"You will be shrunken!!!!"

Baile
London

Bran was looking through her records to see which of her marines was ducking the mandatory psych eval. She was surprised to see it weren’t actually that many. Most had at least made an appointment. And a lot of people she had talked to already were really willing to talk. This had been a though mission on everyone. The captain had been right to call for these evals.

On the top of the list of those not having made an appointment yet was… surprise, surprise Baile. Bran sighed. That would be another hell of a battle, but she was not going to shirk her duty.

At the end of the day she knew she could find him in the gym, training. Bran waiting until she knew he would be finishing his routine before walking in. “Afternoon, Lieutenant.” She greeted him. “Seems like you are avoiding me.”

He sat up and wiped some sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand. “Avoiding implies that I’m actively trying to stay out of your way.” He lay back down again and grabbed a firm hold of the metal bar and sent it up again. “You found me didn’t you?”

"You know what I mean, Lieutenant."  She said not her usual friendly self.

The dark tight-fitting goggles made it impossible to read his eyes. It would have been close to impossible to read them even if he had not worn them. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, Lieutenant?”

"In case you haven't noticed yet.  The captain has ordered all personnel to have a psyche evaluation.  Ninety percent of all marines have either see me or made an appointment.  You as a senior Marine officer on the ship should make a good example, Lieutenant."

Irritation flared up inside Baile like a nova. A nova he forcefully stored for later use. “Unless someone had a meltdown and gave you clearance that not even God himself can get we’ve got nothing to talk about, Lieutenant.”

"You are a member of this crew; you are a Marine, why wouldn't you have a simple psyche evaluation?  Or do you have something to hide?"  She asked irritated.

Slowly he got up from the bench, a predator waking up after a nap. “Seven years of Special Ops… I got plenty to hide, Lieutenant.”

“I am not interested in those bloody old secrets, Baile. I am interested to hear how you have come through the last mission. And I don’t want a one sentence answer; I want to make an appointment with you.”

“You should watch that temper of yours, Lieutenant. It doesn’t inspire much confidence...” the marine replied, rolling his head from side to side. “And we all want things we can’t get… you want to make an appointment... I want to be left alone. One of us will be disappointed and my money is on you… “

“Well the captain ordered this one, Baile. For everybody.” Bran said.

He walked over to the sandbag and pulled the gloves on his hands. He gave it a slight nudge and started punching it. Mercilessly. “You. Are not.. my assigned.. Councilor… You’re not.. even allowed.. to see.. my file.. “ The last punch violently rocked the sandbag back and forth. Strange. Maybe he was getting stronger. He thought about it for a second then wrote it off to increased adrenaline.. “Bottomline – not gonna happen.”

“Finished?” Bran asked when he stopped punching for a moment. “Look I am not doing this to be difficult or to get at you or something. It’s just the rules, you need a shrink on board.’ She said softer. “honestly I am not interested in your secrets. Just your mental health.”

“How the hell did you manage to pass your training, Lieutenant?” Baile replied with some surprise to his voice. “You’re not listening, Barbie.. You can’t give me any counselling cause you don’t know my history. And the only way for you to know my history is to read my file. Now, you are not allowed to read my file and I doubt you ever will be…  here’s the short version – my secrets and my so called mental health goes hand in hand.. to figure out the latter you need the first.. now do you see the particular dilemma you are facing?”

“Yeah.” Branwen said. “I see that I will get no further with you. I will be seeing you later, Baile.”Branwen said and started to leave.

“Lieutenant.” Baile called out sternly. “Don’t take it personal, because its not. I assure you that if it was personal you would notice it… and yes, you can try talking to the brass and order me once again to come in. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. All it will accomplish is a waste of both my time and yours. It will not change my position nor my disposition.”

She took a deep breath when she turned but remained calm. “Mr. Baile if it isn’t personnel you should refrain from making derogatory remarks about my training and appearance. And yes I will talk to the captain about this. And not to get at you, but to find a working solution that everybody can work with.”

“And here I was trying to be nice.. “ the marine shrugged. “Lieutenant.. if harsh language gets to you, then maybe the Marines isn’t a place for you.. We’re not bread and butter cookies like Starfleet.. and no – you’re not the person to change that.” Baile continued calmly. “Nor are you the first person that tries.”

She stayed very calm.  "I can take harsh language, I can take much more than you think I can.  I don't want to change it, I just want you to be honest so I can respect you."  Branwen started to walk away again.

The marine shrugged and went back to hitting the bag again. Things would unfold the way they would. Not much to do about it. He had contacted the right people and now it would be up to them to get him out of it.

"Exorcism"

Commander Cassius Henderson
Executive Officer, USS Galaxy

First Lieutenant T'Shani Akledorian
Commanding Officer, SFMC Furies

****

Main Shuttlebay,
Deep Space Five

Four months ago...

He could hear the crisp clicking of his boot-heels as they hit the deck of Deep Space Five.  He smell the terrible odor of burnt flesh as he dashed past the charred remains of one of the space station's security men.  He could feel the cool metal of the door frame as he grabbed it to slow himself as he turned and walked into the shuttlebay.  He could almost taste the ozone in the air - the guards had been vaporized.  He could ‘see’ the psychic imprint of those who had been murdered by the Dithparu, one of whom now directed all of his movements.  Every sensation came through loud and clear, but Cassius Henderson had no control, and Kazu, the Dithparu who had hijacked his motor functions, was running out of options.

Cass could hear Cora Dobryin shouting after him, swearing to catch him and cut him and take him back.  It was a terrifying prospect, for both the helpless Executive Officer of the Galaxy and his increasingly desperate possessor.

Surveying the situation, Cass finally made the decision he'd been wrestling with for the hour since Kazu had taken control.  For a man like Cassius Henderson, who built his life on knowing, manipulating, and *controlling* his surroundings, being made a prisoner in his own body was hellish.  But if the thoughts that coursed throughout the mind of the Dithparu dissident's consciousness - merged as it was with his own - were at all valid, then he would take his chances with Kazu over any other Dithparu.

~Kazu, listen to me,~ Cass thought, trying to get the attention of the panicked alien.  His head whirred back and forth, searching for an exit.  The alien's frantic searching momentarily disoriented Cass, who hadn't been expecting the sudden movement, but he managed to stammer out the rest of his message.  ~Over there, grab that spanner from that tool kit and stand next to the door frame.  When she comes through, hit her with it.~

The Dithparu escapee didn't spare him a thought, but immediately did as he suggested.  As they took up a position next to the door, Cass momentarily wondered if he was making the right choice.  Cora Dobryin was a friend, but the alien entity possessing her had already nearly killed him once - driven as it was in an endless hunt for Kazu.  If Dobryin was killed, he would regret it... but he was out of options.

**SWISH**

**THWACK!**

If he'd had control of his facial muscles, Cass would have grimaced as Cora Dobryin dropped to the deck, limbs flailing at random.  Kazu was still adjusting to the use of his body, and had missed her head, instead probably delivering a shattering blow to her spine.  Horribly painful, but ultimately survivable, and for that, Cassius breathed a sigh of relief.

~Thank you, Cassius, but you know I can't afford to release you,~ Kazu said, calm returning as he stepped over Dobryin's spasming body and walked toward the parked runabouts.  ~This is my one chance to escape, Cassius.  I cannot go back to "The Kind".  I will not go back to "The Kind".  No being can make me go back to that horror.~

~But what about my people?  I have a family,~ Cass protested, terrified of the prospect of being taken away from his life.  ~You claim you care about things like that, but you're just as willing to use 'corporeals' to get what you want.  How is that any better, Kazu?~

He stopped walking as the alien considered it.  ~Perhaps you are right, but I've suffered for too long, Cassius,~ the Dithparu replied, wearily.  ~You do not know the horrors I have been made to witness... to commit.  I'm sorry.~

He continued walking, with renewed purpose, and Cass found that he could no longer communicate with the Dithparu.  Kazu had cut him off, unwilling to doubt himself any further.

From the corner of the darkened shuttlebay expanse, a figure moved slowly through the darkness, illuminated only briefly by the red emergency lights, creeping slowly like a Mertuskian Sandcat stalking its prey in the desert night.

Sliding deftly between octagonal shipping crates and storage barrels, the figure stopped, raised its weapon, and cocked its two long, blue antennas forward in concentration.

"Henderson, FREEZE!" the growling, anger-filled voice of T'Shani Akledorian rang across the room.

Keeping him within her sights, she switched the power setting on her battle rifle to heavy stun. She would incapacitate him--or "it" within him--if she had too, but she was hesitant to do more, even if Cassius *was* a security risk now.

"Who are you?" she asked Cassius while keeping her cover behind the shipping crates.

Cassius felt himself sigh.  "This will be hard," Kazu started to try to explain, "but you have to trust me. Your friend has not been harmed, and he will be returned to you, some day soon.  But first, I *MUST* get away from here.  From 'The Kind'."

Tish blinked in astonishment. She had never encountered a noncorporeal being before, no less one that was inhabiting a *corporeal* being. And it wasn't just *any* corporeal being; it was Cassius, the man she had come to trust, even...love.

Slowly, she moved out of the shadows, rifle still raised and sighted, and walked toward Cassius, or the being that was using Cassius.

"You're not going anywhere, Sparky," the Andorian Marine growled as she stepped into the dim light, facing Cassius.

"You don't want to do that," Kazu replied, turning to face the young woman.  She was bruised and battered from a previous fight, somewhere on the forsaken station.  At the sight of purple blood marring the blue of her cheek, Cass immediately felt a very protective anger.  Kazu seemed not to notice.

"I'm not afraid of destruction.  Only going back.  We can make this easy for all of us.  You could allow me to board this shuttle and leave this place, and he will come back in a few months, just as he was when I took him.  Or you could try to stop me, and I could destroy his mind.  It's up to you..."

"You *thook*," she swore at the entity within Cassius. It was so disorienting for her, hearing Cass's possessor speaking through his voice. And yet, part of her new that she couldn't do anything that would harm Cassius. She couldn't bear the thought. For a moment, she wavered, lowering the barrel of her rifle for a brief second.

Then, on the other hand, she *could* let this interloper go, to trust it on its word; that Cass *would* be returned. ~No...no...~ she threw that thought out the window.

"This body is not yours, it belongs to Cassius." She raised the barrel at his chest again. "I'll drag you out myself, if I have too." It was her duty to Cassius, and her duty as a Marine. She would not let this *thing* escape. How would Cass feel--the Cassius that was *trapped* somewhere within--knowing that she hadn't tried to save him; that she had *abandoned* him.

"It will be your loss in the end," Kazu said sadly, preparing to defend himself.  Cass, had he control of his breath, would have held it, and the moment looked like it was about to explode.  Then something else drew the attention of the Dithparu - something back toward the center of the station.

~What is it,~ he wondered at Kazu, but the Dithparu ignored him, kneeling down to sit on his feet, chuckling absently to himself.  Cass could feel a great resignation settling on Kazu's state of mind.  ~What is it?~ he asked again.

"Freedom," the Dithparu whispered as a great wave of psychic energy washed over them, burning away at the Kazu, and parts of Cassius.  For a moment, he was wracked with pain that he couldn't respond to.

As the psychic energy washed over T'Shani, her yellow eyes immediately widened as her antennas stood straight up. Clutching at her chest, she dropped the rifle, its duranide casing clattering loudly on the deckplate. Pushing her hands up and over her ear, she tried to scream, but only managed a feeble cry for help to the one person she thought she could trust, knew she could love...

"Cassius," she whispered, before the psychic maelstrom overwhelmed her battered senses, causing her to slump to the floor.

... And then it was over.  As the haze cleared, Cass struggled to his feet, exploring his ability to use his body.  Whatever had happened, Kazu was gone.  Somebody had dispelled his control, or driven him away... or destroyed him.  He whispered a brief prayer for the Dithparu.  To be the one sane person left in your community... Cass could occasionally sympathize with that.

****

Executive Officer's Quarters,
Deck 8, USS Galaxy

The present...

"Cassius... Cassius! Wake up!"

Cassius twisted away from the offending voice, nearly rolling off the bed.  He continued to whisper in his sleep, driven by the vision he'd been experiencing at least twice a week since the disaster at Deep Space Five.

He immediately rolled back the other way, nearly crushing the skinny Ekoma Janx, who just barely managed to deliver a shocking jab to his ribs, bringing him back to consciousness.

"Oh... where am I?" Cass muttered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The chrono on the wall’s red letters glared down at him, reading 0435. "Damn, I'm sorry, Ekoma."

"It's okay, Cassius... I just... I'm starting to worry about you,” she replied, sitting back on her hands, sheet pulled up to cover herself in as modest a fashion as she could manage.

"I know... I am too."

"Radio Free Discipline"

Commander Cass Henderson,
Executive Officer, USS Galaxy
Strategic Operations Officer, Hydran Sector
Clandestine Operations Handler, Starfleet Intelligence

Ensign Zev Raynor, Intelligence Officer

****

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

[Well, ladies and gentlemen, I'm about to be captured in all likelihood, but before I am, I'd like to thank everyone for their time and patience with me.  Not that you had much of a choice.  Anyways... toodles.]

Cassius sighed as the recording ended.  Perhaps the one thing he would never understand was why some junior officers simply couldn't keep themselves out of trouble.  It wasn't as though there was any shortage of things to do onboard the Galaxy, equipped as it was with a complete library, over 10 holodecks, an on-ship swimming pool, multiple weight rooms and gyms, the arboretum, a fencing salle, 10 forward, and countless crew lounges.  Not to mention all the actual *work* that had to be done.

And yet, with all those options, there were always, without fail, one or two crew members who seemed to prefer the ship's brig to any of them.

"Come in and have a seat, Mister Raynor," Cass said over the intercom, them moved to seat himself behind his desk.  There were many perks to being executive officer of a ship like the Galaxy, but handing out punishments wasn't one of them.

Zev Raynor wondered how it had taken this long...  somehow after the transmission he had managed to get a bite to eat, get through his scheduled counseling session, meet his department head which he was four days late for...  either he was really lucky or someone didn't want him caught too early...  But that didn't really matter, he was here now...  in front of the XO... somehow, he had a feeling this wasn't going to end well.  Not that he particularly cared... he’d done what needed to be done, but that action was not without consequence... and he would face the consequences like he was expected to.

Raynor sat down... this was going to be overly formal, so of course he would try humor to lighten the situation.  This guy looked like was having a rough week... he tried to recall the various things he had read in his file... nothing was coming to mind at the moment, but he really didn't need the information at the moment...

"You wanted to see me?" Raynor asked. Playing stupid.

"Not really, but neither of us really has a choice about this," Cass said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  The simple absurdity of the infraction made it hard to keep a straight face.  He picked up a remote from his desk and pushed one of the preset buttons.

[Well Admiral, we're out of time.  I will tell you one thing, though... you seem to be in more dire need of a blow job than anyone in the entire history of the human race.] Zev's voice issued from the computer's speakers.  Olivia Proctor's voice followed, [Thank you for noticing.  I am.]

Cass shook his head.  "Funny.  Perhaps more than a little true.  But still... what the hell were you thinking?  Do you like your career?"

Raynor laughed a little at the recording... he still found it as funny as hell. "Sir, I like my JOB fine.  My CAREER, if you can call it that, is not going to go anywhere.  Even before this incident.  You don't generally see anyone who managed to hit their captain TWICE, moon him, and shout more insubordinate comments in 5 minutes than in the hour in that recording get up to Captaincy.  But then again, I don't care about getting a nice cushy promotion either.  The crew needed something to help them get through the day... this was the easiest and probably one of the most effective solutions I could pull off.  I care about doing what needs to be done, done in the most effective way.  Not about the number of pips happen to be on my neck."

"Admirable, though morale really is more my job than yours," Cass nodded, leaning back in his desk-chair.  "This is going to sound really trite, Mister Raynor, but I managed to 'fumble' my career into the gutter a couple of years back.  Nobody thought I was going to go anywhere but an out of the way assignment with no future.  However, with a little bit of luck, a little bit of perseverance, and more than a small dose of excellence, anyone can recover a career."

"Doesn't change who I am, what I believe in, or how I act sir.  I'm not going to change who I am for the sake of a career." Raynor responded.  "Besides, Lady Luck happens to hate me," he added in jest.

"Fair enough," Cass replied.  "Let's get this over with.  You're prepared to accept responsibility for your actions, which are clearly in violation of the Starfleet code, right?"

"You mean if I'm not, I avoid the whole punishment thing?" Raynor asked jokingly.

"Hardly," the executive officer snorted.  "We'd just have to go through the painful process of looking up rules and regulations, and referring your case to Captain M'Kantu - who we really don't want to bother."

Zev nodded, serious now. "Yes, sir."

"Here's what I'd like to do," Cass continued.  "The easy part is that you're going to be pulling double shifts for the next week, scrubbing bulkheads around the intelligence officers - some of which are still pretty mucked up from the Dithparu incident.  Now, are you ready for the hard part?"

"No, but tell me anyway," Raynor said.

"You're now required to continue producing your radio show, each morning, on one frequency which will be set aside for your use," Cass explained.  "You were right when you said that what you did was a morale booster - and it's my job to make sure that morale is taken care of.  Having a radio program for people to listen to in the morning before they go off to their shift - a program that's in touch with what they're feeling as Starfleet officers - will be very good for them.  You'll need to expand the program, and add in any public announcements that the senior staff needs sent out, but creative control will be primarily yours.  You can do that, or I can do what Admiral Proctor suggested and send to the brig for a month, then transfer you to the Breen Embassy."

Raynor blinked... this was a surprise.  Then he began to speak again, "The Admiral likes to repeat history I see. But that aside, just to make sure I understand this right - You want to do exactly the same general thing that I did this morning that got me into all this shit?" he asked.  "And just while I'm asking questions will I be free to comment on political events and figures, or will I have 'respect' for those who happen to bigger balls yet smaller brains than I do?"

Raynor wanted to make sure he understood his limits on this assignment.  This commander was worth getting to know a bit better, even if he had to do his job.

"The Federation still guarantees freedom of expression, Mister Raynor," Cassius grinned.  "Technically, you can say whatever you want so long as Starfleet is willing to provide you with the frequency to do it on.  Consider this an experiment.  The real problem with this morning was that you were flooding communications channels that were badly needed for other things."

"Alright, why the hell not? It's not like I have anything else to do yet... though it might take me a week or so to get a few ideas together for something I can do on a daily basis,"  Raynor was good, but he was still human.  It looked like the Space Monkey was going public...

"Yeah, take your time on that.  Let me know when you've got a release date and I'll have it announced to the crew."

"No problem.  Is there anything else or can I go get to the double shift scrubbing which I am so looking forward too?" Raynor asked sarcastically.

"No, that's all," Cass replied, "Get to work, Raynor.  You're late for your first shift."

"Yes sir," Raynor got up and headed to the door.  But before exiting, turned for a second and said "Your not half bad sir." And with that exited the office.

"Thanks, I guess," Cass said, to himself, as he went back to work. Now if only half of the punishments that he handed down were that worthwhile - and useful - then maybe he could feel decent about that aspect of his job.

Picking up an intelligence update about the Hydran border worlds, he began to read.

"A Time for Everything"

Brian Elessidil
Ella Grey

*Indy's Memorial*

(Takes place after 'Sand')

The sky was melting from oranges and reds to deep purples and black as the holographic sun slowly sank beyond the horizon of the ocean.

Many of the mourners had left but there were still small campfires being lit here and there by those who had decided to spend the night. Inching closer to her own campfire, Ella wrapped the sarong around her shoulders and wondered if she should adjust the environmental controls for the program. But then she shrugged and decided to let the temperature be. Cold was numbing.

Too bad that all that was left of her buzz was the beginnings of a headache.

Clearly, this was not the average wake, a fact that was not lost on Counselor Elessidil as he stepped into the scene and the holodeck doors whirred shut behind him. He had heard there was something for Ensign Renkert and while he hadn't known her well, he felt obliged to attend. So after physically returning to normal and psychologically dealing with things the best he could, Brian set aside his discomfort and made it a point to be here.

He hadn't known what to expect as far as the wake itself. Was it going to be one of the traditional forms of Terran wakes? He'd been to some when he lived on Earth as a child and they always fascinated him. In no other life event was the mix of sorrow and joy, formality and casualness, natural and supernatural as present as at the time of a person's death. Betazoid funerals were different in structure and ceremony, but they too held sacred the often intangible, sometimes stark contrast between here and hereafter. Perhaps more than any superficial similarity, it was that perspective that all observances of death had in common. So far, it wasn't yet clear to him how this particular memorial embodied that notion.

Proceeding further onto the twilight beach dotted with the flickering glow of scattered campfires, Brian felt himself shiver, uncertain if it was because of the cold or the reminder that it was his actions that had made all this necessary. Strangely none of the usual markers were apparent at this rather unusual gathering. There was no sign of the usual focal point of huddled mourners and the soft sound of their collective sobs. If there was a body laid out for viewing, he hadn't seen it. He hadn't even been sure if it would be appropriate to dress in simple civilian attire or the crisp dress whites often required at more ceremonial affairs, but he was glad now that he'd decided on the former. With none the familiar elements to orient him, he paused, unsure of what to do or where to go. So instead, he stood in silence for awhile, gazing out on the last shimmers of sunlight as they sank into the cold, dark ocean, thinking the metaphor entirely fitting.

"You look lost." A mechanical voice said from somewhere from behind him and to the left.

Brian turned toward the source of the words, quietly glad that someone had approached him first. He still wasn't feeling his usual extroverted self yet to strike up conversation on his own.

Ella wrapped the sarong tighter around her shoulders and walked over to where he stood. "I always forget how much I love the ocean, even a simulated one, until I'm there."

Lieutenant Grey wasn't someone the counselor had ever actually ever spoken with but he knew her by sight and by reputation. He followed her gaze, joining in her appreciation of the holographic ocean.

"Calming, isn't it?" he quietly agreed. Allowing some time to pass in silence, Brian finally decided to break the ice a little more. "Uh . .. did you arrange all this for Ensign Rekert?"

"Per Indy's requests, yeah." Ella nodded before turning to look at Brian. "You're Elessidil, right?"

For the first time in his life, Brian wished he could say he wasn't. Without use of his telepathy, he wasn't sure whether or not her question was hiding something more accusatory than his last name. But he knew that being here meant it would come up eventually.

"Yeah," was all he said, almost inaudibly. He kept his gaze fixed on the water.

She let the silence creep between them for sometime, watching the water and the light of the moon.

Finally she had to ask.

"Do you remember any of it?" Ella asked, trying to keep her voice from cracking, easy to do with a computer implant, actually. "Did she suffer?"

The Betazoid closed his eyes. He didn't need to be an empath to feel the sting of Ella's question.

"All of it," he eventually managed, wishing he could have just remained silent. *Did* she suffer, he wondered. He wasn't completely certain, but he knew her death had been quick. "I don't think so."

Ella took in a long breath and then nodded. "Thank you."

Somehow 'You're welcome' didn't seem appropriate, so Brian said nothing.

She looked at him sharply, her blue eyes dark in the moonlight. "It wasn't you."

Still unable to meet her gaze, he remained silent for awhile. What she said of course was ultimately the crux of the problem: was it him or not? Did he bear any responsibility for Renkert's and the others' deaths? He wasn't sure yet if he could agree or disagree with her.

"Do we really know where the line is, Lieutenant? Is it clear why a madman escapes culpability for his actions because he was under the control of his own thoughts, while a serial killer deserves punishment for the same reason? Are the billions of people throughout history who've said 'the Devil made me do it' or 'I act in the name of God' or some other variation of those free of moral scrutiny or not?" He shifted his gaze downward to the sand in front of him. "Hmf . . . can I really just say 'sorry, but it wasn't me'?"

"Yes." Ella said. "Because those billions of people would be hard pressed to cite and prove possession of an alien presence. And because I don't want to blame you."

"But would *she*?" Brian quickly retorted, this time looking Ella squarely in the eye. "Would her family? When they're asked 'who killed your daughter' do you think they're going to say it was just some unknown non-corporeal entity? It'll always be *my* name, *my* face that's associated with her death, and not least of all by me, because I was actually there. *I* felt that phaser in my hand, and *I* saw her fall lifeless to the floor . . . and no matter how badly I wished I could have, *I* was unable to stop myself. The only difference between me and a cold-blooded murder is that I didn't *want* to do it; but in my line of work you meet and hear about many killers who say they didn't really *want* to do it, so is there really a difference after all?"

"Yes," Ella said. She didn't say that she herself knew what it was like to look into the eyes of a cold blooded murderer or into the eyes of an insane person who probably thought that he *was* someone acting in the name of God. Or even that she knew what it was like to, purposefully, be the cause of someone's death. She knew that he'd still feel guilty regardless.

"If you knew the kind of person Indy was, then you'd know that she doesn't have to forgive you because she knows that it wasn't your fault," Ella said. "It may mean nothing to you but I know in my heart that Indy wouldn't blame you."

Mean nothing? Brian held her gaze for just a moment before he finally gave in to the emotional pressure that had been building inside since he stepped into the holodeck. "It means...more than you know, Lieutenant," he sobbed, shoulders heaving and head bent toward the sand.

She gaped for a second before she moved to wrap her arms around him so that he would have some kind of anchor while the pain and grief took hold of him. And maybe so she could have one as well.

When they were both through, she twitched her lips into a wry smile and wiped at her eyes. "Nothing like bawling on a beach."

"It's a funeral . . . somebody's gotta cry," he sniffed with the first inkling of a genuine smile to cross his face in days.

And somebody's gotta die, Ella thought but kept the comment to herself.

"It's a celebration," Ella corrected. "Indy loved a good party."

Another common component of many cultural observances of death. Brian understood its place, but he couldn't share it, not now, not in this case.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, sounding apologetic. His expression had faded back to a more pensive look. "But I don't think I'm there yet. Maybe I'm just too wrapped up in the impact on my own life right now to celebrate someone else's." He glanced one more time at the water and the panorama of twinkling stars that hovered over it now that night had fallen in this holographic world. It all seemed completely natural. Then he turned back to Ella and smiled wanly. "But her life deserves a celebration, and you and the rest of her friends should stay here and see that she gets one." He paused a few moments longer, looking at her as they shared the small but unique bond this experience had formed between them. Then after gently touching her arm, he turned and walked back up the beach.

"Mandatory Counseling Session, Number 675"

Branwen London
Ella Grey

*takes place a few days after Indigo's memorial*

Branwen looked at her schedule. It was pretty full these days, since the Capt had ordered all the crew to have a psych evaluation. On top of doing all the Marines, she was helping the naval department out as well. Today she was seeing a naval officer who was already her patient. Ella Grey. Knowing Ella she would not be too happy to come in and see her.

And Branwen couldn't have been more right. Ella, however, sat down in her chair without slump or stiffness and looked at the marine thoughtfully. "Why did you become a psychologist?"

"Because I want to help others." Bran said without looking up. She took a deep breath. "More accurate I don't want people to have to face the hard things in life on their own. How have you been, Ella?"

Damn do-gooders and their naivetéé, Ella thought sourly. And damn her for suddenly caring about hurting a therapist's feelings. "Terrific."

Bran watched her. "Ella." She said softly.

"Obviously you can guess how I've been feeling, Bran." Ella said mildly. "My friend died."

"My condolences. I am sorry that I did not know Indigo better. I liked her the few times we met. I am sorry I could only catch the last part of the service." Bran lied. She could have come sooner but at that time her own emotions were so raw she was afraid of breaking down.

Ella shrugged. "At least you came. Indy would have liked that."

"Yeah." Bran said softly and then fell silent for a little while.

The engineer didn't say anything. She looked down at her nails and decided that her cuticles were in desperate need of repair. The sacrifices you made for a ship.

"She was a good friend?" Bran had herself under control again.

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't met her or become friends with her." Ella said. "Then I wouldn't have to go through the pain of losing her."

"But then you would not have had the good times either. You also made her life more happy. I saw you guys together. Don't knock that, Ella."

"Good times," Ella replied moodily. "probably aren't worth the pain either."

"What else would there be if you made no friends for fear of losing them?" Bran asked.

"You're hopelessly optimistic, you realize that don't you?" She asked with a glare.

"I prefer to think of myself as a realist." The Welshwoman said. "I know about pain and loss, Ella. And about going on. I know how hard it is."

Again Ella was struck by how easy it would be to hurt this woman, just to be able to have someone else be in pain. But she'd already gone down that road and didn't think she had it in her to do it again quite so soon after Victor and Indy.

"Branwen," The engineer said standing from her chair. "My mental health is functioning at maximum capacity. Can I please leave?"

"I don't think we are finished yet. Besides you have an asked how I got on with Victor yet." She said.

Like a magnet, Ella was suddenly drawn to her chair. She set the computer PADD carefully beside her and asked in her calmest voice what Branwen and Ella had spoken about. She had seen him during that whole mess with Angie, Kylar, Proctor, and company but hadn't had the nerve to say anything.

"You know, we talked about that a few weeks ago. That you wanted to know how he really thought about you. So I went and asked him."

Ella blinked and then paled. "You what?"

"I went and asked him." Branwen repeated slowly and patiently.

She had completely forgotten that she had asked Bran to talk to Victor. Maybe that was because it had happened before Victor had refused her apology. "Oh, no."

"He's a little bit strange. Very funny, he had me laughing a lot. But I think it would be a good idea if he saw his therapist more often. I certainly am going to suggest that to Commander Dallas."

"Don't do that." Ella said quickly, knowing how Victor and Karyn felt about each other.

"Excuse me?" Branwen asked startled.

"Because he won't like it." The engineer replied. She really didn't want Branwen to follow on this line of questioning so she sucked it up and asked what Victor had said about her.

"I know he wouldn't like it." Branwen just went on, not getting off track."But when I tell her what's been going on, I'm sure that Commander Dallas will be delighted to see him. They should have some long conversations together."

"Branwen," Ella said, resisting the urge to rub her temples in frustration. "Dallas and Victor don't really get along." She held up a hand. "For reasons that are not for me to discuss. Maybe you should recommend him a new counselor. Perhaps even a holographic one."

"Really. Maybe I can become his therapist." She said brightly.

Ella opened her mouth but words wouldn't form. The thought of Victor lying on a couch discussing lions and tigers and sheep, and Branwen replying 'oh my', just didn't fit into the way she knew the universe worked.

"Aren't you going to tell me what he said about me?" Ella said instead. A part of her cringed at that, knowing that she was really here to talk, or rather work around talking, about Indigo but she also couldn't help herself from asking.

"Well... he didn't say much. In fact he doesn't talk much at all. To be honest I think he was playing a joke on me." She tried to comfort Ella.

Ella sighed. "What did he say?"

"I am not sure I should tell you, you know." Bran said hesitant.

"Branwen," Ella rolled her eyes. "I'm a big girl. I can take whatever he said."

"Well, it wasn't that bad you know. He wasn't exactly negative. He says he doesn't think about you at all." Bran shifted a bit uncomfortable.

Ouch, if that didn't aim right for the heart. Ella paled a bit more, her thoughts warring between misery and acceptance. After all it had been her fault that this was happening, that she was losing her friend, (Yet another friend lost along the way- maybe that was the true meaning of friendship, Ella thought, perhaps she should warn 8-ball), after all the things they'd been through...

"He doesn't think about me AT ALL?!?" Ella exploded. How was that even possible? Surely, she had to possess some portion of his brain, the one where he hunted people that pissed him off for instance? Could she really have been so insignificant in his life that he could just shrug and NOT think of her?

"Maybe he just didn't want to tell me. I don't think Victor talks very easily." Bran tried to make it easier.

Ella's hands started stabbing at the air furiously. The beautiful thing about air was that you could swear all you wanted and it didn't give a rat's ass. While she was sure, almost, that Branwen knew what all the word's meant, Ella also knew it was more polite to not scream obscenities in the presence of your counselor.

Her therapist found it difficult not to giggle at what Ella was going. Yet she waited patiently until the other woman was done.

She stood up and started pacing. "There must be something I'm missing."

"What attracts you to him?" Branwen inquired.

"Have you looked at the man?" Ella asked wryly as she continued to pace.

"Yes, so?" Branwen herself was still madly in love with Saul.

"I don't know if I can explain it, Bran." She said with a shrug. "I just am. I just need him." Ella plopped back down onto the couch with a frown. Who else was she going to go to for comfort? Who else understood her, in his own special way of course, better than Victor? Who would be there for him now besides that bitch Angie?

"There are many men on board the ship, many nice men. Maybe you should try to find somebody else."

"Not to sound too egotistical, Bran, but I've had somebody else. I've had those many nice men. I don't want them. I want Victor. And he doesn't think about me at all." There was something more to that, if only Ella could understand what. She wished at this moment that *she* had been the one possessed by psychotic aliens, like 8-ball, so at least she would have had a glimpse inside Victor's head.

Eureka!

Ella jumped from the couch with a smile. "I gotta go, Branwen. I need to talk to 8-ball."

"Oi but, wait a minute we are not finished!!" Bran said.

"Love doesn't wait for therapy!" Ella threw over her shoulder as she hurried out. "Talk to you later, Bran!"

"Delays and Duty"

Lieutenant Junior Grade Cora Dobryin
Terran Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

Intelligence Office - USS Galaxy

Raynor had been dodging in out of room and corridors for the last hour and a half... He managed to catch a little bite of breakfast, and therapy but for the most part he'd just been walking around commiting the layout of the ship to memory. Just then he realised he had yet to actually report for duty, and talk to his department head... having been busy with *other* activities... he rounded the corner, and got into the Turbolift, and headed for the Intelligence department. Of course explaining where he had been for the last four days might be a little difficult, but he would have to wait and see. He had little to no information on his new Head... very liittle in her file to go on.

He stood outside the office... breathed, not particularly because he needed to calm himself, but because it was the cliche thing to do... He buzzed the door.

"Enter," Cora called out as she watched Raynor step into her office. Waiting to see if he mentioned anything about the last four days.

"Hey, there you are... Ensign Zev Raynor reporting for duty as ordered... by someone I've never met..." he said, the last part his voice seemed to space out a little. He wasn't going to say anything about the four days unless she said something directly, and then he probably make a joke out of it. If that didn't work he might get serious about it. He was mainly trying to figure out what kind of a person his Head was...

Silence descended for a moment, "Four days, Ensign. Care to tell me what's had you so occupied that you couldn't find time to report into me sooner? I'm an Intelligence Officer and your Department Head."

This was perfect, pissing off your Department Head on your first day was never good. "Well, sir..." Raynor began, "you see the thing is... I'm used to sleeping in the Intrepid style brig cell, and for some reason they didn't bother to put a toliet in that cell. In fact there are no washroom facilities at all in those things. And I just got used to going whenever I pleased on the floor. But when I transfered over here you put me in proper quarters, and I had to train myself to use to hold it in, and use the toliet again. I would of reported in sooner, if I knew had no probelm with a wet floor." This excuse probably not going to fly but he went with it anyways.

Cora shook her head then watched Raynor a bit more closely, "It also appears we have another issue to deal with."

"We do? I mean just one?" Raynor asked, still trying to lighten the mood.

"Get serious Ensign. Where have you been?" Cora wanted to know and was getting tired of his games.

"Sorry Sir..." Raynor sincerely apologized. "Recovering mentally, this incident kinda threw me for a bit of a ride..." his voice was no longer in any sort of happy mood. It was close to the truth as Raynor wanted to get.

Somehow speaking to the dead didn't seem like the most believable excuse, and it was pretty clear that the Lieutenant was in a no-nonsense mood. At least at the moment. He might try another joke again later, but it was one of those few times he had be professional. But he had a feeling this meeting might get a little more interesting.

Again she looked at him, "Care to give me more of an explanation than that?" Cora sincerely hoped she could be something more out of Raynor than what he'd said so far.

How thick was his Head exactly? Raynor wondered this. Wouldn't she have bothered to make the connection that he was a telepath and that the Dithparu were possessing any and all ESP crewmembers of any sort, and then a couple extra on the side. That they were going through hell recovering from it... well not Raynor personally, but he still had to deal with all the dead they left behind, but effects were nearly the same. He had to put some time to deal with those Starfleet personel that passed away, as well as the copies of Dithparu in his unconscious. Not a fun experience.

He put it simply, "I was possessed sir." If she couldn't make the connection now, he would just have spell it out for her.

"So was I Ensign," Cora stated simply making it clear she knew all too well the hell they were all going through. "Now that we have that established I like to know where my people are and why they aren't reporting." Hopefully he'd understand this was also her way of attempting to get back to some semblance of normal. "Intelligence is an important department and I expect you to carry out your duties like an officer. You'll find I react better if you give things to me straight and don't dance around the subject."

"Sorry sir," Raynor apologized. (Note to self: be blunt next time) "Anything esle, sir?" Raynor asked, being professional now.

Cora shook her head, "Not at this time."

"Very well" and with that Raynor was gone... leaving the Intelligence Cheif by herself.

"run over by a starship"

CMC Madden Jayce

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

She was running as fast as she could down the halls. Tears were streaming down her face as she ran for her life, dodging people in the halls. They were running after her. She could feel them, hear them running. It hadn't taken long for the situation to deteriorate.

Madden's lungs were burning. She didn't know how she got away from them, but somehow, their backs were turned for half a second and she was gone. She had to get to sickbay. She had to get there.

She flew through the doors like a bat out of hell, as the Terran saying went. No one even reacted until it was too late. Already, she had grabbed the hypospray and the sedative from the cart, and had the hypo fully loaded, against her neck, the dosage meter dislodged. One of them -- she couldn't figure out who it was, couldn't place a name; it might have been the Trill, it might have been the counselor, she wasn't sure -- appeared in sickbay.

"You won't take me alive," she said, and pressed down, emptying the full contents into her bloodstream.

It dropped her almost instantaneously.

--

Commander Master Chief Madden Jayce slowly opened her eyes, cringing with the brightness of the room. Her throat was dry, her lips were chapped. She felt like she had been run over by a starship at full warp.

If, of course, a starship could run someone over. She didn't think it could really happen.

There was something not quite right. It took her a while to figure our what it was, but when she put her finger on it, it hit hard. Everything in her mind was silent. There were no murmurings, no whisperings. Nothing. It was like she had cotton balls inside her head, silencing her thoughts. Silencing everything.

"I can't hear anyone," she whispered.

Her voice was eerie, it didn't really belong to her. Something about it was disconnected. It was dry, raspy, rough, barely there. She didn't feel like she was entirely in her body, more that she was floating slightly above it.

"Chief?" The nurse was a petite bajoran woman with dark hair and light green eyes. "How're you feeling?"

"There's nothing." She moved a hand to her head. It was so heavy, like there were weights strapped to her wrists. She closed her eyes. "Everything is empty."

"Your telepathy, you mean?" the nurse questioned. "All the ship's telepaths have gone quiet. We think it's a side affect of the possessions. It should be temporary."

"But I… why aren't I dead?" Tears dropped from her eyes. "I… I remember. I ran from them. I felt my control, it was slipping, and I didn't want to be taken over like everyone else. I ran in here. I took sedatives and I injected enough…" Her voice caught and she tried to catch her breath, her throat tight, chest tight. "I should be dead, it should have killed me. It should have…"

"The sedative dropped your defenses long enough to let one of the entities take control. It saved your life."

"I didn't want it to," she whispered. "I was trying to get away."

"We treated your cardiac arrest and were able to keep you stable."

"I wanted to die." She dropped her hands, looking up to the ceiling. "I didn't want to wake up. This all should be done for me."

The nurse's face twisted slightly. "I'm going to have the doctor come in and give you something to calm you down."

"I'm calm."

"No. You're not. Someone will be in here shortly."

"Hollow"

Major Corran Rex
Master Chief Madden Jayce

--------------------------
Quarters of MCPO Jayce
Deck Sixteen
--------------------------

Madden Jayce had rarely left her quarters since being released from sickbay. She was sure they'd been assigned to her more out of pity than anything; she wasn't officially part of the crew. Just a castaway they picked up from a horrible situation.

She was wrapped up in a blanket on the semi-comfortable sofa of the quarters, more or less naked. She hadn't moved much, was waiting for the silence to lift. It was supposed to happen, it was supposed to go away. But it wasn't going away fast enough; she didn't know what to do with herself, she wasn't whole. There were empty bowls and glasses on the coffee table. Padds of downloaded novels half read. But she couldn't keep her concentration long enough. Her mind was distracted.

*tweedlededoop* came the interruption of the door chime.

Madden wiped at a tear and looked toward the door. Maybe if she ignored it…

["Chief, it's Major Rex.] came the sound through the intercom. ["Of Vanguard Squadron?]

Madden pushed herself up, bringing the blanket with her. She hesitated before depressing the intercom.

"Wha-- What do you want?" she asked, her voice wavering.

["Can I come in?"]

She suppressed a sob; it trembled through her as she rested her forehead against the wall, eyes closed.

"I'm… I'm not-- I'm not dressed."

["No problem, Chief. I can wait."]

"Uhm… okay. Wah--" She cleared her throat. "One mo-- moment." She looked around her quarters. Half a uniform was draped over a chair. She had no idea where the other part was. Maybe under the sofa. Maybe in the closet where it belonged, but that was doubtful. She hadn't had time to replicate anything. Or any desire to.

Fuck it.

She readjusted the blanket and pressed for the door to open, looking at the man who was standing there in front of the doorway. The pilot was, to tell the truth, visibly nervous. He kept running a hand through his shaggy hair, and honestly, had a hard time meeting Jayce's eyes.

Of course, the last time he had, he - or those that had had possession of his body at the time - had been trying to take control of her soul. The Chief had been possessed of a natural immunity, however, not unlike those who are immune to a virus they've never come in contact with. The Kind hadn't been able to take her.

He hadn't been able to take her. It was an odd thing, memories that weren't truly your own. But Trills were used to that.

Maybe that was why he felt so guilty.

"What do you want?" she whispered. She realized she couldn't remember the last time she had showered. Or brushed her hair. Or her teeth. Last time she did anything but lay on that damn couch feeling sorry for herself and the silence.

"Well," he started, and then finally met her gaze. "I'd like to apologize."

"For what? Exactly?" she questioned.

"For... ah.. trying to take over your brain?" he offered. Lords, that sounded just so... lame. It was truthful, sure, and was exactly what had happened but...

Well, putting it that way, it just sounded damned stupid.

She sighed softly, set her jaw against the tears. "Yeah. Well. You weren't the first. Uhm. Come on in. I guess. It's a mess, I'm… I'm sorry. Kind of disgusting, really. But I've… other things on my mind."

She turned away, moving further into the quarters. She rubbed a hand over her hair, trying to smooth it down, make it presentable in some way, even though she was aware of the fact the blanket was barely long enough to cover everything. Whatever. It didn't matter. She was Betazoid anyway. Nudity didn't bother her.

He noted her state of undress - he was still Corran, after all - but he didn't focus on it. Truth was, he was more interested in making amends.

Still, the Trill didn't quite no what to say, so he settled on that old standby - a peace offering. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a slim bottle of Saurian brandy, vintage 2293. "I thought this might help as a peace offering." he admitted. "Or maybe a welcome-aboard gift."

Madden looked at the alcohol, her head feeling light from just the sight of it. She'd consumed more than she would like to admit in the past week or so.

"I'll... I'll get some glasses," she said, moving toward her kitchen area. She pulled the blanket tighter around her as she grabbed two glasses, setting them on the coffee table before she took a seat on the sofa. "I'm... really not on the crew. Just... here. Wasting space. They'll probably... put me back at medical. Talk my ear off."

He hadn't realized she'd be in such bad shape. it was worse, considering that he had - not him. The Dithparu. Had contributed so much to that.

"I'm sorry, I'd heard you were being reassigned as CMC for the Galaxy." he finally said. As he moved toward the two glasses, the Trill looked critically at the Betazoid Master Chief. "Chief, we don't have to drink these now. If you'd rather not... I understand."

She blinked away from where her gaze had been fastened on the glasses and the bottle. The Trill was a handsome man, more or less. In different circumstances, she might have been impressed. But now? Not particularly.

"If they decide to let me pass the psych exams, I'll be added to the crew. Recruited. Maybe."

Now he was starting to wonder if this wasn't shellshock, and if the Chief perhaps had a genuine problem. "Chief, have you.. spoken to anyone? About what happened on the station?"

"No," she said. "I' don't talk well. Pour the drinks, Fly Boy."

"I get the feeling, chief, you're not really thinking that well right now, either."

"Believe it or not. I've been through worse. Pour the drink."

Pointedly, Corran put the bottle down, and placed his hand on Madden's. "Trust me, you don't need this right now." he said after a moment, trying to meet his eyes. "I've been around for about two thousand years, miss. Trust me when I say that you don't need this."

"I've been me for quite a while," she said. "I've had shitty luck, Corran Rex. My whole career. I spent almost two years in the worst of Dominion prison camps. I spent I don't even know how long on the station with so..." She closed her eyes. "And then. Here. And it was no better. I thought you... the ghosts, the... whatever they were. I thought they were going to get to me. Break through my defenses. It terrified me. I... I panicked. I was supposed to have killed myself."

"You're missing the most important thing, though."

"That after all that, you still didn't break." he observed quietly. "That's not weakness, Chief. That's strength."

Madden shook her head. "I don't think I'm weak, Corran. I think I'm cursed."

"Nonsense"

She moved forward, picked the bottle up from the table, poured a glass, downed the brandy like a shot. "You look like shit, by the way. Did this leave you haunted, too? Or is this the vogue look for ship-based fleeters these days?"

"No.. that's a .. much longer story." he said evasively. "just something I'm still trying to sort through."

"Welcome, Mr. Rex, to my world."

The Trill gave a small chuckle at that. "Fair enough."

"Darkness, with No Dreams"   

Lieutenant (JG) 8-ball Hunter

In the days following The Possession and The Closet, 8-ball attended both a memorial and a resurrection.

The memorial was for Indigo. She was hardly the only person on the ship who had died (~been murdered~ 8-ball quickly reminded herself), but she was the only person that 8-ball had actually known. . .gone drinking with, played truth or dare with. 8-ball thought about attending some of the other services, even briefly considered the notion of going to the funerals for the people that she had killed. . .and then rejected the notion almost instantaneously. 8-ball had no right to be there.

8-ball hadn't learned about Indigo's death for almost two days after the fact. She spent roughly four hours locked in the closet before someone finally found her. . .some girl from Intel that she didn't know, and frankly didn't care to. She allowed the Intel-girl to usher her off to Sickbay, and then let herself sleep for nearly 36 hours. She didn't think to ask about the death count or the state of the ship. She merely went to sleep. . .and enjoyed darkness, with no dreams.

Once 8-ball woke up, she ran around the ship like a chicken with its head cut off, desperately trying to figure out who'd been hurt and who'd been killed. Ella, she discovered quickly, was safe with only a phaser wound to her stomach. Himne was equally unharmed, as were Saul, Branwen, and Nara. Victor also ended up being safe. . .but that didn't surprise 8-ball in the slightest. She was becoming a convert to the notion that nothing could take down Victor Krieghoff. She decided to avoid him, which was pretty easy. Victor wasn't exactly big into the social life.

But finally she asked about Indigo. And when the lieutenant looked down, she knew what had happened.

The memorial was typically Indigo-style. Beach barbecue, purple clothes, wet T-shirt contests, chocolate brownies. Everybody celebrating the memory of Indy's life. Everybody rejoicing in the beautiful person they had known. 8-ball had hated every minute of it, and she only went at all to talk to Ella. They drank booze and played with sand and talked about everything but Indy, and 8-ball figured that was the way it went. . .most words at memorials were usually false, anyways. 8-ball's only regret about the service was not participating in the wet T-shirt contest. . .she damn well knew she would have won. Maybe the Galaxy could do another one when people hadn't died.

Life on the Galaxy had been strange since it happened. Mostly, the strangeness came from the fact that everything had gone back to normal. A bunch of people were infected, a bunch of people died, but besides a shitload of therapy being ordered, not much really changed. People went back to their old lives and their old routines; such was the way of the USS Galaxy. 8-ball knew they went through too much crazy shit to have breakdowns everytime something happened. At the same time, 8-ball was made for breakdowns. . .maybe this wasn't the ship for her.

She hadn't been to her counselor yet, and didn't want to go see one at all. She wasn't sure where her problems began, but they sure as hell started before all of this, and 8-ball didn't believe there was any one person with some kind of psychiatric degree that make everything all better. She knew she'd have to go, eventually. Just like she knew she'd have to face Vrih after kicking the shit out of him. She knew she'd have to do it; she just didn't want to.

She also had to go see M'Kantu. She had this odd little idea that maybe the kids she had tortured and occasionally cut open wouldn't want to see her in the school area anymore. Unfortunately, she still had twelve hours of her forced community service left. . .God knew what M'Kantu would do with her instead.

There were only a couple upsides to all this 'aftermath' bs so far. The first one was that 8-ball, unlike many of the other telepaths, had very few physical after effects. Most of the telepaths had lost most of their psychic power. . .the doctors assured them that it was likely temporary, but a lot of people were scared anyway. 8-ball, on the other hand, had rarely done a single damn thing with her psychic ability. The last time had been the hellish period she had been stuck on Vulcan. As a result, 8-ball noticed almost no change at all in her abilities. Sometimes, she had strange headaches, or she'd come over just slightly dizzy, but these things usually passed without incident.

The other definite upside was that 8-ball hadn't seen little, dead Azra skipping around the ship. . .a relief so major it couldn't be properly described in words. 8-ball prayed that it was only the Dithparu-emerging craziness that made her see Azra at all. . .unfortunately, she didn't really believe it. All she could do in the meantime was work, hang out, drink, and try not to go insane.

These were the goals of a girl living on the Galaxy.

Asking for happiness was probably stretching reality. Asking for stability was certainly out of the question. Asking for even sanity was highly unlikely.

But possible. It was possible. So that's what 8-ball would work for.

That, and resurrecting the dead back to life.

Could she bring Indigo back? No. Could she bring Azra back? No. Could she bring anybody back who she had killed on the Galaxy? No. . .save one. And all she needed was one of two holy objects: thread, and with it, an ability to sew, or a hell of a lot of duct tape.

8-ball had no thread. She didn't know how to sew.

But she could replicate the duct tape.

***

The night after Indy's memorial, 8-ball went back to her quarters. She replicated herself a white lab coat for the hell of it and a roll of sheeny, silvery tape. Then she retrieved the subject, and carefully wrapped the tape around his neck, binding the head and the body back together.

"And thus, Eptgac was resurrected," 8-ball said, looking at her teddy bear whose head now dipped just slightly to the left. She tilted her head back and laughed maniacally as she listened to creepy music and danced around in her white jacket.

"It's alive! IT's ALIVE!!!!!!"

. . . .so maybe sanity was overrated.

BACKPOST: Before the Sakarian Moment Series

"False Composure"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell
2nd Lt Branwen London

***Nara, Bran, and Saia's Shared Quarters***

Nara sat on the couch with her eyes closed. She thought she could fall asleep, but then she would jerk with a start, as if she felt someone watching her.

After about fifteen minutes, she gave up.

She was there alone. Saia was with some Trill officer named Letum who had met her and after hearing the story, decided to take Saia under his wing. The young Ensign was fresh out of the Academy. Fresher than Nara anyway. Nara agreed to let him take her to the holodeck to show her some holographic landmarks after she had given Saia a modified communicator.

Saia, being a civilian couldn't wear the Starfleet badge, but Nara had found a button looking like a cloud and attached it to that.

Nara and Saia were both reluctant, but somehow they both understood Saia needed it. The young man seemed harmless enough, but that wasn't any reason to trust him. Nara told Saia not to let it be known the pin was a communicator and also let Saia know that if the pin became dislodged or destroyed, it would beep, letting Nara know that she had someone to kill.

Put paranoia on an Engineer and there are inventions aplenty.

Bran was likely counseling the many crewmembers that she and the other counselors had to deal with.

Branwen was in a terrible mood when she came in. She had never been this busy yet as a therapist, and there were her other duties in the Marine Corps. Besides she was still struggling with her own mixed emotions about what had happened to her. Being a very private person, she had not really talked about it much.

Coming in she noticed Nara on the couch. "Hi." Bran said on her way to the kitchen.

Nara turned her head just in time to see Bran pass. She stood and followed Bran, "Hi." She stood there not sure what to say. There was something about Bran that was taletell of a bad day. Nara's telepathy was momentarily disabled, so it was just being observant that caused her to ask, "Bad day?"

Bran sighed drinking some soft drink straight from the bottle. "Yeah. Bad week." She admitted. "How about you?"

Nara nodded, "Yea." She watched Bran a moment. Bran was a human. Humans weren't normally telepathic, but she did hear about people being possessed or thralled anyway. "Um, did they do anything to...with you? The Dithparu?"

It brought tears to Bran's eyes and her face flushed with remembered embarresment. "I don't want to talk about that, Nara." She whispered.

"Then they did." She sighed and nodded, "I'm sorry." She looked around awkwardly, "Then, how about..." Nara stopped stupidly. She hated the awkward wall between them now.

"How about what?" Bran sniffed still trying to hold the tears in.

Nara was struck by an idea. Was it too late? She looked at a wall terminal for the time. "It's still going on." She looked at Bran, "I hear there's a party. Well, a memorial for Indigo. Supposed to be like a beach party thing.

Maybe Indigo had the right idea. Maybe we need to celebrate life." Nara frowned. And remember that Indigo no longer can? Nara sighed, "Ok, that was lame. I didn't even know Indigo. But it's an option."

"I knew her. I haven't gone, I ... I am afraid I would start to cry if I went, Nara. People expect me to be composed cause I am a shrink."

"Well, I feel like I have to keep myself composed because I am a warrior. I hadn't been doin such a good job, so you're in good company."

Bran smiled. "So how has Saia come through this?" She changed the subject.

Nara frown, "Like the rest of us, whether we admit or not. Scared and scarred." She walked out of the room, "I'm wearing my funnest dress."

"Why?" Branwen didn't understand.

"Cuz I heard it was a party!" Nara yelled as she was already in her room when she heard Bran.

"It's a wake, Nara." Bran yelled back.

When Nara came back in her dress, running fingers through her hair, "A wake on a beach? Bran, I heard they had sandcastles and wet shirt contests. That's a heck of a wake."

"I will only show my face at the end, out of respect for Indigo. I am not in the mood for a wake or a party."

Nara sighed, "Fine. We'll poke our head in for awhile, and then find something else. Whatever you want."

"I don't mind if you want to stay longer. I don't want to spoil anything for you, I'm just not in the mood." Branwen said.

Nara gave her a small smile and lowered her voice from it's excited-to-hide-the-pain pitch, "Never forget we're friends and as friends, we're here for each other." Nara started toward the door.

Branwen came over and hugged her friend. "Thank you."

After they hugged, they left together to the party/wake.

"Quiet"

Major Corran Rex
Erin Friel

Sickbay seemed unduly crowded. Not that, given the recent...insanity.. that was unexpected or anything. Still, though, there were a large number of crewmen getting bruises treated, broken bones set and reknitted, skin and hair regenerated...

It reminded him of back during the Dominion War, on the Miranda.

Of course, when the new benefit of about sixteen hundred extra years of memories, it also reminded him of a whole host of other wars, too.

Seventy-six, he counted after a moment, finding the notion staggering that he could remember seventy-six separate wars.

Most people wished they couldn't remember one.

There was a difference in the Trill now. Though still externally youthful, his mere.. presence seemed immeasurably older. (Though Rex again supplied the helpful count of an age of 2,143. The symbiont seemed to utterly delight in finally being able to remember all of its own history.)

Still, none of that was why Corran had come to Sickbay now. His target was readily identified by her mane of red hair, and the Trill noted as he approached that that hair had looked much finer splayed out on his pillows than it did tied back in a severe hospital fashion.

Erin's eyes were closed at the moment. The pilot supposed no one had ever told her that the biobeds had synaptic monitors that could easily discern if a person was awake or not.

"Hello, Erin," he said quietly.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name, their emerald green hue as brilliant as ever.

But their sparkle belied the state of the mind behind them.

Only less than twenty-four hours ago had she finally awakened from the aborted mind meld-induced coma that had rendered her unresponsive for days. She was finally responding to external stimuli but remained in a state of semi-consciousness that the Galaxy's esteemed medical staff were reasonably certain was only temporary.

Yet while they could make some educated predictions about its duration, the doctors were woefully in the dark as to the exact nature of her condition. The literature on the effects of mind melds gone wrong was scant, even among Vulcan medical researchers. It seemed that every experience, while bearing certain superficial similarities, was unique.

Sometimes the subjects snapped out of it almost immediately. Sometimes the result was not coma but any of a number of reactions ranging from agitation or schizophrenia to complete amnesia. Most cases eventually resulted in complete recovery, rarely with any lingering effects and often without any recollection of the event at all.

In some cases the subjects never quite returned to normal, the rarer exceptions with their mental processes -- save the basic autonomic functions necessary to sustain life -- forever frozen, like an insect preserved in amber.

Still, the Galaxy's doctors considered the fact that the young woman was exhibiting signs of response to her name to be a positive sign and had decided that allowing some contact with people she knew and recognized could be helpful to her long-term recovery. Now, as Corran stood over her bed, her gaze seemed to drift vacantly to his face. Whether it was an indication of recognition was unclear.

After a moment, her eyes shut again.

Corran stayed there awhile, simply sitting with her. Finally, he put the vase of flowers on the bed next to her, and left sickbay with the simple hope that she would be able to come out of this.

"Perspective"

Major Corran Rex
Flight Officer Padma

Corran rolled to the side, breathing heavily as the euphoric afterglow began to fade. He was, not unexpectedly, out of breath. Pad was a very… energetic playmate, after all.

Granted, this sort of thing as pretty much against regulations, what with her being under his command and all… but really, who cared? The two of them had known each other for centuries, and even been married a few lifetimes ago. Of course, he'd been the wife then, and she the husband. How many lifetimes had it been, anyway? Was it three? Or five?

Hard to keep track, these days.

"I needed that," he admitted with a half-laugh as he looked for the water on the night stand. "And you've definitely not lost your touch."

She practically giggled, bring a hand up to her mouth, chewing on her pinky finger. "Not in hundreds of years, not in the past couple weeks." She threw her hand over so it landed on his chest. Pad turned her head to look at him. "You've not gotten any worse yourself." She grinned. "What've you been doin', anyway? Doing the wine, dine, fuck with half the women on the ship? You're crazy, Kid." She moved her hand down and rested it on his stomach. "Just crazy."

He snorted. "No, I'm not crazy. Not anymore."

"So. What exactly happened to you? When the thingies were in control?"

"The Dithparu." he replied, his expression growing dark a moment. When he didn't say anything beyond that, Pad pressed him again.

"Come'n Kid. I've known you for about five hundred years now. We've been married in two life times. Lovers in a couple more. Confidants otherwise. Always run into each other. Somethin' happened to you."

"Yeah." he replied evasively. He wasn't sure if he was quite ready to talk to Pad about it, though as a joined Trill, she'd understand, better than anyone. "Yeah, something did."

"Well come on then, cowboy," she said, deadpan. "Don't make me tickle it out of you. Because I will. As soon as I can get up the gumption, anyway. And, ah... granted that might be some time," she laughed softly again, "but not as much as you'd think..."

He gave a small snort of laughter. What the hell, right? "Short story?" he said rhetorically. "I got cured."

"Cured?" Pad lifted an eyebrow as she pushed herself up into half a sitting position, looking at him, her head cocked. "Of what? How?"

"My T'Rex's Syndrome." he said, thinking that was a little obvious. "The degenerative disease that was causing my bond to dissolve? Making old hosts take over at, inevitably, the most inopportune times? Sound familiar?"

"Uhm. Yeah. That part was rhetorical, asshole." She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, beginning to pick up her discarded clothes. "You never really change, do you? Ha. I guess that's kinda the perk." She stepped into her underwear and pulled her grey tank top over her head. "Cured. How, exactly? The Dip-ar-whatevers? Just presto-chango? What, Rex, cured you of this disease some Trills still deny even exists?"

"It's not a disease." he said, meeting eyes with her on this topic for the first time. "That's the hell of it, Pad. It was a memory block."

She stared at him, standing in the middle of his quarters in her underwear, pants in her fist, at her side. Her hair was tussled. "Memory block. I -- what the hell do you mean?" But her voice was soft, her forehead creased. With everything happening in the politics of their homeworld, it was clear in her expression that things were falling into place. "A memory block. Why would they do that?"

"There's.." he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to put his thoughts in order. It felt like he'd been doing that a lot lately. "There's a lot of reasons, judging by the memories I've got now. Pad.. Rex is.. we are almost two thousand years old. I'm one of the oldest of our kind."

"Whoa whoa whoa. Wait a minute. That's a claim there because I remember when you were just -- whatever we are. Spawned. Created. Poofed into existence." She rubbed her hand back and forth through her tangled hair, her eyes fixed on the ground for a long time in silence. She raised her eyes. "So what does that mean?"

"It means you probably want to get your own head examined." he said frankly. "I'd recommend Betazoids, personally. The Dithparu therapy sessions are a little rough."

Pad made a face. "Well. Fuck," she said. "I'm having a hard enough time with my lives as they are. Is it just that you... that you are older than you thought? Or do you have more hosts? Because... because I'm supposed to have a hundred years on you." She was clearly disturbed. "A hundred... what am I supposed to do? Go to the Commission and say hey, I know you'd rather i get blasted out in space and/or turned into worm jelly, but... or do I get one of those telepaths to go inside my head? Once they get it all back? And -- hey, I had one of those thingies inside me too, why didn't-- nothing-- Fuck you. Why'd you tell me this?"

"I've had forty two hosts, total." he answered. "I've been trying to make sense of it all for days. There's thirty lifetimes that I never knew I'd even had.. and I saw a lot of things in there that weren't pretty."

"And there's secrets, too. I know things now, PAD. Things that a not insignificant portion of the Trill government would never, ever want to come to light."

"And I told you because I don't know what else to do."

She hesitated a moment, the moved back, sitting down on the bed next to him and pressed a hand to his forehead, threading her fingers in his hair. "Hey. Come on. You told me because I made you." She smiled slightly. "So what you now know could overthrow everything our society has ever believed. Big deal. We've been through worse things. The Xarros moon for instance."

The memory of that particular incident brought a broad smile to Corran's face. "You know, Pad, there's another thing about you that hasn't changed in all these past centuries."

"Indeed I do; and don't you forget it. Anyway, Rex. All I've got to say? I sure as hell have better be older than you. Otherwise? My entire existence is going to be shattered." She grinned as she used his hair to pull him toward her, kissing him. "One more time before the meeting?"

"You know me." he replied, and drew her tightly to him.

"Crossroads"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Mid-Dominion Wars

- - - - - -

Sometimes there comes a time in a persons life when we see something deep inside ourselves that we don't like. Something that scares us, something that makes us want to change. Sometimes that change comes when meeting a person, someone who makes us want to be a better person than we are. Someone we take one look at and see that chance, that one chance to change, to turn our lives around and become all that we wanted to be when we were still young and naive.

We see in that person all that we can be and none of what we are. Most of the time we only dream about such change, safe in the notion that it won't happen to us. For it is safe to remain what we are, no matter how bad it can be, for that is something we know. It is familiar territory. Our hometurf.

So we tread on, walking in the same footsteps as we did the day before and the day before that, and the day before that. We might feel bad, we might close our eyes to what we see inside, but at least we know what is waiting the next day.

Then one day you turn that elusive corner. The one corner around which you have no idea what awaits.

And suddenly, without warning, you end up at that one place you've wanted to come to, but never dared to dream about - the crossroad where you have to choose which way to go. Do you stay with the old where you know what awaits you or do you step out into the unknown?

A simple choice one might think, but is it?

Do we commit completely or leave one foot on the sidewalk?

Do we charge into the night, fearless and proud or do we wait until dawn where the light may show us the dangers and make us turn back?

Then.

Then you see her, or him. Maybe you meet at a party. Maybe you pass one another on the street. The scenarios are endless.

You look at her. Maybe wonder where she's from. Maybe you don't waste a single thought on her, lost in your own thoughts, thoughts circling around your everyday life.

But then your eyes meet.

And when she looks at you time stands still and you'll forever remember those eyes. You have no idea who she is, what she likes or even her name. But she looks straight at you, right past all defenses you've built up over the years and there's not a single trace of judgement in her eyes.

Her name was Maya Saal and she was the crossroad at which Baile would have to choose.

"Crossroads - pt2"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Maya Saal - NPC

Colonel Caileb Smith - NPC

- - - - - -

What the hell she saw in him he would never understand even if he lived to be a hundred.

She - peaceful, always quick to a contagious laughter, loved discussing books, music, politics, popular and romance. She was rich, spoiled and didn't mind one bit.

He - brooding, violent - but never against her, had as much conscience as a rock, drank, fought and slept his way through life.

What the hell did she see in him?

She had grown up in a warm and loving home.

He had grown up on a fucking freighter with an father that hit his mother.

She belived in the good of man.

He belived in the good of a rifle.

She was a social predator.

He was a social misfit.

It was a clear day at least. Days like these made him forget all the shit that was happening around them. The grass smelled strongly from the rain that had fallen early that same morning. He liked that smell. Laying on his back Baile relaxed, watching the clear blue sky and the birds playing in the air.

Suddenly a shadow fell on his face and he looked in its direction. Her hair danced with the summer breeze around her face and she blew a strand of hair away and made a funny face doing so. "Hey you.." she chirped happily and sat down with ruthless speed on his stomach.

Exhaling heavily as the unexpected weight hit his stomach Baile raised his upper body and was rewarded with a kiss.

"If you so insist.." she beamed at him and kissed him again when he didn't fall back down again.

She smelled of summer. Could be her tanned skin or the hair. He could never figure out which. Didn't really matter.

Slumping back down on his back he put on a great show of huffing and puffing. "Geez.. why not bounce an elephant on my stomach.." he grumbled, but his eyes sparkled mischiveously.

"So this elephant is not good enough for you, mr Fancypants?" the blond woman pouted and folded her arms.

"Fancypants?"

The corner of her mouth twitched slightly as she pouted. "Oh shush.. I'm having a moment here and I will not let you ruin it."

"If you say so.." he shrugged and put his arms behind his neck and closed his eyes. It was nice feeling her naked legs against him. Hell, it was nice feeling any part of her against him.

Gently she lay down on top of him, her head resting on the backside of her hands. She liked listening to his heart. It was never in a hurry unless she.. pressed the right buttons. Still. His nightmares woke her up from time to time although she would never tell him that. She didn't want to make him be on his guard even when he slept next to her.

"What's on your mind, angel?" his voice rumbled in her ear, almost tickled her.

"The dinner with Kate and Dourd." she replied, barely able to keep herself from giggling like a little girl.

Groaning he shook his head then looked at her as she turned her face towards him. "You're just never gonna let that go, are you?"

The woman laying on top of him frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see... hmm.. sorry, no." she smiled, then yelped as Baile's fingers dug into her sides and tickled her.

She rolled off him and stumbled back on her feet, tighly followed by the marine. Maya laughed and squirmed, trying to tickle him back. Suddenly he hoised her up and she yelped again. Quickly she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled herself close. Brushing aside the hair that had fallen infront of her face she looked him in the eyes. There was so much more in those eyes than he allowed people to see. "Hey you.. " she whispered softly.

"Hey you.. " he replied, continuing on what had become a way of saying 'I love you'.

The night had fallen and the stars had chased away the daylight. It had been a long day and neither of them wanted it to end. Fireflies chased each other across the meadows, zipping back and forth in a mad dance. She snuggled up closer to him, laying beneath the stars with him.

"What's it like out there?" she nodded up towards the nightsky. She felt safe laying their with his arms around her. Maya's friends frowned at her choice of lover, but her heart had spoken and she had listened. They didn't see the man behind the hard exterior. They never saw him like this. Vulnerable.

He opened his eyes and looked at the familiar constellations. Baile had seen hundreds of them on all types of worlds. Barren, jungle, snow, vulcanic.. Most of them looked the same, but there was always some tiny detail that seperated them from each other. "You've been out there.. "

"On liners, yes. Hardly the same thing as a Starfleet ship." Maya replied and teasingly jabbed a finger in his ribs.

Groaning loudly, mostly to keep her from doing it again, Baile shrugged. "Never thought about it much.. Fleeters are busdrivers.. they ship us from point A to whatever point we're going to."

Maya frowned at the thought. Much like the majority of the civilian members of the Federation she supported Starfleet and the incredible job they did. Hearing Baile refer to them as 'busdrivers' didn't excactly fit the image she had of them. "That's not very nice."

Baile found the constellation he was looking for. Slightly to the left, about one finger and a truckload of lightyears out was Mars. The only planet that had been his home. Earth didn't mean very much to him, but Mars did. Maya's words chased away the thoughts in his head. "What is?"

"Calling them busdrivers."

"Just calling it like I see it.. We use them to get to where our mission is and they just want to get rid of us as fast as possible and get back to their tea." he explained and yawned.

"Still not nice though."

"I'm not a nice person." he replied with sarcasm.

"Why do you do that?" she asked him while her finger traced an imaginary pattern on his shirt.

"Do what?"

"Say you are not a nice person." She could hear on his breathing it had been the wrong thing to say. She sighed mentally as she could practically hear the walls inside his mind go back up again.

He opened his mouth to say he didn't say mean those things. It was just a phrase, but in a way it wasn't. He was no nice person at all, none of the Crows could be labelled as nice. Letting go of a breath he hadn't realised he was holding he kissed her forehead. "I'll start calling them taxi-drivers. Just for you."

Like trying to hold mercury. She sighed mentally again, but didn't want to ruin their night with a stupid fight. He was no man you could rush into opening up. If she tried she would only alienate him and that was the last thing she wanted. "How long before you have to leave?" she decided to ease away from the subject.

"Fifteen hours.. after that I have to report in and get back out there again."

"I wish you wouldn't have to go." she whispered more to herself than to him. It wasn't fair of her to want him to stay. He was needed somewhere, but she needed him as well and even if he'd never admit it to himself he needed her too. But he didn't say he wished he didn't have to go either or that he wanted to stay. He never did. Her lover was a military first, second and third. Being a human came very far down on that list, but Maya was a stubborn woman. Once she found something she wanted she never gave up until it was hers and she wanted Baile.

They spent the rest of the night outside, laying close to each other, watching the sun chase away the night, making love in the light of dawn.

"Crossroad - pt3"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Maya Saal - NPC

Colonel Caileb Smith - NPC

- - - - -

Ever been suckerpunched? That feeling you get when the stomach turns into a tight knot and gets all cold. When there's much at stake, maybe not materialistic stakes, but emotional stakes. Hopes. Dreams. Desires.

Love.

Especially love.

How do you tell yourself, after spending what seems like a lifetime hurting people, to open up your heart?

Do we even know how to?

And when we do, when we finally give into that incredible rollercoaster called love, that's when we find out just how fragile and lonely we really are.

To Baile it had been horrible. He wasn't the man to back down from one nightstands, or even the classical "fuck-buddy". No, he had spent many nights in the company of women but it had all been about a physical need. His and hers.

It had been what they both wanted. No feelings. No complications. Just physical desire and when the morning came it was back to the safe world both parties knew and lived in.

But Maya. Now Maya was something different. She rocked his world. Literally.

From the moment their eyes had met she had been on his mind. Who was she? Where did she come from? Both had felt it - that electric feeling in the body, the heart beating faster but you don't know why.

He had been convinced they would never meet again. That passing moment in a crowded corridor would be the only memory he would have of her. Maybe it had been for the better.

But they had met again. And again, yet only fleeting encounters - a crowded turbolift, a quick glance in a corridor. Meeting eyes turned into polite but interested smiles. Polite but interested smiles turned into friendly and interested smiles. Friendly and interested smiles turned into an awkward and friendly "hi". The awkward and friendly "hi" turned into a few kind words when they passed each other. The words turned into a date. The date turned into... something else.

Love.

Near countless hours had been spent trying to figure out why. Why he was attracted to her. Why he kept thinking about her and not forgetting her after one hour like he had done with all the women he had slept with. Then a message would arrive for him. A prerecorded message, sometimes just a few words, other times a near hour long babblesession that would make him do nothing but smile for the entire duration.

He almost never sent any personal messages, partly for securityreasons, but also because once the red light switched on he couldn't think of a single thing to say. So he said a few things, whatever popped up in his head to at least send her something. Being who and what he was he had no idea that she found those messages to be cute and very charming. Why would she?

*****

So we take the step. We start walking down the new path towards the unknown. The pessimist would say every step could be the end. The optimist would say every step was the start of something new. Uncharted territory. The realist would say "I'm staying on the path I know."

Every step might turn out to be a struggle, a constant fight to evade the things that made us into that which we didn't like. That which we wanted so desperately to change.

As time passes its hard to remember what made us want to be better, to walk away from the darkness. Suddenly a foot finds familiar foothold and then the next and before we know it we are walking on that old path. Unless.

Unless we are reminded of the potential reward, the promise of a - not perhaps better - but more balanced future. In a perfect world it wouldn't be needed, but we're all creatures of habit and some habits are very hard to break. We have all been there to some degree, trying to break a habit we didn't like. We all know how comfortable that old trek feels, regardless of cost. Say differently and be labelled a liar.

Superman on the outside. Confused on the inside.

Yet, somehow, we manage to pass the traps, the temptations and the fears we harbor and submit ourselves to. We begin to see the light at the end, daring us to get our hopes up. Suddenly the sun is a little warner, the wind not so cold and the nights not so dark.

That's what Maya did to Baile. She made him human. She made him human in his darkest hour. Her friends still didn't accept him fully, although most of them respected her choice. It didn't matter to Baile. Kissing peoples asses just to get them to like him wasn't his style. Good if they did, screw them if they didn't. She couldn't tell any one what he did for a living for two reasons. The first was she didn't know exactly what he did. The second was he had asked her not to. All her friends new was that he was a Marine and that his rank could change from time to time, which to Baile was perfectly natural.

Not everyone likes changes though. Old alliances can be broken and new once formed. Balances may shift in unexpected directions. In war it is a rule that no plan ever survives after the first encounter with the enemy. That means you have to know what assets you have down to the letter in order to be as successful as possible. Should the properties of these assets change, then something has to be done. The options can be plentiful or scarce depending on factors too numerous to mention here.

A skilled tactician might re-evaluate the situation, take the changes into the equation and re-deploy at new positions.

A masterful tactician will cut away the rough parts until it fits his plans again.

Colonel Caileb Smith was a masterful tactician. The leader of the crows looked like a terran, but no one knew what species he was. Some say he came from another galaxy, but the only one who knew the truth was Caileb Smith and he refused to either confirm or deny it. Starfleet Intelligence didn't really care. All they cared about was once thing - results. And he got them. The Colonel was exceptional at turning good soldier into superior solders and even better at getting units to work together as one.

The funny thing was that no one knew how old Colonel Smith was. His existance was a well kept secret inside SI, but sometimes he would disappear for a number of years, completely under the SI's radar. But he was loyal, with a missionrecord second to none.

The Crows were his best creation yet, formed and molded through his unique ability to motivate and inspire loyalty. Now that creation was threatened in a way the enemy had never been able to do and in the long run the rest of his plans.

It wasn't the first time so called love had challenged his plans but with some luck this would be the last time. This late in the game he wasn't about to let some blonde airhead threaten his plans. Replacing Baile was unthinkable. Finding a pointman with that skill and the same frame of mind was impossible. Baile was one of a kind, just like the rest of the team. Saar was good, one of the best, but he lacked that which Baile had. That little extra that made him the best at what he did.

He didn't want Baile to be in harmony. He didn't want Baile to be calm. He wanted Baile to be his usual broody monstrous self. A killer without mercy. Caileb had met Maya and while he had no problems admitting she was a very friendly and nice person and that in another time and place she would have been just what Baile needed to be whole again, he wouldn't let that stop him. Baile could find happiness once it was all over. Money could buy happiness. Those claiming the opposite were nothing but pennyless fucks envious of those that had.

******

"Hey you.." a voice called out to Maya. It surprised her utterly since she hadn't been expecting anyone. The plate in her hand, or that had been in her hand never reached the floor though. A duffelbag came sliding across the floor and came to a halt underneath it.

With a heart beating wildly for many reasons she turned around. "Hey you.. " Strong arms picked her up and held her tight. "Nice catch.." she smiled as tears threatened to break through. She hadn't realized just how much she had missed him.

Baile swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't understand all that was happening inside his mind and what was happening to him, but he was definately starting to like it. Leave of abscence to Baile was something you had to heal and get drunk in between missions. He had never had anyone to see, always spending the LOA's drunk or slugging it out in a ring somewhere.

But now he had someone that waited for him. The thought alone was enough to make Baile nervous. There was someone now that depened on him, that waited for him to come home after each mission. It felt good and bad at the same time.

"Staying long?" she asked as she broke away from the kiss to get some much needed air.

He shook his head. "No, we're shipping out again tomorrow. We're resupplying and the Colonel is getting new missionorders."

"Guess we better make it count then.." she smiled shyly at him but her eyes most definately held no shyness to them.

"Crossroad - pt 4"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Maya Saal - NPC

Colonel Caileb Smith - NPC

- - - - -

Caileb waited for his "date" to arrive. The time for damagecontrol had come. While Baile was still focused on the job things had begun to change and if things was left unattended then everything would be risked. The only reason Saar was a member of the team was that two pointmen was needed. Baile's soloruns had often left them running blind. Although any member of the team could run point for a normal marine unit it was not enough for what he needed.

Saar had proved to be a good investment. Perhaps a tad too much conscience but time would erode that as well. The Marine sipped his coffee as he saw Olivia Mandus, a very tough and capable cookie, walk up to the table. Being a member of Special Operations didn't exclude good manners. Cailed hated militaries that couldn't act like militaries. His contempt for the undiciplined knew no boundries.

Smiling he stood up and greeted her, true to the well diciplined and highly trained officer in him. "Ms Mandus. It's been too long." he shook her hand, applying just the right amount of pressure to appear self-confident but not compensating for anything.

"I took the liberty of ordering for us, Ss Mandus." he confessed with a confident smile. "Nohting fancy, just a light sallad.All those weeks on rations gave me a taste for something green."

Olivia Mandus smiled politely. Colonel Caileb was not the sort of man you said no to. If you did he'd just find you anyway. Better have the meeting on neutral ground. "Thank you, Colonel." she said while Caileb filled her glass with water.

"Please.. just Caileb." he said with a shake of his head. "Colonel is just too much.. shop.."

Nothing that man did was too much. She had learned a lot from him by simply observing him, but like almost everyone else she was totally clueless regarding his true origins. "Alright.. Caileb." once more Olivia smiled politely. "As much as I would like to believe that a man such as yourself would want to meet me for any other reasons than professional I know that is not the case."

"Straight to the point, charging head first into the night." Caileb replied, not bothering to disguise the praise. He liked her. She would go far with the SI. He would be her dark secret though once his plan had been executed. Even now he was setting people up. Always the planner. "Have you ever seen a Crow missionreport?" he asked her, shifting the tone of the conversation into the realm of the serious.

Those few words caught her attention and she straightened herself in the chair. "Can't say I have. My securityclearance doesn't allow me access to God, Black Ops and the Executive restrooms." She tried to play it cool, but information on something as elusive as the Crows was too tempting to pass up.

The egnimatic and charismatic marine smiled. "Personally I don't think anyone but the Directors and God himself gets access to those restrooms... The Atlantis of modern day.. we've have all heard of it but few have seen it."

She couldn't help but to laugh. Caileb could be very disarming when he choose to and very intimidating as well. Olivia had seen both sides of him although she had been fortunate enough not to be the target of his irritation. "I agree, Col.." she interrupted herself and smiled. ".. Caileb. But once I get there I'll be sure to let you in on the mystery."

The waiter brought their foods and they waited in silence as he served them. As soon as the waiter was out of airshot Olivia shot him an interested glance. "So what can I help you with, Caileb?"

Finally. The salad wasn't bad at all. A man shouldn't spoil himself too often, nor without valid reasons. Soft and placant fighters usually ended up dead. But occasionally he would allow himself the finer things in life, food in particular. "A situation has come up, one that I will deal with personally." he said, wiping his mouth and swallowing a mouthful of water. He pushed a padd across the table.

The SI operative looked at the padd with interest. Carefully she activated it and skimmed through the contents. An honest to God missionreport from the Crows. "This.. " she said as she continued to skim through the report which was.. disturbingly detailed.

"Is meant for the eyes of a third party.. " he instructed, leaned over and tapped the display with a finger. The image on the display blinked and changed to show a photo of a blond woman, obviously taken without her knowing about it. She was sitting on a public shuttle with a worried look on her face, much like everyone else felt these days with the Dominion War raging around them. "Her name is Maya Saal.. you shouldn't have a problem introducing this information to her.. " had his face not been so blank and serious she would have smiled. "This is important, Olivia.. any traces must lead elsewhere. If you have someone you want to get rid off then here's your chance."

Insights can hit people at the most awkward of times. It hit Olivia just as she looked Caileb straight in the eyes. She had been played. She couldn't walk away from this even if she tried. First of all she had seen a document that officially didn't exist. Simply seeing it opened doors that perhaps had been better left closed.

And yet.

And yet she hadn't gotten where she was by playing it nice. This was a storm that would not blow past her just because she closed her eyes. No, this storm would ruin everything unless she turned and faced it head on. This was but another aspect of the Great Game as the spies called it, the invisible chessgame in which everyone was a pawn in one way or the other. She could see on Caileb she really didn't have any choice. Oilvia had been in the business long enough to know that if she showed hesitation beyond what she had, or even worse - said no, then she wouldn't have long to live.

So she choose the only option available to her. Destroy the life of a person she didn't even know. "Naturally, Caileb."

The man sitting opposite to her nodded and removed a ring that had been laying on the table. She nodded towards the ring, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. "Does that mean I passed?" she asked, trying to sound carefree and experienced, although she had the nagging feeling it came out as anything but that.

The smile he gave her was warm and genuine in a way that only Caileb could pull off. He raised his waterglass and sipped it. "It means that the sniper sitting more than three kilometers away gets to go home early today."

"I'm sure he's happy about that." she smiled back, silently cursing herself for agreeing to meet him. But fretting over what had happened wouldn't change anything. She would find a way to get out on top. She had to.

*****

It had taken time. Plenty of it. Maya had found out that the roughlooking military she found herself oddly attracted to wasn't the sort of man who opened up easily.

Truth be told she wasn't even sure why she felt attracted to him. He certainly didn't fit the profile of the man of her dreams. The man of her dreams was caring, sensitive, could make her laugh, would make her feel important and loved. Baile, well, his opionion about being sensitive was that it was a weakness. And caring - sure, if you had been shot. He had no finesse what so ever, preferring a cold beer over watching a play. In short he was the total opposite of what she k n e w she was attracted to. And yet she was.

Maya Saal had been an easy picking for someone like Olivia Mandus. Becoming friends with Maya had taken less than a week. The woman was open and trusting in a way Olivia wished she could be. Baile had no idea what was happening. He lived in blissful oblivion behind the enemylines, hunting down and killing the Dominion forces with the rest of the Crows.

Maybe things had gone different if Maya had known more about the world in which Baile worked and lived. Known more about the games, the lies and deceits, even betrayals that were a part of Baile's everyday life. Maybe if she had known to identify it if Baile had been more open about it. Maybe is an ugly word and hindsight is perfect.

But Maya didn't recognise it. She didn't see it. To Olivia Mandus the young woman was hardly a challenge. She didn't feel sorry for doing it to Maya, it was after all her job. Olivia had been given a choice - it was either her or Maya. Simple choice no matter how nice and friendly Maya was. She had read a very short resumé on Baile and she had no problem admitting to herself that the Terran was a frightening man on a far more primitive level than the more cerebral Colonel Smith did or ever could.

Doubts.

So easy to place and so hard to get rid of.

That was all Olivia had to do. Place a tiny seed of doubt inside Maya and nurture it. There was no question that Maya loved Baile. Attacking that would have been the wrong angle of approach. It would have been a certain way to make Maya stop listening and if Maya stopped listening then Olivia's life would be forfeit.

You have to learn how to crawl before you can walk. That's how Olivia approached it. She painted an image of Baile being caught up in something he wouldn't be able to get out of on his own. Slowly she introduced Maya to some of her "contacts within the SI" as she called it. It was one of the few things she had been honest about - her connection to SI. It was just her assignment she had lied about.

Naturally Maya got concerned. She wanted to help him, wanted to keep him safe without knowing how.

If.

Two letters. I. F. Together they form a multitude of alternate courses on a path you've already started walking on. If you did that. What if that had happened? What if that hadn't happened? Always if.

IF.

Those two letters rose like a Phoenix inside Maya the more she learned. What IF?

The more she learned the higher the Phoenix rose.

What IF?

It scared Olivia how Colonel Smith had played it. It was almost as if he had planned it from the start. Again that word. IF. What IF he had? The she would be forced to re-evaluate him. Quickly.

The key to it all was the report Smith had given her. The Rakkal incident. A simple retrival mission gone horribly wrong. A classical coverup. The Crows had been sent in by SI to retrieve a enemy officer, interrogate him and turn over the information. They had done that sort of thing dozens of times.

It was a mystery how it could have gone so bad.

They had left an entire settlement dead as their contact had developed a sudden case of Cardassian patriotism and turned on them. The Colonel had suspected as much, but even he had been surprised if the resistance the local forces had provided against them. It was only the fact that the informant had not known which unit was coming to assist him that allowed the Crows to get out alive. Had the enemy known then half the Dominion Fleet would have bombarded the place into oblivion in order to kill them.

The settlement never stood a chance despite the Cardassian military presence. The Crows had wiped it off the maps. Every man, woman and child. More than 200 hundred people dead. The Colonel had saved the informant for last, forcing him to watch while the rest of the teams walked from one prisoner to the next, shooting them one by one.

It didn't stop there.

Had Maya asked Baile he could have told her about the weather, the way it was raining and turned the ground into mud. He could have told her the way the water rain down the poncho he was wearing and the way the rain ran down the faces of the people that were about to die.

One by one.

He could have told her how slippery the rifle felt in his hand due to the rain, but also the heat it radiated as a result of three hours of heavy fighting.

Baile could have told her a lot of things.

But Maya never asked.

She asked Olivia instead.

"Crossroad - pt 5"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Maya Saal - NPC

Colonel Caileb Smith - NPC

- - - - - -

He knew something was wrong the moment he touched her. What or why was a mystery. The Marine tried to understand what had happened, what he was doing wrong, but try as he might he couldn't find it. Naturally he asked Maya, but she assured him nothing was wrong. She smiled at him, kissed him, did all the things she had done before, but yet....

Colonel Smith defined a good recon as a person that was able to sense an ambush before the enemy had planned it. To be a member of the Crows they had to be a lot better than good.

Baile was a member of the Crows and thus by Smith's own definition a lot better than good.

He sat down on the very edge of the bed. His head was completely numb. Grasping it was harder than anything he had ever done, fighting included. Elbows rested on the knees. His head bowed down, hands on the neck. A strange kind of panic started to raise inside of him, one he had never felt before. His eyes burned, tears pushing in the corner of his eyes. God. He hadn't cried for more than fifteen years. He couldn't even remember the last time he cried. But he wanted to. God he wanted to.

It hurt.

He wanted to howl. Just throw his head back and scream until he could scream no more. Until his voice was no more than a whisper.

How?

Maybe she had wanted him to find it. He closed his eyes, hard until the worst wave of nausea passed. The padd in his eyes creaked slightly under the pressure from his hand. He felt the slick texture against his skin, felt it not yield to the strength of his fingers. He wanted to break something. Someone.

How?

It made no sense to him. No sense what so ever. It just.. He didn't know what it did.

It was raining outside. How fitting. The sky wept for him. He stood up and walked up to the massive window. The rain beat against it, trailing down in a chaotic race, captives of gravity. He liked the rain. Nature shouldn't be harnessed. Not domesticated by weather control systems like on Earth. Baile knew exactly how nature felt.

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass and looked out through it. Slowly he raised both of his hands and placed them next to his head on the glass. He could feel the impact of the raindrops through the glass, hear them in his ears. That was all he concentrated on. All he wanted to concentrate on. Baile had always been a man facing his problems head on. But he was lost. The darkness closed in around him as the last light from the candle flickered out and died.

Why?

******

He placed the padd on the table in front of her. He could see her visibly flinch. If it was from the surprise or his presence he couldn't tell. Either one hurt just as much. What was he supposed to say? No words found their way into his mind. There was that numbness again.

Maya placed the book she had been reading on the table. It had been a gift from him. Tennyson. A collection of poems. She had read it cover to cover several times. Olivia had warned her. Sooner or later he would find it. Now he had. She could see him struggle to find the words as he sat down on the edge of the table. Her lover was not a man of big words, but he was not a man that didn't find words either. It hurt her to see him so weak, so vulnerable.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, lips starting to form words, words that never came. Finally one word came over his lips, barely a whisper. "Why?"

Strength. She needed it to get through it. She needed it to make him understand she only had his best in mind. Make him understand she felt nothing but love for him. He scared her, but she knew there was good in him. Knew that she could help him. "I.. " Where was strength when she needed it the most?

"God, Maya..." he whispered. Words failed him. Completely.

She took a deep breath, clinging to the image of him she had in her mind. He smiled in that image. He rarely smiled, but when he did it changed him completely. "It's wrong, Jeb.. he - "both knew she meant Colonel Smith, " - he lied, Jeb.. Everyone lied! He made you do a horrible thing and then blamed it on the enemy.. "

He leaned heavily against his knees, looking at his hands. He couldn't keep them still. "It's war... it's either us or them." he said in a low voice, knowing how hollow the words sounded.

Shaking her head she showed him clearly she didn't buy it. "Jeb.. it can never be about that. Nothing is that black and white." she replied to him with a soft voice. Something woke in his eyes as clearly as flipping a switch. She had seen it before, once when a man had become too fond of her, not taking a no. The look didn't scare her, but it had certainly scared the man.

His hands stopped moving and he looked up at her. "It is. It's them or us. It's that simple. Either they die or we die. All of us."

Again she shook her head. "We have to be better than the enemy. It's not about who or what they are. What are we if we become what we are fighting?"

He stood up. Energy had started flowing inside of him. It made his head spin, turned his stomach into a cold hard knot. "We?" he asked her. Despite his voice was barely a whisper he could just as well have been shouting. "I don't see you out there... or any other of your well spoken friends.. "

"That's not fair." she replied. He had never before accused her for not serving in Starfleet. He had told her she served in her own way. Everyone did. This was anger and frustration talking. She knew that, but it didn't hurt any less.

He had walked over to the window. "Fair? You think war is fair? We do the dying out there so you can sit with your friends and discuss how horrible war is and how we should fight! So how should we fight? Please.. tell me.. cause I'm literally dying to know.."

Maya flinched visibly. He rarely, if ever directed his anger towards her. No, it wasn't anger, she corrected herself. Frustration. Frustration over the war, over her friends sometimes superior attitude towards the war. To them it was far more abstract than it was to Baile. They spent hour talking about it, discussing to find solutions, debating on how the war should be fought. Baile spent his time trying to survive. "How can you trust a man like Caileb, Jeb? We are the Federation! I've watched old newscasts and we blamed the Dominion for it, Jeb. We blamed them for something you did!"

Like water in the hand, slipping through the fingers no matter how much he tried. She could have slapped him and it wouldn't have hurt at all. He fell silent. How could he make her understand? Rules of the game. Nothing was sacred. Black Ops did whatever needed to get the job done, including blaming the other side. Desperation bloomed in his chest like a flower so delicate it threatened to destroy him from the inside. He moved. He moved so fast Maya barely had time to react.

Suddenly his hands touched her face. The speed of his movement surprised and frightened her a little. Or a lot. Her heart beat fast and hard, determined not to give her a moment of rest. His touch was gentle, as if he was afraid she would break if he used even the slightest force. His eyes projected the fears he felt. She had never seen him scared before. No, scared was too weak a word. Paralyzed was a better description. "Please.. " he whispered, looking her in the eyes. "Please let this go, Maya.. please.. "

She placed her hands on top of his. Warm. They always were. "How can I?" she replied, fighting back the tears in her eyes, burning in the corner of her eyes. He saw it, he had to. "How can I, Jeb? He's defiling the Federation.. what we are, what we could be.." She leaned in, just as he did. Their foreheads touched, gently. Eyes closed.

He felt her scent. She smelled of flowers, summer meadows on a warm day. A breeze carrying the promise of fortune and happiness. "Please, Maya.. you must.." he pleaded. He actually pleaded. God, how he wanted this woman. Wanted to live with her. Wanted to tell her just what and how he felt for her. But the words refused to form.

"Why, Jeb? Why? Tell me what is so dark and bad and I will.." she whispered.

In the blue corner - Silence. Loyalty towards the Federation. Loneliness.

In the red corner - Revelations. Treason. Love.

Seconds passed. He forgot to breathe. Simply stood there. Then, finally his mind started working. Or rather his loyalty towards the Federation started working. He had to protect her. had to. "I... I.. can't.."

Eyes opened. The moment had passed. He knew she wouldn't let it go. How could she? She just did what any citizen of the Federation should have done - reacted. Slowly he let his arms drop, feeling the soft texture of her skin against the back of his hands as he did so. Why did he feel like he was drowning? He took a step back, looked at her from top to bottom. Every line, every inch of her. She was so damn beautiful it hurt.

"You will hurt the Federation, Maya.. " he said surprisingly softly. Anger served no purpose.

"The Federation is already hurting, Jeb." she was surprised at her own patriotism. A trait she didn't even know she possessed until she had met Olivia.

She was right of course. The Federation was hurting. The Federation was always hurting.

"Crossroad - pt 6 - Cause and effect"

2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile.
Black Ops Unit "Crows"

Maya Saal - NPC

Colonel Caileb Smith - NPC

- - - - -

"No sir." Baile replied his unit commander, Caileb Smith. As far as he knew Maya hadn't contacted anyone about what she knew. Not yet. She was still at home, sleeping, unaware of Baile's absensce.

Caileb ran a hand over his face, rubbing a two day beard that would be shaved off once the dawn came. He secretly admitted to himself that Olivia was damn good. She had played it like a pro. The veteran soldier made a mental note to watch out for her in the future. Both as a potential ally and enemy. "This isn't good, Flea.. If the public learned what kind of missions we are sent to do, or even learned that we exist, then it would be.. bad. To say the least."

Baile only nodded. Politics didn't interest him at all, but he'd been in Intel long enough to know how it worked. He waited. Waited for what he knew would be the solution.

Silently caileb started walking with Baile next to him. "The moment she talks to someone she'll be in a world of trouble. Just the notion that she got her hands on a mission record, one of ours, would be taken as a sign she could be working for the other side." He saw Baile throat tense next to him. "Don't worry, friend.. we both know that's not the case." he added quickly, though not too quickly.

The Crow had been taught to deal with problems as quickly and as efficiently as possible. They were proffessionals in every sense of the word. Even now. Especially now. Smith stopped and leaned against the rail on the catwalk. He sighed heavily. It didn't matter he had set it up. He liked her on a personal level and Baile, well, Baile was one of his men and doing this to him left a bad taste in Smith's mouth. He also knew that no words would be needed. Baile would understand what needed doing. It was for a good cause, but it didn't remove the bad taste.

"She knows too much Flea.. "

"I know, Colonel. I'll take care of it."

"and Flea..."

"Yes Sir?"

"For what it's worth - I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"So am I, sir. So am I."

******

Maya Saal passed away without pain. Baile made sure of that. Smith didn't ask how. He knew Baile would never tell. Not him. Not anyone. Smith used his contacts to make sure it was written off as an accident. The Baile he needed was back, darker and deadlier than ever. Every enemy paid the price for what had happened to Maya.

Happiness. Love. Security. Beloning.

It was nothing for him. It had torn him apart, set him down a path he should have avoided. If he had, then Maya would still have been alive. Her smile would still bring happiness to someone.

IF.

God, how he hated if.

"Sex on the Beach"

Major Corran Rex
Lieutenant Ella Grey

*Indigo's memorial, Day Two*

The party for Indigo had been in full swing for awhile.

Truthfully, it was something that people needed. And, obliging the note Ella had sent him, Corran had showed up in a particularly gaudy indigo-colored flower print shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and leather sandals. He was fully aware that he looked completely ridiculous. Didn't matter much, though - after all, this was a party.

The simulated sun felt real enough, and the holodeck beach was quite pleasant. The warm "morning" sun beat down artificially generated sunlight onto his skin. The beach seemed to stretch for miles, against the backdrop of an endless tropical forest one one side, and the endless blue expanse of ocean on the other. He imagined it was drawn from a beach on Grey's native earth. Oceans that weren't purple still looked odd to Corran, even as old as he was, and as many alien beaches as he'd seen.

Surveying the crowd, he found that Ella was nowhere in it. It wasn't surprising, really.

He eventually found her on the beach, staring out at the ocean where the sun met the water. "I think she'd have liked the party." he said by way of introduction.

Ella smiled, raised her hands up like a child so that he could pull her to her feet. She gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for coming."

One of the great regrets Corran Rex currently carried was the somewhat sibling-like relationship he and Ella seemed to have developed. It was inevitable, though, given how much the engineer loved Kreighoff. Nothing could ever really develop between the two of them, as much as he might have hoped otherwise..

It was much the same situation with him, Tish, and Cass - though that was a romantic triangle. He, Ella and Victor were the triangle that never even formed. Irony, that - the two women on the ship he was most likely to be willing to settle down with, and they were spoken for in one way or another.

A bit strange, too, that the thought of settling down with anyone could even occur to him now. Yeah, that surely qualified as ironic. Maybe he did need to see a counselor after all.

~Hell, kid, with this broad, it's not that you can't even say you never got to play - you ever even made it on the court.~ came the ever-observant voice in his mind.

~Shut up, Vorrin.~

She tilted her head and regarded him. "There's something.... how are you doing?"

He blew air through his lips out in a heavy sigh as she released him and they both sat down onto the sand. "I don't even know that there's a word for how I'm doing."

"The aliens..." Ella began hesitantly.

"No - the whole possession thing.. I'm fine with that. I'm over it. It's not like it's the first time." Well, that was pretty much a lie. No need to burden Ella with his own problems, though - the girl had more than enough of her own.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, there was this one time about - eight hundred years ago, the first time I met the Dithparu. I saw a whole colony world rip itself apart. And then there was the time that - " Corran started, his eyebrows knitting together in remembrance as he accessed his new memories. "Sorry. I tend to ramble these days."

Ella knitted her eyebrows together as well. "I thought you were only five hundred or so."

"Yeah..." he trailed. "And then there's that."

"Is this a new thing then?"

"It's a long story," the pilot shrugged. And truthfully, it was a concept he didn't really have a handle on yet. "Basically I found out that I'm about sixteen hundred years older than I thought. There's a lot of new stuff up here." he said, indicating his head with his forefinger.

"That sounds like it would be hard to deal with." She commented.

"It is." he said, pausing to try to find the words to explain. "It's... It's not like before, when I would sometimes forget who I was, and old hosts would.. come out to play. But there's so many more past hosts now, and many new centuries of memories..."

The dynamics of the joining were always difficult to explain to the unjoined. They thought with a single mind? How did you explain the concept of someone who thought with three? Or a dozen? Or forty-three?

"It's hard to order my thoughts, some times. Everything I see sends my brain off on a tangent, to relive some memory or another. It's like .. mental 'noise' that never stops."

Ella took his hand, mostly because she didn't know what she was supposed to say to that. She couldn't imagine multiple voices, thoughts, perspectives in her head. Just hers was noise enough.

She was quiet for some time until she became aware of his thumb stroking the back of her hand. She looked up at him, into those eyes that were even older now then she had thought before, and blew out a breath. Damn.

"I could forget everything with you." Ella whispered, lowering her glance to look again at his hands. "There could only be us."

"I , ah.." he started, visibly sitting a little straighter. 'I.. what? Say again?"

She looked back up at him, her blue eyes darkening slightly and a smile flickering on her lips. "There's a lot of secluded places in this program, Corran."

The Trill drew his arms around the slight woman, making sure to meet her eyes. "Why would we need anywhere secluded?" he asked. "When there's a big private beach right here?"

She'd tried drinking and she'd tried crying, both of which had been good temporary fixes. But as far as temporary fixes went, this was more pleasurable. Her lips curved. "Didn't want to put your spots on display."

"I've got nothing to hide." he smiled.

Ella said nothing but, then again, she really didn't have to.

In response to her unspoken invitation, he leaned down to kiss her then. For a moment, it was good, but something was just.. wrong. The kiss was good, the warm, sweet feel of her lips and her body pressed against his - that was all very, very right. Something else though, some indefinable thing.. just wasn't. Corran pulled back, looking at her again. 'I'm sorry - Ella.. this isn't right. This is just.. grief. You're doing this just because you want to feel alive."

Her arms were still locked around his neck. "Is that so wrong?"

Naked emotion showed clear in his face then, and Ella had her first inkling of how the Trill pilot really saw her. "Ella, for me.. with just about anyone else.. it wouldn't be." he started quietly. "If I thought you had any idea what it would mean for me for this to be genuine - any idea at all... I wouldn't hesitate. Not one bit. It's not any kind of secret that I'm all for having a good time.. but I won't be the crutch you use to get over the death of your friend."

Briefly, he thought of the situation with T'Shani and Cass. "And I won't be a substitute, either."

Ella pulled her arms back. Conflicting emotions danced across her face: anger, confusion, but mostly sadness because she knew that he was right. She was lonely and in pain and she had reached back into her old bag of tricks to deal with it, almost without thinking. Just another body to help her be filled by something other than grief.

And here Corran cared about her. Corran who had stayed by her side after the incident with Curtis on that planet. Corran, another person that she rarely dared to called friend.

What a messed up person she was, Ella thought hollowly.

She wanted to say something to that effect but sound, quite amusingly, wouldn't find its way to her throat. Her hands twitched and she flashed an annoyed look at them until she remembered that Rex knew some sign because she had taught him.

~~I'm sorry. I ... didn't mean to hurt you.~~ Ella signed with heavy hands.

"It's okay." he smiled sadly. "I'm resilient."

"I didn't realize that you had even thought about it." She said. They had teased each other, of course but...

"There's time to think about a lot of things, sitting in that cockpit. You stare that closely out into the black, and after awhile, it starts to stare back into you." Corran replied philosophically. "It's good for sorting your head out - one of the things I like most about my job."

"Oh."

"Hey, look.." Corran started, trying to cover the awkward moment. "I didn't know Indigo that well. Why don't you tell me about her?"

The engineer gave a lopsided smile. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me."

“Responsibility…” (or ‘Oh @#%$ It, I Give Up…!’)

Lieutenant Kimberly Ann Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

Sara-Jayne Agathon Civilian (PCC)

Warpshuttle KittyKat – En-route to USS Galaxy

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was, Kimberly felt, definitely a higher power in the universe. Call it what you will, the Prophets, Goddess, god, by name, incantation or curse, however you called it, it was there, and it had a sense of humour, and a warped one at that!

Looking out of the forward cockpit window Kimberly shuddered gently as she saw the antique structure floating before her. Softly so Sara-Jayne wouldn’t overhear ‘I swear this is the last time I fly myself to an assignment, next time, then can pick me up!’ she decided fervently.

“Sorry?” Sara-Jayne asked from beside her, “didn’t quite catch that,” she said innocently, even though she had heard every word.

Looking at her ward with a very ambiguous look Kimberly muttered to herself for a moment, “It’s just, every time I go from one assignment to another I end up in trouble!” she declared, “My first off Earth assignment was to Jupiter station, and en-route two young kids were out asteroid dodging in their home made ion gliders, one looses engine control and puts out a distress call, me and half a dozen shuttles end up playing chase the runaway glider through half the Terran asteroid zone,” she recalled.

“Next, I make my way to the Arizona and decide to go sight seeing in a radiant nebula, quite a pretty one at that, while I’m cutting through it I find a derelict with some sort of non corporeal parasite attached to it. I barely escaped that one,” muttering as she ran a few sensor scans of the apparent derelict she continued, “And then! On my way to the Relentless I come across your fathers ship,” she reminded the girl gently, “needless to say Starfleet are still looking into that one,” ~ and still looking for the ship! ~ she remembered, the mystery of the missing cruise liner and its six hundred souls was still under investigation.

“And finally, when we head for the Ariel Medical Academy on Thera, well you were there for that one as well,” she added lamely, recalling the pirates who’d chased them for two light years into the atmosphere of a super gas giant, ~ Thank god for the Agamemnon! ~ she remembered.

“Ever thought about getting a bigger ship, or maybe, I dunno, some ‘weapons’?” Sara-Jayne asked archly.

“Bite your tongue young lady,” Kimberly muttered, knowing that Sara-Jayne knew her personal prohibitions about violence . Looking again at the derelict station her first instinct was to warp out as fast as her small ship would let her and report this in as soon as she was in comm range of someone, but then there was that nagging itch at the base of her skull, the burning curiosity to explore it and see what was there.

~ Plus, there’s no power signs, no life signs, nothing, what could possibly go wrong? ~

“I did ‘not’ just think that!” she muttered angrily to herself. Looking to Sara-Jayne, “Okay, here’s what we can do, I can send a comm buoy out put a marker buoy here and let someone come and investigate at their leisure, or, I can go take a look and see what’s what. Personally, despite a burning desire to explore I am however going to drop a buoy here and send a report in as soon as we’re in range of somewhere civilised,” she decided, activating her probe systems.

“But why?” Sara-Jayne asked, obviously confused, “you said it yourself, the computer can’t identify it, and the sensors say it’s old, so why not explore?”

“Because young lady if it were just me here I would seriously think about it, but after the last time I was reminded after of Starfleet’s away team regulations, which stipulate a minimum number of personnel on an away mission unless absolutely necessary, plus, you are here,” she said, turning to look at the teenager, “I have a responsibility to look after you and…” pausing she mentally kicked herself ~ I don’t believe it! ~ she thought to herself, remembering a conversation she’d had with her big brother many years ago in which he’d said more or less the same thing.

~ When did I grow up? ~ she wondered suddenly, her hands pausing on the controls, ~ even in the POW camp life had been simple, when did all this responsibility become so serious? ~

“And?” Sara-Jayne prompted, breaking Kimberly’s reverie

“And… I don’t want anything to happen to you, okay, sensors are only as good as the program behind them, most officers have learned that one, some the hard way,” she replied after a moments thought.

Shrugging, “I was hoping we could’ve…” Sara-Jayne asked.

“What? Explored together?” Kimberly interrupted even as she shook her head, “oh no young lady, even had I decided to explore, you’d stay here!” she said with some finality, “Fourteen is not old enough to go throwing yourself into the unknown without an inkling of who or what is out there,” finishing her programming she tapped a control and there was an almost imperceptible bump from below as the comm buoy was launched, “that’ll mark the position, once I’ve reported in someone can come’n investigate.”

Sighing in regret Sara-Jayne looked out at the derelict station one more time, shrugging, “Ah well,” she decided philosophically, “maybe next time,” she said with an impish smile as she headed aft.

“Next…” ~ With my track record, she’s probably right! ~ Kimberly decided. Satisfied the buoy was working okay she set a course to take her back to her initial course, and onto the Galaxy.

… … Later … …

“Are we there yet!” Sara-Jayne asked as she returned to the cockpit some hours later.

~ Is it genetic? Inherited behaviour from the parents perhaps? ~ Kimberly wondered, that very question had been floating around for hours, and had been a favourite of hers when she had been back home on the Express, somewhere along the line children on starships had learned that using that question got results, usually bad results, but it did elicit them!

Indicating the panel before her, “Warp transition warning, sit down and strap in okay,” she ordered, raising the shields, a precaution her brother had long ago instilled in her, she rechecked her sensor readings and dropped her shuttle out of warp.

Some distance away, but still visible at this distance, hung the USS Galaxy, “There she is, our new home,” Kimberly said with some relief, “the USS Galaxy.”

As they flew closer Kimberly traded automatic messages with Ops, then opened a frequency, “Shuttle KittyKat to USS Galaxy, Lieutenant Kimberly Burton and Sara-Jayne Agathon requesting permission to dock,” she asked as she lowered her shields.

“Ensign Rison here Ma’am, Bring yourself around to bay one and surrender control to main computer please Lieutenant,” came a voice in reply, “and transmit authorisation and verification please.”

Sending the requested information Kimberly brought her little ship around to the rear of the mighty starship, appreciating the view as she did, as with her previous assignments arriving in this fashion reminded her of the scale of the vast ship, living inside it was easy to forget just how big they really were, but seeing them from out here, they were both massive and insignificant.

Watching as the main hanger bay doors opened Kimberly transferred control to the main computer.

“Transferring you to deck control Lieutenant, and welcome to the Galaxy,” the Ensign’s voice greeted her.

“Thank you Ops, good to be here,” she replied, glad to have arrived at last.

"Silence for Indigo..."

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy

Indigo's memorial, Day Two

Silence.

Silence was usually the best the way of respecting the dead. But then again, with that respect, with that silence, many things were lost. People tended to focus on the good times alone, or the bad times if it was a particularly hated enemy or if their relationship had been tense before the person bit it... never the mediocre times. Rarely was the person truthful represented in death, just certain traits of the person is amplified and everything esle was diminished. In death, people had a tendcy to become something they never really were in life. Yet somehow, this 'party' seemed appriorate, with what he knew of Indigo.

Raynor had no idea what he really doing here. It wasn't to Speak for Indigo, though he carried what was left of her in his mind. An echo. But then again, he carried many of the Dithparu that were responsible for the recent deaths and probelms on board.

Raynor wore all black, under a black trench coat, with only a band tied around his left arm of the required color. Indigo. Definetly not in the spirit of Indigo, but he wasn't speaking for her, he was there for himself. To see with his own eyes she needed no explaination. He wandered around the program, watching people from a distance, however his get up made it difficult to move around unnoticed, considering that he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He noticed a small collection of photographs, all pictures of her. Mismatched clothing, Funky jewelry seemed to be a common theme in the set. The colored hair was dominant too. It hadn't been part of the original plan as far as Raynor knew, someone esle must of put it together... but at least it gave the feeling she was there in some way...

It was a celebration of life, around him, not a mourning of death. A celebration in rememberance. He heard the chatter around him, no one knew him. Some seemed to wonder why he was here... Who he was... But no one seemed to approach him directly with the question. He just sat and looked at the photographs and asborbed the scene around him, to see something with his own eyes. Something he just had to be there for... however uninvolved he was with everyone esle.

He just sat there and showed his respect.

In silence.

"Captain's Perspective"

Log Review: November, 2382

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.04

It's been five days since departing Mirusa VI, and I can't help but feel apprehensive still at what has transpired since then. Vice-Legate Curran's report has disturbed me greatly, what with the Admiral's actions on the Hydran ship. Admiral Proctor's appointment as Commander of Deep Space 5 is even more dangerous now than it had been before. Prior to the events at Mirusa, the decision to assign her was justified by Starfleet Command, but after having transmitted the logs of her actions back to Earth, I have just been informed that her transfer is to remain on schedule.

I am a Starfleet officer, and will not question or disobey orders, but as a personal aside, I fear for the defense of the borders under her command.

<snip>

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.04: Supplemental

We've arrived at Deep Space 5, but sadly, we have found nothing but a graveyard. The starfighter found along the route originated from the station, and its crew has shared a rather disturbing story of Starfleet craft firing on them. We're taking the utmost precautions, and taking no chances. The wreckage show Hydran, Breen, Starfleet, and various Federation and unallied species. Even realizing the location of the station and its fairly neutral status, we must proceed with caution.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.06

Commander Henderson has been assigned to the unenviable task of investigating Ambassador Ramir Omar's murder. Admiral Proctor appears unconcerned as she is continually tying up Vice-Legate Curran in matters that do not allow him to take part in the investigation. Unfortunately, I am powerless to intervene.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.11

Reports are coming in from every duty station. Increased aggression amongst the crew, altercations on the rise, security is overburdened. An ion storm that entered the region has disabled all communications with the station away teams and Starfleet Command. Medical reports the telepathic-inclined on the crew are experiencing intense headaches, nausea, and lightheadedness. I've had to remove Lt. T'Rehn from duty as well. She fainted on the bridge for no apparent reason. Lt. Hunter has elected to remain on duty.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.12

We have lost complete contact with the away teams. Duty stations are becoming unresponsive. We are operating at a skeletal crew, as several have not reported for duty. Security is overtaxed and cannot keep up. I have assigned the ship's complement of Marines to assist. Vanguard and all available shuttle pilots have been assigned to team retrieval on the station, but none have been heard from as of yet. I fear what has occurred with the station is now happening on the Galaxy.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.16

This is my first log since defeating the Dithparu, as they've apparently called themselves. I had been incarcerated in the ship's brig after terminating all ship primary and propulsion systems when I refused to turn over control to the invaders. The Dithparu had possessed all telepathic-inclined species on board, and psychically assaulted many others in their aims to take over the Galaxy. One of these had taken over Commander Corgan, which in turn had enabled them to reach me on the bridge.

Commander Corgan's report is attached.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.16: Supplemental

Medical reports Admiral Proctor has been upgraded to stable. Her XO, Commander Sheridan is still listed as critical.

Medical report is attached.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50508.17: Supplemental

Casualty reports attached. 34 dead, 14 comatose, 135 injured, including the Chief Medical Officer recently transferred in. I've put in a requisition for a replacement. All telepathically-inclined personnel have reported a loss in their abilities since the alien on the station exhibited his power at eradicating the threat.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50510.05

The Starfleet Corps of Engineers have begun the long process of rebuilding our core and electronics systems. The Federation Border Patrol has been called in to run the gamut of the Hydran Sovereignty for any possible incursions in defense while our systems are offline. Admiral Proctor has raised her flag on Deep Space 5.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50511.16

The Galaxy has been signed off as completed, repair-wise. Deep Space 5 is behind schedule. We've been ordered to remain in the area to assist the Border Patrol in their tasks while our systems are given a shakedown. Personnel have been arriving daily to replace station crew, as well as our own.

******

Captain's Log, Stardate 50511.24

Starfleet Command has received and acknowledged all data packets on Admiral Proctor as requested. Orders state that we are to maintain station-keeping while an investigation is held over the incidents of the past several months, dating back to Mirusa VI. Starfleet Security is en route.

*******

Ready Room Log, Stardate 50511.25

"We've had only a single close encounter with them since Havras, thankfully without an interstellar incident, not too long ago. It was through the actions of our ship's Liaison officer that hostilities were averted."

*******

"That's enough. I think we have what we need." The female in dark jacket with 5 bright pips against a red command collar froze the image on the viewscreen of M'Kantu's log.

"Agreed. Issue the order." At the end of the table, a dark-skinned Vulcan, his collar black with 3 stark grey pips surrounded by a yellow ribbon, nodded his assent. The pair of beings on each side of him also nodded silently.

"While we wait, let's review Admiral Proctor's logs."

"Windows To The Soul"

Principal Characters

Major Corran Rex
Lieutenant Victor Krieghoff

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 40
Phaser Range

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul.

They're right.

If one of those hypothetical "they" would have looked into the eyes of Corran Rex, they would have seen a very different soul than the one two weeks ago. On the surface, things were much the same. He was an affable, cocky young leader of a cocky, young squadron of starfighter pilots.

But inside, he was over two-thousand years old, with a wealth of experiences and memories that the majority of the denizens of this particular galaxy would never experience, over his forty-three lifetimes. The very definition of an "old soul". One in turmoil, to be sure, but an old soul nonetheless.

One who looked into the eyes of Victor Kreighoff would have seen something much different, but in a paradoxical way, much the same.

"Old' was one word for what lay inside Victor's pale, almost colorless, blue eyes. There were others, some less complimentary than most people would use to his face, some more neutral. 'Madness' some might say, while others would prefer 'malevolence' or perhaps simply 'evil.' A better term, though, would be the simpler word 'death' - and there lay a connection to Rex, for only one thing was older than 'death' and that was 'life' - making Victor the only thing aboard ship that was, in a way, almost as old as the Trill composite that was Rex

The two men were an odd pair with an unusual connection. In his past life, Rex had been bonded to a smuggler named Vorrin. Vorrin had been hunted - but never caught (not for long, anyways) - by Victor's uncle. That had provided the foundation for the working relationship they enjoyed.

They had a lot in common, too. Both men were killers, though in vastly different ways. Corran had the advantage of the perceived nobility of one-on-one starfighter combat. Victor... didn't get that luxury.

More than two years ago - Corran wasn't sure exactly how long, things did tend to blend after awhile - Victor had started tutoring Corran in phaser marksmanship. They had discovered that his problems with handheld marksmanship had come whenever he tried to consciously aim. If he allowed his - or more accurately, Rex's - reflexes to take over, he had an aim that was almost uncanny.

With the recent alteration in Corran's bond with Rex, that aim had only improved. What had been tutoring by Victor had evolved over time into a competition of sorts. Not that the Trill ever won against the Security officer, but he hadn't been completely blown over by him.

The odds were a lot more even, now.

Victor fired past Rex, scoring a hit on a target that was just appearing, and then turned to engage two more behind them, with the silent, economical style that he used on the range. "Your left," he offered as he fired.

Corran's arm was already tracking over to the small flashing target. A satisfying 'ping' sounded as he scored another hit.

Then the lights in the room came up, and the computer dutifully recorded the score. Victor had still maintained a thirty-point lead. Still, it brought a smile to the Trill's spotted face. "I'm getting closer, Vic."

Victor studied the scores for a moment, touched a few controls, and then looked at the graphics that skimmed across the LCARS panel. "You're not following through on multiple targets well," he offered tonelessly. "But you're not as bad as you used to be - if you flew this well you'd last seventy-five seconds in a fight now."

"So you say." Corran replied as he checked the power pack on his phaser. He'd have to put it back on the recharging stand. "Given any thought to my offer?"

"Yes," Victor responded as he started the range on a shut-down cycle. "No."

"I don't see why." Rex said with a sigh. "Vic, look, I'm telling you. I know a guy on Forcas 3 who can clone you a new, normal lung and swap it out. It's practically outpatient. Then there's no legal issue for them to hit you with."

"A procedure as illegal as the lung I've got," the security officer responded.

"Well don't think of breaking the law, then. Think of it more like... solving the problem before the law has to and saving the JAGs the effort."

"They know I have this one," Victor pointed out as he checked his own phaser. "If I suddenly appear with another lung - legal or not - then the same people that want this one cut out of me are going to want to know where I got the new one. And who gave it to me. And how I knew to go to them." He shrugged. "Easier for everyone this way."

"So you tell them." the Trill shrugged. "It's not the lung that's illegal, Vic. It's the modifications in it." A forgotten memory of the Trill's own experimentation with genetic manipulation flashed through Corran's mind for a moment. "I get the attitude you humans have about genetic enhancement. We had our own problems with that, too. A lot of species did. That doesn't mean you should walk around with one lung for the rest of your life."

The Security officer didn't say anything to that.

"And the Attendant hasn't been any help? She was there when you got the damn thing, after all."

"No." Victor continued speaking as his hands swapped out the power cell in his phaser for a fresh one. "I've left messages in every place I've been able to find. I think the Attendant is doing work for the Princess again and isn't getting them." He paused a moment and considered the idea that this was what the Attendant had wanted to happen, that the lung was selected and installed to destroy his career. No. Not from her. V'kala perhaps, it was her style, but nor K'vala. She'd simply stop waiting and challenge him, settle things that way.

"Still say it's nonsense anyways." the pilot muttered. "You're a perfectly good Starfleet Officer. So what if you scare the crap out of 99.9% of the people who you meet? You're good at your job."

"That doesn't change anything," Victor observed quietly. "There's always going to be someone that will want to lock me away somewhere because of what I am, or what they fear I'll do. That's just the way it is - and I can't say that they'd be wrong to."

"Oh, don't give me that "I am become Death, shatterer of worlds" crap." Corran said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I read the Bhagavadgita at the Academy, too. You're not Death. You're a warrior, sure. You're a throwback to some more primitive stage of man, some evolutionary trait that the rest of your species forgot. All that I can buy. None of it, though, makes you a bad guy, Kreighoff. Hell, if more people got to know you, they'd think you were downright fuzzy."

Victor tilted his head to the side and studied Rex for a moment. That had been, he decided, a joke. If Rex had known the truth, he wouldn't be talking to Victor now. "No. Sheep are fuzzy - and I'm no sheep, however much people might prefer it if I were." He slipped his phaser away. "And no one wants to get to know me; I'm not a good friend. Ask anyone."

"And sometimes the sheep get shorn. You're a good man, Victor." Corran said earnestly as their eyes met. Rex's years showed in the young man's body with that comment. "Some day you'll learn that."

And without another word, the pilot returned the phaser to it's charging stand, and left.

Victor watched him go, his pale eyes unchanging, still the eyes of Death, and let the three words he whispered be swallowed up by the emptiness inside him and lost, "Just ask Grey."

"Cruel To Be Kind"

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu
Lieutenant (JG) 8-Ball Hunter

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room

Daren allowed himself the luxury of a sip from his rapidly-cooling coffee and closed his eyes. Meetings that dragged on past the point of reasonability. Paperwork on levels rarely seen by mortal - or immortal - man. Nitpicking hindsight questions conceived of and asked by committee. Desperate career salvage by flag officers. The aftereffects of the Diparthu takeover attempt were seemingly endless and never going to end... and that didn't count the things he needed to deal with here, on the Galaxy.

His LCARS interface beeped to remind him of his next meeting.

Like this one, with his Sciences Chief, who, while possessed by a pair of the alien parasites, had taken the dependent school hostage and killed several crewmen.

8-ball walked nervously into the Captain's ready room, not at all ready to do this. She may have been made Science Chief, but she still hated having to talk with the captain about anything, particularly after she had gone off and murdered a few people with her fun and friendly Dithparu pals. Still, she had a problem she needed to deal with, and the only one who could fix it was M'Kantu.

"Good morning, Sir," 8-ball said, trying her best not to fidget. "Thank you for meeting me."

"It's what I do, Lieutenant," he nodded. "What do you need?" One of the hardest adjustments that he'd had to make after accepting promotion to Captain was to learn to accept that no one came to him unless they needed something.

"I have a bit of a problem, Sir. Well, I have many problems, but one particular problem, ah, needs your assistance."

"Um, you probably remember sentencing me to work with the kids in the schoolroom, which was a very fitting and terrifying punishment. Seriously, the levels of irony there... you wouldn't believe. Anyway, you told me to complete forty hours of service at the school, but here's the thing, Sir: I only finished 28 before the... incident... with the Dithparu. I think it'd be a very, very, catastrophically bad idea to have me finish the 12 hours. I mean, I sort of tortured the children and murdered their teacher... I don't think they're going to like me very much, Sir."

"So, I was hoping... wondering... praying... that I could finish my 12 hours doing something else. Anything else. Cleaning ventilation ducts or Jeffries tubes or something?"

"Ah." Daren nodded. "Understandable, I'm afraid." He sighed and stood up slowly, more tired than he wanted to admit, even in the quiet of his own mind. "Would you like some coffee, Lieutenant? Or tea?"

8-ball thought about asking for a double shot of straight whiskey, and decided against it. "Coffee's fine, Sir."

He nodded as he made his way to the replicator. "Tell me Lieutenant, did you learn anything from your time there, working with them? The children, I mean."

~Oh no. He wants to... discuss.~ This was not how 8-ball had intended this encounter. She had prayed fervently to whatever gods were listening that Captain M'Kantu would be a reasonable man (he seemed to be pretty reasonable, but then, he did inflict the kids on her in the first place) and would agree to her request in a matter of five seconds. She figured captains were busy men with many things worth doing... surely he wouldn't want to know anything personal about her.

Unfortunately, along with reasonable, practical, and busy, Captain M'Kantu was apparently also compassionate and chatty. Dammit.

"Well. . ." 8-ball said and tried to thing of something she could have learned. Besides the fact that she wasn't dealing with Azra's death in the "proper" fashion, she didn't know if there was much. "I learned that I'm not exactly mom material. Maybe that wasn't so much as learned as reinforced. The kids could actually be... cute,  sometimes. They weren't quite as horrendous as I always thought. But I certainly don't plan on squeezing out any little 8-ball's soon, Sir."

As he waited for the coffee to replicate, Daren wondered what his first CO would have done if confronted with that statement, and how long the speaker would have been a department head. ~ A different time and place, ~ he decided. ~ Those rules don't apply here... sometimes I wonder if any rules do. ~

"A word of advice, Lieutenant," he offered as he handed 8-Ball the coffee. "You might want to not use that particular turn of phrase when speaking to a superior officer again. I can't guarantee it, but I expect that most individuals would react negatively to it... understood?"

~Fuck. Shit. Fuck.~  "Yes, sir."

"Good." He crossed back to the desk and sat down. "Just so you'll know, Lieutenant, I'm using you as a shield - for the duration of this meeting, no one will call me, no one will interrupt me, and no one will desperately require my guidance to solve some issue they're perfectly capable of dealing with themselves. So don't panic, or worry unduly over what's happening here.... also understood?"

8-ball blinked but nodded, and instantly felt a bit happier. She sipped her coffee, which was way too dark and bitter for her taste. ~See, this is a Captain I can deal with. He's totally using me. Right on.~ She thought about thanking him and decided that her feet belonged on the ground and not permanently stuck in her mouth. "Yes, sir," she said.

"All right then," Daren took a sip of the coffee and wondered just how much of the stuff he was drinking these days. A lot. Maybe too much. "As it happens, I agree with your assessment regarding the potential of problems if you continue working with the children, Lieutenant. I'll check with the Counseling staff, but I tend to think they'll agree that canceling the remaining time is the way to go. So, that leaves us with a question as to what to do with your remaining 12 hours of extra duty time. Do you have any ideas?" He paused. "Serious ones, that is, Lieutenant?"

~Well, I guess that takes out working in Ten-Forward~ 8-ball thought to herself. ~And I have such a good resume for serving drinks.~ "I'm not entirely sure, Sir," 8-ball said to the Captain. "I couldn't think of much in the way of community service except for cooking in the mess hall... which would not be a very good idea, assuming you want your crew to enjoy what they eat."

"But maybe I could be loaned out to another department who's short on personnel, sort of like a moonlighter. Obviously, there are departments I couldn't offer much assistance... I have no medical training, for one, and my flying skills are severely lacking. But perhaps there's another department which could use my assistance?"

Daren nodded. "Several, in fact; particularly Engineering during the repairs and refit." He took another sip of his coffee. "But that kind of assistance falls under normal job duties given the situation. This would need to be something beyond the normal scope of your duties."

"Well... then I'm unsure." 8-ball paused. She had the most terrifying idea that M'Kantu already knew exactly what he was going to do with her. Given his last punishment, and the fact that 8-ball had recently murdered half the ship, she began to feel just ever so slightly nauseous. "Do you have any ideas, Sir?"

"I do." Daren set his coffee down. "It isn't traditionally intended as a punishment - quite the opposite, actually - but since I consider it likely that you're going to regard it as one, I think that it will serve a dual purpose."

~Oh, that's just spectacular~ 8-ball thought. "Hit me, Sir."

"It's simple really, Lieutenant. We're going to be on unassigned time for refits and Fleet-ordered therapy for all hands for at least the next three months, possibly longer. I'm going to utilize that time for something that I've had to keep putting off because of assignments - I'm sending you back to school."

8-ball stood there, numb. Her brain had stopped functioning at the words 'back to school'. Her mouth opened to say something but nothing would come out.

"Specifically," Daren continued, "for some required classwork you need to hold the position of Department Head per Fleet regulations." He paused a moment, and then added, "More specifically, Command School."

8-ball's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Finally, she managed to get words out, real words, and not just 'uhhhh' sounds. "Um, Sir," 8-ball said, "and not because I'm trying to get out of this tortu... ahh... experience at all, but isn't Command College a two year program? I mean, you're not banishing me from the Galaxy for two years, are you?" She managed to keep herself from adding 'because that's a little extreme for freaking twelve hours left of community service'.

"Correct," Daren nodded. "Command School *is* a two-year program... if you attend immediately after graduating the Academy." He studied her for a moment. "You don't appear to be a Cadet, so that obviously can't apply here, wouldn't you agree?"

"I agree, but God knows what Starfleet will say, Sir."

"Oddly enough, Starfleet agrees with you, Lieutenant." He paused. "Don't look so surprised, statistically speaking it will have to happen at least once or twice over the course of your career." M'Kantu took a sip of coffee. "In this one, they recognize, as you did, that forcing newly-promoted officers to leave their duty stations for 2 years to attend Command School is... counterproductive.."

~Counterproductive my ass~ 8-ball thought. ~It'd just be evil.~ "Then may I ask their alternative, Sir?"

"Their solution is to provide a self-paced Command School-equivalent program using the holosuites. The program was designed by the staff of the new Tactical School for for officers with more practical experience than Cadets, and is designed for the average attendee to complete in 14 weeks. I assume that you would consider that the lesser of the two evils?"

~Yeah~ 8-ball thought. ~But not by much. Good God, I would have been better off with the children.~ She almost considered asking for the kids back and rejected the notion. For one, M'Kantu would never allow it, but also she really didn't want them. She made special routes around the ship to avoid having to look at any of the children she tortured, especially Samantha Widdlestein.

So Command School it was. 8-ball figured it couldn't be that bad. Actually, it was probably worse than she could possibly imagine, but hopefully in the first two weeks it would become apparent that leadership and 8-ball Hunter go along as naturally as Victor Krieghoff and spontaneous fits of giggles. If so, maybe she could just happily fail the course. She wondered what would happen if she did.

"Yes, Sir," 8-ball said. "Just out of mere curiosity, Sir, what would happen if I didn't do as well as hoped in the Command College? I know it's a particular hard, i.e.,  terrifying school, and that even many officers who are wholeheartedly committed to Starfleet don't manage to make sufficient marks. If I happened to be one of those, what would be the consequences? Would I be made to repeat the courses? Or would I be demoted?"

She considered the possibility of being thrown into the brig and whipped with chains with people screaming at her 'You failed to become a leader; now you must die" but decided it was unlikely. Being demoted, on the other hand....

"Oh, no, Lieutenant, no demotions - I would never have agreed to promote you to the position if I'd thought you weren't capable of handling it. You'll have to repeat the  classes - with scheduled tutoring, regular tests, and complex, mind-numbing assignments. That's why I think you'll pass on the first try: because as horrible as you think this is, there is no way that you will ever willingly allow yourself to do it more than once." Another sip of coffee. "Am I right?"

~I don't think I know him well enough to call him a manipulative SOB~ 8-ball mused to herself. Instead of getting the brig and the whips, 8-ball nodded and said dryly, "You're very astute, Sir. Will there be anything else?"

Daren debated with himself for a moment, but decided that waiting until later was far too cruel. "There is, yes. It isn't immediate, but you will, once you finish Command School, need to take - and pass - your Branch Certification and Bridge Certification Courses." He held up a hand. "Before you panic, neither of them are difficult - you could likely pass the Branch Certification Course now, but making you deal with that and Command School is, frankly, not happening, no matter what BuPers says. You take them one at a time, not in the mass lump that they wanted."

8-ball closed her eyes. ~And the hits just keep on coming~ She felt panic, despite the captain's assurance that it was unfounded, and pushed it back to her mind. All she had to do was get through the next few minutes until she was dismissed, and then she was going home and having the whopper of all mental breakdowns. "Yes, Sir," she said. "Thank you, Sir." 8-ball couldn't decide if she was actually grateful or not... she appreciated M'Kantu keeping the courses separate; on the other hand, he was the reason she was going to Command School at all.

"Lieutenant," Daren added mildly, "I realize that my saying this may not help at the moment, but I hope that it will eventually: You are better qualified to take - and pass - these classes than many individuals you have served under. Take a moment and consider that. How many officers have you worked with that left you wondering how  they passed basic potty training, much less the Academy and beyond?"

8-ball fought against the look of cartoonish-jaw-dropping surprise and probably failed. She was used to punishments and reprimands from commanding officers, sure, but that sounded almost like... praise. Or if not praise, than at least some sweet - if demented - form of moral support. Coming from the Captain. Huh.

"Quite a few, Sir," 8-ball finally replied, thinking about some of the absolute nimrods that she had to deal with in Sciences. "I appreciate the encouragement, Sir. I still don't think anyone is ever going to mix me up with somebody who has actual leadership qualities, but---anyway, it was a nice thing to say. Thank you, Sir. Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough, Lieutenant?" M'Kantu asked. "If I were in your place, I'd certainly think so." He sipped at his coffee again. "No, there is one other thing." He leaned forward. "Listen carefully, Lieutenant... it wasn't your fault."

8-ball's jaw set. "If you say so, Sir. I'm not actually looking to discuss the matter."

He nodded. "Fair enough, but I felt it needed saying from someone beside a Counselor. They didn't do me any good saying it after Wolf 359." He leaned back. "Well, now that I've terrified, angered, irritated, and worried you... is there something you'd like to say? To ask?" he looked at her for a second, and then offered, "Off the record?"

8-ball thought about that. How many chances would she ever get for an opportunity like this? Off the record was a beautiful thing... she could call the captain manipulative and demonic, or ask him an entirely embarrassing question of a naturally sexual nature... well, at least in theory. 8-ball wasn't sure she actually wanted to know the sexual habits of her captain, though, and maybe there were better things to ask.

"Actually, Captain," 8-ball said, "I am curious about something, which isn't, you know, at all what we've been talking about, but... do you have children, Sir?"

Not what he'd expected, Daren admitted, but not unreasonable given the earlier topic of discussion. "One, Lieutenant, a daughter, Bahiyah." He looked down at his coffee. "I lost her in the raider attack on Tevron VII." Which was nothing more than the truth, although his records falsification to allow her to start a new life and escape the consequences of her folly in falling for the raider leader that had struck the colony was the real reason she was lost to him... and to June.

"Oh," 8-ball said. "I'm---sorry. . .I didn't mean----"

M'Kantu shook his head. "It's all right, Lieutenant. You didn't know, and I've come to accept it. Liking it, of course, is another matter. There was a reason you asked, I expect?"

"Well, I was just wondering. . .I mean, did you always want kids? Was that the dream, or was it just something that happened?" She leaned forward, continuing to ignore her coffee. "Because people always tell me things like, 'oh, soon, you'll want kids, you just don't realize it yet' but then it also seems like there are way too many parents who shouldn't be parents, and... I don't know. I guess I was just curious, coming from someone who's had kids. I mean, are there just people who shouldn't be around children at all?"

This was safer ground than the loss of his daughter. Beginnings usually were brighter than endings. "My wife and I planned for Bahiyah," he replied. "There were discussions about our careers, where to raise her, where to educate her - all of that - before she was actually conceived." He smiled despite the quiet ache he felt at the memories. "Of course, all of those plans went out the window as soon as she was born, as such things often do, but the planning was always there."

He thought a moment. "I believe that children should arrive where they are wanted, not as an accident, or an oversight. That happens too often, and all too often, to the people least qualified to raise and care for them with the love they deserve." He looked across the table at her. "Does that answer the question?"

~Not exactly~ 8-ball thought to herself ~but good enough.~ "Yes, Sir," she said. "If that's all, I think I'm going to go back to my quarters, Sir, and begin studying. A lot."

"I think you'll find the course materials waiting for you, Lieutenant." Daren looked at her for a second and then added, "I doubt that you'll find this helpful at the moment, but one of the other things that I've learned in my time in Starfleet is this:  sometimes, Lieutenant, you have to be cruel to be kind."

8-ball sniggered, and then tried to cover this not-entirely subordinate behavior with a cough. "Whatever you say, Sir."

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