well carved stone... "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two in marriage," he began.

As the ceremony progressed, the two repeated the words and the kiss lasted a bit longer than it should.

"I now declare you both husband and wife. Maybe you be happy, til the end of my days." The speaker declared, and began to head for the exit.

Just then a wall came crashing down. A jug of red punch had flown through and said "OH YEA!"

To which the Pariah yelled, "OH NO KOOL AID! You little bastard... no OH YEA for you. FIRST YOUR GOING TO FIX THIS WALL BEFORE THE REAL CLERGY GETS BACK. NOBODY'S GOING TO BELIEVE A FREAKING BOWL OF PUNCH DID THIS! They are so going to beat me with a belt in my sleep. THEN YOUR GOING TO EXPLAIN WHY I SHOULDN'T KILL YOU RIGHT HERE! You'll go down easy, your very top heavy." There was a clear sense of frustration; he was hoping to keep this marriage relatively dignified.

"Kool Aid brought cake. OH YEA!" respond the Kool Aid.

Pariah looked like he was about to straggle the bowl of punch. But, instead he just sighed, and with a lowered head, walked out the door.

And then Raynor opened his eyes... and sat back a bit in his chair. "Never let go of love." Mark had said... the sad truth was, he had yet to find love. A tear went down his cheer, as he looked back on the life he lead. Always working towards his own survival... except when his survival required him to work for someone else. He had not found love, and he doubted he ever would.

He wrote a short letter to both their family and friend's about how he was there with them at the end. And how they were happy now, because they were together.

And he ended the letter with Mark's advice, and signed it, Speaker for the Dead. He sent it out and made sure it was untraceable, as he had always done, since becoming the Speaker.

Raynor closed his eyes, and began to look for the others who had recently ended their tale of life... and learn what they had to teach and deliver those messages that would of been otherwise lost.

"What They Left Behind"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell,
Engineer Saia (APC)

***USS Galaxy, Sickbay***

For the second time since coming aboard the Galaxy, Nara woke atop a biobed, not knowing how she got there and taking several seconds to realize what happened the last moments she did remember.

She opened her eyes, immediately squinting at the light. She was glad at the fact she could control her eyes at all. As her mind became more aware of her surroundings, she could hear voices and see movement at the corner of her eyes. She saw someone come toward her.

He asked her questions. She answered. He scanned her. She couldn't leave just yet.

She was told to rest, but couldn't help twitching muscles just because she COULD!

Eventually, she did succumb to rest. As she fell asleep, she was haunted by the things the Dithparu used her body to do. In remembering the aliens, she suddenly realized she couldn't seem to raise her mental shields. She never imagined having her telepathy so weak. She remembered how coming back from Dhani's mind left her exhausted. So now she rested, not worrying so much at how vulnerable her mind was.

***About An Hour Later***

Nara heard a familiar voice and turned her head. A short Twill girl stood and suddenly looked at Nara tentavally. Nara frowned. She held her hand out toward Saia.

Saia stepped closer, but still a few feet away.

Nara attempted to sit up. She swatted the hand away that tried to make her lay down. She pointed to Saia's head, then herself, punched her other hand and then pointed at Saia again.

Saia instantly understood. It was what Nara asked her on Trill. With a trembling voice she answered the same as she did then, "No. I don't think you'd hurt me, but I'm scared." She knew that now she didn't know fear then. On Trill, she was scared because she was alone. Here, she was scared of being killed. Something that seemed very possible recently.

Nara had tears in her eyes too as she spoke, "I'm sorry." She held out her hands as Saia reluctantly went to her and wrapped her arms around Nara.

Nara winced, realizing Saul must had punched her in her ribs at sometime. She had him to apologize to as well.

Suddenly, she seriously doubted her decision to have Saia live here. It was now obviously not a very safe place to be.

A place where you're closest friends could suddenly turn against you. No. It was clear to everyone now that trust was a very fragile thing. Knowing your enemies and your friends was imperative.

In case a friend suddenly turned enemy.

"Catching up"

Bran
Sam

"What's on the list for today?" Samantha asked as she came into Branwen's office. Her tone was meant to be light but she couldn't help the heaviness that creeped into it. She didn't want to be here, especially since she knew that this was going to turn into an actual counseling session. She wanted to be back in bed working on one of her novels. Or better yet, she wanted to be onboard the Miranda.

Branwen had of course heard what had happened to Sam amongst other people. And for the first time she was concerned about the girl. "Hi Sam." She said.

"Have a seat, how have you been?"

"I'm fine." Sam said. She had chosen to keep the scar on her cheek for the moment because she wanted to show Arel when she got to see the security officer again.

Her thumbs had been fixed but she still suspected that they were longer than they used to be.

"Today I would like to talk to you about what happened." Bran watched her closely.

Samantha set her jaw. "I'd rather not."

Bran just looked at her.

"You're not MY counselor, Bran." Samantha said coolly, at least she hoped it

was cool, these days it was hard to tell. "You're more like my academic advisor. So, what are we going to learn about psychology or marines today?"

"I am your shrink as well, Sam." Guess they didn't tell her that. "You are a smart girl. You read the manuals and what does it say is the first thing you should do after something traumatic happens?"

"Well, that would depend upon your culture, wouldn't you say, Bran?" Sam said with some of her old spunk. "I'm sure that humans and vulcans are in partial agreement with the whole relate, not re-live the moment thing, but if this was Qo'nos you'd seek out what caused you the trauma and then gut it like a fish. The Jem Hadar would probably sniff some crack and the Ferengi would check their stock exchange as a precaution. Bajorans naturally would seek guidance from their Prophets, the Borg would seek perfection elsewhere, and the Romulans would blame the whole mess on the Remans.

"Personally," Samantha continued. "I've always liked the approach of the one-handed-flute-playing Andorian on top of the highest snowy peak, contemplating his trauma in total isolation."

Of course Sam knew of no such approach but it sounded something very neo-Zen and worthy of one of her chapters in her novel.

Bran found it significant that she had named it a trauma herself. "You are wrong about humans, Sam. Although I applaud your studies. The best course of action for a human is to relive it."

"I believe that there is litterature that says otherwise." Samantha retorted. "And how can a person be expected to function if they keep reliving an event over and over again? Oh, they can allright, if they don't mind taking prozac."

"How can a person to be expected to function if they keep pushing it away and as a result sleep badly because of the nightmares?" She looked at the girl. "If you talk about it, Sam. It will seem smaller over time. It will be come less scary."

Samantha snorted. "It was scary then. It's a memory now. And I sleep fine."

"Then there is no reason why you can't tell me about it." Bran said.

"Oh yes there is." The young girl snapped. "Because *I* don't want to."

Bran watched her. "That bad?" She then said softly.

The girl's face softened for a moment as she considered and when Samantha found that her eyes were starting to water she decided that she'd considered enough. "Eh, nothing I can't handle. Now, can we PLEASE discuss the marines?"

Branwen hesitated but then decided to give in to the girl. She knew you could not force people to talk. But at the same time, she wanted to keep a close eye on Samantha for the foreseeable future. "Allright then." She said.

"Radio Ga Ga"

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
Assigned to USS Galaxy

USS Galaxy in shadowy unknown room...

Raynor checked his audio software and his hacks into the main computer. It had taken a day to set this rig up, and he’d probably only have a little over an hour to make it work. The incident with the Dithparu was about three days ago, and everyone was supposed to report to the counsellors. So they decided to send these traumatized crew to counsellors who had gone through the same trauma and were dealing with it themselves to try and counsel the crew. Raynor thought this was retarded but there was always a chance they knew something he didn't. Either way he was still going through the process of attempting to revive an age-old tradition.

He had given it four days for the crew to mourn. He figured now was as good a time as any... This was either brilliance, or madness. 'It's a miracle how often those two traits coincide,' he thought to himself.

He took a deep breath, prayed he didn’t have a massive spasm for not apparent reason, and began, putting on his stage voice.

RAYNOR: "GOOOOOOOOOD MORNING DEEP SPACE FIVE! Hey, this is not a not a test. This is rock and roll. Time to rock it from the Beta to the DS5. HEY, IS IT A LITTLE TOO EARLY FOR BEING THAT LOUD? Hey, too late! It's 0600 hours. What does the "O" stand for? O my God, it's early! Let's get this party started."

Raynor’s voice was being broadcast to the entire station as well as every deck on board the Galaxy, through the intercom. Some people were going to be annoyed. But he expected that initially. It was after all it was Military radio... well not quite Military radio yet, but it would get there eventually... maybe... taken over a communications department somewhere.

He was also borrowing a lot of the show from the Good Morning Vietnam movie. But, it was the effect he was aiming for, not the necessarily to win a prize for originality. Plus copy right really wasn't an issue for a 400 year old movie. He continued…

RAYNOR: "Let’s start this off with Freddy and the Dreamers!"

The song was clearly being played too slow.

RAYNOR: (imitating slow speed) "Wrong speed. We've got it on the wrong speed. (normal voice) For those of you recovering from a hangover, that's gonna sound just right. Let's put it right back down. Let's try it a little faster, see if that picks it up."

Now the song was being played too fast.

RAYNOR: (imitating fast speed) "Let's get it up on 78. Those pilots right now are going "I really like the music. I really like the music. I really like the music." Oh, it's still a bad song. (normal voice) Hey, wait a minute. Let's try something. Let's play this backwards and see if it gets any better. (imitating speaking backwards) 'Freddy is the devil.' Ooh. (normal voice) Why am I here? We're gonna play some music for you right now. Here we go. Here's a little James Brown coming your way. Baby, help me, please."

Raynor faded into the song... and breathed... and let it play… chances were he going to get caught and probably court-martialled for this shit. As the song ended he flipped it to another of the same tone, although not necessarily of the same genre. Always having small quick jokes to cover the switch, such as...

"Whoa. In the dictionary under 'asshole' it says 'see Proctor'." Or... "If we don't go crazy once in a while, we'll all go crazy." And even... "Marriage is probably the chief cause of divorce."

After about 15 minutes of music he went into a small commercial with...

RAYNOR: "What is the difference between the Cub Scouts and Starfleet? Bzzzzzt! Cub Scouts don't have heavy artillery! And now a word from our sponsors..."

The intercom faded into a baby absolutely bitching. It was just crying, its mouth off, and was highly annoying. Parents all over the ship were running to their babies just to make sure it wasn’t them. It went on for a full minute, the crying, the whining, the moaning, and all over racket only a little baby could make. And then came the punch line, "USE CONDOMS!"

RAYNOR: "I don't know about the rest of you, but I found that advise was sound. I probably live with that. Actually, I’d like to take a minute now and address anyone who has a little guy or girl on the way. First off, I’d like to apologize for influencing them my taste in music while their still in the womb. And making you all have second thoughts about children. But there's one question I have to ask... Do you guys still fuck?"

Raynor paused for a moment... laughed a little himself on that one... before continuing...

RAYNOR: "Does the little one grab your cock while your inside and say 'HEY, I'M IN HERE!' (A moment of stifled laughter) Sorry about that, just had to ask... And now the moment you haven't been waiting for. Earlier this week, I had the chance to interview Admiral Proctor's Hologram. Let’s listen to the highlights shall we."

Fade into the interview...

PROCTOR VOICE: "As I leave the Galaxy today there will be no doubt in my mind that the Hydrans will be defeated. And this war will be won. It does involve as you have suggested give and take." RAYNOR: "Well I really didn't make that suggestion sir I'm sorry."

There was a massive gasp aboard the station and the ship, the recording sounded exactly like Proctor's real voice. As the interview progressed it was clear it was going to get good.

RAYNOR: "Admiral Proctor, thank you for that concise political commentary but I think I'd rather delve into a more personal question for the crew on the station. How would you describe your testicles?" PROCTOR VOICE: "That they're soft and they're very shallow and they serve no purpose." RAYNOR: "So what are you saying sir?" PROCTOR VOICE: "They lack the physical strength."

Proctor's face was going red with anger, it was one thing to woken this early in the morning it was another to be insulted... and the Admiral was not about to stand for this. She got dressed quickly and marched down to the command center.

RAYNOR: "How would you describe your sex life?" PROCTOR VOICE: "It is unexciting sometimes." RAYNOR: "Well, you can consider a sex change. There is an operation that can transform you into a female white dane or a very hell wung chihuaua. Admiral Proctor it is rumoured that you have smoked marijuana. Are you planning to take some of the marijuana home back to the Deep Space Five? How would you do that?" PROCTOR VOICE: "By starship, by shuttle, and also by transporter."

If people weren't cracking to this, they wouldn't be cracking up at all.

RAYNOR: "Well Admiral, were out of time, I will tell you one thing though... you seem to be in more dire need of a blow job that anyone in the entire history of the human race." PROCTOR VOICE: "Thank you for noticing, I am." RAYNOR: "And there you have it folks the truth behind Admiral Proctor’s Hologram, and that concludes our interview."

Raynor turned off that recording, and began to speak again.

RAYNOR: "Hey, uh, hi, can you help me, what's your name?" ROSEN: "My name's Rosen L. Rose." RAYNOR: "Rosen, where are you?" ROSEN: "I'm in the Command Center." RAYNOR: "Well, thank you, Rose. What's the weather like out there?" ROSEN: "Hurricane Proctor is blowing through so there's a lotta hot air! It's hot. Damn hot! Real hat! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking." RAYNOR: "Well, can you tell me what it feels like?" ROSEN: "Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! I saw... It's so damn hot, I saw Bajorans, in their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?" RAYNOR: "What do you think it's going to be like tonight?" ROSEN: "It's gonna be hot and wet! That's nice if you're with a lady, but it ain't no good if you're here." RAYNOR: "Thank you, Rosen. Here's a song coming your way right now. "Nowhere To Run To" by Martha and the Vandellas. Yes! You know what I mean!"

And Raynor breathed again. One thing was certain, he didn’t know what he mean. He didn't really know most of these songs... He had picked them last night, as the computer as being consistent with a certain theme... was recommending them. He had listened to each of them once, just to make sure, but other than that... he was flying blind with these things.

And so it went, for about 40 more minutes. Raynor trying to lighten the mood and raise morale with his jokes, stories, and one man performing dialogues...

RAYNOR: "Well ladies in gentlemen, I'm about to captured in all likelihood... before I am, I'd like to thank everybody for the time, and patience with me... not that you had much of a choice. Anyways toodles."

And with that Raynor quickly disengaged his transmission, and deleted all the files he had used for it. He wouldn’t need them again for a long time, if ever. That took a minute then he exited the room, expecting to find a couple of security personnel on the other side of the door.

“Indigo for Indigo”

by Lt. Ella Grey

Ella looked at herself in the mirror, critically inspecting the outfit that she had chosen for Indigo’s memorial, and frowned.

It seemed wrong. Indecent somehow considering its purpose. Not to mention the fact that she was dressing for Indigo’s memorial, which in itself was wrong.

The outfit looked good on her, though. It fit and Indy would have loved it but Ella still thought that the dress was ghastly inappropriate for the occasion at hand.

Maybe it was because Ella’s idea of memorials and funerals ran towards a more traditional approach to death. Sobering. Mournful. Sedate. Long black limos and evenly spaced tombstones. Mourners in black or dark navy, with white pearls hanging around the necks of the women and neck ties to match the suits for the men. Children sitting quietly, swinging their legs in absolute boredom.

At Ella's funeral there would be bouquets of calla lilies, bound by delicate pink ribbons for that extra special personal touch. Flute or cello music would play softly in the background and her farewell song would be anything but the detested “Evening.”

Her mother would sob on and on about her dearly departed baby, of course, while her father would remain like a stone throughout the entire service, although it would be obvious to all that he was absolutely devastated.

8-ball and Curtis would be there, the former wearing a long modest black dress, except for the slit in the leg because Ella had to allow for some semblance of reality in this morbid little fantasy, and the latter (having never stepped foot on the dessert planet) would feel shaken to his core at the death of his former student, former friend.

And Victor would be there as well because at her funeral, obviously, Victor would not be angry or cold or unhappy with her anymore.

Victor would cry wordlessly as Ella was lowered into the earth (now in her glass Snow White coffin which was embedded with sapphires) and then suddenly, and with great theatric expression, and to hell with reality, he would leap into the hole (still crying) to beat upon the casket until it opened so that he could bring her back to life with a kiss.

Sometimes Ella came back to life and sometimes she didn’t. It varied upon her mood.

Obviously she had had too much time to think upon the subject of her own funeral over the past few days.

Still, everyone who came to the funeral of Ella Grey would comment later on how it was such a waste, the poor girl. They would be saddened how they never really understood her but she was so obviously talented, likeable, respected, etc. They would go to her memorial telling old stories like the time she was paraded down the halls in her little pink towel or the first time she used her mechanical voice in Engineering, ah the good old days, and eat from one of the many various dishes that were brought out of sympathy if not love.

They would leave feeling that her death had been a real tragedy and on the whole an injustice had been done upon them by a cruel and uncaring universe.

Indigo had demanded a beach barbeque.

Ella gave a lopsided smile as she remembered the paper she had found, now in the possession of Indy’s parents. Some time in the last few months, probably after Bill’s death, her friend had sat down and had seriously thought about what she wanted should she unexpectedly die. Indigo had requested that her body return with her parents to Earth and that Ella not attend because, on the whole, the whole funeral process was not so much fun. Instead, Indy had requested that Ella organize the final arrangements for Indigo’s spiritual self.

This, Indigo had dictated in her scrawling penmanship made in orange and purple ink, was to be a 48-hour beach barbeque on Holodeck One, complete with Hawaiian luau, volleyball tournament, Frisbee, and wet t-shirt contest if so desired. It was to be 48 hours so that people who had to work would have equal opportunity to party and celebrate the wacky fun that had been Indigo Renkert.

The only requirement for their admittance was that all guests had to wear the color indigo somewhere on their person.

They also got a brownie at the door if they had done something daring with their hair.

To both ends, Ella had succeeded. She was wearing a royal blue bikini and a hawaiin print sarong in a shade lying in the visible spectrum between blue and violet. She had a large beach bag with everything needed for a day at the beach, frisbee, book, pail and shovel, and two bottles of illegal Romulan ale.

She’d even dyed a lock of her hair a matching shade of indigo just because she thought that Indy would have gotten a kick out of it.

She’d had a bitch of a time making it work though as, since her mother had never allowed her to dye her hair, Ella was left all alone with a box, dye, and little white gloves that did not save your hands from dye no matter what the box promised. Therefore, she’d gone through several shades before she got it just right and had had a long cry somewhere in between because Indy should have been around to show her how it was done properly.

But now here she was, dressed in indigo for Indigo, and wanting to mourn instead of playing a damn game of volleyball. But this was what Indy had wanted and if this was what Indy had wanted then Ella was damn well going to do it.

Making sure that she had a bottle opener for the Romulan ale, Ella headed off for the Holodeck.

"Mandatory Counsiling"

Ladies and gentleman, this post is a free write period post, scheduled for one chuckle. Introducing first, to my right, hailing from the Tactical Department by way of Security, he is an expert in the Bhrode personality system who still holds a grudge over his demotion, here is Lt. Raven Darkstar! His partner, to my left, what? Read what? Oh for Christ sake! All right, all right. Gimmie it. His partner, to my left, hailing from "the bosom of your momma, your sister, and any other female you are foolish enough to leave him alone with", he is an expert in "saving the universe and taking home a fat chick and making a woman out of her", he's "just a love machine". Leeeeeeeeeooooooooooooo Streeeeeeeeeeeleeeeey! Streely!

Also making a spot appearance: Gruella Sugarland, NPC from the counseling department.(I'm just lightening the counseling Department's workload here by moving to an NPC)

Location: Gruella Sugarland's office.
Time: Sometime during the initial month of the five month intermission.

Gruella Sugarland took one more glance at her office to make sure nothing was amiss. The 52 year old councilor had just officially transferred over to the Galaxy after suffering an extreme nervous breakdown at the Valhalla Starbase where she had worked as a botanist.

Her transfer to the USS GALAXY represented a fresh start for her and she was determined to make her final years in Starfleet quiet and peaceful. She had sharpened all of her pencils to uniform length and situated them symmetrically in the pencil holder. She had exactly 23 pieces of paper on the left hand side of her blotter. To her right was her personal computer and her tea cup, face down so dust motes would not touch the inside.

She smoothed her tunic once again to remove any dreadful wrinkles that formed since she last smoothed her tunic five minutes ago and ordered the computer to alter the temperature in the room by one half a degree.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she pressed the actuator button on her intercom system and asked the receptionist to send in her first appointment. She then stood before her desk, heels together, hands folded in front of her with the left thumb over the right thumb.

She smiled widely, but not too widely as the door to her office swished open and then gasped loudly as Lt. Raven Darkstar squeezed himself into her office. She took two equal steps back trying to take in the stone faced officer's immense form and then paled as Leo Streely waddled into her office.

Her itinerary only listed Darkstar as her first meeting. She was positive since she had triple checked it personally.

"Excuse me, sir." she started.

"Eh? What? Did ya fart or something?" Leo asked, sniffing the air repeatedly, then shot an elbow into Raven's arm. "This is why I usually avoid shrinks. They are so out in left field from listening to everyone's problems, but tell me, OK, who listens to their problems, eh? NOBODY! They sit there and peer down their pointed little noses and ask you if your father touched your testicles in the men's room of a church, but they run around unchecked, greeting you with a fart!"

Darkstar covered his own face with the huge palm of his right hand and shook his head.

"I did not fart." Ms. Sugarland stammered, her face flush with embarrassment.

"Oh I know. You just passed gas silently, like the coughing of a chipmunk. Lemmie tell ya, babe, you rip 'em just like everyone else does. Loud, proud and knowing a prude like you, wicked smelling enough to wilt leaves off a tree. We don't have all day here, OK, so let's just get this done and get the show on the road, OK?" Leo said, looking around.

"Aint you guys all supposed to have couches? How can I lay on a couch and let you ask me if my uncle made me take holos of him dripping hot wax on his own nipples if you aint got a couch?"

"LEO!" Darkstar admonished as Ms. Sugarland fell back in her seat, fanning herself with one hand and clutching the armrest with the other, while breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth, like she had been taught.

"ALL RIGHT!! ALL RIGHT!!! IT WAS ONLY ONE TIME! I ACCIDENTALLY WALKED IN AND SAW HIM!! DOES THAT MAKE ME A PERVERT?!?!?!" Leo bellowed as a hush fell over the room. He blinked as Sugarland opened her mouth, but no words came out. Raven meanwhile was doing his best to keep from fleeing the room.

"Why don't we start over again." Leo suggested.

"Y..yes, why don't we." Gruella Sugarland said, smoothing her blotter with well manicured hands and then moving her pencil holder approximately one quarter inch to the left.

"Mr. Darkstar, we are scheduled to meet with one another today. This gentlemen here..I have no idea who he even is."

Raven sighed heavily, sinking into one of the large leather chairs, then reaching over and dragging Leo down into the chair next to him.

"I apologize for..."

"WHOA, BUDDY! Don't apologize for not announcing me. Just because I'm an official Ambassador now, doesn't mean I forgot where I came from or who made me what I am, OK?" Leo said patting Darkstar on the thigh. He turned to Gruella, licked his fingertips and then straightened his eyebrows. He walked over to her desk with a John Wayne swagger.

"Hey momma," he said seductively "I'm Ambassador Big Hoss, the Hero of Delcia IV (That was the Stone of the Prophets mission with Gul Madred for those of you long time writers) and although you have a few more miles on ya then I'm used to, I know that just because there is a little snow on the mountain, it don't mean there isn't a little fire down below, if you catch my drift."

Leo grabbed a pencil from the holder and scribbled his room number in the center of the blotter.

"Call me." he mouthed, making a phone out of his thumb and little finger.

Gruela paled as she stared at the formally pristine blotter. She fumbled to catch the pencil that Leo cavalierly flipped on her desk. Her breathing was becoming more labored now and she rearranged the articles on her desk top franticly while Leo and the mortified Darkstar looked on.

When she had finally succeeded in arranging everything perfectly, she smoothed her tunic once again and folded her hands on her desk, left thumb over right. She breathed deeply and exhaled her anxiety, then refocused on the pair before her.

"Mr. Hoss, this time was allotted to Mr. Darkstar here. If you would like to make an appointment to see me at a later date..."

Streely chuckled and kicked his feet up on the coffee table knocking the magazines to the floor.

"Dude. I told ya she wanted me. She's so warm for my form she can barely contain herself. Don't let the librarian demeanor fool ya. She's a freak."

"I am not." Gruella said.

"Are too."

"AM NOT!!!" she yelled slapping her fist on the desk top. She flew around the desk and grabbed the magazines from the floor and replaced them, by alphabetical order from warm cover colors to cool.

She tugged at her collar and smoothed her tunic once more.

"I'm only supposed to be talking to Lt. Darkstar." she asserted.

"Don't sweat it, babe. I evoked Ambassadorial privilege and got the OK to have you chat with us both. We have been partners for years now. We practically know what each other is thinking." Leo said.

"I'm thinking I need to leave." Darkstar spat under his breath.

"Couple more minutes, buddy. We're almost done here." Leo said then turned his attention to Gruella Sugarland. "What did ya want to talk to us about? I don't want to rush you but I have some Ambassadorial shit to get done and time's a wastin, OK?"

Sugarland's hands began to shake. She opened her bottom drawer and removed a hypospray. She pressed it to the base of her neck and a soft hiss issued from the device. She placed two fingers on her wrist and counted her heartbeats until they had fallen to an appropriate level.

She regulated her breathing, breathing deeply through her nose, holding it for exactly 2 seconds and then exhaling. She closed her eyes and thought about the symmetry of a snowflake.

When she opened her eyes again, she had regained a little more control over herself and the situation. She looked up to see Darkstar burying his face in both hands, his head still shaking. Leo meanwhile was fiddling with the medallion he was wearing and looking at her as one would look at a particularly large hunk of snot on their own fingertip.

Gruella mentally repeated to herself: You can do it. You have control.

When she had convinced herself of this, she soke again.

"This mission was particularly difficult on some members of this crew. the Captain has ordered everyone to meet with a member of the counseling staff to talk about anything that they may have experienced" she said, once more folding her hands in her lap, right thumb over left - then catching herself, left thumb over right.

"Mr Darkstar, you were alone in the Operations Office on DS5. Did you have any experiences you would like to share?"

Raven spoke from behind his hands.

"I was attacked by severed limbs of dead crew members, animated by evil spirits" he said matter of factly. (*Author's note: This was planned, but never posted. We'll say it wasn't shown on camera.)

Gruella blinked repeatedly.

"Severed limbs?"

"Arms and legs. Many of them." Raven said.

"Of dead crew members?"

"Well, if they were alive, I have sincere doubts that the limbs would have been severed." he said.

Gruella Sugarland could feel her heart rate spike and her stomach knot. She glanced over at Leo, who was wiggling his arm.

"He means they were cut off."

"yes. I ..I am aware of that." she said removing her glasses, folding them carefully and setting them down in front of her. "And you Mr. Hoss, did you have any similar experiences?"

"My penis was speaking to me." he said grabbing his zipper. "Let me show you..."

*** Later in M'Kantu's office ***

Darren looked at both men standing before him.

"I want you both to know that Dr. Sugarland has been transferred off of this ship. She apparently suffered a mental breakdown after speaking with you two." M'Kantu said.

"I figured as much. When she tried to throw herself out of the closed window, I knew something was off with her." Leo uttered before Raven wrapped a large hand around the little man's mouth.

"It was the penis thing." Darkstar said gravely.

Leo pried a finger from his mouth and squeeked.

"HE WAS GOIN ON AND ON ABOUT DEAD PEOPLE'S HANDS!!!!!"

M'Kantu rubbed his forehead and let out a huge sigh.

"You two are on vacation. Effective immediatly. That's an order. I will see you in 4 months. Please use that time productively and try to forget all about dead bodies and penises."

OOC: How will Leo and Raven use thier free time? You'll have to tune in again! Same Leo time! Same Leo channel!

"Sleepless Nightmare"

Ens. Artim
Medical Officer

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

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

*Galaxy Sickbay*

Artim couldn't just stay in bed. It had only been a few hours since he'd returned from Deep Space 5, and less then one since the nurses had finished with the dermal regenerator on his shoulder. Seeing all the wounded coming in and the shortage of medical staff, seeing as three of the ship's doctors were telepaths and still unconscious, the Miran had simply told the nurse to get him put back together enough to work. He'd been treating all kinds of injuries as it appeared the Dithparu had been as brutal to the Galaxy's crew as they had been to that of DS5. After treating some of the more seriously wounded, he made his way to a biobed containing an unconscious Brian Elessidil.

"What's wrong with him nurse?" the Miran said as he grabbed the PADD with the counselor's chart

"Heavy dose of Naprolex, he was probably like this before the alien was removed from his mind. We've had him on Atherol, but its not bringing him around like it should," the nurse replied

"Not surprising with the neurochemical imbalances and the neurological trauma he's recovering from. Nurse, get me...20 ccs of Thyerzine."

"Thyerzine doctor? Isn't that a bit..." the nurse replied quizzically.

"Extreme? Probably, but its about all that's going to do the trick right now," Artim replied finishing the sentence. The nurse simply nodded and handed the Miran the hypospray which he promptly pressed to the Betazoid's neck.

In the intervening hours since he'd successfully tricked his Dithparu possessor and disabled his own mind and body in the process, Brian was aware of nothing, not even that his trick had worked. After a few seconds, the Thyerzine took effect, and the counselor's dark eyes fluttered open. Bleary-eyed, he took his first view of the universe in days with only his own consciousness in his mind and body.

"Doctor . . ." he said in a slightly raspy voice, as he tried to completely discern the small figure that stood next to him. "It's gone," he whispered in quiet realization.

"Yeah, I know," Artim said as he scanned Brian's vitals to make sure they didn't shoot out of control. "The drug probably protected you from the worst damage when...well they were destroyed, but you're going to need time and rest to recover."

Artim contemplated the best way to ask his next question. Or more accurately whether he should. No doubt the Dithparu's presence had caused some kind of trauma, but then again, as the psych-heads always said, you had to face the problem to solve it.

"So, what was it like...those things..."

The counselor's gaze drifted to the doctor in response. There simply was no answer to the question. How could you describe feeling like you were an unwilling passenger in your own mind and body, that everything you knew, everything you could do, everything you *were* could simply be taken by someone -- something -- else. And the memory of it all, of everything that had happened, was nothing less than a nightmare come true.

As he struggled to somehow clear his mind of the disturbing thoughts long enough to get himself out of his semi-delirious state, Brian suddenly noticed that things were unusually . . . quiet. It was almost as if he were still observing from somewhere inside his own mind.

"Doctor, I . . ." he started, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. "Something's wrong," he said, his tone taking on an edge of alarm as he realized he had no telepathic or empathic sensations whatsoever.

"Your telepathic abilities I presume. Taru said that would happen, those possessed losing their abilities," Artim replied. He had wondered what he meant when he said the Dithparu would take the psionic abilities from Saul. He wasn't sure exactly what Taru had done yet, but seeing how it killed him and then some, he figured that some trauma would be inflicted on the Dithparu's hosts as well.

"We're not sure if it's permanent or not just yet, but there appears to be less neurological trauma in you than in some of the others. Ensign Vortas, for example, probably won't wake for a while yet since he was actively using his abilities when...it happened. You, on the other hand, were under the influence of the Naprolex which suppressed your abilities and probably lessened the damage."

As he kept scanning, something occurred to him...

"What exactly was your Dithparu doing with that stuff anyway?"

Inside, Brian's head was spinning, literally and figuratively. He prayed this disorienting loss of his telepathic ability was only temporary. Who or what was Taru? And what did the doctor mean by "when 'it' happened"? Leaning back in an effort to calm himself a little, the counselor closed his eyes and put a hand to his head as he tried to recall the events before he woke up here. "I told him to use it," he answered weakly, unsure if "him" was even the right pronoun. "Or...tricked him into using it." His mouth was dry and he still felt light-headed, but he took another calming breath and continued. "He was using my memories, my knowledge . . . I wasn't able to, mm...to take control...he was too strong. I focused as best I could...I concentrated on a thought, some false knowledge of the drug. I planted the suggestion that it would only calm the conflicting voice...my voice...that he was hearing. I knew it was what he wanted...he was distracted enough to buy it . . ."

"But you knew better, you knew it would put you down for awhile, interesting plan." Artim replied

Artim was correct; there was no more to say than that. Except . . .

"Doctor," Elessidil whispered, fighting to keep the tears from escaping down his face, "I killed Mehl . . ."

"Wasn't your fault, it was theirs.", Artim said not really thinking. He knew that those the Dithparu inhabited would feel some guilt for what they'd done while possessed and had prepared that remark, keenly aware it wouldn't be enough. "Those aliens, there wasn't really anything you or any of us could do to stop them. It took another being to do anything to them. They've apparently done this before, not just on the station, but to an entire species. Yeah, I know, you had one in you and I didn't, but that doesn't mean I can't...", Artim stopped speaking before he said something he didn't really mean. He couldn't empathize, imagine, or anything else.

Even without his empathic sense, it was obvious to Brian that Artim was no counselor. "Yeah," he managed, his thoughts already starting to drift inward. He needed to talk to Karyn. "Doctor, how soon before I'm allowed to leave?"

"Well, I want to monitor you for a bit longer to make sure the stuff is out of your system, should only be a couple hours. Also want you to come back for regular neurological scans for the next few weeks," Artim replied.

A wearily resigned "Okay," was all the counselor offered in response. Whether it was the lack of his telepathic and empathic abilities, the effects of the Naprolex, the profound realization of what had transpired in him and through him, or some combination of those, Brian felt emptier inside than he'd ever thought possible. His physical condition was the least of his concerns right now; whatever residual effects there were from the Naprolex were nothing compared to what was still going on in his mind. It would take much longer than anything that could be measured in hours for that to go away . . . much longer.

"Latent thoughts - Sojourners Epilogue"

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

Chief Tactical Officer

He needed the rest.

The Trill Doctor, Slen, told Saul that one hundred years ago, the extensive damage to his jaw – worsened by the fact that he kept using it after it was broken – couldn't be fixed completely. The wonders of modern medicine restored it almost to its original condition, and although he still sensed a remote pain when speaking, he could do so freely now.

The skin on his shoulder, burnt when the beam Nara shot missed him by mere millimeters, will take some time to regenerate.

The turmoil in his mind will take longer.

Taru said he had latent telepathic abilities. This was absurd, of course. Saul was Human. Humans are not a telepathic species. Their genome is not supposed to include the code for the building blocks composing the telepathic agents within Telepathic or empathic aliens' brains.

Problem was, Saul wasn't completely Human.

But Bolians weren't telepathic either, weren't they?

Something inside him was messed up. Something that he didn't have control over. And Saul HAD to have control over everything.

He looked at the console again and read the two final lines.

'Summing all the facts mentioned above, sir, I believe that I am not fit to serve in the Tactical department, let alone as a the department head. Therefore, I would like to request a transfer back to Intelligence, where I can aid the ship most efficiently.'

"Computer, delete message.", He commanded. The letters vanished immediately.

Saul frowned. Asking for a willing demotion would be a sign of weakness. He could show none. Tactical wasn't his natural spot, but it was the best position to compete for Cora's position whenever it clears.

Besides, it seemed that on the Galaxy, Tactical Chiefs have only two alternatives. Either they drop out, or they become Executive Officers.

'Commander Saul Bental' didn't sound so bad in the ambitious Dutchman's ears. Perhaps even better than 'Lieutenant Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer'.

Latent telepathic abilities. Nonsense.

There was nothing to point out at that. Wouldn't Nara notice? The Dithparu? Saul couldn't think of a single incident in the past to even suggest that he had latent telepathic abilities.

Absurd.

With that in mind, he returned to read stock reports and Galactic news. Once in a while, he wrote down an idea for a trade or an important piece of information that might help him later. Some stock shares were bought; Others were sold. Instructions to certain middlemen were delivered through false identity and fake company cover.

The usual stuff.

He kept working for a couple of hours, until finally the message he expected popped on the bedside console. The man he was waiting for finally reached the station.

Saul stood up. Ten minutes later, he was already discharged from sickbay, with a clean bill of health and a strict set of instructions regarding his jaw and bi-daily check-up until he completely heals.

It's safe to say that, had he known that Nara was speaking with Saia in the next ward at that same moment, he would probably go to see her first.

"Holding On"

Lieutenant J.G. Naranda Sol Roswell.
Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

***Ten Forward***

Rape.

It's a word usually associated with forced sex.

This Nara knew first-hand. She had only come to terms with that physical rape a few months ago. The whole justice thing was still in progress, but it was close to being behind her.

Then, there are times when you are forced into situations and places you rather not be. No one asked you. It just happened. This, she experienced as well. Forced to relive her memories.

Most people think rape is the worst crime. Almost as bad or worse than murder.

Perhaps. Nara thought so. No one could understand the horror of it unless they experienced it.

Yet, it faded away into memory eventually and you were ok. Or so you tell yourself.

Rape of the mind was worse. Nara had heard of it. It was a serious offense among telepaths. It was a courtesy never to enter someone's mind without permission, unless necessary, as they felt it was for Dhani.

Now Nara understood what made Dhanishta so upset that she was in there when she was in a coma.

Still yet, this was completely different. This left her unable to sleep or eat. Nothing seemed to comfort her. She doubted being home would even help.

You can wash the remnants of physical rape away. The wounds healed. (Nara had no permanent scars.) But this. She still felt residue from Oluw and Ioa. The memories, thoughts and emotions she knew from them being connected to her. The actions her own body did. The feeling of complete helplessness.

She wanted to see Saul. She wanted to apologize. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to not need him, but she couldn't fight the need to be in his arms, feeling safe right now.

The Dutchman in question was sitting at the exact same time at Ten Forward. He strayed from his regular habit to eat dinner with Miramon, and sat alone by a remote table. He knew he could've eaten in his new quarters if he wanted to, but he felt that the constant chatter of the hall gave him more privacy than the silence of a lone living room.

This also wasn't rush hour, so he wasn't concerned with anyone interrupting. He had much on his mind, and while none of it was as horrible as what Nara experienced, he still sulked.

Nara finally turned her head away from the window, rubbing her neck. She didn't know how long she stared out there. Yet, there was a pleasure in realizing you were in control again. As she opened her eyes again, she saw someone several tables away. She watched him a moment before lowering her legs that she had held against her, and stood to walk over to him. She wasn't sure how he would react to her after how she was before. She just knew she was tired of pushing him away.

He seemed so close inside himself. The sharp eyes, always keen on picking up details, didn't even look in her direction.

"Saul." The voice that spoke was small and timid.

"Nara.", He said flatly, not looking up from his dish. She noticed that he barely ate.

She took a chance and sat opposite of him.

"I'm sorry."

It was one of those moments when that's pretty much all you could say and you just had to hope it was enough to at least start a process of restoring what relationship they had. She wanted this for so long and they had barely got started and it would be misery to know it died because of a weak moment, that she was in control of, so couldn't blame the Dithparu on that.

Not to mention what happened when she didn't have control over her body. She hoped he would be understanding enough to not be mad at her about that.

She watched him hoping he would say something.

Saul remained focused on his plate. He did, however, pull his left sleeve, revealing the bio-plaster covering most his shoulder.

"You're a pretty good shot, princess.” He said dryly.

She slumped and sighed before saying, "Please tell me you know that wasn't me. I am sorry for what happened before I went to the Station. I was weak, but I was still in control. For lashing out at you and ruining our first date, I am sorry."

"I know it wasn't you back on the station.” Saul said, but he didn't sound overly convincing. "What bothers me the most is... that I didn't realize your fit of anger on the ship was unnatural. Highly irregular, yes... but not unnatural. I don't know."

He leaned backward, finally fixing his gaze on her. "That's a horrible thing to say, isn't it?"

She looked down a moment and then back at him. Straight in the eyes. Not much intensity in her look, just focusing as she said, "Not really. Either says you don't know me well enough, which is perfectly logical considering we hadn't spent too much time together. Or it says you consider me an angry person. For that, it's my fault."

She dropped her eyes again as she did when she spoke of something that made her feel vulnerable, "I know the few times we have spent together I've been self-righteous, short-tempered and sometimes downright cold. Part of it was that was because I was pushing you away. Pushing you away because I was scared of letting you in as I knew I wanted to. But now, pushing you away is the last thing I want to do. No matter what risk I take in being closer to you."

She sighed and leaned back. She wanted to look at him, but feared he would still hold the same expression. The past had proved that Saul was someone who needed time to get over something.

It was at this point when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Saul bent forward, and reached for her. She looked up slowly, timidly.

"When you shot me, were you self righteous, short tempered or downright cold?"

She frowned and shook her head, "No. Well, toward Oluw and Ioa, but..." She stopped and took a breath, "I was scared. I was angry because I couldn't stop it."

"Princess, my home planet taught me - the hard way - that when things get too serious, you can't act seriously about them. Because then, you begin to dwell on the serious things, until you get wrinkles. Things won't get better if you get wrinkles; They get better if you make them sounds funny."

He grinned, thinly. "Now, usually when people shoot me, or shout at me, I get really agitated at them. But don't you find it hilarious that we spent our second 'official' date shooting each other? And it was STILL better than the first one!"

She looked at him strangely, but then a smile crept its way at the corner of her lips. "Better than considering it darned sad."

"There's one thing you shouldn't feel guilty about, though.” Saul's tone suddenly changed, "And that's pushing me away because you didn't want me... in. I'm doing the same to you. Only on the things which I don't want you in, ever, and for a good reason. I told you that back when we... decided to try. So, since I'm acting this way, it's... unfair... for you to feel guilty about doing the exact same thing."

She nodded. "I accepted there's this mysterious part of your life I'll never know about. I'm ok with that. There are parts of my life I've yet to tell you. There are parts that I know you know of and that I also know you really couldn't care less about being involved in them. That's ok too."

Saul was confused with all the parts, but he was fine with that. He was accustomed to being confused by her, the confusion almost felt... sweet.

The general meaning was clear, though.

"So we're good."

"More than good." She smiled at him.

He straightened up, and circled their table briskly until he was standing next to her.

"In this case, I have a question about Sakarian tradition."

She turned and looked up at him with an arched brow and preparing herself to answer matter of factly and not get all heated if he made any snide remarks. To not take it as a political offense. That it was just his humor.

"OK. My question is : Are Starfleet Officers - me, for example - allowed to hug Sakarian princesses?"

She didn't have time to think to correct his choice of words. The relieved laugh escaped before her mind could register it. It didn't matter. She stood to let him hug her.

It was fantastic. After all they went through, all the turmoil, danger and uncertainty, just being held made both of them feel safe. The worst was over - for today.

After a moment, she pulled away slightly, but not breaking the embrace, and not caring who could see. She looked him in the eye, "I owe you something."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." she leaned forward, and kissed him.

"Sakarian Moments: The Cabin"

Lt. (jg) Saul Bental, Chief of Tactical
Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Saia (APC)

***Sakaria***

The Village of Leisie was as festive as any place during a celebration. And there was cause for celebration. The war was over, and even the traditionalists were at least not too upset about joining the Federation. It didn't prove as disastrous as prophesied.

It was still Sakaria.

It was still home.

Nara walked around inspecting just about everything. It's as if the house was never destroyed. Some of the furniture was different, as Allas took the chance to redecorate. Something about finding out your daughter really wasn't dead kind of inspires you.

With a large smile, Nara finally turned back to the two people she brought with her. Saul and Saia. She exclaimed, “Isn’t it amazing!" Saul would likely understand as he had been here before and she told them both about the burning, preparing them. She didn't expect her parents to neglect telling her everything was as she last saw it. For fun's sake of course.

"Better than my home world.” Saul murmured. He kept turning his head from here to there, trying to capture everything with his eyes like... well, a tourist. Indeed, it was obvious that the Galaxy's Chief Tactical Officer felt uncomfortable and out of place, despite the fact that it was his second visit to Sakaria, and that he agreed to come with her.

Saia just looked around. Nara had told her about her grandma meeting them here. She explained that this leave was planned so she could attend the celebration. Saia's grandma had contacted them after these plans. The woman seemed to enjoy the idea of leaving the still healing Trill for awhile.

Saia wasn't sure how she felt about this woman who just recently claimed to be her grandmother. Where was this woman when she needed her? She assumed everyone was too excited or whatever to politely ask her to have a seat. Her mother always taught her the importance of manners. She decided Nara wasn't near as focused on that. There had been several times Nara proved she had no experience in the parenting thing. So, she plopped down on the nearest chair as the adults exclaimed away about who knew what.

Across the room, Gary glanced over at Saul once in awhile. Sizing him up. As any father did when their daughter brought home a boy. Many questions would be asked. He focused mainly on his daughter however. Allas's voice was so high pitched, it nearly gave him a headache, but he smiled knowing how thrilled she was.

Gary looked at Saia as well. The Trill child seemed a bit melancholy and obviously reaching a preteen stage of whatevers. He grinned being reminded of Nara at that age and the few outbursts about some incident on the Station that "wasn't her fault." He sat down on the couch next to the chair Saia occupied. He propped his chin on his fist, mocking her expression, "Welcome to Sakaria, Saia."

Before Saia could respond, Allas was pulling Nara toward the door. There was a bonfire outside. Tomorrow night was the big celebration in one of the halls at the nearby Market Tower. Tonight was casual mingling. Tomorrow night was when he would worry about Nara. Allas insisted that for one night they act as the celebrities that Sakaria expected. They both knew Nara would turn her nose up at that, desiring to attend as just another Sakarian, not the Warrior Daughter. She hadn't talked much about the events on the USS Galaxy, but he sensed something about her confidence as a warrior had dwindled. He could always tell when one of his men had lost their "edge." Nara once had a problem with arrogance, and he wondered if he preferred arrogance over doubt. He really hoped she would find the balance.

Behind him, Saul wrapped his arm around Nara's shoulder, bringing her closer to him. Wearing traditional cloths, her upper back was bare, and so she could feel the padded top of his uniform brush against her skin.

He brought his mouth closed to her ear, taking a sniff of her hair like... well, a dog. He found it amusing (And hoped she did as well), and besides, he realized he became addicted to her mild fragrance during the flight to Sakaria.

It was, you see, Nara’s fragrance. It was special. It spoke to his nostrils of many stories; so much that is new, that never existed in the world of Saul Bental.

"Forward Planning"

Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik, Chief Navigation Officer

Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer

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

The door chime was pressed for the second or maybe third time since Miramon had arrived outside Saul's quarters. The two of them were supposed to be running a series of simulations designed to help them co-ordinate their departments when it came down to combat and the like, since both of them had been promoted to CO of their appropriate depts just before they'd headed to DS5, and they hadn't really had time to schedule such things until now. The Bajoran just hoped that his old friend wasn't still in bed or something - that wouldn't go down well with the rest of the officers, if they were to be late. And if all else failed, he'd at least have preferred to give them a heads-up.

But the plan had been exceedingly simple - get up, drink tea, get changed, go to Saul's, grab him, go to Ten Forward, catch a quick breakfast, head on down to the Holodeck to get the simulations started. It was a plan. It was his plan, and the last thing he wanted was for anything to go wrong. Besides, if they weren't on time, they'd never live it down - and they sure as heck could never dare reprimand anyone in their departments for being tardy if that happened. That would be hypocritical.

No answer.

The Bajoran rolled his blue eyes, then curled his right hand into a fist and wrapped his knuckles several times on the grey outer door of Saul's quarters. Maybe the man needed an alarm clock - no, not a computerised wake-up call, which were easily ignored (as he'd discovered at the Academy), but a little alarm clock with a big speaker capacity, so that Saul would want to wake up just before the clock hit the appropriate time so he could shut off that god-awful noise, and thus not age ten years in the space of a few seconds. Yes, that would do just the trick.

"Miramon, what did my door to deserve the beating?"

Saul turned around the far corner of the corridor. He was already dressed in a standard issue training jacket. His eyes were reddened.

The Bajoran turned around as he heard Saul's voice, noting that the door itself wasn't open, so clearly the voice wasn't coming from inside his quarters. Miramon turned around and spotted Saul walking around the corner, and he raised an slightly curious eyebrow.

"Not sleeping in your quarters these days, then, Saul? I thought you'd be in there, but you didn't answer, so I figured maybe you'd overslept or something. Ready for breakfast?"

"Of course I am.", Saul grinned. "In fact I've been awake for a couple of hours now, and I'm famished."

Miramon raised a suspicious eyebrow, then dropped it and shrugged. "Well, if you'd called and said so, we could have had breakfast earlier, you know. So, what aren't you in your room?"

"I went training early. Don't worry, I DID sleep in my quarters.", Saul said as he paced briskly besides Miramon. "Finally, I have a room of my own without having to beg Iniara. I can certainly get used to senior officers' quarters."

That was probably true enough. Miramon had been offered the larger officer's quarters, but when it came down to it, he'd been living in a shared room without any roomate for some time, so as far as he was concerned, he didn't have to bother moving into a different room, since he had more than enough space for the time being.

"Well, I'm sure the space helps, although what you keep in there, I dare not ponder. Now, breakfast?"

"Breakfast."

By the time sat at their regular table at Ten Forward, Saul finished telling Miramon about all that he went through during the Dithparu takeover attempt. He told him of the dream, and of Rena, and of Taru's awakening, and of fighting Nara, and of Taru's last moment, and sealing the structure.

While he told things in a very matter-of-factly way, it was obvious that inside he was still in turmoil.

The Bajoran nodded, not bothering to interrupt. He hadn't been much bothered by the whole incident - since he wasn't telepathic, he personally hadn't encountered a Dithparu in the direct sense, although the only major issue he'd had would have been that incident with Second Lieutenant Baile, although for now he wanted to stay quiet about that, because he wasn't sure whether the man still required his conduct being reported to T'Shani, since insubordination was frowned upon aboard ship, and he wasn't certain whether or not Baile was telepathic, and therefore plausibly under the influence of a Dithparu. If that had been the case, it'd be best not to say anything. So it was best not to say anything to Saul for now.

"All I'll say is I'm glad everything's over, and things are back to being about as normal as possible for this ship. At least we got rid of Admiral Proctor. I swear, the Captain looked like he was trying to find reasons to put her face through a bulkhead every time we had a staff meeting."

"Have you heard of the Wolf 359 challenge?", Saul suddenly asked.

Miramon raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Nope, not that I can recall. I remember the whole 359 incident, although I wasn't in Starfleet at the time. Care to explain?"

"I was reading some Tactical-related newsletters, both Starfleet circulations and general Federation newsletters on the subject, like Jane's... and I found out that every year, the Advanced Tactical School at Wolf 359 offers a challenge to any available and willing Starfleet crews. It's a common exercise including those crew and the students of the Advanced Tactical School. In fact, it is one of the largest exercises in the fleet, and it's considered very prestigious."

"Sounds interesting. Go on."

"Anyway, we were talking about holding combat drills, right?", Saul grinned impishly, "I was thinking... how about I offer the Captain to enroll for the challenge this year? I understand that the location of the exercise isn't disclosed yet, but since Starfleet shifted forces toward the borders with the Triad members, I assume it'll be within our reach. What do you say?"

The CONN chief thought about it for a minute. Certainly the Galaxy had one of the top crews in the fleet, given that they had one of the top-of-the-line ships and, indeed, the one that was the first of her line. It wasn't a Sovereign, admittedly, but with all the upgrades they'd had since the Galaxy III had been developed, she was no doubt a match for pretty much any ship in the fleet - and still one of the largest of ship classes. They'd seen the Miranda in action before, and that was a good 300 metres larger than the Galaxy, but for her size, this was a formidable ship. And, of course, such tests were as much about her crew as about the ship herself.

"Well, I'd certainly back up your recommendation, but will the crew be ready for it? I mean, certainly we've been successful in every mission we've undertaken thus far, but you and I are new to our jobs, and by the time we have our new procedures and the like instituted and tested, the challenge will have arrived, so we need to make sure that we are the ones in shape and ready to go. But sure, we can do it."

"Precisely.", Saul slapped the table, emphasizing his point. "With the challenge awaiting, we will have to hurry up our 'new procedures and the like'. There's one more person I'm going to discuss this with, and then I'll make the proposition to M'Kantu. For training's sake, let's pretend that it's only a formality and get our people in motion."

"Presuming that the Captain approves the request," the Bajoran noted, not bothering not observe that Saul had used their captain's name so familiarly. He'd said it almost the same way you might refer to a hated teacher - just by their surname instead of with their title included. The only saving grace had been the lack of any rancour in his tone, but even so, had the Captain been around then...

Besides which, Captain M'Kantu had commanded the Valdemar for six years, although he had been given command of the Susquehanna a few years before Miramon had been transferred to the former ship, but many of the crew that had remained aboard had spoken of him with respect, and thus far, his own limited experiences with the Captain in the direct regard had done nothing to jeopardise that understanding. And as far as he (and most Bajorans were concerned), you always spoke of your own officers respectfully unless you had a really good reason to do otherwise.

"Anyway, sure, your plan sounds good. Better we determine how good the crew is compared to others in the fleet rather than do it while we're facing up to Hydrans or T'Kith Kin, I think."

"How about we involve Rex and the Vanguards?", Saul proposed.

He paused and thought about it for a moment, then gave the human a gentle smile. "Sounds like a good idea. That said, we really ought to involve the whole ship - gives the Captain chance to assess how we'll all operate under fire with new senior officers in place, and also lets us see how the other departments co-ordinate with ours as we go. That and the fact I'd rather we have Engineering involved as well, since CONN is supposed to work as Engineering's link to the Bridge in the absence of an Engineering Officer in the room, so we could use some work there, too."

"I agree. We should do that eventually. But let's start with a smaller scale simulation. Perhaps on the holodeck - although I don't like it, it's not real enough. But it's here mainly for training exercises, not just recreation, so I suppose that it should do. Now, I there was this certain Tactical scenario I reviewed recently..."

"Sakarian Moments: The Bonfire"

Lt. (jg) Saul Bental, Chief of Tactical
Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Saia (APC)

***Sakaria***

Allas was pulling Nara toward the door. There was a bonfire outside. Tomorrow night was the big celebration in one of the halls at the nearby Market Tower. Tonight was casual mingling.

Saul wrapped his arm around Nara's shoulder, bringing her closer to him. Wearing traditional cloths, her upper back was bare, and so she could feel the padded top of his uniform brush against her skin.

He brought his mouth close to her ear, "Princess, are we going to some sort of social meeting?"

Nara was giddy about being home. A home not destroyed as she imagined. A home in the midst of celebration. So it was no surprise that she giggled as she answered, "You could say that."

That's when she realized. When she looked at Saul and Saia, and, especially Saia's non-smiling face, she frowned as well. She whispered to Saul first as her parents went on out the door, leaving the trio standing just at its threshold. "Do you mind going?" She looked at Saia and back at him, "We could just stay here, if you want." Her eyes spoke differently. Her eyes begged that he would try to enjoy himself.

"I just want to avoid the spotlights.” Saul shrugged.

"No spotlights. Just firelight. We can come back early if you decide it's no fun." She added.

His face softened, and he gently kissed her left cheek. "Can't say no to a lady, can I?"

Nara knelt down and put her hands on Saia's shoulders, "There will be other kids there. And like I told Saul, if you guys get too bored, we'll come back early."

Saia nodded. She really wanted to be back to... She didn't know where. The ship still reminded her of the living nightmare running from crazy killing people. She was tired of nightmares. Nightmares of explosions on Trill. Nightmares of running from Vulcans on the starship. She wouldn't be surprised if in the few days they were here on this Sakaria, she'd find new, Sakarian nightmares to add to her nights.

But Nara was happy. So if it made Nara happy, she'd go. She sighed and faked a smile.

Nara saw through it, but smiled and hugged her, looking her in the eyes before she stood. Saia and Nara will likely always communicate best with their eyes as that's the first way they ever communicated.

Behind Nara's back, Saul caught her attention. He opened his palm in front of his mouth, imitating a yawn.

Saia nodded, "Yea!"

Nara sighed, "Just for awhile. I promise. There are old friends I want to say hi to."

She walked out the door and looked at them, putting her hands together in the universal signal of a plea. Saul quickly stepped out of the door, closely followed by Saia.

They all walked a few moments toward the light where the bonfire was lit. When they reached it, Allas quickly motioned for Nara to come over. There were people everywhere and the only illumination was the bonfire and the torches several meters away surrounding it.

Nara looked at Saul, "Probably an old friend."

Saul nodded. He wanted to say 'Think they'll buy shiny beads?', but knew better.

When they got there, they saw Conzalas holding a baby. Nara smiled and greeted him. She then turned and nodded toward Saul and Saia, "This is my...friend, Saul and this is Saia."

Saia still frowned, "Hi." She noticed a little girl hiding behind the woman beside Conzalas. She wasn't shy. In fact it was as if she dared Saia to look her way.

Surprisingly enough, Saul soon took over the conversation with Conzalas and his wife. After Nara mentioned how beautiful the baby was, he delicately pointed the discussion toward the recent politic shifts in Sakaria, which seemed to intrigue him much more than they did the warrior daughter of Sakaria.

Nara watched Saul, intrigued. Perhaps he was just trying to not be bored, so talked about what interested him. Being politics obviously. She turned her attention to Saia who was rolling her eyes and then saw Conzala's small girl playing a game of hide and seek. Well, at least Saul found something to occupy himself with. Nara looked around and didn't see any children Saia's age. Apparently, they too, considered it not interesting enough. They won the argument however and were not here.

"... I'm surprised they didn't put Tekoue to death.” Saul indicated, referring to the Sakarian monarch's prime councilor, who attempted to arrange Nara's murder. The others involved in the conversation had no way of knowing about Saul's true involvement in the failed assassination attempt. "No offense, but Sakaria seems from the outside as a place where such treachery would only be answerable by death..."

Conzalas laughed, "You probably get that idea from Nara. She's pretty defensive." His tone turned serious, "But yes, normally he would be punished more severely. Problem is, he has friends in high places."

"The highest, obviously. Anyway, not that I'm in favor of death penalty, but even locked, the mere existence of such an enemy of the Ruyel could be dangerous."

There was a general agreement on nods and yes and that's true.

"So how did you manage to reach a compromise with people like General Ekiem?” Saul inquired, mentioning the name of the isolationist rebels' second-in-command.

Conzalas nodded toward Gary who was on the other side of the fire with Allas talking with some other people, "The Commodore. He is not only a heroic warrior, but also quite persuasive."

Nara smiled and looked at her father with pride, but felt a hand on hers suddenly. She looked over and seeing nothing, down, seeing Saia, seriously pouting. "Yes?"

"Is there anywhere to sit down?"

Nara looked and pointed to a log, "There. Don't go far." Nara watched her go sit and cross her arms to pout properly, and turned back to the adults.

"So what challenges do you face now?” Saul asked. He was still addressing Conzalas, and not Gary.

Conzalas sighed, "Still a few hardheads. We have to keep an eye on things. We send in some investigations almost every week about a threat." He looked at Nara, "If you ever get tired of the Starfleet thing, we could use a zealous patriot to show them the way."

"Interesting.", Saul nodded, then leaned toward Nara. "I think that SAIA is getting tired of all this.” He whispered.

Nara and Conzalas chatted a few more minutes before Nara caught the hint. She nodded to Saul, "Well, the young lady I have with me seems to have made a record of pouting. I better get her back to the house."

After rounding of Saia, the three of them walked back toward the Roswell home. Allas had caught them, and quickly told them the sleeping arrangements before rejoining her husband.

"Living La Vida Sheepa, Part 1"

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
2nd Lt Branwen London

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Bran knocked on the door. She was nervous, but she had promised Ella to do this. Actually it was kind of a dare as Ella has said she would get nothing out of Victor. So it was up to her to prove her client wrong.

She hoped the guy was home and that he would even let her in. If not, she would look like a complete fool.

The lights on the door panel blinked in an unfamiliar pattern - not the standard signal that here presence was being announced, but something a few seconds longer and more complex - and then the door slid open without a verbal response.

~Well this is different~ She thought but taking a deep breath, Branwen went inside. "Hello?" She called out. "This is Lt. London to see you."

The quarters were arranged in the older standard pattern for bachelor junior officers: a main room that served as a dual office and living quarters, a bedroom separated from the main room by an interior bulkhead and door, and a bathroom shared with the quarters next door. The first thing that struck her besides the fact that most quarters of this pattern were currently unused in favor of dual occupancy cabins was that they were empty, almost soulless. There was nothing to indicate that someone lived here. No pictures on the walls or the lone desk, no plants, no extra furniture or alterations to the basic pattern the room was issued with, nothing. Most Marine barracks weren't this starkly empty even during master-level inspections. The open door to the bathroom - she could see that the adjoining room's door was closed - hinted at the fact that it too was as empty as the one she stood in.

The other door to the room was open as well, leading to the conclusion that Victor was in the bedroom, since he appeared to be nowhere else. Branwen could see only part of that room from the angle that she currently stood at, but it appeared to be as empty of life as the rest of the quarters. "One minute, Lieutenant," Victor's voice said from the other room, the toneless words almost Vulcan in their lack of any emotional context.

"Sure take your time." She said a little nervous. Humming to herself she looked around. Not that there was much to see. What was it with some men? Did they really like living like this?

A few seconds shy of that minute, Victor appeared in the doorway, dressed in his uniform. He had a standard-issue exercise bag in his left hand that he set down on the floor by the doorway, but didn't walk any further into the room. "Yes, Lieutenant?" he asked quietly.

"I..." She cleared her throat. ~Whoah~ The guy had a dominating presence but she was not going to back down. She had boasted to Ella that she could take on anyone. "I would like a little chat, lieutenant." Now why did that come out like a croak?

"If this is about my time on the Marine Physical Training Course, Lieutenant," he said tonelessly, "you'll find that I have unrescinded orders from the Galaxy's previous commanding officer mandating my participation in the Marine Physical Fitness Program. I try to manage my time to avoid conflict with the regular troops, but there are inevitable crossovers. If there is an objection to my presence, then I would prefer to reschedule my time rather than cease."

"Oh no, I have no problem with that." She cleared her throat. "You might not know this, but I also the Marine shrink. And I am seeing a few naval patients as well. One of them is Ella, and I promised her to have a chat with you. Do you have time now?"

Victor looked at her for a moment. "It doesn't matter, Lieutenant. There isn't anything to say."

Bran took a deep breath. Ella had warned her. "I would like to talk about it anyway. Now or is another time better for you." She would not be intimidated. She was a marine after all. And Ella was not going to say ~I told you so~

"One time is as good as another, Lieutenant," he replied. "Who am I to tell you how to waste your time?"

"Thank you, sir." Bran said. "Shall we sit down? I find that way we can talk a little bit more relaxed." At least he had not thrown her out immediately.

Whatever it as that Lieutenant Grey had convinced this woman to come and say to him, Victor had no intention of sitting through a Counseling session. Besides the fact that the Marine Lieutenant wasn't his assigned counselor, he had nothing to say on the topic of her patient - the Lieutenant had already said it all, back on Mirusa VI. "This isn't a counseling session, Lieutenant," he said in his toneless, flat voice, the echo of the words spreading out and becoming lost in the nothingness that filled him. "You're just delivering a message, that's all."

"No, I am not. I really want to talk to you." Bran said flushing red.

"Of course you are, Counselor." He felt the emptiness inside him rise up, filling him as it had the day Lieutenant Grey had come to see him after Mirusa VI, making his ears roar with the sound of the hydrogen surf crashing against the planetary shoals of space. "That's why she sent you here, isn't it? To say something else, or to get me to say something she wanted to hear?"

"Hell, you sound just as stubborn as she is. Sit down!" Bran said. "What do you think about Ella?"

Victor didn't move from the doorway as he regarded her silently for six seconds longer than was necessary to make Branwen uncomfortable. "I don't."

"Come on! I won't tell." Bran coaxed him.

"I don't think about Lieutenant Grey," he clarified.

"Really? Not at all. Not negative, neutral or positive but not at all. And how exactly do you manage that?" She asked not believing him.

"By not thinking about her, Lieutenant," Victor replied as if that were all the answer required. "There's no point to it."

"Why not? You must have some opinion about her." She asked curiously.

"Because there isn't, Lieutenant; I learned that a long time ago, when I was a child."

"Soooo... how was your upbringing?" For the sound of it every bit as weird as her own.

It was more and more obvious that the Lieutenant did want to make this into a counseling session. Victor hoped she wouldn't ask if he'd ever fantasized about sleeping with his mother, he really didn't want to have to go find Commander Corgan and surrender to him after the medical response team had left. "You haven't done your homework, Lieutenant," he said mildly. "It can't be that hard to find a copy of my file to read. The last time I checked, there were twelve copies of it stored in various dummy files in the Galaxy's core by other people who wanted to read it."

"You are not my patient and this is not a counseling session," Bran said, "so no, I didn't read your file; I was just wondering. What kind of upbringing teaches you not to feel anything? Not even my dear parents did that," she said honestly.

"The other crewmen that read my file weren't my counselor, either," Victor pointed out. "They were just looking for something scary to read. The week after I boarded, my file was more popular than the latest Vulcan sex-slave novel." He shrugged. "Monsters are always popular."

"You are not a monster," came out of her mouth before she had time to think.

Victor tilted his head to the side and looked at her for a moment. Did she really not see it? Maybe she was one of the... no; there it was in her eyes. She knew what he was; she just didn't want to admit it. "Of course I am, Lieutenant," he replied with a terrifying sincerity, the fact that he obviously implicitly believed the words he was saying more frightening than the words themselves. "If I thought it was necessary I would kill you where you sat, and walk away without letting it touch me, without feeling bad over it, without spending sleepless nights thinking about the expression on your face as the life went out of you." He leaned forward slightly, his presence abruptly pushing at her in an almost physical way. "People don't think like that, Lieutenant. Only monsters think like that."

"Rubbish." Her accent became more pronounced. "Remember I am a shrink. The naval shrinks on this ship are good. If you were a psychopath like you say you are they really would not allow you to serve on this ship, sir. I think you are exaggerating a bit." She grinned. "Or you are trying to stay away from the subject." She wagged a finger at him and then patted the chair next to her. "Now come on and let's talk."

"Lieutenant," Victor said slowly. "If you'd bothered to read my file you would, among other things, have found that I am indeed quite capable of doing what I just said. You'd know about my childhood. You'd know that I had a Vulcan riding around inside my head for six months at the Academy to determine if I were sane enough to serve." He leaned further forward. "And you'd know that, for me, smiling is something that only happens when I'm about to do something unpleasant."

Suddenly Branwen's face took on an unexpected toughness. "Trying to scare me? It isn't working, I faced much worse than you when I was small. They declared you sane, which means this is all act to keep people at a distance. Does it frighten you, to let people get close to you?"

"No. I'm only scared of one thing, Lieutenant, and that isn't it." Victor frowned. "And if I were trying to frighten you, you'd know it - there wouldn't be any need to ask."

~All talk~ she thought. "So what does scare you then?"

Another counselor, trying to understand him; Victor didn't know why they bothered. It was all there in his file, after all. He simply wasn't like them, that was all. Wishing for something else, wanting something else was pointless. Just like this conversation. "That isn't why you're here, Lieutenant," he pointed out. "Say whatever it is that Lieutenant Grey sent you to say, or ask whatever it was that she sent you to ask, and move on. There's no point to anything else."

"Nope it wasn't, but I find you fascinating." Bran said with a grin. "My mission is indeed to find out what you think of her. Ah!!" She held up a finger again. "Don't tell me again that you don't feel anything because I don't believe you."

Victor's frown deepened, shifting to a different expression that, while still a frown, had nothing to do with the previous one. Maybe if he tried again to explain things, it would work. Lieutenant Grey had said everything there was to say, there wasn't anything else left. "Lieutenant, in the Marine Field Medical Manual, Section Seventy-Five, Part Five, it describes the field expedient treatment for cases where a wounded limb has become gangrenous and proper medical treatment is not available. It's simple, really: .you cut it off, removing and destroying the dead tissue. There's no other treatment listed, because nothing else works. One swing of a photon scalpel and it's done." His frown shifted slightly, marking the third completely different version of the basic expression in as many minutes. "There's no going back, no point in worrying about it, and no point in thinking about it. It simply is."

"We are not talking about a medical procedure or an inanimate object but a living person, actually two living persons with feelings. Okay, okay, think about Ella and just tell me what pops into your mind," Bran said trying a different track.

"Nothing."

"Ah come on, anything." Bran urged him.

And there it was again, the tendency of people to need him to repeat some simple thing that he'd said over again. He'd never understood that. "Nothing," he repeated tonelessly. Perhaps she'd stop after the second repetition.

"Nonsense." She kept staring at him just as stubborn.

Apparently not. "What do you want me to say, Lieutenant?" he asked. Perhaps that would make it easier.

"The truth would be nice." By now she was beginning to think Ella would be better off with someone else. "Ehhrrr, do you think she is pretty for instance?"

"No."

~Alright. ~ She thought. "Okay... Intelligent?"

"No."

~Right.~ "Anything slightly teeny weeny positive about the woman?" Bran asked next.

Victor didn't respond for an uncomfortably long time. "Lieutenant," he finally said. "If it will make this shorter, the answer to any question like this is going to be the same. I would have to think about Lieutenant Grey in order to answer any of those questions, and since I don't, I can't."

"Are there any people you do like, by the way?"

That question seemed so obvious that he almost didn't answer it. "Family."

By now she had expected a no. "That's good. You see them often?"

"No."

"You see a therapist, a naval therapist?" She would be very surprised if he didn't.

"I'm assigned to Counselor Dallas." That was true enough. The fact that Dallas wanted to burn his head off was irrelevant.

"That's good. How often do you see her?" Bran asked.

"Every time I'm scheduled to," he answered with a frown. "Is that what Lieutenant Grey wanted me to say? Are we done now?"

"And how often is that?" Bran thought he was getting a little uncomfortable.

And that, Victor decided, was enough of that. "You're not trying to find out whatever it is that the Lieutenant wanted to know now, you're trying to make this a counseling session. That wasn't what I agreed to, remember?"

"I am not. I am just asking how often you see your therapist." Bran said. "It's a simple question." She was definitely going to go to the bottom of this.

"Lieutenant," Victor said softly. "Whatever it was that Lieutenant Grey wanted you to ask me, or wanted you to get me to say, we both know that you aren't doing it. Or is it that you've already asked it, and you didn't like my answer?"

"Oh, you call those answers." Bran clasped her hand in front of her mouth not believing she had really said that.

"Yes, I do" Victor nodded, apparently unconcerned by Bran's retort. He frowned at her for a few seconds, as the emptiness inside him filled his ears with the sound of nothingness. "The fact that you don't like them changes nothing."

"You are a strange man. Think I will have a chat with Commander Dallas." She muttered.

"Is there anything else, Lieutenant?" he asked. "Another question that Lieutenant Grey wanted you to ask, or something else she wanted you to get me to say? Perhaps something that someone else wanted you to ask, or to get me to say?"

"Maybe I am just waiting for you to say something positive about anything so I know you are at least a little bit humanoid!" she exclaimed.

Something positive? Victor thought a second. "I don't intend to kill you right now," he offered. That always seemed to make most people he talked to feel better.

"Sakarian Moments: The Cave"

Lt. (jg) Saul Bental, Chief of Tactical
Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Saia (APC)

***Sakaria***

Upon returning, Nara and Saia walked silently to the room Saia was sleeping in. They got out the painting stuff and Saia was told she could paint for one hour, but then had to go to bed.

When Nara returned to her own room, she found Saul sitting on the bed, closely observing the plaques on one of the walls. He just finished reading the caption on the plaque she received when she was promoted to Commander in the Sakarian army.

As soon as he noticed her, he reclined, and sent a broad smile toward Nara.

"Princess, I just realized something."

She smiled back. She tried to think of a clever comeback, but came up short, so replied simply, "What?"

"We didn't get much time alone recently, have we?"

"Recently?" She sat next to him, "You mean dates are supposed to last more than fifteen minutes?" She knew he knew she knew better, but even after the situation on the station, she still had Saia to deal with. Not leaving much time between her duty shift and Saia coming home from school. She didn't have to tell Saia to come straight there. One day, Saia had a bright idea of using site to site transport. Likely some idea Sam gave her. Nara explained that was only used for emergencies and the Operations department wouldn't like such pointless use of energy.

Even after they left the Galaxy, they shared quarters on the Transport that brought them to Sakaria. Nara really appreciated Saul for valiantly ignoring Saia's new mantra, 'Are we there yet'.

Saul touched her cheek, his fingers following the delicate contours of her cheekbone. "But now there's no one to disturb us."

Nara giggled softly, "Well, there's a ten year old in the other room. My parents could come home any moment. Not to mention, unexpected guests are known to show up."

Saul stood up, and paced briskly to the cabinet next to the door. He shoved it, blocking the door with it. "Guests-can-wait-for-ugh-tomorrow-can't-argh-they?"

Despite the effort, the still-healing Dutchman managed to bring one of the infamous impish Saul-grin to his face.

"And so can parents. As for ten year old girls...” He bent forward, kissing her on the forehead. "I promise to be quiet."

Nara smiled shaking her head. "You could had just locked the door." She walked over to her bags and picked up one that had two straps that could be carried on the back. She placed it on the bed and opened it as she spoke, "I intended to go visit my caves tomorrow, but I think I'd like to show them to you tonight." She looked at him, "We could sneak out after my parents get back." She winked at him.

"Your caves? I'm intrigued...” Saul grinned.

A minute late, after confirming Gary and Allas Roswell were home, the cabinet was back in its proper place, and the pair were already outside the house and on their way. With very untypical shyness, Saul took Nara's hand.

It was warm. It felt nice.

They left the house behind; two people could be seen sitting near a window on the first floor. None of them looked in the particular direction of that open window. Not that Gary and Allas didn't know. It wasn't really an issue as Nara was a grown woman. Allas was impressed with the romanticism of it. Gary still distrusted Saul with typical fatherly distrust.

It was a moderate hike to the cave, but by the time the Sakarian moon was higher than the Market Tower, they reached their destination. Nara moved some branches, "I hadn't been here since before the war."

"Don't worry; I don't expect a cave to be polished like an Ensign's rank pip."

After a few moments, Nara had led Saul through the narrow entrance and into a cavern about the size of her bedroom, perhaps a bit larger. She unpacked the blanket and laid it down on the floor, sitting on it, looking around her beloved cave. Her father brought her here when she was a toddler, and when they would visit during shore leaves from the station, she'd spend a lot of time here. Still wasn't a lot of time, and she wondered if she had the right to claim it as her own. Oh well.

Then, she found herself surrounded by arms. One from every side.

"There aren't any ten year old kids in the next cave, are there?” Saul asked, his breath making her neck tingle. He was sitting behind her, embracing her. Then, he rested his head on her shoulder, and she could feel his one-day-old bristles on her bare skin.

Nara closed her eyes, letting her body melt into his. She smiled, "Not as far as I know." She turned about enough to put her lips on his.

"Good.", He said, and there was no hint of the infamous Saul-ish grin when he began to unbutton her top button.

As things happen between two people sometimes, eventually there were more clothes on the ground than on the people. And as was typical, they were lost in the moment. Letting hormones, instinct and desire guide every move.

But at one certain point, Saul touched Nara's breast in such a way that sent a memory shooting through her mind. Before she realized what memory, she broke away from him and started shivering as she pulled the blanked to cover herself.

Saul was stunned. He watched her, then lowered his gaze to his own hands, a thousand thoughts blazing in his mind. What did he do wrong? Did he exaggerate? Offend her? Startle her?

He crawled toward her, his hands, knees and feet battling not to slip on the damp cavern floor. It suddenly reminded him of another cave, back on Mirusa.

"Princess... is everything all right?"

She was lost in the memory and shock at the intensity of it. How much it seemed alive now. After several seconds, without looking at Saul, she whispered, "I never told you this, but in the Academy..." She paused. Why was this hard? She'd told others. Why not explain it to the man who apparently can't touch her without waking the memory, "A professor raped me." She gripped the blanket tighter, not quite sure what to do now. Or how Saul would react.

He just blinked.

Rape was not uncommon in the streets of Utrecht III.

In fact, he heard enough stories, growing up there... the sister of that friend, someone from the other class at school, this redhead girl they saw a lot at Julianna center, and then one day she just stopped coming... but he never thought, well, he never actually met...

Nara suddenly looked much more fragile, all shrunk in the corner.

"Is he still alive?” Was the first question that came in mind. He just couldn't imagine the zealous Sakarian warrior letting someone do that to her, and remain breathing.

She could only nod.

"I see. I... I'll understand if you want me to leave now.” Saul said quietly. He still hadn't absorbed what he was just told.

Nara looked up suddenly, tears forming in her eyes, "That's the last thing I want you to do."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I..." She wanted him to hold her, but even she saw the absurdity of that contradiction.

She made her way closer to him, "I'm so sorry." She touched his face, "I hope in time, we can..." She blushed, "I hope that in time I will only think of you and no horrible memories will haunt me."

"Take your time.” Saul said, and embraced her in silence.

It wasn't until a long time afterward, as the two lay wrapped in the blanket and in each other's arms, still slightly shivering from the chill in the cave, that Saul spoke up again.

"Nara.", He whispered, "I'm afraid I love you."

"Living La Vida Ba-Ba, Part 2"

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
2nd Lt Branwen London

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 7
Victor Krieghoff's Quarters

Branwen burst at laughing. "Are you trying to scare me? Or was that supposed to be something nice?"

"No." Victor leaned forward, his presence suddenly pushing at her in an almost physical way even though he was still over two meters away. For a moment he seemed... different... as if something inside him were pressing against the underside of his skin, trying to get out and reshape him, make him into something that wasn't remotely human any more. "If I were trying to scare you, Lieutenant," he said in a voice that both was and wasn't his own, "you'd know it." He leaned back regarded her for a moment, and then blinked - and in the time it took to open and close his eyes, was only Victor again. "Most people," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "seem to find the knowledge that I'm not going to kill them during a conversation comforting."

"How the hell did you do that?" Branwen said after a few seconds. "I think you should have a physical as well as a talk with Commander Dallas. Something sure isn't right with you," she said with a lot of compassion.

Victor frowned. "Aside from an illegal lung, there's nothing physically wrong with me, Lieutenant. As for the other, I know what I am, and I made my peace with it. If you haven't, that isn't my concern."

"I'm sorry? Did you say illegal lung?" She tried not to laugh.

"Illegal," he repeated. "As in genetically modified to exceed human performance levels. As in, Starfleet will be cutting it out of me very soon now."

"Wow!" She said. "I don't think they will do that though. Not when it is already inside you," Bran said gently.

Whatever Starfleet the Lieutenant belonged to, it certainly had no connection to the one Victor did. "Of course they will, Lieutenant. I would have done it already myself, but I can't be certain that I'd get it all, so I'm going to let them do it."

"Eeeewwww! What do you mean with you would have done it yourself?" she wrinkled her nose.

And again, someone failed to understand a simple statement. Why *did* people seem unable to understand things when he explained them? "Just that, Lieutenant: I would have done it myself. With a knife. It's just not necessary."

"You are having me on, aren't you?" Nobody could be this crazy and still work on a ship. It just wasn't possible.

No, that hadn't helped. Maybe people just didn't want to understand. "You're a good sheep, Lieutenant," he said tonelessly. "But I'm not a sheep, and trying to judge me by your standards is pointless."

"As pointless as trying to kill yourself while taking your own lung out with a knife!" She shot back.

Victor paused for a moment, as if he hadn't understood the words she'd said. "I never said I was going to kill myself, Lieutenant," he replied tonelessly after a second. "Only mentally aberrant individuals do that. I said I had considered removing the lung myself, but decided against it. The two concepts have nothing to do with each other." His frown deepened. "You seem excitable for some reason. Perhaps you might benefit from a consultation with Counselor Dallas yourself?"

She laughed. "So you have a sense of humor after all, sir. Don't worry, I do talk to Commander Dallas. And I will certainly be discussing you during our next conversation."

"No, I wasn't trying to be amusing, Lieutenant. The only time I appear to be funny is when I'm trying to make someone mad enough that it's easier to kill them - and I already told you I wasn't going to do that to you right now." He shrugged. "As for talking to Counselor Dallas, feel free. If people gossiping about me bothered me, I would have killed ninety-three percent of the crew by this point. Since I haven't, it seems obvious it doesn't."

"Yeah right as if you would have survived cutting out your lung. And it would be gossiping if I did it behind your back, and I have no problem with telling you what I am going to say to the commander."

"People are going to say what they are going to say, whether I'm facing them or not, Lieutenant. Worrying about what someone else thinks or says about me isn't worth my time; there's no point to it." He frowned in a slightly different way, making the sixth or seventh variation of the same expression she'd seen since entering the room. "And of course I would have survived, Lieutenant," Victor continued, as if explaining something patently obvious. "I wouldn't have given myself permission to die."

She snorted. "I think you are in need of a nice safe padded room, Lieutenant. One also big enough to hold your ego."

He blinked once. "If I were like you, Lieutenant, possibly. But I'm not like you, and applying your standards to me is as pointless as my worrying about what you will or won't say."

She shook her head. "Maybe you and I should spar one day then you will see I am not made of glass."

"No," he said slowly. "I don't think so. I don't spar with people as a rule." He regarded her for a moment. "And that has nothing to do with what I said, Lieutenant."

"You should try it sometime, sir. Interacting with other people, might do you some good."

Victor could only look at her in silence for almost a minute after that. "Lieutenant," he answered in his same, emotionally null voice, "No one wants to socialize with me - at least, not in any way that I care to. People don't invite me to parties or weddings, and, since the last time, funerals. People leave the room when I walk into it. Babies scream when I pass by in the hall. My first roommate at the Academy - a Betazoid - jumped out a third floor window three seconds after I walked into the dorm room for the first time. I can't serve in close quarters with his entire species anymore. They don't because they all know what I am, even if you don't. Trying to force my presence on them is not only pointless and cruel, it's insane, and while I may be a great many things, I'm not that. Not," he amended, "by my standards, anyhow. By yours?" He shrugged. "Feel what you like, say what you like. It's not an issue for me."

"I think it is about time that changed." She obviously didn't believe him that he didn't care. "I would like to try to be your friend," she said gently.

"No, you wouldn't," he said simply. "I've tried that five times now. The first two I tried it with are dead. I will kill the third the next time I see him, because he raped the fourth. The fourth decided - wisely - that being my friend wasn't a good thing and left. The fifth will, possibly the next time we meet, challenge me to a duel and do their best to kill me." He looked at her and shook his head. "Be a friend to someone that needs one, Lieutenant. I'm done with the idea. It isn't safe for the people that try it."

"Then maybe you have tried with the wrong people. I understand that you find it difficult to trust after so many nasty experiences, sir. Just try once more, we could just start with working out together."

Victor regarded her for a moment longer, trying to decide if she wasn't listening. "Lieutenant, while you're talking to Counselor Dallas about me, you might have your hearing checked as well. I said I was done with the idea. I'm not trying again."

"My name is Branwen," she said stubbornly.

"I know what your name is, Lieutenant."

"Then say it." She teased him saying it again with her broad welsh accent.

"No," he replied quietly.

"It's not that difficult, I will even allow you to say it the English way."

"You aren't family," he answered in the same tone he'd used before, that made it apparent that he felt this was all the answer necessary.

"Are family the only ones you address by their given names? Then it's time you changed!"

Victor shook his head. "Lieutenant, again this has nothing to do with why you are really here. I didn't ask Lieutenant Grey to send you here; she did that on her own. That isn't my problem, that's hers - and yours for agreeing to it. You've asked what I think was her question, I answered it, and you chose to not believe my answer. That isn't my problem, either. What is *my* problem is that you are neither listening to me, nor paying any attention to the words that you do choose to hear. I find that to be irritating, and you don't want that to happen. Finish asking whatever it was that Lieutenant Grey sent you here to find out, and stop trying to become something that I do not want, or need."

"Maybe not want but you obviously need it," she muttered.

"If I were like you, Lieutenant, perhaps I might. But I since am patently *not* like you - something that you apparently seem incapable of believing or accepting - I find your assertion to be lacking in validity. Please say what you came to say, ask what you came to ask, and stop frustrating yourself."

"I came here for Ella, but now I am curious myself. Just call me by my first name and say you will spar with me and I will leave," she teased.

Was there some genetic imperative that all counselors had to possess that made them incapable of understanding that he didn't need their help? No, that wasn't true; Commander Dallas knew that now. Maybe it was just their training - they'd been brainwashed into thinking that everyone was a sheep and needed to live a happy little white wooly ba-ba life. "I'll notify the Operations Department about your change of quarters request for you, Lieutenant," Victor said with a nod. "It should take me approximately four hours to clear my things out."

He lost her there. "I'm sorry? Who is moving?"

"You said that you weren't leaving, Lieutenant," he explained tonelessly. "If you won't, then I will. Simple as that." He tapped his combadge. =/\= "Krieghoff to Operations Desk. Request a new quarters assignment and a transfer of quarters order for Lieutenant London to the quarters formerly assigned to me." =/\=

Laughing she tapped her own combadge. =/\= "Belay that, Lt. Krieghoff is making a joke." =/\= A little later Bran wiped the tears from her eyes. "And I thought you had no sense of humor. But I think we should call it a day my lunch break is nearly over. When shall we meet again?"

Was she listening to anything he'd said? Perhaps she needed to have some sort of corrective surgery on her hearing, or an implant to correct the dysfunction in the auditory center of her brain? Although maybe the inability to hear when someone was speaking or screaming at you was a survival trait for a Marine in training. "I don't joke, Lieutenant, not unless I'm trying to make someone mad so it's easier to kill them. I already told you that, but you must not have been listening when I said it." He leaned closer; his presence pushing at her again, not as powerfully as before, but enough that there was no mistaking its impact. "If you have trouble telling when I'm joking or not in the future," he suggested in a voice that edged towards the one he'd used earlier, the one that dug at the primitive parts of her mind with claws for fear, "you might try this simple test: if you aren't screaming, it must not have been a joke."

Branwen giggled again. "You are so much fun to be around. I don't understand that you don't have hordes of friends. I'll just send you a notice about when and where to meet next, and what we are going to do." With a friendly wave she walked towards the door.

Victor watched her with a frown, trying to decide if she'd heard a single word he'd said. Maybe she had, he finally decided, but she'd chosen to not believe it? It didn't matter, anyway. Nothing did, really. He picked up his bag as she reached the door and waited for her to leave. She could send all the messages she wanted to, they'd just be swallowed up by the nothing inside him, like everything else.

"See you soon!" Bran said and walked for the door.

As she exited his quarters and he started to move for the door himself, Victor supposed that anything was possible - but he doubted it. He was done with friends, especially ones that couldn't hear half the words he was speaking. Could it be, he wondered, that he wasn't speaking loudly enough? Or slowly enough? Perhaps that would help. He'd have to try it the next time someone he spoke to didn't seem to hear him. Maybe then they'd understand.

"Before the Fall, Part 2"

Principal Characters

Admiral Olivia Proctor

Commander Sheridan/Azuul

Lieutenant JG T'lan/Mistress

Commander James Lionel Corgan

Former Ambassador Mika sh'Sonora

Lieutenant JG Victor Krieghoff

Vice-Legate Kylar Curran

Flight Officer Angelienia

Lieutenant Ella Grey

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 9
Main Computer Core

Systems painstakingly came back to life. Diagnostics double checked and greenlighted the systems on the ship, waiting to fully arise. What was once dead came back.

And Corgan couldn't feel any worse.

He was held by rifle point by a half dozen armed men, most of them his loyal deputies. Oily sickness churned in his stomach, his muscles were on fire, and his head felt like a cluster of photon grenades detonating, reassembling themselves, and repeating the process. His constant pain left him immobile; helpless to watch his enthralled girlfriend reactivate the ship, unable to scream out to the obviously dense Admiral who didn't see the deception, stand by while his former deputy enslaved his mind and brought doom to the people he protected.

He couldn't blame Mika for reactivating the ship, for she too was enthralled. He couldn't blame the Admiral, so artful T'lan's deception. But he could blame himself. He authorized the foray into the asteroid. He was taken aback at the sonic shower, slow to react to tempting Mistress T'lan. Not strong enough to fight off her predations while he was forced to betray his own again and again.

He was watching the end that was mostly his doing. "How was I to know?" James rasped.

The computer boomed, "Diagnostic complete. All systems are within normal working parameters. Reactivating primary system... External Weapons......... online."

"Congratulations, Admiral!" Rang out the Vulcan clarion of Mistress T'lan, adding the sarcastic bite of emotion to the otherwise placidly trained voice. She came boldly to the first floor on the minilift. Behind her was another security officer. He had a human on his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

"It isn't over yet." It took but an extra second, but Proctor registered an oddity. The Vulcan. Why was she acting in command? Her rank did not give her the right. "Something isn't right here."

T'lan announced pompously, "Will this help? The ship is back online."

Mika sh'Sonora squeaked "The ship is back online."

"You are now the hero you've always wanted to be."

"You are now the hero you've always wanted to be."

She let go of her Andorian puppet. "Is everything clear? Then perhaps this will help."

T'lan snapped her fingers. Instantly, all rifles were trained on the Admiral.

Olivia's eyes grew as big as saucers. "What are you doing? I order you to put down those weapons! I am not the enemy!"

Stepping confidently, T'lan stroked James cheek. "You couldn't know." Mistress T'lan said, the words too cloyingly quiet for anyone to listen but those known and focused on her, "We are Dithparu, older than your race, long lived and strong. We are not encumbered by flesh, we leave it when it is no longer strong. We live eternally. We have the knowledge of millennia's worth of existence. We have centuries for our plans to come into fruition while you have mere years. You... corporeals, with your limited life spans and minds housed in carbon based matter are like Setmarese Gadflies compared to our existence. Even if you had the ability to gain our wisdom and intelligence, you do not have the time. Don't... blame... yourself."

The Admiral's mouth dropped in shock. "How... how could this happen?" The import of what she had done began to sink in. Her dark eyes darted about the room, looking for someone. Her XO was not here. He had said he was going to take care of things, did he not?

"Where is my XO? What have you done with him?"

T'lan turned her attention to the Admiral. "Oh, you still factor into the situation. Fascinating."

"Computer, lock out-"

Ferociously, T'lan darted out and backhanded the Admiral, sprawling the older, less physically strong woman with a force that almost snapped her neck. Admiral Proctor crumpled, and T'lan stood over her like a predator. She said smartly, "You know that you have no hope. Your actions are, as my host used to say... illogical."

Olivia didn't even have the luxury of reacting from the stinging blow.

=/\="Reactivating primary system... warp systems..............online.=/\=

T’lan hauled the Admiral off her feet by her collar. She felt the coolness of her pips in her fist, and tempted herself to tear them off the uniform and shove them down her throat. Fun would have to wait.

"Mika, mimicry." She ordered, and both said together, "Computer, emergency protocol 001. Lock out Admiral Olivia Proctor. Authorization Romeo Lima Foxtrot. Execute."

"No!" The blunt Admiral reached out one hand as if will alone could stop the woman she'd just given control of the Galaxy over to. She couldn't do much else but watch her hopes and dreams dash away.

=/\="Granted."=/\= The computer said. T'lan secretly smiled.

The end. It was the mundane's end. The ship was the property of the Dithparu. So too were the bodies of the gifted corporeals.

The woman who would be queen merely slumped in defeat.

=/\="Reactivating primary system... impulse engines..............online.=/\=

"Admiral." T'lan coldly stated, "You are no longer needed. Neither is Lieutenant Krieghoff... and my champion is no longer reliable. Consider your lives forfeit. You will be bound, then slowly I will practice this Vulcan body's ability to commit psychic surgery. I will, without doubt, fail, for this is my first time. I plan to study this for hours, first on Victor, then on James. And then... while you contemplate your failure to see through our deception, I might start on you."

Everything had gone so inalienably wrong. She never could have foreseen this ignominious embarrassment at the hands of such... minions. Junior officers! Curran, if they both should still live, will never let this lie. But she was no soldier. She had won her way through the ranks with a lot of credits, and even more valuable connections. She networked, she plied, and she pushed paper. Even during the Dominion War, she never saw or felt the breath of the reaper on her cheek. She worked at SFHQ as an aide, or logistics. She issued orders, but those were for requisitions; never to send people into battle.

So, for what is was worth, she spit in T'lan's face. "Fuck you, Vulcan bitch." At least, her obituary could make public her last actions being of nothing less of heroic, even if she wasn't in the slightest.

=/\="Reactivating primary system... environmental controls.............. online.=/\=

Coldly, T'lan looked down on the Admiral. Olivia was under gunpoint. James was wracked by pains of her own devising. Victor was stunned; it would be hours before he would wake. "So foolish." She hissed, "You corporeals."

A meter away, James watched. He was unable to do a thing. ~"Goddammit, fight!"~ James mind hollered to a deaf body.

At that moment, T'lan winced. She rubbed her temple, felt a buzz, then a flush of pure... distraction. The buzzing grew, an oncoming crash of waves that first lulled, but grew in frequency and strength, sapping her psychic strength and diverting her concentration to defend herself, but marshalling her borrowed body's mental discipline was slow coming. She lost patience, she snapped, hissing no particular word but frustration.

Then the crash came.

=/\="Internal Defense Network.......reactivated.=/\=

The attack was like comparing a gentle tradewind propelled current to being run over by a tsunami. The wave crashed, breaking her concentration, bowling her over like centre mass hit with a warp nine shuttle. Dull pain cracked her open like a hammer. There she lost her concentration completely.

The thralls lost their glassy eyed stares, feeling lost as they regained their personalities, curious as to how they came to be here.

James felt a cooling, oncoming relief, like the wracking pain was being drained out of him. Red faced and panting, he came down to his hand and knees, breathing back much welcomed gulps of air, shaking off the molten sweat off his face.

T'lan looked around, losing the hard edge of her parasitic spirit. The placidity of her face returned. The ever calm lilt of her voice came back, but with an edge of urgency and panic.

"Run! She will return!" She screamed. Her face twisted into a macabre mask as Mistress tried to reassert herself.

=/\="Shuttlebay Systems Online."=/\=

Without losing a beat, Corgan bolted to the Admiral. Half dragging, half covering her from oncoming fire, James snarled out his orders. "MOVE! GODDAMMIT MOVE MOVE MOVE!"

When T'lan loosened her grip on the fallen Admiral, Olivia did the one thing she could. She balled a fist and punched her in the side of the head to let her go the rest of the way.

"God f**king dammit Admiral! MOVE!" Corgan screamed with added urgency, pulling at the admiral but finding not only his strength still weakened by the mental domination, but an Admiral who stubbornly still held back! "You can't trust any of us! GET OUT!!!!!!!!!!" He choked, finding the Admiral's elbow driving its way into his solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. Without choice, he had to let go of her.

"No one goes anywhere until we get the core under our control! Someone stun her! And get that Andorian back to re-activate my access, dammit!" Her hands waved around pointing at various individuals as she barked out her orders. All the while being inched outside to the main corridor by a protective guard who'd disobeyed her orders anyhow.

"Not today, Admiral. Or any day. I've been waiting for this for a while now." Azuul/Sheridan had come up behind her as she was shaking off T'lan. Instantly, she felt the pang of something sharp enter from her back and into her chest cavity. It was a great discomfort to feel someone sloshing around your insides, and at that moment, she knew she was going to die.

Azuul/Sheridan had gripped her around the throat, his breath blowing hot in her ear. "I'm going to take your heart, Admiral, and devour it in front of you."

Inside the Computer Core, Victor's eyes opened with a snap that was almost mechanical. He'd been right. Even under the parasite-controlled T'lan's influence the Commander had been smart enough to find a way to twist her commands. Corgan's phaser, though set on Heavy Stun, had also been set on the smallest aperture, meaning that the effects were not as severe as they would have been expected to be when the ship's best phaser hand aimed to just 'nick' Victor with the edge of the beam, knowing that the top-down perspective viewpoint of the possessed T'lan would not allow her to realize that the beam had not made a direct hit on his torso and passed through it as a beam of that intensity would do, but instead had passed between Victor's legs, stunning him through contact with his genitals - not, Victor suspected, a shot that Corgan would want anyone else attempting on him in return.

He lifted his head, took in the situation, and came to his feet slowly behind the group of confused security officers that were between him and T'lan. all their attentions fixed on the drama playing out in the doorway, where someone - either under the control of T'lan or another parasite – was killing the Admiral. That meant that she wasn't needed anymore, and that was both bad and good. Bad because it meant that they'd taken control of the ship, and because he'd failed to save another crewman that Starfleet had given him, and good because it made things easier, meant that there was no one here that he had to worry about being on his side. That always made things easier. He couldn't risk the crewmen in front of him falling back under the influence of the thing inside T'lan, which left only one thing for him. He wondered as he reached for the closest man, his eyes confirming that his phaser was set on 'Stun,' if they'd understand after it was over.

Probably not, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except making certain that these things didn't remain in control of the ship.

=/\="Communications Systems online and activated."=/\=

Curran, Angelienia, and Grey had silently followed the Admiral's XO when they had encountered him in the corridors soon after escaping the confines of the turbolift tube they'd been trapped in. When they noticed he was nearing the computer core, they fell in behind him, ready to assess the situation and act accordingly.

When Sheridan stopped suddenly and stumbled, they almost made the move to take him out of the picture, but when the distinct sounds of a skirmish coming from inside the Core room itself reached their ears; it was a moment the Kelvan wished he could have relived, for hesitation is a human trait, and a flaw.

Proctor stepped out from the room, her back to Sheridan, who, even at his moment of distress, still jumped out at the burly woman, and rammed something in his hand into her back. He was whispering in her ear even as he dragged her out of the protection of her people, only now just noticing her predicament.

Kylar ran, realizing with dismay that not only was he giving away his position to an enemy he could not see, but that he was attempting the rescue of a flag officer who didn't deserve to be one.

But he served the Federation, and knew there were many plans at work. He could ill afford to make a monumental decision of allowing the murder of a flag officer he had been tasked to assist throughout her assignment.

Angelienia's sudden scowl was, if anything, less attractive than her frowns. "Computers, Mouse," she snapped as she and Ella started after Curran. "You deal with the computers - if they've gotten into those then we're screwed."

Curran was witnessing a murder. The security detachment was witnessing a monumental failure on their part.

=/\="Internal and external sensor systems online and reactivated.=/\=

James Lionel Corgan helplessly watched Admiral Proctor stumble, make too few desperate steps to safety, then wide eyed and in the throes of internal shock fall and bleed out on the carpet. Her stubbornness may have killed her, but James knew she could have been saved. He looked at T'lan, her Vulcan calm at its stretching point, at the cusp of breaking her ravaged mind in two. He looked at the cruel smile of the sycophant Sheridan/Azuul, savoring the murder and the reversal of roles, watching her move and then fall from where he stood. Then he saw the Admiral again, her lifeblood staining the floor, her wound a jagged hole of leaking blood and torn flesh. The wound was potentially fatal. He didn't know if she was already dead; if she wasn't it wouldn't be long.

"GET HIMMM!" Corgan ordered, bolting out of kneeling position and snatching the Admiral's phaser pistol out of its holster. It was still at full charged, and felt like the buttons were rarely used (if at all).

His detachment followed the lead of their leader, aimed their rifles at Azuul... and fired. Their pulse rifles joined James straight beam.

Victor held back as the men in front of him fired; their beams all converging on the body of the man that had just stabbed the admiral. Maybe that much energy impacting at once would kill the Diparthu as well as stun the host body into a coma, maybe it wouldn't - and maybe one or more of the rifles were set on a higher, more lethal, setting, that might disrupt the parasite alien. Whichever it was, he didn't want that many weapons hot and firing when he did what he had to do.

Angelienia put on a burst of speed and reached out to grab Kylar's shoulder, slowing him as the barrage of phaser fire burst from the door towards the man with the bloody dagger in his hand. "Wait for the shooting to stop – we don't know who's controlling the triggers yet!"

The Kelvan could only stand and watch as the lanced beams lit up the Ullian like a sun going nova. The being that was the Admiral's XO was thrown against the bulkhead, the metal shard he'd been holding falling to a clatter against the side panels and rolling on to the carpet. The moment the object of the security lovers desire backed off from the fallen officer, he shook off the Ktarian's nefarious touch and finished his run.

Her wound was rent open, but the blood flow was not as serious as first surveyed. Most of it was already clotting around the uniform fabric, so quickly, he tore off a strip from her hemline and jammed it in to the gash.

"Someone bring me a phaser now! It'll help cauterize the wound." Still jamming fibers into the wound, someone pressed against him. Dabbing away the free-flowing life essence, he pushed aside the fabric, at which a beam immediately shot out. He had no clue as to whether it would be a killing blow or not, nor did it matter. At the very least, it would put her out of misery, followed by himself shortly thereafter. He would die for the Federation, regardless of personal opinion.

"Here!" James gave up his sidearm. "Setting five, narrow the beam to 1.5 mm! It'll hurt like hell!"

T'lan watched, horrified at the scene. The loss of Azuul's, a psychic backlash so stinging and fast it was as if a taut rope being snapped, then whiplashed back into her own head. The control they shared became a double load, and on top of that, her host's mind was reasserting itself. Nothing was going in step. Her calculated brutality and careful execution of plans was for nothing, ruined by Azuul's impulsiveness.

Before she was overwhelmed, Mistress quit monitoring most of her thralls. Losing contact with them was disheartening; reasserting herself would be a long, arduous process. Then she strengthened her control on the localized enthralled population; in particular the six security officers. She found the snarl of controls on James too unnerving, so her push went elsewhere.

At the right moment, Mistress reasserted itself with a vengeance.

=/\"Bridge access reactivated. Access to all commanding officer reinstated."=/\=

"AZUUL!!!!!!" Mistress' personality bodychecked her host out of the way with an unholy snarl. She sprinted at James, lunged into him, and tumbled out of the backlog of bodies around the Admiral. WInding up on top, Mistress curled her hand into a claw, her arm fighting the resistance given by James' grip on her wrist, but winning out slowly with superior alien strength. The security officers had rifles aimed, but hurriedly yelled to hold fire with James in the way.

Help snuck up from behind and put the Mistress in a half nelson. Mika pulled at Mistress's arm and toppled her over, but the Mistress rolled and took the tiny Andorian with her. Bodies tangled, they fought wildly for their lives. Mika, legs and arms snared like vines on T'lan and refusing to let go, and T'lan with greater strength, shaking and slamming her way out.

Crawlingly, T'lan stood up, with Mika entrenched on her back. She blindly flung her free elbow, catching Mika twice on the ribs. Each hit freed her grip more. A third hit, and Mika's left arm relented. Mistress shoulder threw the Andorian off, her small body tumbling over with a grunt.

"Free shot! Fire!" A security officer barked.

"NO!" James ordered.

Mistress T'lan needed one look. "Heel." She rasped, and the trigger word sent spasms of pain to James and all the security officers. They clutched their heads, screamed, dropped their weapons.

Another tidal wave of nullifying psionic energy smacked into her. Host T'lan fought back and took more control of herself, but at the peak of her power Mistress held the line.

The security officers, James included, collected their phasers. They watched the menagerie of personality changes in T'lan, and at the moment couldn't decide whether or not to fire. "Wait!" James ordered out, "Wait goddammit!"

"Noooo... don't wait." T'lan said in the middle of an emergence.

Mistress came back, "DON'T! If you pull the trigger I will..."

"Hold on, T'lan. We're not writing you off yet!" James said. "Keep fighting."

T'lan said, "We are at an impasse, but I don't know for how long."

Mistress shrilled, "YOU CAN'T HOLD ME BACK FOR LONG!!!"

"Hold on!"

"Stop her!"

"Die, bitch!"

"You're not taking my FRIEND!"

Twisting her face like an everchanging demon, T'lan and Mistress fought out, energy versus energy, mind versus mind. At equal personality dominance, there was an unpredictable outcome. Mistress knew better. So did T'lan. Mistress was pure soul, hungering for the sensations of corporeal hedonism. T'lan had no emotion but wanted survival. In a contest of personalities, emotion had the edge. Mistress wanted to live more. She was slowly pushing T'lan out of her mind.

Then, a sensation came.

She detected another corporeal with psychic energies. So strong was he that Mistress could not resist. The energy, so strong, so pure, so complex as to unravel her self control at the thought! She hungered, no, lusted for the power it held. Her current host was a mundane compared to this!

~"You're useless anyways."~ Mistress' final thought to T'lan said.

The computer said as if in relief, =/\="Core access functioning within normal parameters."=/\=

The Mistress' departure backlashed into T'lan, like overextending her push and having to fall face first back into full control. T'lan's knees buckled, her eyes closed and she fainted to the floor.

In the hall, Angelienia stood guard over Curran as he worked on Proctor, the Admiral’s life slipping away under his hands. There was no room for anyone else to assist the Kelvan, even if she’d been qualified to do so, which she wasn’t. One glance into the room had lifted her spirits, though, as she could clearly see Victor standing behind the mob of security personnel, watching them, waiting to fall on them like a thunderbolt at the first sign of returning betrayal.

Ella hobbled up, the wound in her abdomen aching from the exertion, and took in Proctor’s injury with a glance. Without medical attention, the admiral was dead, but there was no way to transport her to Sickbay with the systems locked out.” Abruptly she smiled. No, there was a way. There was a command that couldn’t be locked out, one that no one could override hardwired into the system. =/\= “Activate EMH, my location.” =/\=

Corgan, Mika, and half of the security detail converged on the fallen Vulcan. Half lucid, her eyes fluttered open. She felt her comrades try to pick her up. As if disembodied from her head, her ears picked up faint traces of 'Are you alright'.

She blinked, and said, "Heel?"

Half of the group shot back at the trigger word, but found themselves perplexed by the lack of effect.

She said, "As you can see, I have asserted full control of myself. The admiral?"

In answer to her request for information, the familiar tones of the ship’s standard EMH could be heard from the hallway. “The Admiral requires immediate surgical attention, Vice-Legate. Why didn’t you transport her to… how odd. Someone has locked the transporter system out from your control. Perhaps Starfleet has come to its senses and realized how unreliable you organics really are. Fortunately, I am not so limited. I will have a status report on the Admiral’s condition as soon as I’m out of surgery. Initiating transport to Sickbay.” There was a transporter hum, and then silence.

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

Elsewhere

Elsewhen

Mistress sought out the new presence with everburning lust for more. Being in near proximity of it drew out her craving, killing her normally rational reasoning with irrational lust. She wanted it, that was all she knew. Without the Vulcan's natural controls, that was all she knew.

It was close. So damn close!

Wanting it so bad, she lunged towards the presence...

And into a trap.

Psychic energies coursed through her soul, immolating the afterimage of her corporeal self, nipping bits off her being until more and more of her became animalistic, driven by urges. Painful was it to her, but she could not let go.

She would tear herself to pieces for this host.

And so she would for as long as it took.

"Oh my God"

Ensign Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Officer
second lieutenant Branwen London, Marine staff psychologist

[happens just after the last mission]

Bran wake up slowly. Her head hurt. She didn't know were she was or what had happened to her. She barely remembered her own name right now.

Paulo sat up suddenly, awake, and in control of his own body. He had no idea how it happened, but somehow he was on control again. He looked around... these weren't his quarters... in fact... they looked like they belonged to a Marine and not a Fleeter. He then looked to his left a little and saw a woman there. "O GOD!"

Bran groaned. The headache would not go away. "What...who...." She squinted her eyes and noticed Paulo. "Eh?"

"What the hell am I doing here?" He asked to no one in particular, then looking under the sheets finding himself naked.

"I don't know. Where are we... what happened? I don't remember." Bran was still groggy, not realizing she was naked as well.

"I remember things... shooting at fellow crew mates... sabotaging the repairs on the station... and then nothing," he said. He then looked her up and down, then trying to be a smart ass, "you look good naked," he said with a small grin, then realizing it caused him one hell of a headache. "Note to self, no facial movements other then talking."

"Oh god." Bran tried to grab the covers but the sudden movements made her head hurt like hell. She groaned.

"Lets try this," Paulo said. "Getting up very slowly, getting some cloths on, not facing each other of course, and heading into the living area. Anna showed me some drink that helps with headaches."

"Yeah..." Bran was very embarrassed finding herself in bed naked with a patient. "I am sorry." She mumbled her accent becoming stronger by the second.

"It's not your fault," he groaned out as he put on a pair of pants. This was like the worst hangover ever, or something. "It could have been me that made the first move."

"Duw!" she muttered in welsh. Although Saul had chosen Nara she was not over him yet. She was not interested in Paulo at all and he was her patient. This was a nightmare. Hardly able to keep her tears in she started to feel sick.

Paulo moved over to the replicator and ordered the two drinks. It didn't have a name, just an inventory number. Personally Paulo hated the taste, but it did the trick. He walked back over to her. "Don't cry, I know your not interested in me, and that you still want Soul, though why is beyond me. I personally find him a prick, and there is that investigation..."

"What investigation?" She asked.

"Oh nothing," he said. "Just drink this. Your headache will go away and in a few hours you will be ready to council me again about how crazy I am. Lets just not put this," Paulo said pointing at the bed, "into any logs."

Branwen dutifully drank. "Definitely not. My chief would have my head. I really don't remember how this happened, and why." She was still pretty embarrassed.

Paulo let out a small smile. "The thing that is bothering me, is was us attacking our fellow crew mates a dream?"

"It can't have been, can it?" She said hesitantly.

Paulo looked at his drink. "If we both dreamed it... then how can it not be? Why did we both dream it?"

"I don't know." She said softly. "Yet if we did, why haven't we been arrested?"

"I don't think it was just us... I don't think we where controlling gout own bodies, our actions, anything," he said as he finished the nasty drink.

Bran was silent sipping the drink.

"Common, lets go see what is going on," Paulo said standing up slowly.

She followed him not really wanting to but not seeing another option.

They walked out. Medical personnel where helping crewman who where still injured and on the deck. It looked like a war had taken place, with phaser burns all over the place. "Looks like a war," Paulo said.

"We should help." Bran whispered. She bend over to help someone to his feet. "Oh god, we are to blame for this."

Paulo reached around and put his arm around her. Sometime the counselor needed help herself. "Common, lets go."

"Sakarian Moments: The Meeting"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Saia (APC)

***Sakaria***

On the second day on Sakaria, Nara took Saia to meet her grandmother about mid-morning. Leaving Saul to fend for himself.

Likely in a more literal way with her father there. He had almost immediately approved of K'Erin, even though he didn't really think they would be more than friends.

Her father was a true warrior. A heart of a Klingon, calmness of a Vulcan, passion of a Sakarian, but still the soul of a human. He believed in never backing down. That's what won him so many victories. In battle and in negotiation.

She always figured she would end up like him more than she would be like her mother.

Her mother was strong and couragous in her own way. She was loyal and compassionate. But she couldn't stand causing anyone pain. Even if they were an enemy.

In war, there are times when you have to kill. They're regretful times and they forever haunt your conscious, but it just becomes part of a warrior.

Nara knew her father saw a difference in her. She knew there were many things she could tell him that would explain it. She knew he would love her no less.

Yet, something inside prevented her from telling her father, no, her commodore her weaknesses.

From the first battle she fought and realized he directed almost every tactical maneuver, she knew she wanted to make him proud.

For the moments she made horrible, even fatal mistakes and she had to face him, it wasn't has father and daughter. It was as Commodore and soldier. It was then she first defended herself. She did so with respect, but she wanted the Commodore to understand.

It was also the first times he ever yelled at her. Telling her it wasn't her decision. It was the first times he ever called her arrogant, stupid and trigger-happy.

It was after those times, she had to remind herself it wasn't her father then. Yet, she still cried in the cover of night.

It was after that she tried harder. She tried to reel in her eagerness.

By then, she had become a commander herself, only to be returning to Starfleet. Only to be going to a new place to start the process of proving herself all over again.

A place where she was not a warrior, but an engineer. Where she ended up still having to fight.

She overcame in some way over them all.

Except the last incident.

The Dithparu sapped something from her. Even though her body had regained its strength and she felt her telepathic walls forming again, she knew they left things more daunting then the ghosts of those she's killed.

Those she killed at least would understand. They were warriors too.

The Dithparu defeated her. Used her to cause damage to her own. Even when they finally left her, it wasn't her doing.

If Taru had not been there, there was no telling what would had happened. Her body would live long enough for her to watch destruction she couldn't stop or they would expend her body beyond its limits, killing her.

The Dithparu left her feeling weak and vulnerable.

Marks defeated her as well. The Dithparu did further damage to insult by making that more real to her by this further example of her weakness in most needed times.

Saul seemed understanding about last night, but Nara couldn't let herself feel ok about it. Was she so weak to let an instance of years ago affect her life now?

How dare she be so weak and fragile to not fight through it!

So what if her body being touched reminded her of the most revolting memory of her mind? And to sit there shivering and crying! How foolish of her to let it beat her still!

She could find justice for Marks, but the Dithparu were already gone. And she didn't get any pleasure in that. That, they also stole from her. For they weakened her so much, when they left, her body couldn't function without them.

"Are we there yet? Why are you walking so fast? Wait up!"

Nara stopped and turned. Her mind had become so consumed. She pushed all the thoughts away. There wasn't time for that.

She was determined to get with Saul sometime and push through. She'd tell him to go ahead, no matter how she fought. She had the vague feeling it would prove only to worsen things and she had a feeling Saul wouldn't be that cruel.

She turned her attention to Saia, "Almost. Sorry." She waited for Saia to catch up and turned her thoughts away from the depressing, angering ones. Her mind changed to depressing, hard-decision-making ones. She hadn't told Saia that one reason she was meeting her grandmother was so she could decide if she wanted to go back with her and so Nara could see if the woman could be trusted.

Moments later, the old Trill woman was holding the younger Trill girl and crying. Saia kept looking at Nara as if saying, what have you got me into?

They had went to a picnic area since it was a nice day and Nara sat a few tables away so as to watch them, as descretely as one could when everyone knew she was watching.

"Oh, my darling! How I've longed to see you!"

Saia just looked at her, then over to Nara. She looked back at the woman and gave her what-for. "Where have you been? How come I never heard of you? Where were you when I didn't have anyone left and the only person I could trust was some mute person in a cloak!" Saia left out that the mute person in a cloak ended up being Nara.

The grandmother frowned, "There is a long story about how I became angry at your parents about something. I will explain that later when you are older. It really doesn't matter. By the time I forgave them, I wasn't sure they would have me. When I heard about the crash, I came to find them. I learned they had died, but a little girl was left behind and went to stay with a Naranda Roswell on the USS Galaxy, so I finally found you."

The woman, leaning closer added, "I am so sorry I missed the first ten years of your life and I would be honored to be included in the rest of it."

Saia still glared at her. Unmoved, she humphed and said, "You aren't allowed to take me from Nara."

The old woman smiled, knowing better. She had every legal right to do so, but she also knew it would be a bad idea at the moment. If ever. "Then I won't dare. I only ask to be part of your life."

Saia shrugged, uncrossed her arms and sighed out, "If you really want."

After a few more moments of Saia's grandma telling stories and exclaiming about how Saia had her mother's or her father's smile, nose, eyes, or spots, she finally stood, laborously.

Nara made her way over and handed the woman her cane.

The elder Trill nodded to Nara, "Thank you. She has in no certain terms agreed to let me try to be the grandmother I should had been since her birth."

Nara smiled and whispered, "She'll warm up to your eventually."

Saia crossed her arms again and sniffed. Nara nor her "grandmother" understood. Saia had been warm. She was friendly and loved to make new friends.

But since losing her parents, she learned that whoever you get close to, you lose. So the less you have the less pain. Save the risk for those you need.

She needed Nara.

She didn't need this "grandmother."

"Sakarian Moments: Fatherly Concerns"

Lieutenant J.G. Naranda Sol Roswell
Engineer

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer

* * * Sakaria * * *

After Nara had taken Saia to meet Saia's Grandmother, and Allas had gone to do some errands, Gary Roswell walked into the Living Room where Saul was working on the final version of his Master's degree thesis, and cleared his throat.

Saul lazily slanted his eyes toward Nara's father. "Erev tov.", He greeted.

"Do you have a moment?" Gary had a voice and tone that indicated you had better have a moment, or he would force one on you.

"Always.", Saul replied, forcing a smile. Gary Roswell is someone Saul intended to have good ties with. Like most of the people he manipulated.

"I know this is cliche, but it must be asked." He looked Saul square in the eyes, "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

This wasn't a total surprise for Saul. Although Nara was the first girl he could consider as 'a serious girlfriend', he always assumed that parents were curious about their daughters' boyfriends. Knowing how certain girls he knew from his youth at Utrecht III acted 'freely' with their boyfriend-of-the-day, he couldn't hold that curiosity unaccountable.

"Knowing Nara, she would prefer to be around when you ask me a question like this.", He replied with a sheepish smile.

Gary repressed the smile. He knew Nara well. He kept the commanding stare on Saul.

"Nara and myself formed a... strong bond.", Saul began, carefully phrasing his words. "We have a... certain agreement about things, and right now we're just letting ourselves… flow freely, and we'll see how it goes."

No one said anything for a moment, and then Saul spoke again. "She's important to me.", He admitted. "Does that answer your question?"

Gary's face softened and sat down across from Saul, "Yes. It doesn't surprise me she would take it as a trial run. I'm somewhat relieved she gave someone a chance." He looked at Saul again in a threatening way, "That's why I must warn you. If you hurt her, you'll have to deal with me. If you survive her wrath."

Saul just shrugged his shoulders. If Gary only knew who was the assassin hired to murder his own daughter. But Saul managed to pull that off quite smoothly.

The older man sighed. "Now that we got that out of the way, is there anything you know of that would cause Nara to seem..." He didn't know how to phrase it. He sighed again and leaned back looking like the worried father he was, "She's not the daughter I remember. I know the anger that would insue of me asking the question and the anger on you if you answer. I just had to ask."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

Gary's eyes seemed to go back in time a moment, "I've led many men and women into battle. I know whose ready to kill or be killed, the ones who arrogantly jump head first, the ones who are timid..."

He paused a moment,

"Nara, at first, was an arrogant one." His brows furrowed as his gaze fell beyond the wall behind Saul, "Then I like to think she was seasoning into a true warrior, but cautious for her own sake and the sake of her men. Now, she seems timid." He shook his head, "Did something happen on the ship that was classified or simply something Nara hadn't told us?"

"Not that I'm aware of.", Saul responded sharply. He assumed her father didn't know about the rape. Nara hid it well. Besides, from what he understood, the rape took place years ago, whereas Gary spoke of recent changes.

"What makes you think that she has lost her edge?", Saul demanded, then pulled his sleeve. The skin patch burnt by Nara's phaser was still healing. "If she would have lost her will to fight, I wouldn't be standing here today."

Gary looked at the wound, "What are you getting at?"

Saul grinned. "During the Galaxy's last mission, your daughter thought that I was an enemy, so she shot me. It is by sheer luck that I'm not a cloud of molecules spread across half the Starbase. So no, I'm sure she can put up a fight if needed. Keep in mind that as an Engineer, she's not part of the official fighting forces on board the Galaxy. In the bible, one of the prophets has a utopian vision where there's no war, and warriors turn their swords to shovels. You could say that with the peace accords on Sakaria, Nara is halfway there."

And so should you be, Commodore, Saul added silently. Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but it seemed strange to Saul that a father would want his daughter to be a ferocious warrior.

It could partly explain of Nara's zealous behavior, though.

Gary looked at the young man a few long moments before finally stating, "I understand there is not always need to fight. I supposed what I meant was that she seems almost broken. Weary." He stood, "It may be nothing to worry about. I hope."

"I promise to keep an eye on her.". It was another lie. Saul knew that a time will come where he won't be able to watch over Nara . He already had the exact date for that.

And a location.

Gary started for the door, but looked toward Saul again, "There had been some elders that prophecy that she, and anyone, with arrogance will destroy themselves with bravery turned stupid. She's picked herself up from those instances, but if she loses her edge, she is easy prey."

He looked Saul in the eye, "Even though war is over here, there is danger lurking anywhere. If she forgets to be alert or hesitates for a moment, it could also be her undoing. That's why I'm worried. She's our only child. The only one to continue a legacy. I'm not saying she has to always be a warrior, but she will always be Sakarian."

"Trust your daughter.", Saul told him, turning back to his work, "She knows the dangers, and believe me, she WILL always be Sakarian."

Gary had already walked out the door, but stated, "It's the universe I don't trust."

* * *

Even though he was an experienced warrior, Commodore Gary Roswell didn't notice that he was being watched as he exited his own home.

It would have shamed him to find out that his stalker was just a common Sakarian shop owner from the Tabbah cultural center, not a rebel scout or agent.

But for Gary Roswell and Saul Bental, the presence of Teto Karoue will soon prove to be no less dangerous.

The stout shopkeeper was still amazed by his own revelation. When he heard the rumors of Naranda Roswell's boyfriend, some very far-fetched theories began to form in his head. He was trying to draw a line between the various events which made his life much more difficult in the last year.

And now, the final dot was connected.

Saul Bental coming to his own shop by surprise, virtually blackmailing him into submission.

Saul Bental asking him to deliver an encrypted message to Gary Roswell.

Gary Roswell ordering the arrest of the Ruyel's prime counselor for planning the assassination of Roswell's own daughter.

And now this.

Saul Bental was Naranda Roswell's boyfriend.

This was Teto Karoue's chance to severe his business connection with Saul Bental. It could also earn him quite a profit.

Tomorrow morning, he decided, he will contact Devoss Bental. Devoss will give him a lesser percentage, but at least Karoue won't be an errand boy anymore, and could utilize the Bental money to penetrate certain markets which Saul didn't want to invest in.

And after he'll finish his business with Devoss, he will contact Gary Roswell. And that will ensure that Saul Bental will never return to Sakaria.

With that satisfying thought in mind, Karoue packed his amateur surveillance equipment, and retreated into the shadows.

"Sand"

8-ball Hunter
Ella Grey

Holodeck One: Indigo's Memorial service

(takes place after Indigo for Indigo)

She really was an engineer, Ella thought with some bemusement.

When she had arrived a few sandcastles had already been built and a few had been attempted (and then left alone when the wet t-shirt contest had started) but no one so far had attempted to make a sand-ship. Ella had sat her beach bag down and gotten to work.

A few hours later 8-ball found her thus, playing in the sand.

"Wow," 8-ball said drily, looking down at Ella's creation. "That's pretty. . .sad."

"I had to start over once." Ella said in her mechanical voice. "I had the length of the ship all wrong. Didn't think I'd be doing calculations in my head."

8-ball shook her head and sat down. In keeping with the purple color scheme, 8-ball had worn a purple sarong and a purple bikini top. She had considered dying her hair, but then couldn't go through with it. That was what Indy would have done, and Indy was dead. Illogical to a fault, that was 8-ball.

"I can't believe you're screwing up a simple sand castle. . .excuse me, sand ship, by doing calculations. Who measures out the proper specs of a sand ship? I think you're totally missing the point of the word 'playing'."

Ella glared at her one remaining friend. "A ship doesn't fly unless its structurally sound."

"It's SAND, Ella," 8-ball said. "Your ship ain't exactly about to take off to seek out new life and new civilizations."

"My ship," Ella said with a disdainful look. "Can fly to the Delta Quadrant in under a second, serves real alcohol at every replicator, and has hunky men at every turbolift. *You* can go play with your boring sandcastles."

"Hey, my sandcastle rocks," 8-ball said. At the moment, her sandcastle consisted of a partially deformed moat, but hey, it would get there. "In my castle, there is chocolate served on silver platters, there are no wake-up calls for god awful science shifts, and best of all, you have no psychotic aliens floating around and invading your head."

Ella considered. "Good but my ship is mobile. Yours is always stuck in the same place." She smoothed the last piece attached to the saucer section carefully. Then she smiled and pulled out a bottle of ale and passed it to 8-ball. "And besides, you get to commemorate ships with bottles of illegal alcohol. Who ever heard to toasting to a castle?"

"Thanks," 8-ball said, and quickly took a long drink. "Thirsty. And just because you're a traditionalist, it doesn't mean the rest of us are boring and uninspired. There's nothing wrong with toasting to castles. Or houses or skyscrapers or flowers or air. I can toast to all of this beautiful, simulated sand. You're just unoriginal."

Ella snatched the bottle back from her. "That's it. No more drink for you." She took a long drink herself. "Allright, Miss Originality, what should I make instead?"

8-ball shrugged. Her sand castle was sagging to the left, and 8-ball decided that she just didn't care enough to straighten it. "I don't know. How about a sand strip joint? Bonus points if you can make the poles."

She looked doubtfully at the sand. "I'd have to take the roof off so that you could actualy see the poles. And miniture sand strippers doesn't sound very appealing. Next."

"The sand version of Leo Streely and Raven Darkstar having wild monkey sex?"

"Next, next!" Ella said, waving her hands. "God, next!"

8-ball pursed her lips. "A sand corvette? I always wanted one of those."

Ella tapped her lips thoughtfully. And then spit some sand. "That I could do."

****

A few hours later, the assistant chief engineer and the chief science officer were sitting in the rapidly collapsing seats of a 20th century sand corvette, passing the bottle back and forth between them.

8-ball stretched, drank the last of the illegal ale, and gave the empty bottle back to Ella. "Well, the car is melting, and I'm properly buzzed. I think I'm gonna go home."

Ella blew across the top of the bottle, making the annoying sound that drunk people the universe over thought actually sounded musical. "I think I'm going to stay for awhile. There's a nice spot for a campfire over there."

8-ball stepped out of the car and the door dramatically died before her. She shook her head at it and looked at Ella, who was still playing with the bottle. 8-ball opened her mouth to say at least something about the reason they had come here. . .but found that there really wasn't much to say, and besides, she didn't want to talk about it anyway.

So instead, 8-ball said, "If you decide to have sex in the moonlight, make sure to have it in the water. Sand, holographic or not, is a bitch to get out of some private places."

Ella made an unlovely sound, something like a cross between a snort and a hiccup. "See you tomorrow."

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