"Admiral's Perspective"
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50507.24
Captain M'Kantu is a fool. He allowed the Hydran senior staff on the Galaxy
and refused to take them into custody for interrogation. It's obvious from
their duplicity that they are hiding something on Mirusa VI. Why can't he
see that?
****
Personal Log, Supplemental
M'Kantu has had me physically removed from proceedings with the Hydran
senior staff. He had the gall to side with them while having me forcibly
removed! Apologizing for me? He is not fit for command in my opinion, what
with his catering to the enemy. He let them leave without further
questioning! After they threatened my life. Starfleet Command will be
hearing about this.
****
Conference Room Log, 50507.24
"Admiral, leave! You are *not* in command of this ship and are only here as
a courtesy. You've now been informed, therefore your presence is no longer
required. Security, escort Admiral Proctor to her quarters immediately."
"Belay that." Proctor was seething, Kedr'ni'van was silent, his features
unreadable, Curran was silent, evaluating the situation. Proctor was
obvious, and he'd been preparing for this eventuality.
"Captain, if this tn'plo'kan does not leave my sight in the next ten
cyclans, I will tear her heart out fast enough for her to see it with her
own cowardly eyes before she died, my teeth tasting the gristle as she
breathed her last." The triad took a simultaneous step forward to back the
threat up.
"Do something about this, M'Kantu, or I will."
The Captain and Legate crossed their arms in defiance; she took a step back
towards the exit doors.
As the doors closed behind the Admiral, Curran turned to the Hydran
commander, who for all appearances had not relaxed. If Hydrans relax, that
is.
"I apologize for the actions of the Admiral, Commander. Her ambitions reach
further than her common sense. Please accept our deepest apologies."
M'Kantu nodded in compliance. "Rest assured, her ideals are not shared by
the senior staff of this ship."
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50507.25
I intend to enact General Order 8 to remove Captain M'Kantu from command for
dereliction of duty, and putting his own self-interests above the safety of
the crew and research teams on the planet below. I have requested of
Starfleet to forward all relevant materials on legalities relating to the
matter, and command authorization codes to over-ride his.
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50508.01
M'Kantu and Curran are in league together. For a protocol officer, the
Vice-Legate has little ability to be forward-thinking in that M'Kantu is not acting
in the best interests of Starfleet. Since returning from the Hydran ship,
neither of them recognizes my efforts at maintaining our identity and
superiority with the safety of the ship and crew at stake. It is my actions
alone that averted disaster and emphasized we are not to be trifled with.
You would think the Kelvan would see that above all else. I intend to
petition for his removal when I take command of Deep Space 5 in three days.
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50508.04
My command... it's been violated. Instead of tracking the Hydrans, whose
ships have been found in the graveyard, M'Kantu has chosen to remain and
investigate the station. What use is there in searching a dead depot? We
need to take action!
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50508.06
The Romulan Ambassador has been murdered. One less problem. Commander
Henderson had been assigned to the investigation, but I relieved him of that
dreadful waste of time. Of course, he complained to M'Kantu, who I am
content to say, ceded to my wishes.
****
Personal Log, Stardate 50508.10
The two of them are trying to make a fool out of me. Playing games and
pretending to be something they are not. Curran I cannot stand. Neither
see fit to keep me apprised of daily goings-on with the ship, nor am I
invited to any meetings, save the senior staff gathering to send out away
teams. Even then, I could feel the eyes of all the staff on me. I know
they are secretly tolerating my wishes because M'Kantu is spreading my
reputation a little thin with them. There's no need to fear me. Do as
they're told, and everything will be fine. It's their Captain that feels
threatened by me, and he should. This ship would have been mine if the
Admiralty didn't think I'd be more useful on the border defending our
territory.
**** Personal Log, Stardate 50508.16
Damn M'Kantu locking out the Bridge and primary functions. If he hadn't
lost the ship to the invaders, I wouldn't have had to take command. His
senior staff are out of contact on the station that we shouldn't have been
dallying on, he's been locked in the brig for allowing himself to be taken,
and Curran is nowhere to be found since internal sensors are also offline.
He's made poor judgment calls throughout this little mission of his, and now
one of the most powerful ships of the fleet is at verge of disposal by the
alien parasites.
**** Personal Log, Stardate: Unknown
I find myself in a sickbay, and unaware of the date. The last thing I
remember is feeling pain in my chest, and Curran looking down on me. Even
as I made the only effort to save the ship, it would be most predictable
that the Kelvan would be the one to interfere. He was probably taken over
by the aliens, or pretended to be to kill me in the confusion. All to save
his Captain, no doubt.
****
Personal Log, supplemental
I am on the Galaxy. Apparently, my XO had attempted to kill me by ripping
out my heart, but he barely failed. I'm told it was Curran that saved my
life, but I don't believe that for an instant. Commander Sheridan is laying
in the biobed next to me in restraints. Yet another error in judgment by
M'Kantu, if he's still alive. Sheridan should be in the brig.
****
Admiral's Log, Stardate 50510.05
I have transferred my flag to Deep Space 5. The station has been sterilized
and cleared of the dead. The structure that caused all the problems has
been thrown into the nearest sun. The ion storms have receded, but not
enough to allow long-range communications. Operations has been brought
online and Commodore Jerdberg's log buoy retrieved for re-downloading into
the core. The majority of the station's complement were killed in a
cataclysmic conflict involving every flight-capable vessel in or docked with
the station. The result is the ship graveyard. New security policies are
to be implemented, and exploration of the area will now be done with the
utmost safety. No more bringing anything foreign onto the station.
****
Admiral's Log, Stardate 50510.15
I have forwarded all logs relating to my assessment of Captain M'Kantu and
his actions during the past several months to Starfleet Command. In my
opinion, he is completely unfit for command on the fringe, and needs to be
re-assigned to a smaller, less offensive-inclined ship. He's not cut of the
cloth needed by those out here in order to maintain our borders and defend
our way of life.
****
Admiral's Log, Stardate 50511.16
Starfleet Command has acknowledged my review and report of Captain M'Kantu
and his staff, and confirmed they are sending representatives from Starfleet
Security to the station to begin a formal investigation and possible
hearing. They should be arriving in two weeks. I anxiously await their
arrival. Deep Space 5 should be mostly operational by then having been
guided by my hand. In the meantime, the Intelligence offices have reported
something of a dire nature. It must be dealt with immediately.
****
USS Delaware
VIP Quarters
Conference Lounge
"Interesting case this will be."
"It must be tread upon lightly. They both have influential connections at
Starfleet and on the Council."
"M'Kantu is known as a fence-sitter. Neither Hawk nor Dove. There are many
on the Council who are very much supportive of him."
"And many who are against him. He needs to choose a side in these troubling
times."
"And whose side should that be? Yours? Mine? Who is to say what side is
right and what is wrong?"
"That isn't for us to decide."
"Oh, but it is. If he loses this bid-"
"You mean if Proctor wins."
"Either way, it won't sit well."
"The Admiral chose the wrong time to make her move."
"Politics. Illogical. Notions of right and wrong are lost in bureaucracy."
"Then it's up to us to right those wrongs. At least, out here. Let the
Council play at its own machinations."
"Sakarian Moments: Black Tie Event"
Lt. (jg) Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer
Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell, Engineer
Saia (APC)
***Sakaria, Leisie, Market Center, Main Hall***
It was a typical formal ball. Several ladies in formal dresses as the style of Sakaria dictates, this season being poofy skirts, and off the shoulder corsets. And several men in suits, in a similar style to Terran tuxedos, but the tail being pointed.
Even the military men and women wore civilian formals.
The four that entered stuck out considering they all wore their Starfleet formal uniforms. It was actually a fight to get Allas into hers.
It was the first time Nara heard them disagree since growing up. Allas was insisting they dress as Sakarians, but Gary reminded her they were all still in service to Starfleet, even her, though she was an ambassador. She was the Federation Embassador to Sakaria.
Nara was relieved her father won that one. At least she would be singled out for that fact alone.
Or so she thought.
The moment they walked in the door, everyone clapped. Gary looked weary a moment, but he forced and smile and nodded, holding up his hand to hush them.
Nara was embarrassed, as was seen in the coloring of her cheeks. She wanted to leave then, but held her stance by her parents. Allas smilng and her father starting to address them.
She felt someone squeeze her hand. It was Saul, his grip slightly tightened. He seemed very tense, but she thought the public occassion made it perfectly understandable. She was slightly tense, too.
Saia, in a dress Allas had gotten for her that day, hid behind Nara, but not in an obvious way. She just kept her distance behind the adults.
"This is a celebration for Sakaria," Gary started projecting his voice from the side of the room, "Don't make this about us. You know we prefer to not be honored as heros. Just citizens doing what any of you would do."
As the protests started, a sound system let out another voice. The voice of the Ruyel, "Do as he wishes. Let him enjoy some time outside the limelight."
Gary caught a wink from the Sakarian ruler as he stepped off the platform.
After several moments, they were mingling with the others.
Saul soon made it to the farthest corner, away from Nara's family. This event was insanity! With so many local celebrities and high government officials, and even the Ruyel himself, how could one Dutchman trader maintain low profile? He felt like a distress beacon in his white dress uniform.
His only hope was that the people who might recognize him, like Teto Karoue and other Bental family connections, weren't important enough to be invited to such a ball.
Finally, he found a sit in a position that will allow him to remained unnoticed, while being able to monitor some of the people on the central floor.
Naturally, his eyes were drawn to Nara. She was stunning even in dress uniform - a very difficult feat. He still couldn't believe that he told her that he loved her. It seemed the right thing to say, cuddled in the cave, after she told him what is probably her darkest secret.
He's going to disappoint her so soon.
Nara noticed Saul had slipped away, but she had decided to stay with her parents dutifully. Saia grumpily at her side. Growing tired of the political talk and reliving wars past, Nara whispered to her mother that she better go take Saia and sit with Saul for awhile. Allas reluctantly nodded.
Saia sat at the table opposite of Saul and picked up a candy out of the bowl on the table, studying it before taking a taste. Nara sat next to Saul, "This is worse than last night. I don't even want to be here."
"We had to do it, I guess.", Saul told her, then addressed Saia. "It's a stupid grown-up thingy called 'formality'. They think that things will look more official and important if they make a big boring fuss out of them. I'm not a big fan of formality. Let's hope there's good food and nice songs, and that no one will make long speeches."
Saia nodded, "Got good candy so far!" She offered one to Saul.
"No thanks. Toothache.", Saul said, but took the candy anyway. If the alien food will be bad, he could use the 'battle rations'.
Nara had a thought and looked at Saia, "Will you be ok here for awhile? If you need anything, look for Allas or Gary. They should be easy to spot with the uniforms." After the shrug Saia gave her, she turned to Saul as she got up, "Come on. I've got something to show you."
Saul smirked. "Will it be as interesting as the last time?", He asked as he rose from the chair.
Nara led him to a turbolift type elevator and went to the top floor. She led him up a flight of stairs to the top of the building. It was an open air roof and the chilly air gusted, threatening to loosen the bun she had her hair in. Seen over the edge were lights from homes and several lights lining the edge of the shore, as well as some boats on the water. The moon and stars shone bright over them.
Something moist and soft contacted her left cheek. It was Saul's lips. "I can understand why your father decided to settle here.", He told her.
Nara leaned her head on Saul's shoulder, "You never told me much about your home planet."
Saul sighed. "There's not much to say. Most of it is an ocean of water, sulfur, and chemical waste. The sky is violet. There is a central, arid continent. The colony is concentrated in several large cities near the coastline. It's very crowded, polluted, and neglected. It's away from the core of the Federation, and no one really cares about it. As a result, the law doesn't have a strong presence, there is poverty, and no Federal resources are allocated for further Terraforming of the planet, or even building decent domes around the cities."
He gazed at the distant night view. "I don't think I'll ever take you there."
Nara looked at him. This definately gave a better view of Saul Bental, "How long did you live there?"
"Seventeen years. Probably the worst seventeen years of my life.", He added bitterly. It wasn't completly true, like most of the things that came out of Saul's mouth. An average citizen of the Federation would consider Saul's childhood poor, and wonder how come children still have to live like this in this day and age. However, Saul enjoyed the freedom, and growing up in a place like Utrecht made him far less spoiled and more independent than many of the officers he served with.
Nevertheless, in the end, he ran away.
Nara didn't know what to say. She looked at him sadly, and touched his cheek softly. Then she leaned toward him and let her lips brush against his, as if a kiss would make it all ok.
The moment lingered until they heard steps coming up from behind them. A second after their lips parted, Allas emerged from the stairs. She smiled at them seeing them so close before saying, "Alirght you two. The Ruyel is about to speak."
Nara suppressed rolling her eyes and touched Saul's arm, "We better go." And they went with Allas back down.
* * *
After the speech, and some more time being bored out of their minds, Saul, Nara and Saia were finally allowed to leave.
Always the practical, Saul began checking transport scheduele once they reached their hovercraft. "We could leave tomorrow first thing on the morning, after getting a good night sleep.", He summarized. He couldn't hide his eagerness to return to the Galaxy. Sakaria was beautiful, but his presence here was risky, and there was much to do back on the Galaxy.
Nara nodded, "Sorry about all the social things. Last time was better I think."
"It's OK.", Saul assured her. He could survive boring events, and just hoped that he was not recognized. If any damage was done, there was no way to fix it now. Saul will just have to be in touch with Karoue and see if anything pops up.
He actually considered paying the man a visit, but realized that it would be better if the shopkeeper won't know if Saul's presence on Sakaria.
It could be hazardous if Karoue will connect between Saul's arrival and Nara's.
Nara.
Saul smiled sheepishly at her. "We could use some rest before tomorrow.", He told her quietly as he took her hand, leading her toward the bedroom.
* * *
The next morning, Nara woke from her troubled slumber before Saul stirred. She still didn't sleep well. When she did, she had nightmares. She had someone trained herself not to move or cry out too much after scaring Saia several nights and that poor child had her own nightmares.
She pulled herself up with her elbows and basking in the light that came through the window. She didn't know when she'd see that light again. Then she looked at Saul and smiled. So many mysteries. So much she didn't know. So much she could never know. She lightly touched his hair.
"Nm."
She smiled warmly toward the sleeping face and lowered her face toward him, kissing his nose.
Saul opened one, tired eye. "Morning, princess."
She snuggled up to him and whispered, "I want you to know how wonderful it's been to wake up next to you."
"Nm.", Saul mumbled again, and on his face surfaced the broadest smile she ever saw him smiling.
"Breakfast Themes"
Lieutenent Junior Grade Nara Roswell
Terran/Betazoid Hybrid
Engineering Officer
USS Galaxy
Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy
(OC: Takes place immediately after Radio Ga Ga)
Raynor stepped out of the room, and mildly to his surprise there was no security team waiting outside for him. He breathed a little easier, and realized that he hadn't had breakfast yet. He decided to head towards Ten-Forward and find out what the food on board was like... and the effects of his broadcast.
Ten minutes later after taking an awkard route there he arrived, and ordered some eggs, with dried mango strips on the side and dry white toast.
Nara walked into 10-forward with an amused smile on her face. Whoever had hacked the communications systems was in for a heap of trouble, but the things said, she couldn't help but laugh. It was a good thing to laugh after what had happened recently. She actually felt like she could eat something.
She walked up to the bar and ordered a stack of pancakes and an orange juice. As she waited, she let out a snicker after remembering what she heard earlier.
Raynor looked over at the woman who had just sat down beside him. Something triggered slightly he felt like he knew her, but after that intial second he knew he didn't know her at all. Someone who had died earlier knew her.
This was going to be slightly awkard as he tried to place her. Might as well start a conversation, with the gold uniform girl.
"Hi do you know if the food here is any good?" he asked. "I'm new."
Nara, still smiling, turned and nodded, "Pretty good." She held out a hand, "Well, welcome. I'm Lt. Naranda Roswell of Engineering. Junior grade, but it can be bothersome to say."
"Ensign Zev Raynor, Intelligence... if you call it that..." took her hand to shake it. "Transfering from the Strife in the Gamma Quadrant."
"My boyfriend was in intelligence." It still felt knew to actually call Saul that. "It must be nice to be away from the strife." Nara said somewhat sarcastically.
"One would think... but then again I don't have to worry about meeting female admirals with penises back there..." Raynor joked.
Nara looked at him a moment. She leaned in close and whispered, "Was that you over the com system?"
"Sounded like me, but the transmission woke me up just like everyone esle,"
he said in half truth. He wasn't really awake until he started the broadcast. He was going to play the innocent card for a bit before fessing up to the crime.
She looked down when her plate got to her, "Well, he was hilarious. And SO in trouble."
"Definetly," he agreed "but I still would of loved an extra hours sleep." He looked down at his breakfast, and dug in... "His broadcast reminded me of the old Military Radio stations they used to have on earth..." he said.
As she ate, "Some people seem to enjoy going back to that time. Maybe he intended it to be so?"
"Possibly, but he's certainly doing it ass backward. And even they weren't that insubordinate back then..." Raynor commented. "But it is effective in giving everyone a laugh... god knows we've needed it, after... well... the station."
She turned serious and looked at him, "What did you see?"
"I was possessed." Raynor said silently.
"Me too." She replied simply.
The feeling got very dead in the conversation... Raynor hadn't been that badly effected by the possession, except for the fact that he was the only one still 'possessed' to some degree. Echoes of some of the Dithparu still existed in his unconscious. Worse still he had just effectively destroyed what he had tried to achieve with his broadcast for this person... he was such an idiot.
Time to try and repair the damage. "How's the pancakes?" he asked.
"Good as ever." She seemed lost in thought now.
Well desperate times called for desperate measures... time to pull out one his crazy ideas that were more humourous than serious, but had its applications... "Theme songs, people have should have theme songs on Starships..." Raynor said, with a quizical look on his face. "I mean when you leave the turbo lift everyone still has to look over at the turbo lift to see who's exiting... when you could have a theme song, that tells everyone who's coming. Before you get there..."
A smile broke across her face as she shook her head and swallowed before looking at him, "And what would yours be?"
Raynor had never thought of it really... "I never thought about that,"
Raynor said, pondering his answer. "Maybe 'We are the Champions' by Queen.
It's good a song."
"What would be yours?" he asked after a momentary pause.
Nara thought a moment, "I guess the Sakarian anthem."
"Never heard it..." Raynor admitted. Then he put on a devilish grin... "How hard would it be to program the computer to play theme songs?" he asked
She smiled back just as mischeviously, "We could have Turbolift sense commbadges, which we could code each to set off respective audio files."
"Of course it would be a bitch to match a single song to each person... and then there might be conflicts if there are two people heading to the same deck... Hypothetically speaking of course" Raynor said, as he began to eat his dry toast. "But it would be pretty funny if you think about it."
"It would be quite a good joke."
"And also useful... I mean if boarders had a theme song too or just unidtentified aliens in general," Raynor said thinking of the actual practical applications. Harder for intruders to sneak around.
Nara thought a moment, "You mean like the intruder alert system?"
"The intruder alert system tells you there's intruders aboard, you could 20 decks away and it would still go off. This would give you their position on board the ship. Or at least where their going if they happen to use the turbolift." Raynor said.
She nodded, "Not a bad idea. Well, at least a song for intruders. Not sure about the songs for us." She smiled at him.
"Well I don't know... personally I wouldn't mind moon walking into a room every now and then... breaking into spontenous dance numbers... or orgies, if it just happens to be porn music..." Raynor joked. "Of course sneaking late for work would be a little diffcult..." He thought about that last statement for a moment. He hadn't actually reported for duty yet, and he been on board for a few days... oh well, a few minutes now wouldn't matter much... He wondered how his department head would react. Probably not well, but not well in what kind of way was yet to be determined. Raynor started on his dried mango strips... saying only one thing, "I still have to report for duty, and I've been here four days..."
"When were you supposed to report in?"
"Four days ago... but I've just been so busy learning to use the toliet again," Raynor said.
The looks she gave was all the question anyone needed.
Raynor just laughed. "Unless you people don't mind me going on your floors,"
he joked.
She shook her head, "No. I mean how could you forget?"
"Well its not so much remembering to use them, as much as it is holding until you can find one..." Raynor said. "Plus being in an intrepid style brig cell as substitute quarters, which for some reason have no obvious facilites of any kind, you learn to improvise..."
She shook her head, still not understanding, "But..." She sighed, "Never mind."
Raynor just laughed again... "Anyways, I better go before I get executed to set an example. See you around later maybe." He got up.
Nara nodded. She was still confused by the conversation, but it was a nice light-hearted change to things.
Raynor walked to the door but before exitting looked around the the room.
Smiles, something he hadn't seen since coming aboard... maybe it wouldn't be so bad when it came down to the punishment. Then he he smiled himself...
yea right, the XO would probably go all anal on him as any Executive officer can be expected too.
He exited Ten-Forward knowing he'd have to deal with alot of high ranking people in the next couple of hours.
"Madden Jayce meets a new friend"
CMC Madden Jayce
Counselor Brian Elessidil
----------------------------
Madden must have walked up to and away from the door a dozen times before she finally pressed the tell, leaning against the wall, eyes closed. It almost startled her when the doors swung open and Brian Elessidil appeared. He looked... tired. Worn. Depression wafted from him. She couldn't help the small cringe of pity.
At first, Elessidil wasn't entirely sure who this woman who'd come by his quarters at this hour was. The face was only very vaguely familiar... "Chief Jayce," he said, his eyes widening slightly at the recognition kicked in. He'd talked to her only twice before: once telepathically while she was on the station, and once while he was still under the possession of the Dithparu. Neither could really be considered an ideal circumstance.
"Hey. I wanted to see how you were," she said, her voice still hoarse. It didn't sound like hers, really. It was low and harsh, almost as dry and chapped as her pale lips. She then released a small embarrassed laugh, looking down. "No, that's ah... not truly why I'm here. I thought maybe we could drown our ghosts together." She lifted the bottle. "Found it. In the quarters they've loaned to me. Not even opened. Even from the vineyard not too far from my, ah... childhood home. Thought this would be better than swallowing it all alone."
Despite being tired from a full day's worth of back-to-back counseling sessions and his own continued struggle with the after effects of the experience, Brian couldn't help but laugh. Drowning a few ghosts might not be such a bad idea tonight.
"Please, come in," he said, stepping back from the door. "I was just doing some reading." Then, in the spirit of mutual honesty, he amended the statement. "Well, I was trying to do some reading, I guess," he sighed. "Anyway, please, have a seat. I'll grab a couple glasses."
She nodded with a small smile as she sunk into one of the standard issue chairs in his common room. She watched him move into the dining area and Madden sighed softly, opening the bottle of Betazoid wine with her hands. The wine was strong, old, dry. Just the way she liked it. The scent floated up, into the room. She closed her eyes; it reminded her of her childhood, of her parent's lavish parties. She would lie awake in her bedroom on the top floor of the east wing of their large home and she would listen despite being so far away, so isolated; it would have been impossible for her to hear it, really, but she could listen anyway. Experience everything.
"How're you doing with everything?" she asked, softly. "Because, I tell you. I'm not doing so well."
She took a drink from the bottle before she looked up. He appeared in front of her, handed her a glass. She poured herself some, then filled his glass in turn.
"It's the silence," she said. "That's driving me crazy. One of them had to have crawled inside me as the drugs were taking control. I..." She laughed softly as a tear fell down her cheek. She wiped it away. "I meant to kill myself. I did. I wanted... I was so afraid." Her voice drifted down to a whisper. "I meant to kill myself. I thought it was the only way. To keep them away from me."
Glass in hand, Brian took a seat on the couch and listened intently to Jayce's story. She had endured the Dithparu's relentless attack from before the Galaxy even arrived at DS9. The fact that she was still sane, yet alone managed to keep them at bay for so long, was nothing short of amazing. But it had obviously taken a toll on her.
"But you didn't. Thank whatever God you want that it didn't come to that," he said quietly. He almost wished he could empathically sense something of the experience from her, but Doctor Artim's pronouncement that he'd be without telepathic and empathic sense for a little while remained true. Perhaps it was better that way. He had enough to deal with on his own. "I remember when I first communicated with you how you fought to keep them away and maintain your control. It was no small feat, Chief."
She took a long drink from the wine. It stung a little as she swallowed. The wine stung her throat, and the tears stung her eyes. "I've been psi-rated P11 since I was eight. Or. At least I was. Now there's nothing. There's nothing. I can't cope with it. All my life. You see, all my life I wanted it to be normal, I wanted to live in the peace and the silence most people know. But I can't deal with this. I... I need something to happen in my head that's not just me." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you're off duty, you've been going through this all day, I just. I need someone who understands, I need a friend, I need to think about something and feel something else..."
She finished the rest of her drink, then reached for the bottle and poured another. It was going to her head; that was a little embarrassing, but she was beyond caring.
Brian slowly nodded in understanding. "Very few people understand what it's like for those of us with telepathic ability to be without it. The sense of isolation can be overwhelming. Don't worry about me being off duty, Chief. I don't mind having another Betazoid around to talk to myself," he said, taking a drink from his glass. He hadn't had Betazoid wine in years and he was thoroughly enjoying it.
"Hm... it's been like working with a blindfold counseling people the past couple days. You get used to having that extra insight into people to fall back on, and when it's suddenly not there . . . let's just say I have all the more respect for someone like Karyn who does it without that ability all the time. I've been trying to distract myself with my work, and the traditional Omirii meditations... all I can say is that I understand how hard it is, even if I'm not quite the exceptional case that you are." He wished he could do more to help her through this very difficult period, but for now sharing thoughts and some wine was the best he could do.
Madden finished the glass and slid it onto the coffee table before resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together. "Where do we go from here? Do we just sit here and hope the fog is lifted? That suddenly we can hear again? Like when the sound returns after an explosion?" She stifled a sob. "When I was in the P-O-W camp..." She let her voice trail off. "No. Never mind. I don't even know what to say about that." She inhaled deeply, trying to catch her breath, swallow the pain. "I'm sorry. You don't even know me, you just happened to pick up the phone. You were there and you..." She smiled slightly, lifting her head, looking at him as she carefully brushed the tears from her eyes, resolving to stop being such a forlorn little girl. She was too old for this. "You're a nice man."
"Thanks," the counselor replied, one side of his mouth curled upward in an ironic half-smile. He reached for the bottle and re-filled his glass. "Funny, I don't *feel* particularly *nice* these days. I've been on edge a lot more than I would prefer, experiencing lots of 'warm, fuzzy' emotions, going from irritated and frustrated with everyone and snapping back at the slightest thing, to completely falling apart to the point where I almost feel dehydrated from shedding so many tears." Belting back almost the entire glass of wine, he smacked his lips and grinned. "But I'm expected to set all that aside so I can listen to everyone else's problems… present company happily excepted," he said, raising his glass in a grand salute.
She managed a small smile. "Well. I'd sure hope so." She studied him. "I'm sorry you feel like that. It must be a tough spot, for a counselor. Suffering in your own right. Listening to the suffering of others. I can't imagine." She brushed back her bangs over her center part. "In the Camp, I often played the role of informal counselor. They just needed someone to listen. We'd whisper back and forth, over the bowls of disgusting, soured Cardassian food, often the first food they'd given us in days. We'd huddle together, largely because it was almost always freezing. I don't know how the Cardassians did it. I guess it was because they hate cold, they thought it was just a, ah… another piece of the elaborate torture. We'd huddle together, eat this terrible food with our dirty fingers, and murmur back and forth, comforting each other, trying to give one another hope, trying to keep one another sane."
Her fingers tapped against her knees, then she reached forward and retook her glass, hesitating only a moment before she picked up the bottle of wine and procured herself a refill.
"I don't know why I told you that," she said, blushing softly. Perhaps it was the wine. "I don't… I don't like to talk about it." She sipped her wine, looked up into Brian Elessidil's dark eyes. "Are…" She cleared her throat. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"Right now, I'm seeing you," he replied, sounding as if, at least for the moment, that was all he needed. He twirled his glass in his hand and smirked, silently philosophizing on how different things looked when viewed through a glass of wine -- literally and figuratively. "The answer is 'no', but if there are any good men you'd care to recommend, feel free."
"Oh," she whispered, blushing fiercely. "Gah. I'm sorry. I should have… I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. Goes to prove how much I'm accustomed to having extrasensory abilities."
Brian smiled and looked at her with the gentlest of expressions. Whether it was the wine or the company or some combination of the two, he was feeling more warmth this evening than he had in weeks, and he found himself wanting to get to know this person all the more. The story of her childhood, the horror of her experience as a POW, her boldness of personality that brought her here tonight, each was a piece of her that interested him and that he wanted to learn more about.
"There are no stupid questions, Madden... if I may call you that. Not between friends, anyway... if I may call you *that*. And if you've got some more time, I've got some more wine," he said, glancing at the empty bottle on the table in front of them.
"Of course," she said, matching his full smile. It felt good to stretch her expression into it again. "To all of the above." His stood and retrieved another bottle of wine. After he poured she raised her glass. "Here's to new friends: the good result of a bad situation." Their glasses clinked together. "Cheers."
"Madden Jayce and the job offer"
CMC Madden Jayce
Commander Cass Henderson
----------------------------- Madden tucked the piece of hair behind her ear as she paused in front of the XO's office. She was far more... together than she'd been in the past few weeks. Her telepathic abilities had all but returned, though the shift from silence to the background noise of other's thoughts was a startling shift -- she'd thought it would be easy, but in the beginning, the noise was a lot louder than she had ever thought; and in reality, she'd never really thought about it.
She'd spoken, on occasion, with one of her teachers on Betazed. Marnie and she had kept in contact since Madden was eight years old, which was a blessing, at least on her end of things. Marnie had counseled her to take this as a blessing -- it presented the opportunity to realise exactly what it was she had. You never know, Marnie said, you never know exactly what it is and what it means until it's gone.
She was right, of course.
Madden had physically been recovering. She was drinking less. Eating more. Was looking a little less like a ghost, though she was still shaky and found herself shying away from too much contact, too much noise.
The doors opened and she stepped through, and clicked her heels together as she stood at attention. "You requested to see me sir?" she asked.
"At ease. Come in and have a seat, Chief," Cass replied, swiveling in his chair to face the high ranked enlisted. Depressing a key on his work station, he switched off the monitor. It was nice to have the LCARS terminal working again. The aftermath of the Dithparu invasion had left the 'mind' of the ship as non-functional as the minds of the telepathic and empathic crew members.
His own sixth sense had been dulled over the previous months since Taru had purged the area around Deep Space Five of any trace of psionic power. In a way, he had felt even more exposed without that extra something in his perception than he had when his entire will had been subverted by the Dithparu dissident, Kazu.
As the experienced command master chief took her seat, Cass wondered how she was handling the gradual recovery of her own telepathic ability. After being stranded for so long on DS5, and then attempting to end her life to escpae the constant Dithparu assault, she had been through more in a few short weeks than most members of Starfleet did in their entire careers.
"How are you feeling, Chief?"
"Sir, I'm feeling fine," she replied. Then frowned a moment. "Well. Better at any rate. Removed enough so that I can look back at the situation and find a bit of... good, I suppose. Always has to be done, when you're involved in something like that. It's the only way to keep your mind about you, to keep from slipping into the abyss." She half-smiled. "I haven't had the best luck in my career. So..." She shrugged slightly. "Sir. How have you fared in this?"
"Decent enough. It's no secret that I'm barely a P3, so my mental transition has been pretty simple," he shrugged. Aside from a slight feeling of heightened awareness, it was business as usual. And of course, there was no real heightened awareness involved, just a return of what had been there before. "The biggest strain for me has been adjudicating all the conflicts between crew who had... altercations when one of them was possessed."
She nodded. "P3. That's fairly strong -- a human is considered a strong telepath at P2." She sighed. "For better or for worse, I sat out the altercations. Though they're beginning to find that I had some sort of immunity to the Dithparu anyway, so the attempt wasn't necessary." She brushed the hair back again. "And here I was thinking I was just well trained." She offered a thin smile. "If you all hadn't come, I probably would have starved to death, gone insane, or both."
"Another reason that this whole mess has been worth it," Henderson nodded in response, shifting himself forward in his chair. "Did you have any plans for where you'll be going, now that the invasion has been dispersed?"
Her mouth scrunched together, twisted up, and she shook her head. "Honestly, no. I've, ah... I think some people are encouraging me to consider taking a leave of absence. Trauma and all of that. But I'm hoping to stay in the fleet. I suppose I'll just go wherever they need me; I put in a request, but no one has gotten back to me. You know Starfleet. If it's not immediately life or death, they'll push it back. I'll probably end up a passenger here for months to come, taking up space, being rather useless."
"Well, we certainly can't have that. Starfleet's short on people as it is. I'm sure you've heard that because of recent revelations, recruitment numbers are at an all time low." Cass turned his monitor on and brought up a new screen, opening up the crew manifest. Pausing to scratch his ear, he looked back over at Chief Jayce. "It just so happens that out CMC decided to retire last week. I think the Dithparu were enough to convince her that exploration wasn't worth it anymore. A shame, really. But, as it seems you're made of sterner stuff, the job is yours if you'd like it. I certainly can't think of a better use for you."
Madden cocked her head to the side. "A better use for me?" she questioned, her smile crooked. "If you're offering me the job, Commander, I suppose I accept. What the hell else am I going to do? Is there anything you can fill me in on? Regarding the enlisted crew on this ship?"
Cass pursed his lips as he thought about it. What could you really say about such a huge group of people? Chief Westwell had mostly kept to herself, so there wasn't too much to go on. "They're a pretty diverse group. Keep an eye on Chief Mirapoints. There's a reason they call him "Tim the Terror". Your predecessor's reports were usually pretty short, so either that means she wasn't very good at writing reports, or you'll have an easy time of it. Oh, and T'Shani... I mean Lieutenant a'Akledorian, tends to keep her own people pretty well in hand."
He silently chided himself for using T'Shani's given name at work. However close they were, lines had to be drawn and protocol maintained. Perhaps with all that was going on, he was slipping into bad habits. He'd have to watch himself for that.
"And a'Akledorian... she's... Marines?" As his nod she inhaled. "That's fine. Marines and I don't necessarily get along too well. As far as my predecessor goes, I have a tradition of being rather hard core and hands on. I'll require that I sit in on all senior staff meetings and that I have regular access to you and, if necessary, the Captain. Enlisted officers make up a vast majority of the Galaxy's crew and I'll be sure to be a proportionate presence. And, as a small aside, I'm excellent at writing reports."
"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what Chief Westwell did with her time here. She certainly didn't spend it in any of the staff meetings," he said, trying very hard to recall the last time he'd seen Elizabeth Westwell before her departure. "I hope you have small feet, Miss Jayce, because the shoes your filling aren't very big. Do you have any concerns you'd like to voice before I enter you into the manifest?"
"No. Not particularly. I just hope that I'm a suitable addition to the crew."
Henderson nodded, and entered the required information. "We'll find out, won't we?" he asked, rhetorically. "Welcome to the USS Galaxy, Chief Jayce."
She stood and took his offered hand. "Thank you, Commander. I look forward to the assignment."
"Tea with the Captain"
Principal Characters
Captain Daren M'Kantu
2nd Lieutenant Branwen London
****
USS Galaxy
Deck 1
Captain's Ready Room
Branwen tugged the hem of her tunic. It was a big day for her; today she would finally meet the captain. Of course she had seen him before in passing. But they had never talked; he'd never even acknowledged she was here. She had no idea how he thought about marines, not all captains liked them. Or for that matter, marine shrinks. So she was just a bit nervous, just a bit. Another check for her hair and uniform and a deep breath and she was ready.
The com unit inset in the door buzzed, and M'Kantu's voice said, "Enter."
Inside, the office was less like the spotless Starfleet offices she was familiar, a stack of padds and two coffee cups - one partially full - occupied the top of the desk, the furniture was shifted just enough away from the proscribed Fleet pattern of placement to be noticeable, and there was a faint, spicy odor to the air, as if someone was cooking something in the next room. M'Kantu was standing, waiting for her, a meter inside the door. "Lieutenant," he nodded.
"Eeek!" She was so tense and focused on the desk area that she had not noticed the captain standing next to the door. So Branwen jumped out of her skin when he suddenly spoke. "Oh dear, I am so sorry Sir." She blushed profusely.
"Don't be, Lieutenant," Daren nodded. "I believe that there are days when every Commanding Officer wants to close his door and scream - why should we be the only ones allowed that privilege?" He waved towards the chairs by the desk. "Please, have a seat. Coffee? Tea? "
"Thank you, captain. You are too kind. Tea please, diolch." She bit her lip, now she was even using welsh words talking to him. Nerves would be the ruin of her one day.
A few programmed commands later, she had a mug of steaming tea and the Captain some more coffee. "So, Lieutenant," he began after they were both seated. "Is there something you want to talk about now that you're here? I hate giving the same 'Welcome to the Galaxy' speech every time someone arrives."
"I have been here a while sir." She said. "I wasn't sure if you were pleased with having me on board. Not all navy personnel are, sir." She said respectfully.
"You're part of the crew, Lieutenant. Ultimately what I like or don't like is unimportant, because I have to see everyone the same way." He leaned back in his chair. "But I don't hold any particular animosity towards the Marines as a whole, or any individual Marines that are aboard."
"Thank you, sir." Bran said with a small smile. "I appreciate it that you support me, sir. The marines are starting to open up to me, and I even have some navy patients. I only have one problem, captain."
Daren thought about laughing but held off, waiting to see what the problem was. "If you've only got one problem, Lieutenant, then you're already ahead of the game. What is it?"
"It's Lieutenant Baile, sir. And I am not running to you to spite him, captain.' Her welsh accent was thick now. "He won't see a therapist and he says he is exempt because so much in his record is sealed. Now he doesn't like me, and I don't want him see me against his will, that wouldn't work. But I think he needs a therapist on the ship that keeps an eye on him. Just like with everyone else sir. For his own mental state of health." She said hotly.
Well, that was simple enough. "The Lieutenant sees a counselor, just like everyone else. No exceptions. There are sealed sections of my records, I see one. I think more of Commander Henderson's record is sealed than open, and he sees one. There are at least twenty crewmen aboard with varying degrees of access restrictions on their records, and they all see a counselor - in some cases *because*of those sealed sections in their service jackets." He set his coffee down. "If he refuses again, send him to Commander Henderson. He doesn't want this issue to formally make its way to me."
Branwen was relieved. "Thank you sir, thank you for supporting me. I will do so. And I sure hope he listens." She was so relieved that she didn't notice she was rambling on. "I know it is tough on him. He has been in the Marine Corps his whole life, and he has all this experience, and then they place a girl fresh out of the academy above him."
"If he hasn't gotten used to the idea of taking orders from individuals younger, older, taller, or shorter than he is by now, then I think it's high time he started, Lieutenant," Daren observed. "It's part of the job."
"Yes sir." She hesitated. "Was I wrong to tell you sir? I don't want to be a tattletale. I really didn't know what to do."
"Next time, you might want to try talking to your CO and then Commander Henderson first," Daren advised. "But higher command exists for a great many reasons, and turning to it when confronted with a problem is one of those reasons."
"Yes sir. I will I promise. It's tough figuring everything out. But I am not complaining." She said quickly. "I like learning new things, sir."
"Then keep doing it, Lieutenant. When you stop, then you... stop."
"I won't, Sir." She said determined. "Anything else, sir?"
"Probably," M'Kantu conceded, "but whatever it is can wait. Do you have any questions?"
She knew it was not her place to contradict a commanding Officer and yet she couldn't help herself. "With all due respect sir, if there is something you would like to ask me, I would rather hear it now. Otherwise I would just worry about it."
"Nothing critical, Lieutenant; certainly nothing you ought to worry about excessively. I simply wanted to talk about training."
"Training, sir?" she asked. "What do you mean exactly?"
"The Marine contingent aboard the ship is, for most purposes, isolated, Lieutenant. They eat, sleep, train, and recreate in a bubble, isolated from the rest of the crew. That's a problem, albeit an easily corrected one. I want to schedule some training exercises with various ships' departments. Not," Daren leaned forward, "competitions between them, although I'm sure there will always be an element of that, but actual training sessions where the Marines and the ship's personnel work together. Is that something that you have any thoughts on?"
"Shouldn't you be talking to my boss about this, sir? I think it is a good idea. We are Starfleet after all, why should we be so different. I would love to train together with security for example and exchange expertise. And I wouldn't mind helping the rest of the crew keep in shape, captain."
"I'm meeting with Commander Henderson later today, and then he and your superior will be meeting about the training sessions. I expect that you'll hear more about them after that - if you don't get roped into helping design and run them."
Bran shifted her feet nervously but decided to speak her mind again. "Sir, wouldn't it be easier to just meet with the four of us?"
Daren nodded. "It would - but welcome to the wonderful world of scheduling issues, Lieutenant. I have sixteen things that all have to be finished before the end of shift today, twice that many tomorrow, and about that many every day this week. Commander Henderson is, if anything, busier than that, since he's trying to run interference for me, and I don't doubt that your CO is busy herself. Getting all of us together - at least initially - isn't possible right now. But getting some of us together is, hence the separated nature of the meetings."
"I see, of course." She smiled. "If I can help, just let me know. I should probably not be keeping you any longer, sir."
"Finish your tea, at least, Lieutenant - there's time for that. And you still haven't answered my questions - was there something that you wanted to ask me?"
"Thank you, sir." She tried to sip the hot tea quicker not wanting to waste his time. "Not really, there was only the thing about Baile. And I guess you have answered how you think about marines and marine shrinks, sir."
Daren nodded and set his cup down. "The Galaxy's a good ship. She has a... well, certainly the most... different... crew I've ever served with, anyway, but she's a good ship. There's plenty of room for you and your fellow Marines aboard her, both literally and metaphorically."
"Thank you sir, that means a lot to me." She smiled. "So far I like it here a great deal." Almost burning her tongue she finished her tea.
"Then let's hope that it stays that way, Lieutenant." Daren set his mug back down again. "You know, usually it's the people that I'm chewing out that are willing to injure themselves to leave quickly."
She blushed profusely again. "I am sorry. You said you were busy, sir. I thought that was my cue to leave."
"A hint, perhaps, but not an order," he nodded, and stood. "I expect we'll be seeing each other at those training meetings eventually - I look forward to it."
She grinned widely. "Me too sir. And I will let you get back to work now." She saluted crisply and made ready to leave.
"Living La Vida Binary"
Principal Characters
Lieutenant (JG) Victor Krieghoff
2nd Lt Branwen London
****
USS Galaxy
Deck 35
Outside Security Main
"Hello there, my friend." Branwen linked her arm through Victor's. She had been waiting for him when he came of work. "Come on, you and I are going to have some fun, and bond some more." She gave him a radiant smile.
Victor looked at her for a moment, frowned, and shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, we're not." He reached down and removed her arm.
"Yes, we are. I know you have a break now. And like everybody else on the ship you need to relax badly. Come on, I have prepared a holodeck for us." She gave him a pleading look.
"I see you haven't gotten your hearing checked yet, Lieutenant," Victor observed. He wasn't certain what her attempt at looking like a pre-adolescent canine was supposed to accomplish in conjunction with the request. Perhaps he was supposed to think it was cute and acquiesce to the request because of that? Maybe if he'd had a dog when he was a child he would have understood, but since he hadn't - they always ran in terror or attacked him - he just let the emptiness inside him swallow up the thought along with everything else.
"I said," he tried again slowly and distinctly, mindful of his idea the last time the Lieutenant had persisted in this kind of behavior. "No, Lieutenant, we're not." Perhaps that would make a difference.
"Is something wrong with your voice?" Bran asked worried. "Did you take your physical yet? Did you see Commander Dallas?" She asked while she still wanted to take him along. "Please Victor. As a favor."
Apparently not.
"There's nothing wrong with my voice, Lieutenant. The problem seems to be your hearing." He began to walk towards the turbolifts again. "No. Yes. No. No."
"There is nothing wrong with my hearing, Victor." She followed him. "Does that mean you have seen Commander Dallas?"
Maybe if he did what Lieutenant Grey used to do and held up a padd with the words written on it, that would do the trick? "Like I just said, Lieutenant, no, I didn't. I saw someone else, instead. We all have to, remember? Alien parasites inside people's heads?" Maybe she'd missed that whole incident somehow, although Victor didn't think it possible.
"Yeah," Bran said softly. "I know. I am glad you talked to someone Victor. I was worried about you."
"Pointless," he observed as he shifted so a pair of ratings could edge along the opposite wall of the corridor from him unobstructed. "They should have spent the time talking to Lieutenant Hunter."
"Who and why?" She asked. "Why not you?"
"The Counselors. Because it was her mind and body the Diparthu used to torture the children, kill people and invade my mind, and her mind that sustained the link while I killed the first Diparthu and made the other flee my mind, the link, and the Lieutenant's mind." He shrugged. "She may be half-Vulcan, but that wasn't enough to keep her from being hurt in the process."
Bran looked at him. "You are worried about her."
"I'm supposed to, Lieutenant. That's my job. To make certain that nothing hurts or kills the rest of you so you can do yours. Don't make it into something it isn't."
Bran just smiled. "Sure, Victor. Come on, I have made a really cool combat program for us to try out."
The padd idea sounded better and better. "I don't train with other people, Lieutenant, for the same reason that I don't spar with them. Live, or in a simulation."
"I don't mind watching you." She said never giving up.
Victor stopped and turned his head to look at her. "That doesn't prevent the problem, Lieutenant."
"What problem?"
"I don't spar with people as a rule, and don't let them see me fight for the same reason," he said quietly, his words scrubbed clean of emotional context, just simple, stated facts, "because if at some point I have to fight you I the line of duty, it makes no sense to have either trained you to be a better fighter, or to have let you see me fighting. Either one reduces the chance that I'll be able to stop you in any way other than lethally, and the two together guarantee that I'll need to kill you to stop you."
"Victor we are on the same side. And besides if you would see me fight, you can figure out my weak spots. You shouldn't worry so much." She said gently.
"There are no 'sides,' Lieutenant. I've had to deal with people in Starfleet uniforms that were selling information to the Orions, that were stealing Starfleet property for sale on the Black Market, and that had decided that raping a Cardassian woman was perfectly acceptable because they belonged to the winning side in the War and she belonged to the losing one. I didn't have to kill anyone while they were possessed by the Diparthu, but if it had been necessary, I would have done that too. Whatever happy little white wooly ba-ba world you live in, where there are 'sides' and anyone in the same clothes as you is automatically on yours, it isn't my world. If living there makes you happy, then by all means, do so. Just don't expect me to."
"I am glad I don't live in your world, Victor," she said softly. "And no, I didn't have a cushioned easy life until now. I have seen more hardship then most people on the ship. You can bullshit me all you want, but I can feel the need in you to make friends, to have someone care for you. Someone you can trust. Don't even bother to deny it. You know I don't believe you." She stared straight at him.
Victor stopped and looked at her for a moment, head tilted to one side. Had that been an attempt at a joke? It didn't matter of course, but it was always nice to get these things right. "Lieutenant," he finally said, "it isn't of any particular concern to me one way or the other what you, or anyone else, want to think about me and what I may or may not need. I am what I am, nothing more. If I worried about other people's opinions of me then I wouldn't be what I am, I'd be something different. No one wants me to worry about things like that, Lieutenant - it's just not prudent. Not for me, and not for the rest of you."
"I think you could be so much more." She said softly.
No, she really didn't understand. Victor thought about showing her, but decided the court martial wasn't worth it. "I know what I can be, Lieutenant," he returned quietly. "That's why I don't let myself become it."
"You are afraid of one aspect of your being. That way you also repress all the good that is in you. It's a shame, Victor."
Victor frowned down at the Marine. It couldn't be that all Marines were like this. Gunny Goldstein hadn't been; she'd understood. Maybe it was just Marine officers? "I'm not a diamond, Lieutenant. I don't have hundreds of facets, each one a different aspect of me." He shook his head. "People complicate things too much, make things far more complex than they really are most of the time. That's not the way the universe works; the universe is binary, people are binary. Good/bad. Alive/dead. Right/wrong. Prey/Predators. You're prey - I'm not. As a predator, I have two choices: I can watch over the sheep I'm given, protect them from the other things like me that circle out there in the dark.... or I can be one of those monsters in the darkness, waiting for one of you to stray too far from the light. That's it, just those two. I made my choice, I know what I am. Wanting to be something different is pointless, because I neither am nor can be, anything else. Except the monster most!
of the crew believes me to be."
"You're not a monster. Believe me, I have known monsters." Her eyes clouded over for a moment. "You are not."
"Of course not, Lieutenant." He was, Victor decided, going to get a padd that day and start carrying it to type out answers when people didn't understand him. "I just said that people *think* I'm one. If I were a monster, they'd *know.*"
"Yeah, but the way you talk, I sometimes doubt that you believe it yourself," she said.
"That I'm a monster?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not - not right now. But I am a predator, a killer - and I could be a monster. If I let myself."
"You seem so scared of letting that side out, Victor," she observed.
Maybe he should get the padd now? No, that wouldn't solve the issue. But this would. "Go talk to Commander Dallas, Lieutenant. Ask her that question and see what she says. If she answers, then you'll know why it's a bad idea."
"I will. I just don't think you would hurt somebody," she said.
"In this case, Lieutenant, I think that I'm going to have to trust my judgment on the issue... because I can, I have, and there is always the possibility that I will again."
"I think you are exaggerating, Victor. Knowing Commander Dallas she would pull you off duty if you were really dangerous or had been dangerous."
"Actually, Lieutenant, I think that she would shoot me through the head from the greatest distance possible to still ensure a certain kill, " he replied tonelessly. "But that's neither here nor there."
"You are only saying that because she is your therapist. It is not unusual to be angry with them, you know."
"Lieutenant, I've explained that several times. If I were angry with Commander Dallas - or anyone else - I would have killed them. Since I haven't, I'm not." He frowned again. "I don't get angry. It isn't healthy for anyone near me."
"Yeah sure," she grinned. "If you really want to come across as a hard guy you have to practice harder, Victor. I don't believe it, so if you just go with me to the holodeck, I might give up pestering you sooner."
Victor supposed that it was possible she'd dealt with Marines who were more dangerous than he was, there had to be some, statistically speaking, but he doubted that any of them were really *like* him. "I don't have to practice what I am, Lieutenant, it comes naturally. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some messages to check, and a few calls to try and put through the ionic interference."
"I will try again next week." Bran said letting him leave. "I won't give up."
Descent
"Sins of the Past"
By
Captain Daren M'Kantu
Commanding Officer,
USS Galaxy
Appearances by:
Rear Admiral Olivia Proctor
Commanding Officer,
Deep Space 5
Vice-Admiral Sindar,
Starfleet Intelligence
Phillipa Louvois
JAG Director
Commander Henderson (unauthorized)
Executive Officer,
USS Galaxy
*****
Date: November 28, 2382
Location: Deep Space 5 Operations Deck
"Incoming message for you, Admiral. Priority 2 scrambled."
Opposite the communications officer who announced the incoming packet, over
the main central hub of the center unit, Olivia Proctor had perked up from
her inspection of operations functions.
Hands clasped behind her back, she carried herself with haughtiness and
pride as she met the young ensign's gaze. Sheila Harrison, a raw recruit
fairly fresh out of Starfleet Academy, cast her eyes downward at the beaded
look Proctor gave her. She hoped her sleight wouldn't be noticed as she
touched the earpiece with a single forefinger, in mock effort to focus on
the transmission. Not that it was needed. The ion storms had abated enough
to have begun receiving long-overdue communications from relay stations,
buoys, and command operations from Deep Space 7 on through to the Sol
system. Admiral Abrik had left a rather long-winded message about
commandeering and overturning orders from SFHQ. Being that it was a message
and not direct contact, Proctor had ignored it.
"Source and signature?" Many messages had come in from beyond the borders,
and she had to prioritize each as they came in. Even priority 2 scrambleds.
Harrison keyed a transponder verification code in, and took a breath.
"It's the USS Delaware, sir. Vice Admiral Sindar wishes to speak with you
directly."
Proctor nodded tersely, head bowing up and down with vigor. The call she'd
been waiting for.
"Put it through to my Ready Room, Ensign."
"Yes, ma'am."
Olivia marched up and away into her personal offices.
*****
USS Galaxy
Captain's Ready Room
[Captain, incoming message from the USS Delaware. Priority 2 scrambled]
Setting aside an updated duty roster report by Commander Henderson, Daren
turned to face his desk, rotating the terminal that bore the mark of the UFP
flag.
"Send it through, Lieutenant." The image blinked away, to be replaced by a
seated Fleet Captain in curling blond fronds.
"Fleet Captain Louvois. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?" Daren
seated himself, pulling his steaming mug of tea towards his mouth, blowing
gently as he sipped at it.
Phillipa Louvois's expression remained hardened. The lines had etched a
little deeper, her hair was little greyer, but her eyes remained as full of
life as ever. She was legendary in certain circles, after having set a
precedent with giving the former Commander Data a declaration of sentience
almost twenty years previous. It propelled her to a promotion as lead Judge
Advocate General of the sector.
[I'm afraid you'll have to do a lot for me, Captain. To cut with the
formalities, I'm officially relieving you of command of the Galaxy.]
M'Kantu almost dropped his saucer, but managed to avoid the embarrassment.
Instead, he placed the shaking wares on his desk.
[This is effective immediately, pending the results of the investigation
into your last two assignments. You're to report to Deep Space 5, where
you're to have preliminary statements taken by the station JAG contingent
until our arrival in two days time.]
"Yes, ma'am." Blood pounded in his ears like thunder. Everything seemed so
far away.
[I'm sorry, Daren. Be sure to select defending counsel, unless you wish one
appointed to you by Admiral Proctor's staff.]
The dark-skinned captain shook his head. He knew Phillipa was giving him a
headstart, and he accepted it. "Thank you, Captain. I will." He blinked
several times, still in disbelief. To lose his command, as well? He could
understand investigations and hearings, but why lose his ship?
[Commander Henderson is to take command of the Galaxy. I've approved a
field promotion to Captain for the time being, at least until the
investigation is complete. He is to continue on to Starbase Atlantis as
planned.] She paused to let him gain his bearings. She never did get used
to this kind of business, but it was her job; it had to be done by someone.
[Again, Daren, I'm sorry it had to come to this. See you in two days.
Louvois out.]
The former Captain fell back into his chair and closed his eyes.
*****
Cassius Henderson's Quarters
[Commander Henderson. Incoming message from the USS Delaware. Priority 2
scrambled.]
"I'll take it here, Lieutenant." Cass cast a quick glance towards his
kitchen, where the water could be heard running idly as Ekoma washed up
after breakfast. Jogging to his desk, he switched on the terminal, to be
presented with the image of a Vulcan Admiral, hands clasped in front of his
dark tunic.
"Vice-Admiral Sindar." The Vulcan was a key player in the sector. No
longer a field agent, but logistics and operations handler for this region
of space.
[Commander Henderson, I am forwarding you a data packet of critical
information that is required to be acted upon immediately. Review and
commit to memory. You will be contacted shortly for follow-up and immediate
briefing on the action.]
Cassius depressed the signal encryption key. In his position of Strategic
Operations, being deliberately vague and cryptic was a way of life. The
panel lit up upon completion of transfer, at which point the Vulcan merely
nodded, and terminated the transmission.
The Galaxy XO opened the packet and began to read.
*****
Captain's Quarters
Deck 8
20 Minutes later
"M'Kantu to Henderson." Daren had completed packing what he needed. A
small suitcase, with personal grooming materials and keepsakes and a change
of civilian clothes. If he didn't return to the ship, he'd have his goods
transferred to his next assignment, wherever it may be.
[Henderson here, Captain.]
"Meet me on the bridge, Commander."
[Aye, sir. On my way.]
*****
Main Bridge
Deck 1
Alpha Shift
M'Kantu entered the bridge from the main turbolift to the rear.
"Captain on the Bridge!" He waved down the Caitian Tactical Officer
currently rewiring the arch. The Main Bridge had taken most of the overload
damage his coffee order had relegated when it surged through the primary
systems to burn everything out. Many panels were still dark; ODN fibers
were extended from the ceiling in other places. The entire Operations
station was unseated and laying on the carpeted floor beside the helm.
"At ease, everyone." He looked around as he stepped down the ramp, to find
Commander Henderson waiting patiently nearby, at his own station.
Daren nodded to him, and walked past to take up a spot just ahead of the
dismantled Ops console.
He admonished himself. He wasn't going to second-guess what he did and why
he did it. He was going to have enough to ponder when he was thrown into a
political arena in two days.
"Commander Henderson." Cass had been watching his Captain carefully,
wondering why he had been called here. Something was up, obviously. He
noted the small valise the CO was carrying. But why the big show if a minor
trip to the station?
"Aye, sir?" He rose to attention and came to stand next to M'Kantu.
Reaching into his inner vest pocket, Daren retrieved a small box. Opening
it, he retrieved two small gold pips.
"Commander, I have been hereby granted to award you with a field promotion
to Captain as of this date and time, effective immediately." Reaching up to
the XO's collar, he unfastened the dark metal fastener, and replaced it with
the gold ones.
"Also, computer, accept transfer of command to Captain Cassius Henderson,
authorization M'Kantu, Delta-Delta-One."
Henderson was taken aback, blinking in confusion.
"Captain?"
[USS Galaxy now under the command of Captain Cassius Henderson as of
stardate 50511.28]
"I stand relieved." Daren extended his hand to Cass, who reluctantly shook
it. "Good luck, Captain."
"Sojourners: The Historian's thoughts"
Audio Log Record: Excerpt File "The Historian's thoughts"
Circa November 2382
Begin Log:
Well that was a fiasco. This is the first log I've gotten around to since the Diptharu took over the ship. Surprised myself I took this long, but I had alot of work to attend to. Recording and compiling current events on the ship and in the Federation itself. In all considerations, I wonder if the takeover could have been handled better, and not just because I lost a toe in the duration. But then, what can you do when you have no control over your own actions. Those parasitic beings were killing crew in their attempt. Probably traumatising for those involved. Heard there was mandatory counselling for all of the crew, but I never got around to mind. As far as I know it's still scheduled.
Wether it's a good or a bad thing, Dr. Jack Slen is recovering nicely from that broken nose my forehead gave him. I've heard they probably won't have to change is personell file picture. Still the disgrace of hitting a fellow crewmate though. I wish it didn't have to come to that, but at least Rash'dar felt Jack's pain.
Meh, whatever. End Log.
End Log:
Begin Log:
Another supplemental log in addition to the previous one. I'm not sure I like Admiral Proctor very much. I know she's had something to do with Captain M'Kantu's departure. I've barely spoken to the captain, but he seems like a good man. But apparently, as part of my historical recordkeeping role, I have found that he had the Admiral thrown in the brig for disrupting negotiations with the Hydrans at Mirusa. Something tells me she was purposely trying to start s! omething. I've always hated extremists. I mean, how has it come to this impass in our culture? Hawks and Doves? From what I can tell, Captain M'Kantu is like me, on the fence.
Something tells me that Admiral Proctor probably has access to my audio logs, due to this being a personal project instead of private logs. But in addition to a disclaimer, this is also a symbol of my being a man who stands by his beleifs. And Captain M'Kantu is the kind of guy that I think shares that mindset.
History shows us that there is a time for aggression, and a time for tact, and as a historian I say this is a time for tact, patience, and virtue. End Log.
Begin Log:
Well, back to Atlantis....that's a wierd sounding phrase. Well, I'd like to speak with this "Captain" Henderson when I get a chance. Seems like an interesting guy, maybe. Hell I dunno. Maybe he knows something about Dr. Fienberg's disappearance.
Oh christ, why can't I forget about that damned doctor. Why do I feel obligated to Commodore Savage to solve this mystery anyway. I feel like I've accidentally drawn myself into something I should keep my big nose out of. Meh, I'll ask if I remember to. End log.
End Log:
"Effects"
Lt(jg) Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer
****
USS Galaxy
Cora's Quarters
From day one Cora knew full well she'd have to take chances. It had been more than just some leap of faith which led her to a career in Intelligence to begin with. Not something decided on a whim.
The 'Butterfly effect' as some called it managed to engulf Dobryin fully within its grasp. By normal standards she was desensitized to things that would phase any normal person. Then again how could Cora even think her life was normal when every move, reaction or simple act of being was watched closely by SFI or manipulated by that same entity.
In and of itself that is a risk she'd accepted simply by wearing the uniform. Watched closer because she was one of them, yes but that didn't change the fact they were aware of everything, no matter what.
It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last Cora had been responsible for acts that left more than a mere sour taste in her mouth.
Nightmares plagued her sleep pattern. Under other circumstances it would be nothing more than an annoyance. This time it was more than that.
Images.names.faces.
Every time it appeared time came to a complete standstill, a moment when Cora remembered nothing yet could recall everything. Memories of waking up in sickbay, very disoriented but afraid to slip back into sleep. The only way to truly describe it was like she'd been sucked into a black hole never to be spit out the other side.
Sure that particular day happened over 4 months ago but time had not allowed it to age, unlike some other things. Lt Dobryin wanted her life back. Sick and tired of reliving moments she'd rather forget yet couldn't. Feeling the distant ghost of absolute hate and need for ultimate revenge that her possessor had borne.
Caught squarely between doing her job and looking for ways to avoid Cassius Henderson because of what happened. Despite the fact he too had been under Dithparu influence at the time, Cora vividly recalled his features, his hands. Part of her refused to believe another soul had actually done the dirty work that nearly ended her life.
Overall the experience had changed her. Its fire molded Cora by a will all its own. What was done could not be undone. Certainly there were permanent effects from the incident but no one had been able to give her an idea of their full extent just yet.
That thought alone was chilling. Cora let out a deep sigh before letting her eyes wander to the stars once more. She was due back on duty shortly.
“Searching through the static” Part Three
Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe - Engineer
Lieutenant (Jg) Naranda Sol Roswell - Engineer
Turan Trelar Quentite Ambassador – Engineer trainee, under supervision of Lt Eshe
Lieutenant Michael Jamson - Operations Officer
(This is set directly after the Engineering department JP “Scooby Gang”)
***En route to Main Engineering***
"Have you been on the Galaxy for long?" Jamson was interested in trying to make a conversation with Lieutenant Eshe. They were on their way to engineering, in order to modify some of the sensors that were blocked by the strange interference, and the EPS conduits. He hasn't seen her before on the Galaxy and was wondering why. After all, spending your time on a ship for awhile, you do catch a face here and there, and before you know it, you start recognizing people. If not by their faces, then by a distinctive move, uniform, clothing, or even by the most stupid, unimportant and occasional routines, such as remembering deck listing, duty shifts and meetings at the turbolift.
Dhani cast him a confused glance as they walked down the corridor. A little hurt and offended that he didn’t remember her she remained silent for a moment, she was also still extremely agitated over Roswell and was trying to calm down and return to a more peaceful outlook. But then the past two years on this ship seemed to negate any peacefulness in the young woman so she replied slightly snappy, “I *returned*,” she stressed, “a few weeks ago. I have served with the USS Galaxy since 2380.” She informed him slightly clipped.
"2380?" Michael was also confused, not realizing who Dhani really was. He returned to the Galaxy in 75' and then again at 81'. If she was already onboard, he should have known her by now. This was really odd, since Jamson had a great photographic memory, and could easily recognize people. "A few weeks ago, you say?" Michael felt the young lieutenant was a bit agitated. He wondered if it was Lieutenant Roswell, or his questions. "I apologize. I shouldn't have asked. I have a habit of, sometimes, minding in other peoples business."
Dhani looked at him, a side glance really, as they continued towards engineering. She was irritated but she knew that it wasn’t his fault that she felt like snapping something, or someone, in two. She flashed him a small smile, a peace offering really, although it was strained and probably came out more like a scowl. She shrugged brushing off his comment. “That’s fine I guess. Maybe someone should mind my ‘business’. I certainly don’t!” she said flippantly.
Jamson wanted to return the smile but as much as he felt comfortable next to Dhani, which was quite peculiar since he thought he just met her, he also felt a bit uneased. He was going through his memories, trying to find her face but couldn't, and it bugged him even more. He had the urge to ask away, and maybe one of his queries would hit the target, mid centre. An inner struggle was now forming inside of him. He had to know who she was, solve that mystery, but according to a certain counsellor on the Galaxy, that would be rude, 'inappropriate'. He had to let go, for the time being, they had a mission ahead, and hopefully it would keep him busy. 'Humans...' he muttered. He was human too, but social behaviour was sometimes so complex, he wished he could be like his childhood friends, a true Klingon. Then he would brutally inquire and get what he desired, without any sort of refinement or finesse but in a simple, passionate, vulgar manner.
The turbolifts' doors opened and revealed the renowned corridor that lead to engineering. Still trying to avoid thoughts of Dhani, Michael unsuccessfully attempted to shift his mind to other important and vital matters, such as their mutual task of enabling the Galaxy to 'see' again. The infamous commanding officer was about to raise the white flag, the clear sign of defeat when he decided to share his thought with lieutenant Eshe. "I am embarrassed to say...or admit, that I don't remember your face. I must be-" Jamson had a hard time "Getting old...".
“I sure as hell remember you though!” she said as they came to the doors of engineering. She stepped through as they opened and looked back at him as he seemed to ponder what she had said. She almost grinned at him before spinning back round and continuing towards the master systems display console.
'What?!' Jamson translated his headwork into a puzzled look. Was she taunting or teasing him? He didn't understand. Did she recognize him from a joint past, or incident? Maybe she served under him once, on the USS Ranger, or Station Beta II? This wasn't making any sense. 'Enough!' Jamson cried inside his mind, he had better things to do then to satisfy his own sick wishes. He was once a Starfleet captain, and with all the experience he had gained in many years of service, he couldn't let go of his emotions and stay focus on their goals. How shameful. This was pathetic, he was pathetic. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and passing his fingers across his hair was the first step of relaxing, another trick he learned from Shivok, the Galaxy's first counsellor, and Jamson's only trusted psychologist.
*Meanwhile on the Bridge*
Nara didn't look up. She just kept looking at the screen. She was left alone with this man that could break her in two if he wanted. She wanted to do that to him before he had a chance. But she had some instinct deep inside saying she better not.
Turan turned towards Lt. Roswell. Dhani left them both alone. So according to the chain of command, the Lt. was his superior. “So what do you expect me to do?” he asked her.
She closed her eyes. Even at best times, it was a bad idea to ask such a thing. She had one charge as it was, and Saia was hardly demanding. She shook her head not thinking of a better response than to snap, "I expect you to know that."
She expected him to know that? So why did she think he asked? There seemed to be something deeper – not a problem with the chain of command. This rather smelled like a personal problem. First, all looked like a personal dislike between Dhani and Nara. But now her hostility turned towards him. Turan tried to figure out why but didn't come to a conclusion. “You're not happy I'm here with you, aren't you?” he addressed her.
"I'm not happy I'm here." She grumbled in response.
“I am.” Turan explained. “I had to beg for a long time until they gave me a chance to prove useful. I think without Dhani I would still spend my day looking out the window in 10-4. I came aboard because I wanted to study starship design. They thought it would be good to find out how things are handled in deep space. The named me ambassador. But I am none. I'm a student – nothing more and nothing less. All I want is to help. So give me a chance. I swear I won’t bite.” Saying so the giant Quentite smiled. With his chin almost touching his knees he looked rather funny. And his accent – sounding like a mixture of Indian and Spanish did it’s part, too.
Nara just narrowed her eyes at him sizing him up. Maybe he was adorable, she didn't notice. She turned and said, "Whatever. Keep an eye on those levels over there." She nodded at the console next to hers.
“Aye aye ma'am” confirmed Turan. He turned towards the levels as Lt. Roswell ordered. Not really demanding task as the levels were of the standard bar-graph type. The lower part glowing in green was followed by much smaller yellow part which usually had the meaning of 'not so good'. Up most there was usually a rather small area illuminated in red – guessed. That area used to bare the meaning of 'have you ever considered to make your peace with god?' Turan's levels nevertheless didn't even threat to come close to the yellow area. - No need to avoid small talk. “So tell me, where would you prefer to be instead?” asked Turan without out leaving the levels alone for longer than the blink of an eye.
Nara sighed at the man who asked a million questions, "No where would be good."
Nara blinked and in that blink, she thought of another answer, "Home would be nice. Not as many people there."
Now, Turan sighed, too. “Agreed” he confirmed. “Sometimes I wish to be home, too. Although I have two brothers and four sisters life there felt much more peaceful to me. Before I left Quentin, anything was a big adventure to me. I dreamed to boldly go where no Quentite had gone before. Not much of that remained, I must admit. They sent me to Leran Manev – you remember? The Starship that crashed on Trill? Then there was the battle against thy Hydrans and last but not least there was this Mission at Mirusa with those strange gods who threatened to kill me. Thank you – could have lived without those experiences.” Said Turan blabbering like a waterfall.
Nara didn't look up, but there was enough for her to concentrate on where she wasn't as biting. There was still a note of irritation as she asked, "So you regret coming here?"
“Not yet” Turan admitted “I learned so much. I'm really glad they gave me the chance to be here. Somehow I get the impression you regret to be here, aren't you?”
"That's irrelevant."
“I'll take it as a yes”
Nara sighed annoyed, "That's not what I mean, smart***."
“So what do you mean?”
"Let's just say at least I'm not stuck in my memories, running around a dead Trill city or running around tunnels playing some immortal creature’s sick game." She spoke of her own adventures while being here.
***Meanwhile in Main Engineering***
Dhanishta took a moment to lean against the console, both palms flat against the glass, and sighed. It was more a release of stress than a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment she tried to work the tension form her body, mentally relaxing each muscle.
"By shutting down some of the long range sensors systems we've mentioned on the bridge, such as the warp to sub-light ion detector, we'll able to save some energy and use it to our advantage. But unfortunately that's not enough", Jamson punched a key and pointed at the screen, following some of the power distribution conduits.
Dhani opened her eyes and looked at Jamson for a moment. The way his hair curled into a slight curtain at his forehead gave him a slightly boyish look, but his eyes, his deep hazel eyes, gave him away. There was just too much emotion in those eyes, too many battles that seemed to scar his outlook. Dhani pondered for a moment what he saw when he looked at her; a woman, or possibly even a girl in his opinion, as thin as a rake and then some, bedraggled and disbelieved, unattractive, ugly. She hated the way she looked now. Gone was her athletically toned figure, gone was radiant completion. When she looked in the mirror she didn’t recognise the woman she saw. Every morning it was like waking up to a stranger. Her body didn’t move with the grace it used to, she didn’t have the strength that she had spent years in training to get. She felt pathetic, she felt angry, and yet somehow unjustified in her emotions. It was her fault that her body had wasted away to skin and bones, wasn’t it? She forced herself into a coma… didn’t she? Dhani frowned as her mind riddle itself with useless questions. There was no point to it, except for the art of self destruction, hell that was the one thing she was good at; beating herself up!
"So, in order to increase power for both the added EPS mini shield generators that are protecting some of the sensors, and the increased array of additional sensors that we'll be adding later, we have to start planning an extended power grid that will range from here-" Michael marked a place on the saucer section "to there".
Dhani looked down at the panel and nodded, trying to refocus her slightly distracted mind to the task at hand, “About the shield generators, how are we going to accomplish it?”
"Yes...adding more shield generators isn't practical, since we need to use either utility tugs or EVA suits, which is unacceptable at the current state of the ship. So we'll just have to increase it's range and convert other systems on the hull" Jamson answered. This sounded much better on the bridge, and with no more crew members to help them, it seemed like it was going to take them forever.
Dhani took a deep breath. Something told her that after all this work it wasn’t going to work. She took a step forward and followed Jamson across engineering to the access tunnels, wondering all the while just when she became such a pessimistic person… she used to be a JFDI kinda girl, Just Fuckin Do It! She was the one that made the impossible, possible. Always looking outside the box, never taking ‘no capin’ we just don’t have the power’ as a legitimate reason not to try.
"Yep...I'll go into the Jefferies tubes, if you don't mind" Jamson offered.
Dhani nodded slightly and then stopped, looking at him with a deep frown. Her thoughts had consumed her a little too much, “NO!” she said firmly. ~JFDI~ she thought, a determined expression crossed her sharp features, “We both will!” she told him. Before he could protest she slung her tool kit over her shoulders and crawled in.
Not sure what to do after being shoved away, politely, Jamson stood there like a sucker and observed Eshe as she moved away. He was trying to be nice, as much as he could be, and she didn't seem to get it, the right way. She was irritated at him, and this this time, apparently for no good reason. On the other hand, he somewhat admired her tenacity, standing up to others, not being subject to rank matters or feeling inferior and sometimes even superior to others as many young officers arrogantly did.
***Bridge***
“Do you think I am stuck in that Leran Manev adventure?” asked Turan.
"Obviously not, considering you're standing right there."
Turan turned towards the Lieutenant. He didn't know what she wanted to say. Probably her answer was something like a joke. Jokes were something the transcomm was never able to handle correctly - and so was Turan – so he decided to change topic.
“I think I should devote on our task before I run the risk to violate the prime directive.” Turan's eyes refocused on the levels Lt Roswell ordered him to watch.
Nara looked at him oddly, "You're already ON a starship, dimwit. Can't violate it any more than that."
Turan didn't respond.
Nara rolled her eyes after he gave no response, "You don't act much like an adult. You remind me of Saia." With that she turned back to the console.
“How do you expect an adult to act? Probably Saia is much more an adult than you think. Is she your daughter?” asked Turan. The name Saia didn't sound as strange as it should be. Turan was sure, he heard that name before. But where? And when?
"No. But I am responsible for her." Nara replied simply, concentrating on recalibrating for the moment.
Turan glanced at his levels. “Warp is now at sub-light. Increasing the low frequency subspace seismicity sensor.” he reported.
“From the rest of the World” Part Two
Principal Characters;
Dr. Artim (Ens.) Medical Officer
Private Alliya Yhwalyan, Marine Resonance Scout. (APC)
Ensign Jeffries (NPC)
And introducing Dr. Waring (NPC) and her medical staff (NPC’s)
Previously;
With no barrier from her and the rest of the world, thoughts and feeling bombarded her in an array of pain and colour, her head felt like it was about to shatter. Her body curled tightly into a ball in ensign Jeffery’s lap. And then as all the energy was sapped from her, her body fell limp against the crimson carpet.
"Medical Emergency Deck 12 turbolift." The call came into sickbay, rousing Artim from his near sleep at his console that was displaying various test results. Within seconds a medkit was over his shoulder and he was leading two nurses down the corridor towards the turbolift.
***
As her senses began to come back to her she could feel the ebb of the fluids around her, hear the soft crescendo of a symphony of wood instruments and as strange as this sound and feeling was to the young marine for a moment it didn’t bother her.
*~*
As she began to question the randomness and nonsensicalness of those thoughts her body stretched out. She hadn’t thought about stretching out…maybe it was an unconscious act, prompted by the almost overwhelming contentment of this place. She could almost feel the barriers of the fluid itself, more like being encased in goo rather than any form of water. It almost seemed opposed to her flexing and stretching out her tentacles…
Alliya stiffened, she felt her breath still. ~Water? Tentacles?~
***
"What happened?" Artim said to the security ensign that was escorting the collapsed marine, already scanning her with his tricorder.
"Just passed out on the way down here.” He replied a little shaken. He stared down at the woman in his arms and shook his head, “Just collapsed… in my arms.”
And now the continuation:
"What’s happening to her doc?” Jeffery’s asked as he watched Artim work. If it hadn’t been for the fact that there was a collapsed marine on the table in front of him, he would have been more concerned about the size and appearance of the ‘doctor’.
Though he had been brought up not to stare at others, he would have, if not for the girl, be staring at the child in the lab coat. However with the presence of the marine and the circumstances that brought them into sick bay in the first place, the fact that the ‘doc’ was standing on a box to reach his patient didn’t bother the security officer in the slightest, in fact he barley noticed. It would be something however that he would overanalyse later on.
"She's out, but I don't know what's causing it. These readings...most unusual. Never seen anything like this before. Neurochemistry is way off...and I'm not sure what to do about it." Artim replied, puzzled.
He wasn't a neurological expert by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew enough to know that things were off here, way, way off. In some ways it was like the Vulcan’s he'd scanned earlier, but this was even stranger.
"Get Doctor Waring in here, she knows more about this stuff. That and I got a shuttle to catch.” Artim said urgently.
***
~Water? Tentacles?~
Panic began to rise in Alliya’s mind. Startled by the rising fear at the state of her own body, she opened her eyes quickly. And closed them just as quick! She had already established that she was surrounded by fluid; she just hadn’t expected it to be bright orange!
Slowly, attentively she reopened her eyes. One at first, testing the water so to speak. The brightness of the liquid faded as her eyes adjusted to the moisture. The amber …goo (?) surrounded her, she could feel it in her nostrils, inside her ears, did it fill her lungs too? Tingles of panic rushed through her body, up her spine and dispersed through the back of her head like pins and needles, warm pins and needles - incredibly unsettling; how was she able to breathe here?
Looking down through the amber haze she tried to make out what she saw; a dark blob with two points at the end that suspiciously didn't look like tentacles. Alliya couldn’t fathom for a nanosecond why she was bothered that she didn’t have tentacles! She didn’t want tentacles, she was happy with the body she had, thank-you very much!
Looking closer… she brought up what she thought were her tentacles, ~again with the tentacles~ Alliya though desperately ~hands, *I* have *hands*~ slowly focussing on them she puzzled as she listened to her mind,
~I still have hands from Terran form…~
~Well duh~ Alliya responded to the stupidity of herself, ~of course I have hands, why wouldn’t I have hands? …. Terran form… what’s that supposed to mean? When was I not Terran?~ Her frown deepened, ~What good are tentacles anyway?~ she asked randomly before the paranoia set in.
So far she had been quite calm, so now was the time to assess her situation; floating in amber goo, looking for tentacles, happy to not be around smelly humans… no, there really wasn’t a logical explanation to this…and there was nothing to shoot, not that she had a rifle on her, and well…. fuck it; panic was all that she had left!
Opening her mouth she screamed with all her might…
"Blub, blub, blub..."
She felt her breath catch in her throat, or her mind. A sensation of dread rippled through her and for a second she was mesmerised by the bubbles that floated from her mouth. And then her aspect changed as her body moved, head cocking to the side… squinting she stared at the environment that surrounded her. Everything was dark and muggy, like being stuck in a thick fog, just like the training session she had on Luna; suspended in the vacuum outside the settlement on the dark, formidable waste land surface; that had been one hell of a day. But this, this she had not trained for.
And then she heard the voice from inside, clearly, as the thoughts flowed…
~Where the hell was he? Everything about this place said he was dead, but why was he still in Terran form? Was he being punished even in death for his failings in life? Yet, here he was breathing in his purest Kelvan form in an underwater environment. Had he taken the Last Walk? But no, he couldn't remember it. The last thing he remembered was.... beaming down to Quentin with Galali and that useless counsellor.~
Kelvan? Galali? Last walk…. HE!!!!!!!!?
She felt her heart beat faster, maybe it was her heart… maybe it was a rush of blood to her head… but then this wasn’t her head… was it?
***
"What’s wrong Artim?” the middle aged female human asked as she entered sick bay.
"Neurological problem, way beyond my expertise. Looks kinda like what I found in those Vulcan’s and the kitty earlier, but there's something...odder at work here. I'm not sure what to do with it. I'm also due to go over to the station in a few minutes." Artim replied.
"Very well.” Waring replied, “Nurse,” she said turning to face her subordinates “get me 10 cc’s of Thorazine and let’s start a neurological workup.”
“Yes ma’am” the nurse replied with a curt nod.
Artim would have loved to stay and help, but he really had to get to the shuttlebay...
“You’re leaving?” Jeffery’s remarked in utter disbelief as the doctor handed over to his colleague and made his way towards the door.
"Yes, I'm leaving, or would you prefer to face Commander Dallas in my place? Don't worry, she's better then me at this sort of thing anyway." Artim said, not even turning around as he grabbed his gear and walked out of the room.
Before Jeffery could reply the doctor was gone and he found himself staring into his wake.
***
As she began to panic her body, his body (?) pushed forward….
The golden liquid enveloping her, him, them (?) still emitted its soft flowing music, relaxing, even in this alien environment. Alliya didn’t know what to think as the body kicked out against the fluid and began to move around the unfamiliar place. She stared into the amber haze, and for a moment switched off; hoping that this was maybe some strange dream. But still the body probed on, testing the boundaries of its environment. The walls, like membranes, didn’t budge as he, she, poked them with a finger, a foot and occasionally and elbow. She wondered for a moment if she were having a re-birthing experience….
The result of probing the ‘walls’ of this strange… womb(?) caused waves that coursed through to an adjoining chamber of sorts. Alliya frowned as she, he … whatever this was, flowed through on the tide. The realisation that this was not her body had long since paralysed her into a daze of slight acceptance of her situation. Like a hitch hiker she was along for the ride.
She watched through his eyes, she heard his thoughts, felt his emotions. And to her surprise found herself analysing them; He seemed calm in this place, his motion through the water, or whatever it was, was fluid, as if he had done this for years. But she, on the other hand, was screaming, she didn’t want to be here, she didn’t know how she got here, and there was nothing she could to do to get out of this place… it was like she was trapped... NO she *was* trapped… trapped in some Octopus wannabe aliens head and he was oblivious to her presence. Was he stupid? Could he not feel her? Could he not sense that something more was wrong other than the fact he didn’t have tentacles?
He swam upwards toward the top of the fabric curtain, but was stopped by the sudden image of Karyn Dallas' face floating on the other side.
Even Alliya knew that face, though she hadn’t spoken with her before. She had a feeling that after this she would be in psycho therapy for years! That’s if she ever got out of here, and that depended on where ‘here’ was!
Dallas was bobbing in the undulating waves caused by his progression into the other chamber. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared peaceful. He could only hope she was dead. He pushed again on the curtain, harder this time. The resulting current carried her away out of his sight.
Alliya wondered how anyone could wish another dead. She was a marine, but even so, she never wished another person to die. She was trained as a scout, to report her findings, though she had been given combat training, she was not the killing machine that others presumed all marines to be.
As the image of Counsellor Dallas floated away Alliya felt her heart sink. She wanted to reach out to the woman to call for help… but part of her knew that she wouldn’t hear her… couldn’t hear her. As the scenery changed, or rather went back to the amber haze, she held on to the image of the Counsellor, praying that soon she would be out of this nightmare…
Blinking slowly she half smiled as she spied the familiar sight of a bio bed beneath her, a tear rolled down her cheek, inside she smiled but it lasted for a moment as she felt her body shake….
****
Jeffery wasn’t sure weather he should stay or return to work. He paced up and down the waiting area of Sick bay like an expectant father, looking up at the nurse’s faces each time they passed him, hoping for news. Something, anything that wouldn’t make him feel guilty for staying, or going.
Suddenly there was a rush of activity in the OR. Hotfooting to the window that separated the operating room from the rest of sick bay, his nose touching the glass, he stared, mesmerised, as the body of the Marine vibrated on the table. The nurses pushed her down trying to keep her on the bio bed, first there was one, then another came and held down her legs, and then another… all the while the woman, that Jeffery’s assumed to be Doctor Waring, screaming for something that he couldn’t even pronounce.
“From the rest of the World” Part Three
Principal Characters;
Private Alliya Yhwalyan, Marine Resonance Scout. (APC)
Ensign Jeffries (NPC)
Dr. Waring (NPC) and her medical staff (NPC’s)
***
Blinking slowly Alliya half smiled as she spied the familiar sight of a bio bed beneath her, a tear rolled down her cheek, inside she smiled but it lasted for a moment as she felt her body shake….
***
Suddenly there was a rush of activity in the OR. Hotfooting to the window that separated the operating room from the rest of sick bay, his nose touching the glass, he stared, mesmerised, as the body of the Marine vibrated on the table. The nurses pushed her down trying to keep her on the bio bed, first there was one, then another came and held down her legs, and then another… all the while the woman, that Jeffery’s assumed to be Doctor Waring, screaming for something that he couldn’t even pronounce.
And now the continuation:
Alliya could feel herself shaking, she wasn’t sure why… maybe it was shock. Maybe the octopus was a dream, a weird one at that. But it was all okay now she was in sick bay they would make sure she was alright and then send her back on her way. She would be back patrolling the Galaxy’s corridors looking for murders in no time.
But the shaking didn’t stop, neither did the tears.
Alliya felt confused, where was the doctor to tell her everything was going to be okay? Where was the hypo that would calm her…. and where was her Department head? Surly she should be here, but then maybe it was for the best that her superior officer didn’t see her like this.
"You're going to have to help me with the stirrups."
The voice was so distant that Alliya didn’t know who it came from. Although the almightily trembling in the voice gave Alliya a clue that it was possibly herself. Opening her eyes she looked up into the face of the nurse that was now lifting her legs into strips.
Alliya bolted upright…. Well she tried to. But she couldn’t move. She felt the rising panic up her spine….
“What the HELL is going on” Alliya shouted.
"Of course," Anya replied softly, finishing the topical examination, slipping the final fibbers into the small evidence bags. She then draped the shivering woman with a thermal sheet before helping her into the position. Fighting her own memories raging through her consciousness, Anya concentrated on the task at hand, trying to look at it as a medical school test; as something not real in the least. It was just a test, just an exercise.
Alliya stared at the woman before her frowning deeply, “Of course’ isn’t an explanation to ‘what the HELL is going on.’” she said angrily.
But again the woman did not reply.
~She cant hear me….!~ The haunting realisation hit.
Alliya tried again to move, but still her body did not respond. With her legs spread wide, held up strips, she stared at the evidence bags in the nurse’s hand… and then looked down at her own naked body!
“What the hell happened to me?” Alliya asked, though she knew that no one could hear her. Not even she could hear herself. Alliya felt the rising sobs just itching to explode out of her. The shaking grew worse and she began to feel the chill from the air around her.
Trying desperately to make sense of this situation she heard a voice from inside her mind, ~What was it she always told people to picture during this part of the exam? Beaches? The stars?~
~Stars?~ Alliya repeated feeling the sobs wrack her body, ~Friggen stars?~ she almost shouted the anger rising. ~Is that supposed to be fucking comforting?~ Alliya screamed inside her mind.
"Almost done, Karyn." called Anya.
~Karyn?~ Alliya repeated slowly. ~Karyn? I’m not Karyn! I’m Alliya…. This isn’t me!~ the sudden overwhelming feeling of relief flowed through her and she could feel herself wanting to laugh, although she could still feel the tears flowing down her face… but it wasn’t her face. This wasn’t her body. She never felt more elated. She relaxed and breathed, happy that this wasn’t her, this wasn’t happening. She could lie here and just wait for it all to be over and soon she would open her eyes and find herself back in her own body, everything was going to be okay now, she knew it.
She found herself thinking about beaches …. Imagining herself lying on the warm sand somewhere in Reo perhaps. But as the intensity of the examination grew she found that she couldn’t focus on anything else but what was going on. There was nothing that could take away the reality of this situation, nothing that could erase this emotion, this feeling of worthlessness and humility, and above all helplessness. She felt bile writhing in the pit of her belly, the taste of dirt never left her mouth no matter how many times she swallowed.
She tried not to listen any more; she tried to switch off from it, like it wasn’t her. Well it wasn’t her, not at all, so she didn’t have to care, right?
But it wasn’t that easy.
As the nurse continued with her examination Alliya felt it, felt the rising cramps that crescendo through her abdomen. It was strange; she could hear and feel Karyn’s thoughts but she also saw it all from her own perspective, for the moment the pain she could ignore, it wasn’t her body that was being violated after all.
Stars, concentrate on the stars…. she could picture them all, glimmering against a back drop of ebony silk…. But then as the nurse began the swabs even Alliya winced. Flat on her back without the ability to move with a woman’s head between her legs… not really very dignifying. And what was worse was the fact that the examination itself was just as degrading as the prospect of rape itself. Just as humiliating and embarrassing and Alliya had to stop herself there, she didn’t want to think about it any more, if she just switched off then it wasn’t happening right?
But isn’t that what everyone thought in a situation like this? Sit back lie back and wait for it to be over?
HELL NO!
She was a marine, she had to fight she just had to!
Alliya was unsure now exactly whose tears she could feel flowing down her face in an unending torrent.
She felt her hair pull and her head snapped backwards as she sprinted, but still she pushed on, feeling the twig rake through her hair, until the last strand broke. The pain sent shivers down her spine but she didn’t stop, the blood rushed to her face and her heart beet in her chest and still she didn’t stop. The world whizzed past her in a blur, and her legs left like jelly. But she had to keep going.
Her eyes were open that much she could tell from the stream of moisture that was running from the corners of her eyes… or was she crying? The scenery continued to pass by in a blur of colour as she ran, sprinting for her life… or was she running a race? At this point who could tell?
Something with in her recognised the mountain side she climbed up, grabbing hold of anything that was hear by to help her haul her exhausted body up the hill. If she could just reach Raath Ra’Chuul, maybe she could reunite with her clan…
Alliya didn’t have time to focus on the thoughts that flowed through her mind, she tried to stop, tried to understand what was happening but her body took over.
Her eyes welled up at the thought of her clan. She looked down at her legs ... or rather what lay between; broken and torn folds of once-innocent flesh, the deep bluish-purple blood flowing down the insides of her legs.
The panic rose to a fierce pitch. Inside, Alliya was shaking and sobbing intently. But before she could calm herself to try and take note of what was going on this time, the rug was pulled out from under her….
"You're falling in love with her, Cassius," the voice spoke aloud, softly.
Alliya blinked trying to see who was talking, but all was a blur now, and again the voice changed.
He nodded, hesitantly, scratching absently the stubble that was growing around his jawline. "Yeah ... I guess I am ... At least, I think I am," he said, rolling the unfamiliar thought around in his mind. ~I love Ekoma Janx...~
Alliya heard the sound of the voice, she knew not who it came from, and as quickly as it came another did…
A dozen questions came to mind instantly, then fifty, then a hundred, then there were suddenly so many questions clamouring in his head that Victor winced and turned towards the wall as he tried to sort them out.
“I... You...." He stopped, took a breath, and pushed all the other questions away, leaving only the first one, the one he needed to know the answer to more than anything else. "You weren't lying when you said that? You... It wasn't just so I'd think someone had, before I died?"
And again the scene changed before Alliya could take a breath.
The sound of laughter echoed through the blur, a sound so happy filled with clicks and chirps. The sound of splashing water filled Alliyas ears, the gentle rhythm the feeling of weightless, and then another voice,
“Princess.”
It vibrated through the water, like a rock falling into puddle, the ripples emanating out, till they consumed everything.
And so it continued, voice after voice, situation one after another, until Alliya could no longer make out what was being said, each memory overlapped into another. Neither clear nor coherent.
And all Alliya could do was wait until it was over. She couldn’t fight what she could not see.
And then from out of the darkness another voice came. So distant, so soft like silk it uttered it words;
“I can make it stop. Give your self to me and I will make it stop…”
And Alliya did, without hesitation.
Like a snake it coiled and slithered inside her, consumed her whole. Slowly it opened its evil eyes and looked out upon the world.
“She’s waking up!” a voice called out, “Dr. Waring, she’s waking up!”
Dr. Waring looked up from the padd she was working on. She had been up half the night working on a cure for the Private. She was exhausted, rubbing her eyes and taking a slurp of her cold coffee she stood up and slowly crossed the infirmary stopping at the foot of Private Yhwalyan’s bed. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out her tricorder and began to scan the woman.
Alliyas body sat upright on the bio bed, her vacant eyes scanned the nurse and then the doctor,
“I feel fine now thank you, doctor.” Alliyas voice muttered cold and dead as the tricorder chirped.
"Questionable"
Lt. JG Cain Forrester
Chief Historian
Ens. Zev Raynor
Intelligence
Location: Holodeck 2
In the unfortunate case of Lt. JG Cain Forrester, Cain had little secondary skills. He was school in the sciences alone, and would have gotten in the way of any other department when and if he tried to help. His tasks were simple, look over the historical records of the ship in conjunction with the Library and Operations staff, and basically go about his own business.
And when he wasn't doing that, he was as bored as hell.
The holodeck...when not toying with his antics, was his best escape.
Unfortunately, while standing at the door to holodeck 2, He had trouble deciding what to do and found him standing there for half an hour just browsing programs.
Raynor who just happen to be wandering... as he often had been during his off time... best way to g! et used to a ship was just to wander its halls.
This when he saw someone standing infront of the Holodeck trying to choose a progam... Raynor passed him the first time, and thought nothing of it.
Of
course when he circled the deck eventually returning to the same spot and saw someone there still... He was about to pass him again, when he did a double take. Was it the same guy? Yea it was... What the hell is with that? Who takes half an hour to figure out what Holodeck program they want to activate...
Time for a pratical joke Raynor thought... He walked up to the man...
and
just stood there... waiting for the guy to feel him there, his presence...
And when the man finally turned to face him, Raynor simply looked him in the eye, and spoke softly yet seriously. "Don't go in the Holodeck."
Raynor didn't need to be a telepath to know what the guy ! was thinking right that second. It something along the lines of 'I don't think I should go in this holodeck'. For an instant Raynor was an angel giving a warning to a mere mortal.
Cain was indeed thinking... then shrugged it off. "Guy, PLEASE don't do that to me.."
"It's Zev, actually..." Raynor replied, laughing. "Zev Raynor. And sorry, but when you stand infront of the Holodeck for half an hour... trying to figure it out... Someone is bound to notice, and say something." Raynor explained, trying to remember this particular guys, name.
He had gone through the Galaxy's personell files, could actually place this guy in his mind. But it was a big as blur, of information, that he could recall in a pinch if it was important and urgent, but otherwise was difficult to bring up. So being the overly blunt sarcastic humourous man that he pretended to be 90% ! of the time he asked. "Is there a name I can match to your mug?" Raynor asked, taking the oppurtunity to take a step back as they were breathing in each other's faces.
"Cain Forrester, and yea, I know I've been here awhile. Not much for the Chief Historian to do with no new history to work on."
"That was a bad pun," Raynor said, noting that there was no such thing as new history to most people. But then again, "The newest history would be current events... First Contact I believe is usually a historical event of sorts, even if it happens to be with an evil of unspeakable non corporeal entity... of some sort... with whatever information the the Station happens to pick up and whatever is still in peoples memories..."
"Thats the first thing I did after I got that hole in my foot fixed."
Cain
replied...ever so slightly annoyed. Thankfully he didn't show it. "That bastard Slen s! hot me in the foot. I could tell at times he was resisting that parasite, but I know he must have enjoyed that orangish yellow deathray blasting through my pinky toe into the floor."
Thinking of nothing esle to say... one word escaped his lips sarcastically, "Ouch."
"Sorry pinky toe. You will be avenged." Cain returned to browsing.
"Hmmm...Eh, what the hell. Tranquil Garden, or some random clanwar on Andor?"
"I thought the point of the exercise was to get away from work..."
Raynor
commented. "Or do I have it wrong?"
"Thats why I'm glad I do something I enjoy. Sometimes makes it hard to tell the difference between work and play."
Continuing to browse "Hey, what about a political drama in the late 20th century on Earth."
"Why don't you revisit the political bull shit of the early 21st?"
Raynor
asked sarcastically.
"Don't you have a proctology exam to go to or something! ?" Cain was having enough of this.
"No," Raynor said, without hesistation. "But I can go that way if you prefer..."
Cain's right eyebrow twitched. He was losing. "Eh Screw this."
Raynor looked over the historians shoulder and glanced around the panel...
"There are things to screw now? Funny I don't see any screws..."
"YOU...ARE...ABSOLUTELY INFURIATING!" His face was flush red, with a vein on his forheard bugling out. He shooked a finger on his right hand, unable to speak at this point.
"That's new," Raynor observed. "Usually I'm only infuriating. No gives me the pride of being absolute in anything. Absolute power corrupts absolutely..." Raynor quietly took a mental note that it didn't take much for this historian to get annoyed. So much for being the overly polite diplomat. This was actually being kinda fun.
Cain calmed down a bit. "You pi! ssed me off on purpose, didn't you."
~prick.~
Raynor simply put his hand on Cain's shoulder and put on of his best feminine voices, bowing his head for a second, before looking him in the eye, smiling in a queer way. "Now why would I want to do that, friend?"
Cain calmed down considerably. "Eh...whatever. I'm gonna go now, Unless you have a suggestion for a program." The voice was one of half conceit, half surrender.
"Hot springs... their an old favourite, with a couple friendly women,"
Raynor suggested removing his hand, from Cain's shoulder. Apparently this guy had no probelm with being touched a little disturbing. Just slightly...
but then again, Raynor's next major plan was reading a harem romance novel to a bunch of little kids, after reciting Carlin's incomplete list of impolite things to say to the little childern on board...
Before he was out of earshot "By t! he way, guy. Don't touch me."
Apparently Raynor had turned to leave, but also apparently they were going to exchange. "That took way too long for you to notice," Raynor said once again in sarcastic tone. Then with raised eyebrows and nodding of his head slightly back and forth, he said "The ladies are talking..."
Wether or not the guy noticed, Cain flipped out an age old offensive human gesture as he walked in.
"You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet"
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Ensign Zev Raynor
Intelligence Officer
The week had dragged on relentlessly and Brian, like the rest of the counseling department, was exhausted. Without a doubt, this had been the most challenging week of his career thus far as he struggled to keep his own recovery from the encounter with the Dithparu from interfering with his duty to help others through theirs. And those others kept coming in a seemingly endless stream, some having more difficulty than others, but all touched at least in some way by what had happened.
So it was especially annoying to be wakened prematurely from a well-deserved night's sleep by a voice the counselor had never heard before.
"GOOOOOOOOOD MORNING DEEP SPACE FIVE! Hey, this is not a not a test.
This is rock and roll. Time to rock it from the Beta to the DS5.
HEY, IS IT A LITTLE TOO EARLY FOR BEING THAT LOUD? Hey, too late!
It's 0600 hours. What does the "O" stand for? O my God, it's early!
Let's get this party started."
Practically falling out of bed, Brian tried quickly to shake off the disorientation of the abrupt change in sound environment.
"Let's start this off with Freddy and the Dreamers!" screeched the voice again, now rambling on about speeds and playing some annoying song fast, slow, and every which way imaginable. Whoever it was, if this was "Freddy", then Brian was convinced that all this was not real and that he was still among the Dreamers.
But when the voice started unflatteringly mentioning Admiral Proctor by name, Brian got to his feet and ordered the computer to cut the audio to his quarters. Only partial silence returned, as the voice and its antics were still audible from the corridor.
"Computer, who *is* that?" the still bleary-eyed counselor asked.
::Voice analysis indicates the speaker is Ensign Zev Raynor."
Zev Raynor. The name sounded familiar, yet Brian couldn't put a face with it. He decided it wasn't worth trying either, and resolving himself to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep with the chaos still reverberating around the ship, flopped down in front of his comm terminal. "Computer, lights to forty percent and display my appointments for the day, please." Barely had the words escaped his lips when the computer obliged and a list of names blinked to life on the screen.
The first name on the list was Ensign Zev Raynor.
A broadcast and a breakfast later... Ensign Zev Raynor wandered around the corriodiors only a quarter expectent that there was a security partol looking for him. Apparently not yet... He should report in for duty, but there was something esle he was forgetting. Then as it hit him, he made his way to the counselor's office.
He arrived, and took a seat in the waiting room. While he was waiting he began singing 'Radio Ga Ga' by Queen loudly. His voice was fairly close to that of the original lead singer of the group, but there were slight differences between them. It wasn't so much the fact he was singing, but the fact he was doing it so loudly and boldly that threw people off. It's like he didn't see anything wrong with singing, which was close to the truth...
The truth was he didn't really care. He began to wonder how long this would take, and whether or not he would be declared insane after all this... no way to tell until he met his counsellor... Brian Elessidil. He began reviewing what he knew about his counsellor, which admittedly wasn't much, but he just thought it over as he continued to sing. He wondered when the guy's shift started...
By the time Brian had gotten to the counseling center -- earlier than usual thanks to the morning's festivities -- he'd managed to shake off his sleepiness, due at least in part to a growing curiosity about his first appointment. Hunkered down in his office, he was still engrossed in Raynor's personnel file, not surprised that someone with that kind of at least very serious, and at most tragic, background would exhibit behavior like broadcasting a shipwide one-man comedy show. The counselor was now all the more interested in meeting the man behind the voice.
Realizing it was time for the anticipated appointment, he stood ate the last two of the bunch of grapes he'd replicated as part of his breakfast. As was his habit, he cast a telepathic "glance" to the waiting area, an almost automatic reflex that for the past several days had reminded the Betazoid that there were still some physical effects left behind from the Dithparu possession and exorcism, as he had come to refer to it.
Brian stopped before reaching the door, surprised to discover that today he actually could sense the presence of a couple people outside.
The sensations were fainter, less sharp than normal, but it was a step in the right direction, and he was glad for it. If nothing else, it indicated that the condition was not permanent.
Buoyed by a much-welcomed sense of relief, he stepped into the waiting area and came eye-to-eye with the man the personnel files had confirmed was Ensign Raynor. Immediately, he could tell this was no simply ordinary individual.
"Ensign, I'm Counselor Elessidil. Care to join me?"
"I'm indifferent about it Doc," Raynor responded honestly, getting up.
Chances said this man had done his homework, and by looking at his rank, Raynor guessed he had access to the entire file. Even the small classified paragraph. This could get interesting, but he would try and answer the questions anyways.
Brian raised an eyebrow as he followed the ensign into the office.
"I'm sure you are," he said, slightly amused.
"So how you been holding up over the last few days?" Raynor asked entering the room, trying to flip the situation a little.
Counsellors were people too, and since they had been through exactly the same tramua as everyone esle onboard, he might as well try and do a mini assessment of the Commander. He had the basic Social Sciences theory as well as memories of full time counsellors from other ships to fall back on. Though he had no intention over stepping any sort of welcome in the counselling department yet, he just wanted to make sure that the person who was supposed to be helping him through whatever trauma he was supposedly experiencing, wasn't having nightmares or something.
"I'd say rather well, given what we've collectively been through,"
Elessidil answered truthfully, without saying too much. This was Raynor's session, not his; the focus of the conversation wasn't going to be turned around that easily if he could help it. The ensign's file also indicated his genetically-induced telepathic ability, something the Betazoid had already prepared for by shielding his own mind, a standard practice when counseling other telepathic individuals. He gestured to the chairs as he seated himself at one end of the couch across from them. "What have you seen among the other crewmembers you interact with? People holding up okay?"
"I interact with crewmembers now?" Raynor asked as if slightly confused, before answering bluntly. "Shit." His statement wasn't out of any stress he had been facing recently, or any particularly hatred for this counsellor, or the counselling department, but because he thought the the method of going about dealing with this situation was in short, stupid.
He began to share his observations, in ernest without the whole Space monkey routine bull crap he put on most the time. "Some people weren't holding up at all. And of those people, some weren't scheduled to see anyone for another week or two, and yet they really needed something now. Unable to book holodeck time or anything like that, and alot of friends are dead, and if their friends are alive, things aren't the same if it happens to be a telepath/non-telepath relationship. There are barriers, gaps, all that other bull shit. And others virtually unaffected. Yet for some reason they decide to do the whole crew and don't prioritize based on need, but decide to do this whole order of who gets treated randomly. How do I know this? I'm here now. Yet, you insist on using the proverbial sword of therapy and doing the one on one sessions instead of the pen, which is mightier than the sword... would a group therapy session of killed you people?" Raynor asked retorhically. He was probably missing something, but he would go along with his argument based on the assumption he was right.
"So basically things were shitty and depressing. Until this morning.
A weird unexpected shipwide transmission full of humour timed so that everyone can get some approirate ourning out of the way can do that.
Even if you don't find it funny, you find it distracting enough not to be thinking of recent tragedies, so improvements all round." He was a bit cocky about his actions, but then again, everyone esle seemed to think that using a 'sword' to try and heal everyone one at a time over the next few months on mass was going to work... Raynor had used the pen, and reached everyone all at once. And in a way he had given the entire counselling department a big screw you... which wasn't his intention. His primary objective was distraction from recent events with something more recent, and unexpected. Humour though an objective, was secondary to distracting people. Giving them something to talk about eventful, and universal to everyone on the ship. He was almost proud, of course, he was almost certain that the counsellor knew what Raynor had been up to this morning. Still, he hadn't actually said he had done it, and he knew very much that tone wasn't in itself proof of anything.
He was also beginning to remember things in this counsellor's file.
He had done alot of reading on this ship while waiting for the Saint Lawrence to become available and then the week inbetween Deep Space Nine and Deep Space Five, personell files and mission reports more than anything. Though everything eventually melded together, he still
remember useful things when he needed to. Apparently this
particular counselor had gone through a similar experience to this one not too long ago... Raynor refrained from asking it right then, because he didn't want to seem erratic. Yet. He also noted he talked too much... he would have to work on that.
"So which is it, Ensign?" Brian amiably asked. "In light of your assessment of the crew's situation, are you advocating group therapy or distraction?" It was obvious to the counselor that Raynor had a lot to say and seemed to like hearing himself say it, and Brian was more than willing to accommodate. Venting, expressing opinions, making observations, rendering judgment . . . a lot could be learned about others simply by listening to what they said and how they said it.
"It's either Zev or Raynor," Raynor insisted. "Ensign... gives that horribly
artifical feel, an impersonal touch as there about 50 or 60 ensigns on board this ship alone and though none of them are in this room with us, I do have a name." Not that he really cared about it at the moment or ever, but its easier to get things out of the way early.
"As for your whole advocating question... all four. One on One, Group therapy, Distraction, and a Powerful Message delievered by an Icon. Why limit yourself? I mean group has the power of being able to process higher numbers in one sitting, but that requires courage of many other people knowing. One on One allows for privacy, but still confronting a probelm with some expert who puts a time limit on your time together. Distraction allows one to remain anoyomous and run from the pain for a while, hitting many as well. And a Powerful message delievered by an Icon effects everyone, it allows for faith, and sometimes faith is more powerful than any other mental healer... to just believe in something. But of course you only pursue one option... one on one..."
There was a sort of silence in the air momentarily... Raynor let his words hang a little... Before asking, "And another thing, why are you asking me how the crew is doing... shouldn't you know? Shouldn't I be asking you that?" This was going to be an interesting sitting...
"Never hurts to get news from a variety of sources. Besides, I'm interested in your perspective . . . you clearly seem to have one,"
Brian answered matter-of-factly.
"You're interested, for the sake of this conversation perhaps, for the sake of identifying how this incident has affected me... But, for the sake of actually changing your method of treatment to incorporate more than one approach... I doubt it," Raynor said. He was probably going into the too much information on how his mind actually worked, but he didn't particularly care. Normally he played as the insane idiot joker space monkey... not right now though. Right now, he was being the Pariah... the outcast who didn't flow with the river. He was trying get a point across not be examined. He wasn't affected by the incident in any real significant way... he had spent nearly four days talking to the dead, Dithparu and Galaxy crew alike... getting them to face the truth of the current existence... some of those who he spoke to were still alive, yet he still had a copy of them because they had come close to death.
He needed counselling, he wasn't denying that... but he just didn't need it for this incident... others should be higher on the list...
his 'problems' could wait another two weeks. Raynor wondered for a second if he was being selfless or if he simply hated counselling sessions. Then he rubbed it off and waited for a response.
"You're right about one thing, Zev," Brian replied, using the man's name as he'd indicated he preferred. "I am interested in knowing how this incident has affected you. I've read your file; I know a little about your past and the unique abilities and point of view that have grown out of it. But despite all the insistence to the contrary that I'm sensing from you, you've been affected; your demonstration this morning and the strong opinions and concern you've expressed about how the matter is being addressed collectively only make that clearer," he calmly insisted. "So let's get past the obfuscation and righteous indignation and really talk about how it's affected you; not me, not everyone else, but you."
The counselor unwaveringly held the door open and would wait as long as necessary for Raynor to walk through it, even if he went kicking and screaming the whole way.
[OOC: Takes place two days after Sojourners ends, and before Saul departs to Sakaria.]
-------------------------
"All is Well"
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Lt. jg Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer
With a sigh, Elessidil entered his office. "No, no lights," he said to the computer as it responded to his entrance by dutifully illuminating the room as he had programmed it to do. He wanted to stay in the dark for awhile; it helped him think.
If he was going to be entirely honest with himself, he had to admit wasn't sure he really wanted to be here right now. He wasn't even sure he *should* be here right now, but Karyn seemed to feel otherwise, and she wasn't simply a very capable counselor, she was his closest friend on the ship; she wouldn't expect anything of him that she knew he couldn't handle.
Yet the memories, the images continued to flood his mind and distraction hardly seemed possible. As he walked to the viewport to stare out into the blackness beyond, he was barely even aware there were stars out there. All he seemed to be able to see were the scenes that played and replayed endlessly in his head, the images of the officers he had killed -- no, that *It* had killed, he tried to remind himself again. Four of them never even had the chance to react, a sickening thought in and of itself but one that offered a minuscule shred of comfort: at least he didn't have to feel their surprise, their fear, before they died. And as he said to Lieutenant Grey at Ensign Renker's memorial, he didn't think they suffered.
But Nurse Mehl was a different matter, and it was his death that plagued Brian the most. He had felt the other man's shock at the counselor's entirely unexpected actions. He felt Mehl tremble as he held him against the cabinet in the supply room off sickbay. He felt the man's breath on his face as he stood close enough to whisper words that were meant to instill terror . . . and it had worked, far better than Brian would ever have thought himself capable of.
Suddenly, the counselor grabbed his head with both hands as if he could squeeze the memories from his mind. But they weren't going anywhere. Not for a long time. For a good ten minutes he stood in the darkness, tears flowing anew as he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth and begged any benevolent force, natural or supernatural, to make it all stop.
Gradually, he regained his composure. He had to, not just for his own sanity, but for the sake of the people he needed to be working with.
It was going to be difficult, no doubt, and he still wasn't sure if being temporarily unable to sense the thoughts and feelings of others was a blessing or a curse. But in the end, it didn't matter. He still had a job to do and maybe it was that alone that would get him through this difficult time.
"Computer, who's my first appointment?" he asked quietly.
::Lieutenant Saul Bental is scheduled for counseling in fifteen minutes.::
"Fine . . . bring up the lights, please -- fifty percent." As a feeling of warmth came over the room, Brian walked over to one of the chairs that faced the sofa, sat down, and waited, mentally preparing himself to get out of his own head long enough to help someone else.
Fifteen minutes later precisely, Saul Bental strode into the room. He greeted Brian in a strange language, which translated immediately to 'Peace', and sat on the sofa. Unknown to Brian, he was tempted to increase the lights, but instead he just beamed at the Betazoid counsellor.
The sooner it'll be over, Saul Bental reckoned, the better.
"You seem almost pleased to be here, Lieutenant," Brian commented, observing the other man with a mild expression of curiosity.
Saul shrugged. "That's just the usual me."
The counselor grinned in response, then moved on. "So welcome to 'The Day After', he began, leaning forward and looking squarely into Bental's eyes while resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. "How did it all play out for you?"
"I assume," Saul said carefully, "that you are talking about the Dithparu takeover attempt."
"Mm-hm."
Saul contemplated for a short while. "Well... it played out OK, I gather. I wasn't possessed, since I'm not a telepath. I was on the station, and near Taru - the highly-telepathic alien, which eventually eradicated the Dithparu - so I was relatively safe. I had to exchange shots with possessed crewmen, but I don't think any long-term damage was done to either side. I suppose it could've gone much worse."
"'Taru' . . . Doctor Artim mentioned that name, Lieutenant, but I don't know anything about him. Would you mind filling me in?"
"No problem."
Saul quickly summarized all the dry information they now had on Taru.
His origin, his vendetta against the Dithparu, the way his strong psychic abilities lured all the Dithparu, and finally his self sacrifice, using himself as a mental weapon of mass destruction.
At last, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place for the counselor, the "presence" his possessor had felt and so desperately sought. If Bental's description was even partly accurate, it made sense why the Dithparu wanted him so badly.
"Sorry to digress . . . so you were at the scene of what could be described as the climactic event, and 'relatively safe' as well.
Sounds like you were rather fortunate on both counts . . . I imagine you saw some others who weren't?"
"We were attacked by possessed crew members. When Taru... mentally exploded, me and Doctor Artim could see that they were in great pain.
There were also the corpses of DS5 personnel, scattered throughout the starbase like..."
The images of the dead he saw on sickbay and in the corridors surfaced, and Saul felt something block his throat. He suppressed the urge to throw up. He didn't think of the corpses up until now. It was worse than any horror movie. Empty eye sockets, exposed bones and internal organs, missing limbs, splattered brain tissue, and above all the reek of death.
"It wasn't a plea sent sight," Saul said, keeping a straight face.
"No . . . it never is," Brian solemnly agreed. If he served in Starfleet for another thirty years, the counselor would never get used to those kinds of scenes . . . or the effect they had on the men and women who had to witness them. "Was this your first experience with that kind of carnage, Lieutenant?"
Saul seemed to be a little uncertain about where his hands should be.
One moment they were on his knees, the next on the sofa. Right now his arms were folded defiantly.
"No, it wasn't. I think the worst I saw was on Trill. After the Akula crashed into the capital, we went planetside to both investigate the crash and assist the poor Trill in need of help. It was... an unpleasant sight as well. But someone had to go down there and-- SHIT!!"
Saul bolted upwards, a look of shock on his face. "Ben zona!! Ani lo maamin!! Eize idiot!"
A stream of curses in Dutch, Hebrew and Tellarite followed these initial obscene droplets.
Elessidil's eyebrows raised slightly at the peculiarly sudden display
-- not quite enough to indicate surprise, but something more like amused curiosity.
Instead of a response, the Tactical Chief tapped his commbadge.
"Bental to Yuuri."
=/\= "Konnichiwa Saul!"=/\=
"Nyoko, I need you to get in touch with our Chinese friend from the inner circle, you know which friend. See what you can find out about McCauley."
Nyoko's response was in Japanese, and it gave a fair fight to 'Ben Zona' and the rest. The Comm went dead soon afterwards.
Saul dropped back to the sofa, his face slightly red and... blue?
That was strange, but not the strangest thing that happened in the last minute, the counselor reckoned.
"McCauley, that son of a bitch, how could I have forgotten?" Saul murmured, slapping his forward. He inhaled deeply to calm himself down, and looked at Brian.
"Sorry you had to see this, sir. There was a duty which I neglected, and I just recalled it. I guess it was forgotten with all that happened the past several days."
A somewhat bemused expression remained on the counselor's face. "I've seen worse, Lieutenant. Would you perhaps like to clue me in a little more? Have recent events overcrowded some of your mental real estate or should I be concerned that you're becoming delusional?" he asked calmly, mostly in jest, but maybe not entirely.
"My "mental real estate" is an anti-proton-weapons-bunker, as always.
It just irritated me greatly for forgetting this issue due to recent events. It's really important, you see."
Saul decided to give the counsellor something to chew on, in order to prevent him from digging further. "It has something to do with the people who crashed the Akula onto Trill, and the matter is obviously top-secret and VERY delicate. With your permission I will discuss it no further."
Brian smiled. "I have no interest whatsoever in top-secret information . . . only *your* secrets," he joked. "But I gather that event had some impact on you, judging from your apparent discomfort at discussing it," he said, referring to Bental's hand shifting earlier.
You've seen some fairly significant events, Lieutenant, ones that many people wouldn't be able to handle at all, yet on the surface you appear to handle it well. I guess I'm curious about what's going on underneath."
"That's your job," Saul shrugged, not for the first time during the session. "I won't lie and tell you there was no impact at all.", It would also not be prudent to lie to the Betazoid. That's also why Saul told him about the Akula investigation. Avoiding truth is harder to detect than telling a lie. "I consider myself less spoiled than most officers my age, but still, as I said, The station wasn't a pleasant sight. Luckily, unless the Triad decide to wage war on us, I have several months now to take it easy. I even consider to take a vacation for a couple of month and visit my... girlfriend's... homeworld with her. If you have any other suggestions on how to relief the last mission's stress, I'm all ears."
"Talk . . . write, draw, yell, cry," Elessidil offered. "Anything that'll give you an opportunity to let out some of what you're experiencing inside as a result of everything you've seen." He regarded Bental pensively for a moment. "You've done a good job at describing your experience, reducing it to a cerebral account for the most part, but I'm not convinced you're really allowing yourself to feel much of it. It's emotional avoidance that I'm most concerned about with you, and I'm wondering if maybe you're afraid of connecting with your own difficult emotions."
"I know that you're not going to like what I have to say... but I don't feel that I need to write, draw, yell or cry. I can try doing it, but I will keep thinking 'I'm doing this because Brian - Brian, right? - asked.'. I sincerely don't know how effective it would be."
"If it gets you at least thinking about it on some level, I'll take that for now. Here's what I'd like you to do. Spend some time alone, talk with a good friend, go on that trip with your girlfriend, explore as many opportunities to look at what's really going on deep inside as possible. I want you to get out of your head and dig a little deeper, Lieutenant. Counseling will help you work on that but I'm not going to try to beat it out of you here today. Go do some work on your own for awhile, then let's meet again to see where you are."
"I'll do that," Saul nodded. "I... faced hardships and uneasy conditions in the past. I'm no certified psychologist, but I think that I've developed pretty good mechanisms for dealing with uneasy situations. What I'm saying is, that you really shouldn't worry about me. I can handle it much better than most of the crew, and I'm probably one of the more stable officers you'll meet on board."
"You may be right . . . and if you are, then no harm done. But it's my job to 'worry' about you. This is just something that I'm seeing
-- or not seeing, as the case may be. Consider it a challenge, an opportunity perhaps to add another layer to your copy strategies. So while we're on the subject, what would you say *are* your pretty good mechanisms for dealing with uneasy situations?"
Saul contemplated this for a while. "Taking things in proportions, I guess. Realizing that some things can be changed, and some things can't. And doing the best with what you got. Sure, Deep Space 5 looked like a 20th. century horror movie with extra budget for gory props, but even though it was disgusting to look at, the only thing I could do to change was to prevent the Dithparu from causing more carnage.
And that's exactly what I did."
Once more, Saul shrugged his shoulders. "So there's no reason to dwell on the mutilated corpses. You can go 'oy oy oy' and you can act. I chose the latter."
He seemed done, and then he added his mouth to speak once more. "There are thousands of billions of sentient beings in this mere Galaxy alone. Bad things happen to many of them. If I concerned myself with every person that ended up injured or dead, what kind of life that would be? And just because I saw these specific corpses, it doesn't make sense for me to have, say, nightmares about them and not about Bajorans that I never met and that were tortured in the Cardassian labor camps, or my Jew ancestors that were posioned to death in the gas chambers of the Nazis during the Terran World War II."
He spoke probably more than he spoke in any other counselling session he ever participated in, even when summing all together, but perhaps it would make Brian understand his point of view. He thought that it was right, and since the counselor was a Betazoid and therefore was probably possessed during the Dithparu's mutiny attempt, it might help HIM accept what happened as well.
Mildly surprised that he'd managed to hang in with this first session since coming back to duty, Brian decided that it was probably best to leave well enough alone for now. Lieutenant Bental had his way of dealing with things and while it seemed reasonable and effective enough on the surface, the counselor wasn't entirely ready to endorse it without reservation.
"Your emotional self-control is admirable, but I'm not going to let you off altogether just yet," he said in a half light-hearted, half serious way. "Just see if you can spend a *little* time over the next few weeks trying some of what I've suggested. As I said, it can't hurt you." He sighed lightly, wondering how Bental did it -- or if he really was doing it at all. Without use of his telepathy yet, there really was no clear way to confirm. "Emotions can be very powerful, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. Stronger people than you have had what was trapped inside ultimately catch up to them with disastrous results. Let's just be sure all's as well as it seems."
"No worries.", Saul said, as he stood up. "I'll do as you suggest; It can't hurt, I suppose. It's been nice talking to you, counsellor Brian."
Elessidil watched the younger man leave and pondered the deception inherent in appearances. To all the world and even to himself, Saul Bental appeared to have everything under control, even in the most trying of circumstances. Maybe he really did; Brian wasn't sure so he chose to err on the side of caution.
Conversely, he hadn't really applied such caution in his own situation. Here he sat, after his first counseling session since the horrible Dithparu experience, feeling that he had managed to get himself together enough to do his job, yet it was by no means clear that he was truly ready to just move on with life. His mind still remained plagued by the nightmarish memories. He still was without his natural telepathic and empathic abilities. Nothing had really returned to normal for him, yet he'd just spent the last half hour or so helping someone else figure out what was normal and what was not.
Maybe for both of them everything was just as it should be for now.
"One Tough Customer" -- pt. 1
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Lt. j.g. Cora Dobryin
Chief Intelligence Officer
Cora made her way to the Counseling offices. After recent experiences she wasn't sure if she was ready to bare her soul to anyone but command had made it an order. It gave her far too much time to think while waiting to find out which Counselor had been assigned to her case.
He couldn't say dealing with the endless flow of personnel was getting easier, but at least Brian wasn't dreading facing his next appointment as he had been earlier in the week . . . at least not as much.
Watching the time tick away from the fifteen-minute break he had between sessions, he had the computer confirm the name of the next person. After dealing with Zev Raynor, he wasn't sure he was up for another Intelligence officer.
Standing up for a full stretch, the assistant chief counselor finished his mineral water, straightened his uniform, and went to the door of his office.
When it slid open, he poked his head out into the counseling department's waiting area.
"Lieutenant Dobryin?" he asked, managing a bit of a smile for the small-statured woman who patiently, and somewhat rigidly, sat outside his door. He made an effort to hopefully help her relax a little. "I think it's your turn."
As she stood Cora simply nodded, "That's me." It was easy to tell she was more than a bit nervous about this impending session.
"Can I get you something to drink, Lieutenant?" Brian asked as they entered his office.
Cora answered, "A fruit juice will be fine, thank you."
"Why don't you go ahead and make yourself comfortable?" he suggested, indicating the cluster of "comfy" chairs and couch gathered at one end of the room. As he made his way to the replicator he decided to familiarize her with "the procedure" in an effort to make her feel a little more at ease. "Like pretty much everyone on the ship right now, I know you may not necessarily be here because you want to be, Lieutenant, and that's perfectly okay," he said with a chuckle.
"Nobody necessarily likes mandated counseling sessions, but sometimes they're a good idea -- especially after the kind of experience we've all just been through," he added in a more serious tone.
"Recent events don't make it any easier but I've never been a fan of anyone meddling in my head," Cora responded still more than a bit chilled anytime she let herself think about what had transpired and what she'd learned about herself.
"A nasty little rumor, that whole 'meddling in the head' thing," Brian commented amiably as he returned with a glass filled with rich, deep-purple currant juice for Dobryin and some more mineral water for himself. He strategically seated himself on the chair next to hers, rather than across from her on the couch. "Do you think you might be able to trust me if I promise not to meddle in any way, Lieutenant?"
he asked, crossing his legs and taking a sip of his water. "I have no vested interest whatsoever in altering whatever's going on or not going on inside your mind. You might, however. My job is just to help you see it all more clearly and decide for yourself what and how you want to change anything, if you come to the conclusion that any changes are necessary.
Does that work for you as a kind of 'professional disclaimer'?"
For a moment she just looked at him, "Easier said than done, Counselor. So I'm here let's get this over with."
Brian casually sipped some more of his water. The lieutenant, it seemed, preferred to call the shots rather than having them called for her. So be it. He could work it either way. "Fair enough," he replied. "No disagreement here. The sooner we get started, the sooner we finish. Where would you like to begin?"
"Aside from the fact I'm here because I have to be I'd say anywhere since I don't know what you're looking for or why its suddenly become mandated for me to be here." As an Intel officer she'd participated in more than the usual amount of psych evals. Many debriefings in her career had been closer to a mind rape than anything. It left her with lots to think about but only recently did Cora begin to see exactly why Intel had taken such an interest in her.
The high ESP ratings had also left her extremely vulnerable to the Dithparu.
Being possessed was one thing but turning true rage and life long hate on Commander Henderson, even though he hadn't been himself either was something totally different.
"It isn't just you," he gently replied, sensing the emotions that churned somewhere far beneath the hardened exterior. He understood her not wanting to be here, feeling forced to delve into the memory and affects of an experience that she and so many others of the crew would have greatly preferred to forget. But he knew at least as well as any that it wasn't all going to conveniently go away, and that pretending the trauma didn't exist wouldn't weaken it but would only allow it to intensify, unchecked. "This happened to everybody; we were all affected in some way by it, some more directly than others but affected nonetheless. And if we don't collectively get what it's done to all of us out in the open none of us will ever heal.
So Lieutenant, please, just give me a little trust . . . not because it's 'mandated', but because whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you're just as much a victim of this as any of us, and remaining a victim will only rob you of your control over your own healing." He paused for a moment, hoping that what he was saying would reach her even to some small extent.
"I'm not looking for anything; it's actually you who need to be doing the looking, at images, thoughts, feelings and whatever else you take away from this hellish experience."
Silent for a moment Cora finally let out a sigh, "I'm afraid it extends beyond just finding I was vulnerable to the Dithparu. What I know now changes everything. If it was just the trauma of our recent mission that would be one thing..."
Brian listened to her statement with interest; there was something obviously that she was afraid of or at least uncomfortable delving into. Those were usually precisely the topics that needed delving into.
"What do you know that changes everything?"
"Until this I didn't realize that my ESP scores are high enough to have made me vulnerable to the Dithparu," she paused, "Then the entity within me forced me to kill or be killed. As a result I've spent the last 4 months recovering from a spinal injury. One that Commander Henderson is responsible for or at least his body since he wasn't actually in control of it at the time but I'm not sure that makes a difference cause I wasn't in control of mine either. Yet I do vividly remember waking up in sickbay fully aware of being myself again."
Though he instantly sympathized with the young woman, having experiencing the horror of killing five people himself while possessed by the Dithparu, Brian reminded himself to keep his interaction with Dobryin professional.
He knew perhaps better than anyone that what she said was true: the experience changed everything for anyone who lived through it. But as much as a part of him wanted to reach out and put his arms around her, he would serve her best by being her counselor, not her friend. It wasn't impossible they could end up as friends someday -- not as absurd a notion as it seemed, after all, he'd become close friends with an equally tough and resistant Alia Drakely years ago after being her counselor -- but that was not his role now, if ever.
"Did you *feel* like yourself again? And what about Commander Henderson -- how do you feel about him?"
Cora shrugged, "I'm not sure I really know what myself is any longer.
Maybe it makes more sense if I say I *feel* like I have some control Back, like I can do what I want when I want. But am I myself? That I don't know.
Right now I couldn't tell you how many were injured or killed by actions while I was possessed. What it took the Dithparu to get to its ultimate goal." She paused as a deep sigh escaped, "My dealings with the Commander are complicated, they always have been but currently things are awkward between us and I don't know how long that will last. It makes doing what I do even more complicated but I'm not about to walk away from my job...I can't."
"And I don't suspect anyone would want you to, Lieutenant. But the relative feeling of control following possession can be illusory.
While that control may allow you to bury some unpleasant emotions, your understanding of your own nature will erode from within because of it." He paused, a serious look in his dark eyes. I know, because I experienced it myself."
"To be blunt having no control over things sucks, I don't see that there are any alternatives. You say I can't just ignore it forever yet I don't want...and frankly don't care to relive the gory details."
"And to be blunt in return, that's entirely the point. You gain more real control in the long run by letting go of the false control in the short run.
Same thing for reliving the gory details. Any damage caused by reliving them consciously now pales in comparison what can result from reliving them subconsciously."
Cora just looked at him for a long moment but said nothing. Maybe he was partially right but she hated this...all of it.
“Total Blank”
Primary Character;
Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe
Also featuring the voice of Lieutenant (Jg) Michael McDowell
The room was silent except for the slight sniffing and the occasional sigh. Sighs of frustration, sighs of sadness, sighs of guilt.
Curled tightly in her sweaty palm was a five day old used tissue, ragged and torn with a huge hole in the middle. Not so good for blowing your nose in, but it still caught a tear or two. She had folded it, scrunched it, rolled it up and flattened it out, and started all over again through her moments of contemplation, frustration and anger. It was a marvel that there was anything left but threads.
“Dhani…?” a voice called through the door, “Dhani are you in there?” accompanied by a vigorous rapping. “Dhani!” his voice pitched into a painful whine.
She could feel him sigh with disappointment. Feel, not hear or see, but feel. She could imagine him on the other side of the door, that dejected and hurt look across his face, as he slumped his shoulders and walked away. Quite likely glancing back at the door to catch a glimpse of any movement inside.
But she kept still. Pulled her knees up to her chest and the duvet around her shoulders and did nothing, said nothing. Her eyes didn’t even look towards the door, just stared at the wall before her.
Would he ever get the point? She was not coming out and that was…. Would the wall ever get interesting? It was that dammed shade of grey; the dull one. As if grey could be anything but dull. But it could be, it could be interesting, it could be light and slightly cheery, but no this was Starfleet standard issue and that equals; dull.
Time trickled by like sand through the hour glass. It kept turning, kept flowing, but the answers didn’t.
Was she asking the right questions?
Could she analyse it one more time?
Could she?
A week had passed since a strange entity had taken over the crew, most of them, some of them…. Dhani wasn’t really sure. Everything was a blur at the moment, or maybe that was the moisture in her eyes, or maybe she had gone cross eyed from staring at the same four walls for a week.
She remembered waking up in sick bay; she remembered the screams of the other patients as they came too, or were brought in. Remembered the looks on their faces; haunted looks. Traumatised. Violated. Memories and actions etched into their souls that would never be erased. She knew what they had done. She heard each confession as she stared into their pained eyes.
She remembered the suspicious glances she received as she left sick bay, and the ones that she had given out as she walked back to her quarters, arms wrapped so tightly around herself that her face turned red, and then a slight shade of blue.
And that’s where she had stayed for a week. Alone in her room. She couldn’t remember when Michael returned. He had called for her several times, even screamed at her through the door. But still she had not ventured out, and he never ventured in. That was a boundary she was glad he couldn’t cross, wouldn’t cross.
For an entire week she sat alone analysing her actions. Going over and over what had happened until her eyes burned and her head hurt.
And still nothing came to her. No answers, no rhyme or reason as to why.
Why she couldn’t remember.
She had gone to replicate food several times but found that she didn’t have an appetite, consequently five days worth of food sat on her bedroom floor, rotting. Cold cups of tea littered her night stand, plates of crusty toast with blobs of jam decorated the floor. And Dhani just stared at it, with neither the inclination or desire to eat any of it or clean it away.
She felt like a prisoner inside her own room. She did not know what she had done, did not know if she had hurt anyone, did not remember a thing and it scared her more than the prospect of murder itself. If she stayed inside her quarters then she didn’t have to face anyone, she didn’t have to remember or feel guilty.
Her computer beeped again. Yet another message from O’Shea she expected, or maybe medical or even the counsellors.
Slowly Dhani stood up pulling the *light* grey jersey cardigan she had worn all week tighter across her chest. Sliding the chair out from her desk she flicked the computer screen on and sat down, quickly drawing up her knees to her chest. Over the last few days she had felt more comfortable being in a ball, something secure about being small, having all your extremities close to you.
Slowly her computer blinked into action, it had been on standby for a week and was running on half power. The message displayed, it was from counselling. Everyone was to attend mandatory counselling sessions, by order of the Captain.
Dhani shrugged her shoulders. Couldn’t hurt she supposed. She typed her response. She would go but she would take the latest possible appointment. There were others out there that needed the counselling more, those that had killed their husbands with a fork. Those that had terrorised small children and played slice and dice in the school room. Those children (that now had a completely valid reason to play truant) and many more she expected.
They were the ones that needed solace, needed comfort and reassurance, needed to keep the nightmares at bay, the guilt lifting off their shoulders.
Those that could remember would probably trade their own lives to be in Dhanishtas shoes.
OOC - sorry folks we never got to really conclue this series of JP's but i thought it better out than in. sorry for the huge, yeah really huge delay in these. from the last mission i am finished with back posts for all those that are getting their panties in a bunch! ;-)
“Searching through the static” Part Four
Lieutenant (Jg) Dhanishta Eshe - Engineer
Lieutenant (Jg) Naranda Sol Roswell - Engineer
Turan Trelar Quentite Ambassador – Engineer trainee, under supervision of Lt Eshe
Lieutenant Michael Jamson - Operations Officer
(This is set directly after the Engineering department JP “Scooby Gang”)
“NO!” Dhani half shouted, “You’re doing it all wrong...” sighing loudly she pushed in front of him taking over. She began to bite the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from saying something she would regret. She couldn’t stand his male attitude, he was better than her because he had a penis! Stupid prick, she thought, how dare he, she had been fixing things since she was a child, hell she could recite every single part of the schematic for this stupid ship with her eyes closed, and he was an operations officer… why couldn’t he just stick to what he was good at... like doing NOTHING… hell that’s all they did up there in ops, drink raktajino and sit around eating doughnuts!
"Ok...ok!" Michael muttered. Dhani was being bossy, and insisted doing everything herself, something Jamson couldn't stand. Social interactions were never his strong side, but he did consider himself to excel in team and work relations with his co-workers and colleagues. "I'm simply trying to ease your job" he tried to move aside from the opened console let her work, "Using a magnetic probe would extend the whole process, but it would prevent future mishaps".
Dhani turned sharply to him, her dark eyes boring holes into him, “*I* am the engineer here, *not* you! Got it?” she told him forcibly, rather than asking him.
"I know you're the Engineer, but I believe I can contribute more than just your every day operations officer" Michael tolerated the lieutenant's condescending behaviour for the time being. Eshe was very annoying, and yet Michael found himself somewhat captivated by her. He was still trying to figure out where she knew him from and cut her some slack because of what he saw earlier. She was clearly angry at lieutenant Roswell, and must have held it all in. Now it was coming out, a drop at a time. If she was simply another engineer, a working bee in the hive called Galaxy, he would have pushed her away a long time ago and make his stand. He was a Starfleet captain once and would never accept such an arrogant attitude.
“FINE” Dhani shouted at him throwing the tool down the tube, “You bloody do it then!” her nostrils flared as she glared at him. For a moment she contemplated hitting him, but then that would be very productive would it? She pushed her sleeve up for what felt like the millionth time. In utter frustration she unzipped her duty jacket, yanked it off her torso and threw that down the tube as well. It didn’t have the satisfactory clanging noise like the other had as it bounced off the walls, in fact her jacket didn’t even bounce it just slid, and not that far either…. And that was infuriating too. Dhani raked a hand through her messed hair, she was too hot, too irritated and totally unfocused and getting more pissed off by the second… hell even Jamson’s heavy breathing was annoying…. If she choked him he would be quite…. She almost lunged for him but caught her self, by grabbing hold of the wall and turning back to the panel with its guts spilled over the deck. She stared at the mess before her, eyes glazing over the pile of isoliner chips and into a slight dream world, where Jamson was lying broken on the deck, Roswell never existed and the world was rosey everyone was happy and the USS Galaxy was a garbage scouring ship and never ran into time warps or battles or stupid planets, no one died and she was never in a nine month coma!
With their bickering and Dhani's ranting, it was becoming much too hot inside the tube. Jamson was about to adjust some of the environmental controls and when Eshe took her jacket off and threw it away. At first he thought it was going to hit him, but it simply slid from the walls and fell aside. 'That's real mature' he thought to himself, as he leaned forward to the panel and finish their sensor adjustment.
This was taking way too long. Looking back at the angry and frustrated lieutenant, and caught a glimpse of her body. What happened next dazzled the once honourable warrior. A famous Klingon design, a brand was seared into her flesh, on her upper right arm. Staring at her hand, still amazed, he started searching his mind for that beautiful mark he's seen before. Thoughts accompanied with images from his passed, rushed through his mind at unbelievable speed. In his head, the process was similar of standing inside an endless tunnel that was swirling with thousands of colourful, some familiar, other repressed, memories from his life. Looking astounded around him, he tried to follow with his conscious and sort some of the sights out, but couldn't it was much too fast for him. The tunnel didn't slow down, but at the horizon, if there was one, a small image, wandered close, still unfamiliar. Focusing on that image, he was able to bring it closer and closer...until...."Eureka!!!" he snapped.
Dhani looked up, “Now what?” she asked in a dull, aggravated tone.
"I've met you before....! Now I know where" He sighed with his eyes finally finding some relief.
“Well bravo for you!” she said sarcastically, distracted by the mess before her.
"It was at the turbolift, a long time ago, I don't remember exactly when it was." Sight from the past now filled his mind, both of them standing alone in the turbolift. She was wearing a tight red suit, possibly gymnastics suits.
Dhanishta stopped and looked at him. She could remember clearly their first meeting, the heat, the passion. She sighed and turned back to the open panel, there was nothing between them now, not that she wanted there to be, but still it rang home to her even more just how much she had changed. This stranger had practically jumped her when she met him, and now there was nothing but the cold air between them. She shook her head and blinked back a tear.
“We should really get on with the modifications.” She replied in a soft tone, her voice almost wavered threatening to expose her emotions, but she managed a swift recovery. Moving past him she crawled down the tube to retrieve her jacket and the tool she had thrown down there.
"The Lioness"
Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer
Ensign Nieca Re'yol
Assistant Chief Tactical Officer
The Chief Tactical Officer read line after line as they appeared on the screen. His finger moved, almost independent from its owner, and cycled another paragraph and then another. The file was the personal dossier of his appointed right hand, Ensign Rey'ol. And its content was most unexpected.
The Dutchman cursed himself for waiting so long before reviewing his subordinates' files. He actually appointed roles before thoroughly assessing each and every one's strengths and weaknesses. A rookie's mistake. One that Nieca, if their roles were reversed, probably wouldn't have done.
"Two children... lema'an hashem.". Saul wasn't used to working with people who actually had families of their own. Back on Utrecht III, any merchant that did pursue the unprofitable path of building a home and heading a family, remained quiet about it; And in his past posts, those who were at the same level with him were too young or too devoted to work to actually be married; Much like Saul himself.
Nieca wasn't only married. She was also divorced, ventured out of Cait - for the benefit of her family, not to escape it like Saul did - served for over ten years in the fleet, and was awarded six decorations.
If Saul ever questioned Commander Henderson's judgment in appointing an Ensign as Assistant Chief and not one of the department's Lieutenants, the reasons were now obvious.
In fact, her promotion was much less questionable than her department head's.
Saul finished reading the final paragraph just as Nieca entered the room. He quickly shut down the display.
"Come in."
The Caitian stalked into the CO's office, there was something eerie about how Caitian carried them. It was a graceful, fluid movement much like a skilled dancer yet something dangerous seemed to lurk below the surface. Muscles remained tensed in such a way that they reminded all, of the powerhouse of a creature that hid behind the elegant frame.
She gave him a small smile, Nieca did her best to hide the large teeth more for his comfort then her own.
"Good evening Lt. Bental." Her rich deep voice cooed.
Saul smiled at her cordially. "Erev tov, Nieca, please seat down."
Rey'ol quickly sat in the chair across from, she quickly crossed her legs. Saul noticed the unusual anatomy of her feet which resulted in them always being bare.
"This is an introductory interview... scrap the word interview. It's a formal chat. I really want to get to know the people I'll be working with, especially my TAG leader. So, instead of asking irritating questions, I'm actually going to let you do the talking." Smiling mysteriously, Saul interlaced his fingers behind his head.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" She pulled out a long thin cigarette that was deep purple in color, before he could reply she lit it and inhaled. Surprisingly the fragrance was sweet and herb-like, it reminded him of sage.
She exhaled the perfumed smoke before making eye contact with Saul once more.
"I used to smoke myself, but only because I had to. So if it makes you feel comfortable.", Saul shrugged. In fact, he wasn't very happy with someone smoking in the office, even if the fragrance wasn't as foul as some of the things he used to smoke. Assuming that Nieca had the good sense not to smoke on regular duty, he let it go.
"So what makes you a good commanding officer?" Nieca decided to take things slow with Bental, he didn't seem to be the kind of man who liked things rough.
The first answer that came to Saul's mind was 'Nothing'.
The second one took a couple of moments to compile in his mind.
"This is my first permanent command post, so I don't think it would be fair to say what MAKES me good just yet. I'll tell you what should make me good,
though."
He leaned forward, the hands moving from the back of his head to the desk.
"First, unlike most officers with my service record, I have some experience with people OUTSIDE the narrow world of Starfleet and the Academy. Therefore, when working with - not above, WITH - people, I have no problems to do things which would most suit those people, even if it's outside the box. For example, give me three other department heads who would allow their assistant to smoke on during an intake interview."
He grinned, observing her closely.
She exhaled slowly, allowing the smoke to curl from her lips into elegant plums
"Formal chat." Nieca's raspy voice chided.
"Formal chat.", Saul corrected himself. "Second. I care. About both work and the people who do it. It's not just a role, another level in the ladder. Until further notice, it's THE role, and you're THE ACTO. You'll be amazed how many 'higher ups' I worked with don't regard their job this way. Third, I'm a professional, so while I won't always be able to provide the best solutions for everything that comes my way, especially in the beginning - I'll never stop striving."
There was a pause, then the Chief Tactical Officer chuckled. "Also, it seems that I can already give long-winded and rather pompous speeches. I suspect its part of the requirements to becoming a team leader in Starfleet."
"You sound rather loyal to your job Sir…" She flicked her ashes "If you don't mind me saying." Nieca's tail flicked and swished across floor "But that is a commendable trait among my people."
"Thank you. I expect it from everyone else, though. I think it's a perquisite for serving in the fleet."
She inhaled once more. "It's obvious you're not a family man, how do you spend your off duty hours?"
Not a family man.
Well, that was one way of putting it. Especially when much of his agenda and the colossal effort to accomplish it revolved around his family.
"Let's see... Much of it is spent on completing my Master's Degree, but I actually do think I enjoy most of my free time. I don't like using the holodeck - it's just not REAL - so I settle for reading, toying with stocks and all sorts of trades - a little hobby of mine... and recently, I'm involved with an officer from another department. What about you?"
She raised a well manicured brow, Saul seemed rather proud over the fact that he had managed a relationship, but Nieca already gathered that females were a bit of a mystery to her new commanding officer.
"Oh typical things, I enjoy puzzles and strategy games inside and outside of the holodeck. I train for combat, preferring melee weapons. But I think most of my time is spent writing home…" Nieca snuffed the cigarette and let out a small sigh "I had to leave my children so I could support them because of this I try to remain as active in their lives as possible. I write them everyday… despite the brassy teenagers they are becoming." He watched the first genuine smile of the evening cross her lips.
Saul pounced on the mentioning of Nieca's children. He hoped she'll bring the issue forward, since he was uneasy addressing it himself.
"They're twins, right? What are their names?"
"Correct, but twins aren't as rare amoung my people as they are amoung humans. Their names ae Kira and Romulus."
Saul smiled. "How do you handle being so far away from them? You obviously love them... and who takes care of them?"
"Oh I write home a lot, almost everyday, and when we are close enough for visual communication I always talk to them. My mother and sisters raise them, to leave them with anyone other then family would be a taboo. Social laws are rather strict amoung my people."
Saul considered asking Nieca if she ever considered bringing her children on board, but decided against it.
"If you ever run into serious family problems, I ask you to let me know. Not that I think that I can give any sound advice, but needless to say I need you focused and... well, happy. And if that means that you need some time to take care of business or anything else, then you'll get it."
"Very well."
"How are you handling the management of the Tactical Analysis Group?", Saul asked.
"Without any problems." The Caitian did something that was probably the Caitian parallel of shrugging. "Professionally, it is quite interesting. The team is a little understaffed at the moment, though."
"We're going to have someone transfer to the group from Intelligence, a Lieutenant J.G. Nyoko Yuuri. She was recently promoted, and she's a good officer. We're also going to have a non-comm Tactical analyst transfer to us soon. I don't know the details, but SFHQ should send me the dossier soon. Thought you should know."
"I am looking forward to meet them."
Saul smiled. "I'm sure you'll get along well. So, Ensign, unless there's anything else you want to discuss..."
Only after Nieca left the room, did Saul order the environmental controls to do their best and cause the smoke to disappiate. Even though the smell wasn't that bad, he didn't want it to catch.
As the smoke was vented out of the room, Saul considered something he told Nieca.
'It's not just a role, another level in the ladder.'
But was it?
Saul never longed to be Chief Tactical Officer. It was the brain work of Intelligence that lured him. As a science minor, he would probably lean more toward Chief of Science than Chief of Tactical, if he ever was given that choice.
8-Ball's image appeared before Saul's eyes. No, leaning toward THE Chief of Science might be a bad idea.
But here he was, interviewing subordinates - no, fellow crewmates - studying Tactical scenarios like there's no tomorrow, and even toying with the idea of the Wolf 359 challange, like some battle-eager Tactical Officer.
Saul Bental, master of the Galaxy's weapons. The newbye Ensign who was given the Galaxy's aft cannons in a split-second decision by Commander Henderson, now in charge of the entire ship's external safety and Tactical abilities.
Who would've thought.
"New Dog, Old Tricks"
Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer
Senior Chief Petty Officer Renora Loret
Tactical Analyst
The personal dossiers began to mix in Saul's head. Having read all of the Tactical department members' files in the last week, details already began to mix. He almost mixed up Chase and Rima in one interview, which would have really unpleasant consequences. And there were other problem.
If this sounds like overreacting, try to interview Raven Darkstar yourself.
The final - and most recent - file was one of the most complicated, though. Again, Saul was facing a subordinate that was older than him. In fact, the veteran NCO was probably one of the most experienced people in the department, if not the most experienced of them all. She outranked Durningham - Saul assumed there won't be any jealousy there, knowing Alex - and served on about half the ships of the fleet.
If that's wasn't enough, it was specifically mentioned that she may have problem with superior officers which she might deem incompetent.
Saul was about fifteen years younger than her. It was also his first Tactical posting. Not a good combination.
But he wasn't the kind of Dutchman that let these things get in his way.
"Come in, Chief.", He called as he heard the office's door chime for the twentieth time that week. The Dutchman watched the doorway intensely as the doors sled open, eagerly anticipating to see how the veteran NCO from hell looked like in real life.
The doors parted and revealed a blonde, Bajoran woman stepping through. She stepped into the room and stood fast in front of the man who was to be her new department head. "Senior Chief Renora Loret reporting in for duty, sir."
She wore a standard female uniform of jacket, skirt, and boots. She felt that this was more appropriate and generally smarter than the regular jumpsuit. Her family earring glinted in the light of the office as it showed through from behind her shoulder length blonde hair.
~So, your my new commander are you?~ She thought to herself. ~Okay...lets see how this goes.~ She looked down at the lieutenant.
Saul stood up, and extended his arm. "Welcome aboard, Chief. I'm Saul Bental, CTO."
Renora reached over and shook the mans hand. "Thank you, sir."
She pulled up a chair and sat down crossed legged with her hands in her lap.
Saul sat down as well. His first impression was that the woman looked younger than her actual age. The second was that he could not afford any mistakes with her.
"I have plenty of things to tell you and plenty of issues to discuss.", He told her, "But most of it can be found on the briefing PADD.", Saul gestured at the hand held computer. "What I'm really interested in is you. So I'm afraid you're going to do most of the hard work today."
He leaned backwards, and interlaced his fingers behind his back. It was the twentieth time he did exactly that for the last week, but his curiosity remained genuine every single time.
"Please tell me about yourself."
Renora leant back slightly in her chair. "Well...where to begin...I think I would classify myself as quite a resilient person. Being born into slavery was a big part of that, you have to grow up and be responsible quickly or you're dead. As far as work goes I think it would be fair to say that I've become quite seasoned in combat, similar story really, learn fast or die quicker."
She watched Saul's face for a hint of reaction trying to gauge just what he was feeling. She had to admit he was handing himself well so far. "I assume, sir, that you've read my service record?"
"Obviously.", Saul shrugged.
"If you have any questions about specific posts feel free to ask. You may have also seen that I've been somewhat of an albatross for ships that I've been on."
"What do you mean?"
"I have been considered by several of my previous commanders to be somewhat...of a problem child, for want of a better phrase. I think that reckless and undisciplined was the term that most of them used. My personal favourite, however, was by commander Galloway on the Black Hawk. I think it was something like would be better if she served the rest of her carreer at the tactical academy...as a target on the rifle range. As you've probebly gussed we weren't the best if friends." Lets see how he reacts to this. She wasn't trying to frighten the man but she needed to know what kind of person she'd be working under.
"Sounds like you weren't. I don't have any questions about any specific posts. Including the one where you got demoted. Being an ex-intelligence Officer myself, I know very well that some of us may deserve a good beating. Esepecially after the Section 31 coup attempt."
"Well they weren't the only ones to blame, sir. I think a great many people were taken in by that."
"Indeed. So... I did notice that you were a Tactical trainer during your last post."
Suddenlly, two brilliant ideas formed in Saul mind. He allowed his inner grin to show on his face.
Pure genius. Oh, he had her now. How didn't he think of it beforehand?
"I have two questions. First, are you familiar with the Wolf 359 challange?"
Renoras eyebrows raised slightly. "Yes sir. An excellent exercise, perfect for training personnel and, if you're the top of board, a great deal of presstige for captian ship, captain and crew alike. Why? Have you got something in mind?
"I was thinking about offering the Captain to enroll to the 2383 challange. I don't think the Galaxy was involved in one in recent years, and we could use it as a motivation for our drills with Conn. and the Vanguards - the Spacefighter squadron. What do you think?"
"I think that would be an excellent idea. The Galaxy is a good ship and should be quite a good addition to the mix. I could make some enquiries if you liked, see who else might be involved?
"That would be great. I could certainly use the intel. Not that it would change my decision - if we're in, we're going to win no matter the competition."
Renora just smiled. He certainly had drive. She had to give him that. She just hoped that this was not the tip of a deeper arrogance.
"As for my second question.", Saul took a deep breath, observing her much like a spider would watch a big blond fly buzzing near his web. "I'll be honest with you, because you'll find out the following facts on your own anyway. I have no Tactical experience previous to this post. I've been working days and nights trying to catch up with years of Tactical training, but only a stupid - or vain - officer would think that this crash-course can replace years of experience. My questions is actually a request. I'm going to ask you something that, I assume, no superior officer have ever asked you to do."
Saul had to work hard to hide his grin now. "I would like to ask you to train me."
Renora's eyes popped wide open and then settled back down into a smile which slowly grew into a wide grin. "I see...may I speak freely sir?"
"Whenever there aren't any other people around who might be influenced - always. And it's Saul."
"It has long been an aggravation of mine that I have to serve under officers who, just because they are fresh out of the academy, think that they know their duty inside and out. These people are vain and arrogant and I have no time for them. Then there are those who, in my opinion, are even more dangerous and these are the ones who don't know what they are doing and try and bluff along as they go. These 'charlatans' are usually found out quickly and the problem is solved. Other times, however, they are only found out in combat. I've lost count over the years of how many reports I've seen that end with the words 'tactical error'." She watched for the mans reaction.
"I have no doubt. And that's exactly why I'm approaching you with this issue. I won't have the Galaxy become part of the statistics. Especially not because of vanity and pride. My purpose is for the ship to have a good Chief Tactical Officer in the shortest time possible, and I think you're the best person on board to help me achieve that goal."
"It'd be a pleasure Saul. It's what I'm trainer for so it'd be good to put it to some use. I hope you'll find me fair, all I will demand of you, however, is that, if you want my guidance, you will listen to what I tell you and consider it before you make a descision. Being a tactical officer, in my experience is knowing how to use what you've got but also being prepared to listen to others, they might have considered something you havn't. If you can work with that, we have a deal."
"Makes sense.", Saul shook his head. "You've got a deal, Loret. I'll expect a training scheduele whenever you're ready."
Saul spent the next ten minutes briefing Renora about her role in the Tactical Analysis Group. It was nothing new to her - nothing she hadn't done before. He also gave her a quick summary of the Galaxy's recent missions - the Humanitarian support mission on Trill after the Akula crashed into Leran Manev, the search in the archological digs on Mirusa, and the takeover attempt of the Dithparu on Deep Space 5.
"... the TAG leader is the assistant chief, a Caitian named Nieca Re'yol. She's a seasoned Tactical Officer, and I'm sure the two of you will get along well. The other Tactical analyst in Nyoko Yuuri, which was on my team in Intelligence .She's a good officer too. We also got a couple of new cadets and I want them to do rotations at the TAG... so keep an eye on them. That's more or less it... any final questions?"
Renora took the PADD and looked over it. "Not that I can think of...at least not at the moment. I look forward to being part of the team." She stood up and offered her hand to the man to make it official.
It was Saul's turn to take the offer, and so he did. "See you later, then."
As she turned to leave the room one question did come to her. "Just one thing...Is there a temple or hall of worship on this ship?"
Once more, Saul was hit by a streak of inspiration. "I would guess so, but I know who will know for sure. Talk to Lieutenant Miramon Terrik from Navigation. He's a good friend of mine, and also a traditional Bajoran."
He wanted to add 'Don't be shy', but counting on his first impression, that would be uncessery.
"Thank you. I'll see you later."
Renora tapped the PADD against her lip as the door hissed shut behind her. "Training." She said to her self. "Hmmm....."
"Just Us Crazies"
Major Corran Rex
Lieutenant T'Pol "8-Ball" Hunter
Stellar Cartography wasn't really the sort of place one looked for a fighter pilot.
Nevertheless, that's where Corran Rex currently was, knee deep in the project he'd undertaken. A map of the galaxy as it appeared about three hundred years ago was displayed in the new holographic interface the ship had received in it's last refit. His eyes were knitted together in concentration as he would select a particular system, deselect it, and then select others seemingly at random.
The door opened, and 8-ball quickly ran in, looking over one shoulder to make sure nobody in the corridor saw her. This had been, as days go, lousy in the extreme. She hadn't slept well due to both neck pain and strange, obscure dreams of maniacal turkeys running loose on the Galaxy; she got to her science shift late so that her freaking subordinates got to reprimand her, and then had not once, not twice, but three times, 8-ball had nearly run into Samantha Widdlestein. Sam was the kind of person you wanted to avoid on a normal basis, but after torturing her mercilessly and slicing open her face, 8-ball's need to steer clear of Samantha had been heightened considerably.
Now, 8-ball hid against a wall as the doors closed, and noticed for the first time that she wasn't alone in the room. There was this guy there. . .~Corran Rex~ 8-ball realized belatedly; everybody knew Corran Rex, every girl, anyway. . . and he was staring at her rather unusual entrance. She waved.
"Hi," 8-ball said weakly. "I'm just. . .hiding. How are you enjoying the various joys and delights of Stellar Cartography?"
Corran raised an eyebrow at the Galaxy's attractive Chief Science Officer, and let out a slow chuckle. "From.. what exactly?"
"Oh, you know," 8-ball said. "Bratty girls, ghosts of past, my conscience. Samantha Widdlestein, in particular."
"Last I checked, it's pretty hard to run away from your conscience."
he said, frowning.
"I think you'd be surprised," 8-ball said drily. "There are people who make careers in it. But yes, Mr. Jiminy Cricket, it's perhaps not the best long-term strategy. Long-term just isn't my strong suit.
Semi-reasonable guilt, though. . .I'm good with that."
"Ah. Because of what happened with Sam?" he felt a lot the same way about what had gone on between him and Master Chief Jayce. The Chief would recover, with time. There was no telling what effect the ersatz 8-Ball's actions would eventually have on young Samantha Widdlestien.
Knowing that girl, though, very little.
"You know about that, huh?" 8-ball asked.
"8-Ball, you were broadcasting to the entire ship. Everyone heard it."
8-ball shrugged her shoulders and walked a few steps forward, standing closer to Corran. "Figures," she said. "Even when I'm possessed by an alien pscyhotic, I'm an exhibitionist. Oh well." She leaned forward and took a closer look at what he'd been studying. "I didn't know flyboys had much interest in old maps."
"Most flyboys don't. And there's nothing wrong with a little exhibitionism." Corran shrugged, giving the Vulcan a cockeyed grin.
"It never gets old."
8-ball smiled at him, appreciating (and not for the first time) just how cute Corran was. She wondered if he had a girlfriend, and, more to the point, if he was serious about her.
"I guess you'd know," she said. "All those past lives and all. So, you're what? Waiting for your girl to walk in to astrometrics so you can practice some exhibitionism under old starlight?
That got an open laugh out of him. "No, I'm working on a ... I guess you'd call it a history project." after a moment, he added. "Beside.
Everyone knows I don't do the 'girlfriend' thing. That'd limit the options."
8-ball grinned at that. "I know exactly what you mean. I tried the boyfriend thing, and I just don't think I'm cut out for it. It's not nearly as entertaining." Of course, there had been much more to her breakup with Himne, but Corran didn't need to know that. Switching topics, 8-ball asked him, "What kind of history project are you working on?
"I'm relocating the lost colonies of the Trill by memory."
"Ah," 8-ball said, who clearly did not understand the appeal in doing this. "And why the sudden urge to find lost colonies?"
"That'd be a long story and probably not interest you in the slightest."
"Clear words for 'I don't want to talk about it'," 8-ball said.
"That's fine. We could talk about something else." She looked up and down at Corran with her eyebrows raised and a mischevious, little grin on her face. "Or we could do something else."
Corran made an exaggerated show out of looking around at the empty Stellar Cartography lab. "Would you look at that? There's no one else here. We could do anything we wanted."
"My god, you're absolutely right," 8-ball said, looking around, wide-eyed and smiling. "What are you up for?"
"Absolutely anything." he smiled.
"Well," 8-ball said, stepping much closer to him, "you see, I used to work in a bar, and I know all the funnest drinking games. And lately, I've become very attached to carrying this little flask around wherever I go." She slid her hands slowly under her uniform and pulled up a small, silver flask.
"It's very potent stuff," 8-ball said. "And I do so like to play. Maybe we could drink a nip or two, and then see where we go from there?"
Corran shut off the PADD, ending the holographic simulation. "I'm your wing, 8-Ball." he grinned.
"The Other Agenda"
Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental
Chief Tactical Officer
Ask any experienced agents' handler from Starfleet Intelligence, and they'll tell you not to believe all the crap you see in Holovids. Operating an agent, one recruited from the enemy and not a planted one, is a wearisome, Sisyphean, exhausting job.
You need to tread very carefully with your agent, to ensure that his needs are answered and that he remains motivated to help your cause and provide the service you need of him. One miscalculated step, one missed change in the agent's surroundings, and years of effort may collapse and bring you down with it.
If you insist and ask 'So why don't you just quit being agents' handler?', some would say that it's challenging. Others would admit that it fits their personality, or that it's simply what they do best. Some may even see to it that… unexpected accidents happen to you the next time you take a shuttle, just for asking the question. The point is, no one will say that they do it for fun.
"Whoo-hoo!!!"
Saul's fingers flashed in the air, launching hordes of red and purple blobs to converge on the golden bubbles. Suddenlly, the bubbles scattered, revealing a larger, green blob. Immediately, four of the purple blobs found themselves attached to the green one, and popped out of existence.
"Beg for mercy, Lieutenant!", the Chinese officer across the table hooted, equally as excited as Saul. Two red blobs already attached themselves to the big green blob, which began to shrink, but it was too little and too late.
"You wish, Lin!"
"That's COMMANDER Lin for you!"
The two continued to taunt each other for two more minutes, before Saul's last cells were eliminated. Unlike his CO, Admiral Proctor, Chun Lin was quite good in games of strategy. He was especially good at playing 'Immuno', and this specific Immuno game was no different.
Too bad for Chun Lin that he wasn't as brilliant in the strategy game that is life, Saul reckoned as he shook his unsuspecting agent's hands.
"Congratulations.", Saul told him, as the holographic game vanished and the table between him and Lin returned to appear like an ordinary black coffee table. "For both the victory and the promotion."
"Thank you. From what I read in the reports on what happened at the station, I'll probably need to congratulate you too. If you and that Miran Doctor were the Admiral's men, you'd receive the Golden Starburst for your actions!"
"Nah, you don't get medals or promotions on the Galaxy. Just more work.". And speaking of work, I'd rather lick all of the ship's cargo bays clean with my tounge than to serve under Olivia Proctor, Saul added inwardly.
"I guess you have my gratitude, then.", Lin said. "I didn't tell you why I was promoted to Lieutenant Commander… but with the recapture of DS5, Admiral Proctor has decided to assign me to the role of Civilian Relations officers. Any activities of civilian nature on DS5 – commercial, religious, tourist, and even some diplomatic activities – are my responsibility. It's quite an honor!"
Saul's eyes lit momentarily. A man in such a position could lead him to great profit. He could ask Lin to overlook certain shuttles, or help certain businesses while giving a hard time to others… but no, he needed Lin for more important purposes. Too bad.
Maybe later.
"I knew she couldn't fail to notice a qualified officer for long.", Saul replied with a phony smile.
"Yes, she can't. I wonder what does that say about your ex-Captain… she didn't fail to notice him, have she? Ha ha…"
Saul frowned. Through his and Nyoko's chats with Lin right after the Dithparu incident, he found out that Proctor was badmouthing Captain M'Kantu on every opportunity. The information was relayed to Commander Henderson through PO Stuart, and Saul could only guess that it eventually reached the Captain.
Nevertheless, nothing that Lin said about Proctor's attitude toward the Captain had prepared Saul to finding out – together with the rest of the ship, not a moment before – that M'Kantu was removed from duty and Henderson was given field promotion to Captain.
Perhaps Henderson knew in advance? Saul wondered. If I was the ship's Executive Officer and I had information indicating that the Captain will be removed and I will be promoted to fill his place, would I warn the Captain?
"I hope the truth will come out.", Saul said. It was the most non-committed thing he could utter. The truth was that Captain M'Kantu was worth a billion Proctors. Except if you needed cannon fodder.
"Speaking of the Admiral.", Saul added, "What's new with her? How is she adjusting to her new position?"
"She's an Admiral. What's a little Space Station for her?", Lin snorted. "Everything is ticking like clockwork, and she's got the right men operating it now, I can tell you that."
Lin was acting more light-minded than usual. Now was the time to strike.
"I'm glad to hear. Say, remember you told me about this guy you and Sheridan were supposed to look for? You know, the one who was involved in the terrorist attack on Trill? What ended with him? Found his corpse?"
"Nah. The bastard got away from the station a couple of days before everything went nasty.", Lin said dismissingly, "Admiral Proctor decided to reduce the priority of THAT investigation. She said bringing the station online was much more important than doing a policeman's job."
"You sure his corpse isn't around here somewhere?"
"No. He certainly left the station. Probably knew that we were on to him. Left his room totally untouched. I'm keeping it vacant just in case Proctor wants to resume the investigation, but in a month or two the station will be so crowded we'll probably need it again."
"He'll run out of luck one day, Commander.", Saul gave his agent an unsuspecting tap on the shoulder. "So say, in your new role…"
* * *
Saul Bental and Nyoko Yuuri waited for the door to open. The recently promoted short Japanese constantly scratched her new red collar, reminding Saul of himself when he transferred to Tactical. It didn't seem so long ago… four months, maybe five. It still felt strange, but at least it didn't itch anymore.
Behind the doors lay the room that was occupied by Lieutenant Commander McCauley. Every shred of evidence indicated that the Akula's Chief Navigator has survived the crash, and fled the long arm of justice ever since.
The room was in turmoil, but it still looked much better than some other rooms Saul saw on DS5, just a few months back. There was no blood, no corpses. It seems that the Commander indeed got lucky.
Saul and Nyoko began to systematically search the room. The first, most obvious find were several empty bottles of what smelled like alcoholic beverage, and more semi-full bottles of the same vile stuff. A quick Tricorder scan identified the liquid as Scotch.
The second find was no less interesting.
"Empty hypospray containers.", Saul said. "The label says that it's medication, but labels can lie."
"I don't think we should take a sample. This is a crime scene.", Nyoko said, urgency penetrating her voice.
"Oh yea? What kind of crime took place here, Yuuri?", Saul said, as the container made its way to his pocket. "You heard Lin. They're not going to look into this. If they were, I wouldn't dare to even come in here; They do have logs of the room doors' operations."
"You trust their negligence?"
"Proctor's.", Saul sniggered. "I'm sure that if the Akula would've crashed on Rome or Paris , the Admiral would chase McCauley to the edges of the Galaxy."
"Maybe, but looks like we'll need to do it now.", Nyoko's voice was grim.
"What do you mean?"
"Before we left the ship for the station, I asked Lieutenant Remur to give me this little computer gadget she has. It restores the last image on a computer panel before its last shutdown. It's quite cool – it reconstructs the image based on the residue of…"
Saul rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to know how Intel gadgets function, I would take Boris Shtazai's role, not Airaul Taern's."
"All right, all right! Snappish… here, look."
She gave him the gadget. It displayed a fuzzy image, that became sharper and sharper with each image-processing iteration. It was sharp enough for Saul to see that it was a list of shuttles, complemented with ports of origin and destinations.
"He's heading toward the Hydran border.", Saul clenched his fist. "We're too late."
"It wasn't our responsibility in the first place.", Nyoko said. She stood on her toes, wrapping a comforting arm around the taller officer's shoulder. "Don't be disappointed. Let's deliver the news to Henderson and Dobryin. They'll send it to the relevant agencies."
As the two exited the room, Saul looked behind him. Perhaps two agendas were too much for a senior officer on board a Galaxy-class cruiser, but Saul decided that he was going to nail that guy. You can't just help some insane idiot crash a ship into a city of unsuspecting Trills and waltz away with it, just for fun.
'You messed with the wrong Dutchman.', Saul said without words. "A Dutchman that doesn't like to lose."
"Big Swingin' Sticks"
By Commander James Lionel Corgan
And Lieutenant jg Claire Barnes
Location: Gymnasium, USS Galaxy
~"C'mon James, use your heels. And... go!"~
The shinai in James hands whistled in the air as he brought it down in an overhead, downward arc, stopping at mid waist until the bamboo sword vibrated in his hand and rested horizontally. At the same time, he shifted his heels to bring his legs a small bit forward, lending momentum to the already powerful swing. It was like a darting motion, lunging shortly forward, then retracting as he finished the swing.
The armour he wore, a white robe under pads of black armour, looked like the knight like samurai of earth's past. The helmet he wore, a world restricting shroud with horizontal bars meant to prevent another's shinai from punching through.
James was already sweating liberally from practicing with the shinai. The armour he wore kept the heat in, irradiating around him like an aura, adding to his fatigue. Not that he did mind, for he was in the middle of a jogger's high, enjoying the sweat, heat, toil and adrenaline of sword practice.
Though James looked like a knight of the past, he didn't move like one. His movements were rusty from years of misuse. He was aquainted with Kendo, but only at the twilight of his high school career. At Starfleet Academy, he was versed in various sword arts, as was ever Starfleet Security Officer in order to better know the methods of combat by other alien races, but even that took a backseat to his better honed phaser skills. The practice he underwent was his first in years, and even if he knew the fundamentals they were dusty from years of neglect.
It would not be long, maybe in a few months, that James would regain a modicum of skill. He was hoping to bring Mika along, considering her interest in the martial arts, but could not wrest her from her schedule. He was left to practice alone.
He wouldn't be practicing if it wasn't for Lieutenant Barnes reawakening his interest. She was the only other Kendo practicioner, and talking to her about the sport after seeing her in possession of Japanese swords started his interest anew.
~"Maybe she can bring me up to speed."~ James thought, a trickle of sweat creasing his brow as he brought down another two handed swing.
Entering the gymnasium, Claire stopped suddenly and grinned. She had noted that James had been looking at her swords, and she wondered if that had sort of started this trend. She watched for a few moments, noting that although he was a bit rusty, it was evident that he had been very good. Smiling, she gave him a whistle before clapping.
Walking over, she smiled,
"Quite good, Commander. Wondering if I would be able to talk to you about something, if its okay? Just some advice on something."
"Oh?" James stopped in midswing, the sweat from his wrists and palms flicking off. Easing out of the kendo stance, he walked to the benches and retrieved his towel. He leaned the shinai on the wall, its handle darkened by perspiration, and pried the helmet off his head. Shaking his golden hair once, he then toweled off the sweat on his forehead. Being out of the confinement of the helmet, the cooled, recirculated air of the starship's ventilation system felt that much more sweet.
He said as he toweled off, "Since when did I become a reliable source of advice?" He laughed casually, "News to me."
Claire grinned, stretching her arms as she cracked her knuckles, "Maybe, but I still value you for it. I can give you some pointers now if you want as well."
She had come down anyway to exercise, since she was off-duty and had nothing to do.
A smile creased James' face. "Yeah. Quid quo pro. I would like that very much. Suit up. Shinai's are in storage. There's a tournament standard gear pattern in the clothing replicator."
Claire nodded and headed off to change. She returned shortly, suited out in the correct attire with a weapon.
James snuck a sip of water from a bottle, donned his kendo gear, and returned to the practice field. Slipping his helmet on, he once again confined his world to what was in front of him.
What was he to make of his Lieutenant? There was nothing subtle about her, be it her personality, her bluntness, the way she acts, walks, even looked, presented itself in a way that left no doubt to what she was doing or thinking. Her constant insistence on grabbing his advice might have been part of the ever increasing (and often bewildering, from James' viewpoint) habit by the crew to ask Corgan about anything they didn't know.
(The last week alone he was asked about the following: moonshine [use more copper wire or you'll go blind at the first sip], illegal tricorder hacks (more than once, honestly answered and in detail), pet grooming, phaser drills (both marksmanship and literal mining equipment), Vulcan women (yes, they are THAT good, but without the emotional investment on the Vulcan's part, tend to use others and make them feel used), and a plethora of legal matters best suited for activities done on pleasure planets dominated by the Orion Syndicate).
Or maybe she had an interest in the good security chief. That thought, flattering to James male ego as that may be, lent itself to the 'least likely' category.
But what did James think of Barnes?
She was attractive, even on a curve ranking compared to the other women James meet in his life (which, for some reason, were very high quality).
Under more favorable conditions, such as not being her superior officer and not having his own blue skinned honey, would he have shown more interest in Barnes?
He wouldn't deny that it crossed his mind, but for now it was just a cute, amusing thought. Then again, he could say the same about the once first officer Rebecca Von Ernst, or Lieutenant T'lan, or Rose MacAllen, or many others that he meet.
The curse of a lovefool. His cure was not to over think such thoughts, and move on. A friend was much more valuable, and James could say that Barnes was a friend.
"So, what do you need?" James asked.
Claire spun her weapon before bringing it to the ready, "I have a close friend who is currently working at the Academy as a junior instructor in the medical department."
She looked down a little,
"Well, actually, 'close friend' is a bit of a misnomor. We have been dating for about three years. The only thing is that she has a child, and I'm not really sure it would be safe for us to bring up a child aboard this ship."
At first, Barnes' question appeared to be normal. A regular dating and child advice question, asked over and over to a man who didn't even care for kids, much less raise them.
Then the word 'she' permiated throughout her question. She, as in a woman.
As in Barnes' woman. Barnes, the female security officer, making mention of her female lover.
Even in the 24th century, a heterosexual male could be floored by such a revelation.
It was literally a straight surprise.
~"Wow..."~ Images of Barnes in a little girl on girl action peppered his imagination, ~"Hot."~
"AHEM!" Corgan coughed, shaking out the thoughts like annoying bugs all over his skin, "Well... that's a tough one. I mean... a child... on a warship. If it was an exploration vessel, and mind you they have their own share of dangers, I would say... hell yes! Bring the kid and her mother aboard. I was raised on starships, and I tell you, that was alot of fun. I loved being out in open space. It had a sense of adventure. You got to see new sights, travel to distant places... oh, and the zero gee spacewalks, the ports of call. The kid will love it."
"However," He added warningly, "This is a warship. You know full well the responsibilities of this ship and her crew. Though we have many children aboard, each crewmemeber should realize that we take many dangerous missions, so taking your family along for the ride isn't a decision to take lightly. They too will be in harm's way, and sometimes we won't be given time to evacuate them to a safe area. That is what your... girlfriend will have to consider. Tell her to weigh those options, but also tell her that aside from the danger that a starship is a great place to grow up." He said with a troublemaker's chuckle, "I know. I was a space brat myself."
Claire grinned,
"We both know. We met back on the USS Victorious, and when I was in the alien prison for a few months, Holly was there too. That was kind of the klincher so we moved back to San Fran to work at the Academy. I guess you can tell I wasn't suited for desk work, and it was hard.. Got a message from Holly a day ago that she can't live like that and even little Lily realised that her mum was hurting & wanted to come back out. She already got preliminary approval for a transfer before even letting me know, and I don't think I can convince her if I tried. Does that sound wrong?"
Corgan gave his shinai an experimental swing, then adjusted his helmet as he took his place in the arena, "She should have talked to you first, but it sounds like she just wants to be with you. I wouldn't hold it against her too much. Ready?"
Claire nodded, grinning,
"Okay. Prepare for an ass-whooping."
James and Claire entered the arena area, a small strip of padding usually used for fencing, but was large enough to accomodate the kendo enthusiast.
Kendo, like fencing, held less of an emphasis on flanking and circling the opponent, and more on narrow confines. He shifted to a fighting stance, his shinai tight in his hands.
"I would be careful about one thing, though." James said cautiously, "And i've seen it happen to plenty of my deputies. Sometimes a young lad or lass will fall in love and invite their significant other to join them on the ship. At first they're excited... but then once the excitement of their first few months of relationship wear off and the other realized that they actually HATE living on starships... it's too late. They're far away from home and in a bad relationship. That can be one hell of a transit, worse so for non-starfleet personnel. They have to hitch a ride from the nearest port of call. So what i'm asking you is... do you think the relationship is strong enough for you both to live together like this?"
Claire readied her weapon and shifted forwards, swinging her weapon forwards before suddenly shifting the angle with a sweep.
"Aye. We were aboard a ship before, and things were going well till a single incident. We have been dating for a little under five years now. And Lily is now seven, so not as fragile as before."
Corgan meet her swing with a downward angled block, batting aside her bamboo sword. He countered with a thrust, "I'd hate to be nosy, but what incident?"
Claire blocked the blow as she nodded,
"Its cool. We got captured on an alien planet and were detained in a female-only prison for a month or so. One night when one of the guards must have been lonely, he decided that he wanted to take my lover around back. She is quite fragile, and I made him know that she was off-limits. He didn't back down, so I had to let him take me instead."
~"Pay close attention James."~ He said to himself, ~"This is why she is, though as impetuous and free willed as a Miridan Cougar, one of the most valuable officers in your department."~
James overhead slashed twice. "I hope he gets his later. I remember when that sergeant tried to cut you down a notch. Pissed my off to no end. I'd hate to allow the same to happen to anyone. KAI!" With his heels, he shot forward and meet Claire sword to sword. "By the way, I hope your friend enjoys living on the Galaxy."
"I know she would prefer to be nice and safe on Earth, but I'm also sure she will do okay here."
James grinned, "Then I wish you two all the best."
Disengaging from Claire, he restarted attack with an swishing vertical slash. Claire met blow, and countered with a blindingly fast attack from below. James narrowly blocked, keeping Claire's shinai still between his legs.
"YIKES! My boys!" James panicked.
In his momentary lack of focus, Claire rapped his right knee. He felt the blow even through his protective clothing.
Wincing, he gasped, "That's gonna bruise my boys... you win."
Claire grinned,
"Bad habit. I was always getting in trouble back at the Academy for fighting below the belt too."
"Good survival instinct." James joked, giving her hand a congratulatory shake, "You should teach Kendo. I always encourage my officers to give something to the community, and hell, i'd sign up. What do you say?"
Claire grinned,
"Sounds like fun. I've been running a meditation class on the side already, but can fit another one in."
"Alright then." Corgan dropped his shinai and rested his helmet next to his duffel bag, "I need to take a shower, get the stink of defeat off me. See you later, Lieutenant."
Claire nodded,
"See you later, Chief."
Once he was gone, she had the computer make some holographic opponents to work out with.
"In the Eyes of the Beholder"
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
Command Master Chief Madden Jayce
Madden took a long sip from her frozen cosmo, her large brown eyes staring over the martini glass and scanning the area. A small smile had spread across her lips.
"What about that one?" she asked, discreetly lifting a finger from the frosted glass, pointing toward a Marine in his pt training uniform, his strong arms far from concealed, his upper body prominent in the close-fitting black tank top. He had closely cropped dark hair and dark, dark eyes set wide on his face. He had a strong chin and jaw line, divided only by a slight cleft, barely visible.
"A little severe, don't you think?" her fellow Betazoid companion assessed. He took a sip of his wine. "I like to be charmed, not beaten up."
"Mmmm..." Madden said in thought. "Maybe it's this third cosmo? But I could go for beefcake right now. Besides. Rough can be good sometimes." She winked slightly at her friend and offered a grin.
"I'm glad we're doing this, it's nice. Take a break from everything."
Having almost spit his Cabernet all over the bar in surprise at the roughness comment, it took Brian a few moments to compose himself. He couldn't help it. It had been so long since he'd laughed easily and often and he was finding it came naturally when he was with Madden.
"I couldn't agree more," he responded, the last puffs of laughter fading into a contented smile. "Sometimes I have to wonder if there's even any room in a life in Starfleet for laughter and relaxation. I guess there is in theory, but you know how reality is . . . nice redhead, six o'clock," he segued.
She made a move to smooth her hair, looking back over her shoulder toward the man who was laughing at the bar. Madden couldn't help letting a small whistle escape through her teeth.
"We finally agree on one," she said, "though he's a little... classic for me. Too pale." She looked back at him, studying the man she sat with. "So, I finally got up the nerve and went back to the Station, got all my things. My quarters are starting to look almost homely."
She consumed the last of her cosmo. "Which is nice. Glad not to be there anymore, creepy as hell." Madden held up her glass, catching the eye of a server who nodded. "And I have my first meeting with my NCOs tomorrow. Fun fun."
"It made a lot of sense for you to transfer over here, you know. I don't know if that place could ever feel like home again for you, you know?"
"Believe me, I know," she said. "But it doesn't matter anyway. I was told, point blank -- even if I wanted to stay? They never would have let me. Negative experience that could be emotionally traumatising, I think were the words. It's strange, but given my past and everything?
Command treats me as a hard-ass, but they handle me with kid gloves."
"Sometimes the brass exhibit hints of wisdom every now and again,"
Brian smirked. "But I wonder if the kid gloves approach says more about them than about you. I've seen admirals who won't even look at a cadet wrong because of something they read in his file. I think a lot of times when it comes to dealing with people, military types are simply out of their element. Just another form of fear," he said, taking another sip from his glass.
"Maybe," she said, nodding. "Sometimes I think they jus -- oh my.
Look at the goodies that just came through the door." Her eyes were saucer-like, her mouth had almost dropped open. The server had just replaced her empty martini glass for a full one and Madden resolved that it was definitely her last. "That, my friend, is what a man should be."
This time they were in perfect accord. "I'll drink to that," he agreed, downing the last of his wine. "But better yet, I think what he *should* be is sitting on this barstool next to me," he said, playfully slapping the empty seat. "What do you think, something stronger?" he asked Jayce. Then he laughed. "No, not him, my next drink," he quickly clarified, catching her amused expression.
The efficient redhead behind the bar came by to remove the now empty wine glass. "Surprise me," Brian said distractedly, his eyes still focused on the object of his and Madden's affection. Then he slowly turned back. "How about something yel . . . ." In the blink of an eye, his face took on the haunted expression he had worn almost daily two months ago.
For the first time since the Dithparu incident, he came eye to eye with Erin Friel.
They both immediately froze in a flash of mutual recognition -- recognition laden with emotions that couldn't be described as pleasant for either of them. Their gazes locked for not more than two seconds, then Erin turned away to resume her duties.
"Brian?" Madden questioned, pressing a hand to his forearm. "What--"
She paused. She didn't need to ask any other questions, his thoughts were loud enough that the answers came before she could even form anything coherent. "Brian..."
Brian watched after her for only a second more, with a sick feeling now firmly fixed deep in the pit of his stomach.
He closed his eyes and lightly shook his head, responding to his friend's voice and touch as if he'd just awakened from a bad dream.
"Uh . . . heh," he laughed awkwardly. "Wow . . . " He shook his head again. "I'm okay," he said quietly, shoving his hand into a bowl of peanuts next him, grateful for even that little bit of distraction.
"We never have talked about it," she said, softly. "It might help.
Talk to friendly ears."
He inhaled deeply and blinked several times in rapid succession, flooded with so many emotions that they seemed to have the net effect of cancelling each other out and leaving only confusion in their wake.
He felt like he was going to laugh and cry at the same time, but neither actually happened.
"I almost killed her. Right here. In this room." He looked up at the ceiling as if the change in perspective might help clear his mind.
"She was standing over there," he said, looking down again and indicating a spot maybe ten feet beyond his left shoulder.
"Darling. It wasn't you," she said. "You've been telling a dozen people that same thing. Why is it so much more difficult for you to apply it to yourself?"
She wasn't the first person to say that. He'd heard it from Karyn several times over the past few months. But there never seemed to be an easy answer . . . until tonight.
Slowly, he turned his head to face Madden. His dark eyes were filled with a look of sorrow and surprise, both reactions somehow appropriate. "Because I had to look into their eyes," he answered quietly.
Her chin dimpled as it tightened, her forehead creasing with empathy.
"I know," she said, "but it's in the past. Matariana eis, Eyannir vise." She smiled with the Betazoid idiom, which essentially
translated: past in the past with hope to the future. "You love people so much, Brian. I haven't known you long, but I know that.
You wear it on your sleeve, that's... maybe that's why we get on so well. You're a good person and don't make any effort to hide it and you're not embarrassed by it either. That takes a strong person.
What happened with the Dithparu was tragic, painful, for everyone involved. You, me, Erin Friel. The people on the station, the others on the ship. We wouldn't be alive, if we didn't feel it. Life is pain, Brian, that's just the facts of it. But at the same time, pain tells us we're alive."
Sometimes being a good person wasn't all it was cracked up to be, he thought. There were many things he thought about doing right now -- drinking the rest of the evening until he obliterated it all out of his mind. Simply going to his quarter to be alone with that pain again. Even walking over to Erin to . . . to talk, to apologize, to .
. . to do *something*. But what was there to do or say to someone whose life you almost snuffed out? No, he wasn't ready for that level of emotional awkwardness yet. Nor was Erin, he knew.
Deciding "none of the above" was the best answer, Brian took a slow steady breath and squeezed Madden's hand. "I know," he said with a bit of a smile, willing himself to believe it. "I know." There
wasn't really anything else to say. After a silent pause, he reached
into the bowl in front of him then extended his hand to her, palm up, and managed another smile.
"Peanut?"
"Ancient Wounds" -- pt. 1
Ens. Artim
Medical Officer
Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor
-----------------
Artim hated shrinks. Sure, he understood when they were trying to help someone that had clear emotional trauma and was having trouble functioning. But, in his experience, they tended to stir up more trouble than was really there, especially with him. Artim had so much pain in his past, at least on paper, but he'd gotten over it. A wise man once said that time heals all wounds and in this case a century or so had done the trick. Counselors though always seemed to try and pull the wounds open again. Oh well. He'd been ordered to see a counselor after the incident on DS5 and he always obeyed orders, even the stupid ones.
Thus, he showed up at Brian's office just before he was supposed to do his regular watch in sickbay.
"Doctor," Brian said, looking up from his monitor after inviting the unexpected visitor in. "I'm sorry, did I miss an appointment? I know you said you wanted to keep tabs on me this week, but honestly it's been so busy around here-..."
"Well, I brought my tricorder if you want to get it out of the way, but I'm the one with the appointment today," Artim said smiling as only someone in his body could.
Appointment? Brian had somehow overlooked this one, as the doctor's appearance was completely unexpected.
"Gee, I apologize. I don't know how I overlooked it, but I didn't even know anyone had an appointment scheduled at this time; but come in, make yourself comfortable," he invited, simultaneously rising from behind his desk and indicating the chairs and couch at the other end of the office. "Can I get you anything? Some tea? Water?" It was far more difficult than Brian ever would have imagined not to add "a cookie?" to the list, but he managed to remind himself that his guest's youthful appearance belied an individual who was more than ten times older than he was.
"It's OK, I don't remember all my appointments either. And no, I'm fine."
The incident on the station, the firefight, the death all around him, the blood. Most kids his apparent age would have turned and run at the sight of all that. Others would have cowered in terror and shut the world out. Artim though had been hardened against all that, hardened by his past. He also couldn't run, couldn't hide. He was in Starfleet now. He had to be brave in the face of fire. What he wouldn't give to really be a kid again.
"Well, why don't we just go ahead and get down to it . . . how'd you fair in this whole Dithparu experience? It was pretty traumatic for everyone to some extent or another. I'd imagine that you had the chance to observe a lot of it first hand."
"Too much I'm afraid." Artim said sighing. "It was pretty gruesome over there, and pretty creepy. That wasn't the hard part though." He started breathing deeply, he told himself it was to calm his nerves, but he knew darn well why he was doing it. He didn't want to talk about this. It would only earn him more probing questions that would get the conversation closer to the stuff he REALLY didn't want to discuss. But, there really wasn't any other way.
"To be honest, the hardest part was shooting at our own people. I know it wasn't them I was after, but still...it was hard. Especially since I was in control."
"That must have been especially horrible for someone like you who's sworn an oath to heal and preserve life, not take it," Brian said.
"As hard as that is to do in the heat of a battle situation, that's over and now you have time to reflect on it whether you want to or not. What's been going through your mind since then?"
"I've tried not to dwell on it since then but when I did I tried to tell myself I was really helping them in a way. They were suffering in their own way and..." Artim starting showing some discomfort in his voice. He was getting close to something that might hurt Brian.
"Doctor?" the counselor inquired, noting the shift.
"Well, I mean...it's hard for me to really say it was hard for me when...for you...well... I'm not the counselor, but I mean, it had to be harder for you," Artim said, half sighing at the end.
"I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but comparing your pain or trauma to someone else's is never really valid. We each experience, react to, and understand those kinds of things differently and to varying degrees. Intentionally having to harm or kill another person, even out of necessity, is perhaps the hardest thing a person in your field could ever have to do. The after-effects can be considerable."
"Well, perhaps for me its not as hard as it is for most doctors. I mean, back then...back home, I had to do some pretty...unpleasant things in order to survive. I sort of rationalized it to myself that way, just trying to survive."
In a similar but still somewhat different way, Brian was reminded of his session with Saul Bental. Artim's coping strategies sounded like a page right out of the Tactical officer's book. But the counselor found himself less concerned hearing it now. He was sure the Miran's
400+ years of life had a lot to do with it.
"So you've been handling situations like this that way for hundreds of years. Has it been working all that time? Is it working now? Is there anything different about this situation in quality or degree that makes it easier or more difficult to rationalize?"
"I haven't had to kill in a long time. Or even shoot at someone. I haven't even gotten in a fight before last week. And no, it's not working. It bugs me that it was still so easy to harm another being no matter what the reason. I thought I'd learned to go beyond what I had to do at home. I thought I'd never have to do those things again. All the death...all that was lost...it's coming back."
Artim stopped speaking suddenly and got a terrified look on his face for a split second. He quickly tried to hide it, but it wouldn't take a Betazoid to know that something had just struck a nerve in the Miran. Artim was scared...of himself.
"Something wrong?" the counselor asked, his psychological curiosity piqued.
"Yeah." Artim said as tear or two escaped his eye. "But its not something I talk about. I don't like thinking of that time."
"So this is about more than just the Dithparu -- there's something else that this is stirring up difficult feelings in response to?"
Brian gently inquired.
"Yes...a lot more. This isn't the setting to discuss it in though.
The memories need the right atmosphere." Artim pondered whether or not what he was about to suggest was a good idea or not. Whenever some event that should be traumatic to him but wasn't he'd always dealt with it himself. Even the shrinks he had been required to see couldn't pull this memory out of him before. However, he was in Starfleet now. He couldn't just run to another sector and another job as easily as he had before. This had to be put to bed. Now.
"Holodeck 4, 2100. Best way would be to show you."
Brian also wondered about the wisdom of Artim's approach. Whatever this was about it held deep emotional power over him. Talking about it was one thing, but reliving it, even briefly, was another matter.
"Doctor, I'll be completely honest, I'm not sure this is a good idea,"
he said with doubt, his eyes on Artim as the 400 year-old kid sat in contemplation of the event.
"Perhaps it isn't, but it's time I showed this to someone so that another at least has an idea of what I...what we lost.
"Time is Fleeting"
Councillor Krim Aldos, of Bajor (Pat)
Councillor Marlana Shae, of Betazed (Kate)
----------------------------
Paris, Earth
Overlooking the Seine River
----------------------------
Councillor Marlana Shae of Batazed was settled serenely on a bench underneath a large, ancient beech tree of the grounds to the Palais de la Concorde, the seat of government of the United Federation of Planets. Rich purple robes draped over her slim figure, her full face angled down toward the padd held gently in her hands. She was an elegantly beautiful woman, in her late 50s. A few strands of silver glint in her otherwise dark hair, which fell in loose, full curls over her shoulders and down her back. Her long neck was ordained by a large golden necklace that symbolised her status amongst her people, and her long slender hands and wrists held similar jewelry. The Betazeds knew how to dress their representatives, that was sure: they appreciated the finer points of presentation.
Though it had been a decade since his less-than-graceful departure from the Bajoran Militia (the whole Circle mess, and how badly he'd miscalculated things still stung a bit, to this day), Councillor Krim Aldos of Bajor still carried himself like a General.
"Five years that I've been spending most of my time on this planet,"
the Bajoran started. Compared to the Betazoid Councillor, his was a more solid, slightly militaristic dark-cut suit that was, his ex-wife assured him, was the very height of current Bajoran fashion."And still, I've got to admit that I love the sunsets."
Marlana looked up at him with a slightly cocked eyebrow. She found Aldos one of the less offensive of the sitting councillors, which wasn't, necessarily, to say that she liked him. The military smell still clung to him; it was almost impossible to escape it.
She brushed hair back with a soft shake of her head as she looked up to follow his gaze toward the sunset over the Parisian skyline. "I honestly don't notice, anymore. "What do you want, Aldos? Going to read me more Bajoran poetry, or will you spare me that and just cut to the chase?"
"I opposed Bajor's joining of the Federation, you know." he started, deciding to take the roundabout path to get to his point. "After all, I'm a patriot. I believe in doing what is best for my people, and my world. When we joined five years ago, I still didn't think we should be here."
"Not because "We're not ready" - which is laughable from some of my ..
esteemed opponents who like to bring it up, as Bajoran history stretches back over 40,000 years... " Aldos continued, "But because I thought it was too soon. The Occupation had just ended, and I still don't think Bajor had really found her sense of.. self again, before we joined up with this bunch."
She said nothing, only discreetly glanced around the grounds in effort to find someone... anyone... to get her out of having this conversation for the hundredth time. Seeing no one, Marlana returned her attention to the other Councillor who was sitting down on the bench beside her.
"Aldos," she said, gently, "we've discussed this, I try to stay out of internal politics that are not my own." She smiled slightly. "It only gets messy. We all have to deal with our own people, then come together and concisely boil it all down in civil discussion." Marlana sighed a little. "What do you want to ask me?"
"I'm getting to my point." he smiled faintly. "I'm just trying to put some context in. Five years on Earth has changed my mind. The Federation needs Bajor as much as Bajor needs it. I've learned that lesson."
"But?"
"But there's a problem. This new Councillor for Earth. This Pennington. There's something... wrong about him."
Marlana nodded. "I wear my beliefs on my sleeve, as the humans say.
Pennington and I don't get along, we come from completely different backgrounds, schools of thought. Classic dove-hawk relationship."
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Everyone knows that. But we need to remember -- Earth is not Federation; the Federation is not Earth. They're undeniably paired together, but they're not synonymous."
"I know, I know." Krim replied, holding up a palm. "And he's perfectly logical about his desires to see the Federation better defended. He's not like that racist guvorr'l from Mars. But there's still something about him that raises the hairs on my neck."
"Again. I understand where you're coming from, trust me. The man is telepathically unreadable. It... is more than slightly unnerving.
I'd rather spend time with Ferengi. At least I know I'm supposed to be able to feel them, humans on the other hand... there is something about him, completely unnatural. But what're we going to do? He's not our problem, yet. There are enough moderates that... well. We have time."
Krim frowned, his craggy forehead drawing his grey hair downward.
"That's unfortunate. I was going to ask you to try to read his mind."
he held up a palm to ward off the inevitable complaint. "I know, I know, it's not ethical."
"That happen often?" he asked. "Not being able to read humans?"
"Very. Rarely," she said, her words solid and deliberate. "I'm P9.
Higher than average, though I'm not a powerhouse by any means. Humans can often be trained to block telepaths, even strong telepaths, from deeper thoughts. It is very, very difficult to guard your 'loud'
thoughts, the surface, the emotional shouts, so to speak. I've only ever met one, a long time ago; was certainly covert ops. Or something. Highest levels. Lots of training. Own telepathic residue." Marlana shrugged slightly. "Pennington is a complete mystery to me. Honestly? I almost prefer that. I don't think I'd want to know what's actually going on there."
"Then, Councillor," Krim replied gravely, "We may have less time than we think."
"How to do Anything Better in Four Months"
By Lt. Ella Grey
And some guest appearances
* * * *
“If you think that I could be forgiven, I wish you would.” ~A Long December, The Counting Crows.
The First Month: Lyrical Retort
* * * * *
Ella had tried to deal with the aftermath of the Dithparu as best she could, throwing herself into work until O'Shea had prodded her out of Engineering with a tricorder, visiting the various beach programs stored in the memory banks of the Holodeck, but it was difficult. She was often sad and lonely and it seemed like every song that she heard these days was about loss, angst, and depression, which she welcomed.
Sometimes people asked how she was doing and what she wanted was to quote them a lyric (since lyrics usually perfectly described how she was really
doing- and so prettily too) but Ella was sure that she’d get funny stares or rolled eyes so she answered instead that she was doing fine, dandy, or super. Sometimes all three.
Branwen told her that she needed to work on expressing her grief and Ella bit back the lyrical retort-
“She looks up at the building, says she’s thinking of jumping”
-And said instead that she was doing the best she could (just dandy) and thanks for asking.
At the end of the month, Ella had worked up enough courage to talk to Victor again. It was hard, considering the information that 8-ball had grudgingly passed on to her about the forced mind meld, but Ella had tried to tell herself that just because someone saw you as a destroyer and bringer of death and chaos, it didn’t necessarily mean that you couldn’t be friends.
So Ella worked up the nerve to apologize, again, to Victor and Victor had the nerve to, again, ignore her apology.
She spent the last week of the month alternating between crying and consoling herself with chocolate, when she wasn’t trying to put in twenty-four hour shifts in the department.
She was trying but it was just a bit too much for her to deal with, the double whammy of losing Indigo and being dead to Victor.
It all came to a head on a Thursday when the words “believe in me, cause I don’t believe in anything” kept skipping in her head and she had gone a few days without sleep because she couldn’t help but stare at the pencil art sculpture that Indy had left before her untimely exit stage left. Finding insomnia about as intolerable as loving a man who couldn’t forgive her, Ella had finally gone to Sickbay to request sleeping sedatives.
It had been somewhat strange asking for drugs from someone that looked like a twelve-year old but it had been worth being able to get a solid eight hours of sleep.
Two days later, awake, Ella had gone to the Holodeck with the purpose of burning off chocolate calories through sand trudging but had ended up loading the old bar fight training program instead.
* * * *
“I don't need a friend, I need to mend so far away” ~Remedy, Seether
The Second Month: Bruises Erased
* * * *
In the middle of the second month, O’Shea told her that she needed to get a hobby and then forced her from Engineering once more.
Ella had stuck her tongue out at the chief and then had gone to the Holodeck where she now spent most of her free time. She had mastered the subtle art of the pool stick and the broken bottle, both effective means of defending yourself and was working up to level five, which introduced the always useful Molotov cocktail.
Some of the time she imagined her opponents with the faces of people that annoyed her, like Lt. Angie or that smug ass Curran, but mostly she just enjoyed beating up on strangers. Life was easier, Ella had decided, when your life was made up of strangers. You didn’t have to worry about what they thought or if you were hurting them.
Of course, she didn’t really succeed in beating upon the strangers as often as she would like. What she wanted was to be able to fight off three attackers at once but half of the time she found herself flying through the air, getting cracked over the head with chairs, and having her arms nearly pulled out of their sockets. It had gotten to the point where she was on friendly terms with most of the Sickbay staff and (even though she suspected that it was either Ensign Kio that had ratted Ella out to her counselor) rather enjoyed talking to them when getting her bones re-set or bruises erased. Distraction was always good.
“I can understand how angry you feel, Ella.” Branwen had replied during one of their sessions.
Ella had scrunched her nose, because she didn’t understand how that had anything to do with it. “I have to learn how to defend myself.”
“From what?” Branwen asked. “From who?”
The engineer had looked at her counselor with a puzzled expression. “From that third asshole with the barstool.”
* * * *
“Baby it's yours, all yours, if you want it tonight. I'll give you the red light special all through the night” ~Red Light Special, TLC
The Third Month: Spontaneous Combustion
* * * *
Old habits died hard and by the third month Ella found herself often staring, leering, and mentally drooling at the guys around her. She would then often find herself close to reaching out, starting to put her hand in the cookie jar so to speak, before she would remember and snap her hand back in disgust.
It was a shame, really. She may have cut back on her workout schedule but her body had never looked better. It was just too bad that no one was going to get to see her naked since every time she was tempted to offer, she immediately thought of Victor and then couldn’t follow through.
“Lord knows what I’m saving myself for.“ Ella had said angrily one day. “It probably fell off of him from the wear and tear of the chastity belt.”
Branwen had gently reminded her that it was attacks like that one that had gotten her into this situation with Victor in the first place.
8-Ball had laughed hysterically and had decided to add that to her book of memorable quotes.
Together the two of them had created “Macho Man Monday” where they would discuss everything from old “war” stories to their current conquests. Well, at least for 8-ball. As the science officer once put it, she was out there doing all the screwing that Ella was thinking about.
Despite these infatuations, Ella was doing well, merely sightseeing and not really looking for places to stay the night so to speak. She hadn’t really thought about the Naussican National Soccer team for too long and she had only stopped to re-read the description of Samantha Widdlestein’s pirate romance program once. The hero had sounded a little too much like a certain security officer she knew and she couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than screwing around with a hologram just because it happened to look like the object of your desire.
Anyway, she had been doing well. Great. Fine and dandy. And then she had the most horrific workday imaginable. If something was broken then so was the tool that fixed it. There were over a hundred and one different service calls within the space of five minutes and Ella had managed somehow to bang her knee into the corner of a desk. And then there had been something with the environmental controls, and then there had been something broken in the most god-forsaken Jeffries Tube known to man, and then...
By the end of the day, she had just wanted to crawl into bed with Victor, claim the monsters had come for her once more and cuddle close. She had wanted to talk about his day, his outrageous aunts, hear what had been the outcome of his illegal lung. She had wanted to try and make him laugh and maybe try some of his weird Andorian-German cooking.
God help her, she had missed his sheep analogies.
When Corran had stopped by with an impromptu invitation to make swords, or whatever hobby he was into these days, Ella had taken one look at him and had told him to run away before she dragged him inside and rode him hard enough to make all the spots fall off. Repeatedly. One lay for every life he’d ever lived.
Ella would have found his noble restraint endearing if she hadn’t been paying such close attention to his ass as he quickly retreated.
She apologized later and they both agreed that he should call her over the comm. from now on, at least until she either made up with Victor or spontaneously combusted from sexual frustration.
* * * *
The Fourth month: Emotional Crutch
* * * *
When O’Shea forced her from Engineering by phaser point, Ella decided that maybe she did need to find a new hobby.
She made a list of all the things that had ever flitted across her mind as worth trying (having to go back later and sadly cross off anything remotely
sexual) and made it her goal to try them all.
The painting class was a wash but she did enjoy collage, just as Indigo had once said that she would.
She couldn’t sit down long enough to read a book for the book club, though, and macramé had bored her to tears.
She’d thought about taking German, realized the problem with that particular line of thought, thought about taking French and had finally settled on Andorian as a sort of middle ground. Of course it was a bitch to learn, nothing at all like sign, but the thought of being able to say something in Andorian at a party was terribly appealing. So far she could say “hello,”
“where’s the bathroom”, and “move out of my way before I slice you with my U’shaan-tor.”
She dropped a serious amount of credit on DS5’s promenade shops and wondered if her father would go through the five stages of grief when he saw the bill.
And then one day she was lazily flipping through the programs of the Holodeck when she came across a program entitled ‘Belated Memorial Gift for Lieutenant Grey.” Intrigued, Ella had accessed the program and had walked into a yellow gridded room where Indigo Renkert had stood waiting for her.
Words failed her. Emotion did not.
“What is this?” Ella finally asked aloud.
“Hi Ella.” Holo-Indy said warmly, just as the real Indigo would have. Like the real Indigo, the hologram was dressed in outrageous clothes and her hair was a bright Kool-Aid red. Large bangles in her ears.
She forced herself to breathe. “Hi Indy.”
“You weren’t supposed to see me yet.” Indigo said ruefully. “Samantha isn’t finished entirely with all my programming.”
Samantha Widdlestein, Ella thought. Of course. “Why exactly is she making you?”
“She said she thought you might need someone to talk to.” Indigo said seriously. Ella found it amazing how accurate Sam had gotten Indy’s serious face down. “And that it isn’t a setback. Or an emotional crutch. Just something you need.”
Ella found her eyes tearing up and squinted and then frowned. “What does a teenager think that I need?”
“To say goodbye.” Indigo said with a smile, those oversized earrings of hers making small bell sounds as she moved her head. “Your way.”
“What if my way takes years?” Ella asked. “Isn’t that an emotional crutch?”
Holo-Indy shrugged. “So what if it is? Who expects you to suddenly bounce back and be okay? You’re not a rubber ball.”
They spent the next couple of hours talking, luckily no one wanting to use the Holodeck so late in the evening. She told Indy about Victor, naturally, and how she could now fend off three people with a pool stick. Together they practiced her Andorian and Indigo related one of her tall tales that Ella had heard before but laughed hard anyway. They talked about the ship, her parents, her friends, and Indigo’s death.
Ella went back to her quarters feeling genuinely sleepy for the first time in months.
She was late the next day because she overslept.
"Punishment, Questions, and Maintenance..."
Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath Intelligence Officer
USS Galaxy
Scrubbing...
Most people would consider this a punishment... but then again he managed to annoy almost everyone in his department because of it. Going through all their offices while they weren't there... always fun and allows for the humourous encounters of the what the hell were you doing in my office meetings...
Raynor's face went momentarily dark... he began wondering if was becoming his mask... his sarcastic humour... his false demeanour... if it was becoming who he truly was... But no, it was still a mask... the whole light heart manner of his way he went about things... it was all fake... but it was becoming a part of him... a small part, but still mostly only the surface of his mentality.
You don't recover from having seen your entire home destroyed by someone you trusted with your life. You don't recover from having to learn to kill before you learn your ABCs. You don't recover from torture, being a human genuine pig, or being a child soldier who knew how to pilot a ship in combat better than grown men, who supposedly had ten times more experience than he did. You don't get over being raised for hell. You might hide it well...
but you never get over it.
It on this train of thought, he asked the question. And because he was sometimes entirely random, in his thoughts he found himself wondering. 'How the hell did the Dithparu possess some of the humans with no previous hint that they had any sort of ESP. Unless.' he thought of a certain theory he heard once... but best to ask the bastards themselves, and have his suspicions either confirmed or denied.
He continued to scrub, but it was automated, he was only semi-aware of it, as he dipped into his subconscious, leaving the name of Zev Raynor behind, and becoming, Pariah.
Kanin was waiting for him... a floating ball of energy. It probably annoyed him to be the inferior to someone who was once his host. "You summoned me Pariah?" he was visibly disgusted that he, KANIN, was now at the beck and call of this human consciousness, Pariah.
"I'm still trying to figure out these other possessions. I seemed that the Dithparu could only possess ESP members of the crew, and yet you were able to possess humans as well. Care to give me a hand in figuring it out?"
Pariah asked.
"Why should I help you figure out anything, you pathetic little-", said the Dithparu still disgusted.
"Who's in control here?" Pariah was cold.
"YOU KNOW!" Kanin said, annoyed that he was being bugged about such trivial matters.
"Tell me anyways..." Pariah said, he just wanted to hear it for himself.
"All humans can be possessed, by our kind, though they are highly undesirable, because-" Kanin began to explain.
"They all have ESP, though a very unevolved form of it," Pariah finished.
"The sixth sense." This was a theory had bounced around the Coven at one point when trying to figure out where human evolution might lead. Of course it had only been a theory then.
Only real proof of any really good ESP in the human gene pool, was Nostradamus, who had an uncanny ability to predict the future, for those who followed his predictions... though some debated he might have been a time traveller. Although there were other examples of prophets throughout the history of mankind, his seemed to be slightly more specific, and was not drowned in as much religious context. There was no way to be certain...
getting anywhere near Earth with time travel would set off too much alarms.
"Though, as you will undoubtedly ask, why were those specific humans taken?
The answer is simple, they were either just there, and their possessors were desperate for a body, or they had a high ESP rating for humans." Kanin said annoyed. "Is there anything else? Because I'm not here to maintain your curiosity," Kanin said getting impatient... although that was exactly why he was here, aside from the fact that Raynor was a freak. But that's another matter.
He awoke from his autopilot and continued with the lousy scrubbing job he had been assigned. He thought about what he had planned for tonight. Other officers might of thought of this as punishment. This was vacation. No thinking except what you want to think about and the floor in front of you.
Nothing but your hands, no bringing your work home with you, when your done, your done.
Tonight... he would remind himself what real punishment was...
Some unused Holodeck...
Raynor sighed... maintenance always sucked... but it had to be done.
"Computer has my personal database been uploaded to the ship's computer?"
"Affirmative"
Time for another one of those dreaded three-hour sessions in which he would be keeping up his physical condition and prowess. Actually this one would probably be longer, given the fact he had to stop for about a week for transit between assignments. Oh well. it was only maintenance.
'Time to get this over with.' Raynor thought to himself.
The program started, and found himself in a very gravity heavy room by himself. Approximately 2.4 Gs at present, Raynor guessed, maybe 2.5. and before him there was a coven combat suit, or a PRC, as he called it referring to the single biggest flaw in the armour. Basically designed to protect him from anything except being depressurized. The real armour could even take a max kill phaser blast for about 5 seconds, before the effects reached the wearer, assuming that shooter keep it on the same spot.
Otherwise it would take longer, giving the person inside ample time to return fire, though it lacked any personalized force field generators.
However he had programmed this suit in from what it was over 15 years ago.
And it was more than likely they added that option in as well. Plus that was if the suit was real, but for the simulation, everything about it was designed to make it a living hell for Raynor.
The gasmask for example... pumped in breathable air, but it was barely breathable, making it easier for Raynor to tire out while wearing it. The goggles, which were optic sensors that gave normally were nearly unquestionable in accuracy, were now highly faulty, reporting mines or other things that might not even be there, or fail to report things that were, and would occasionally black out all together forcing Raynor to go in a situation blind. Yes blind, because to remove the damned goggles, would expose his eyes to a possibly poisonous atmosphere. They also killed his puerperal vision, which Raynor normally have found highly useful. The suit, dull the rest of his senses, if it didn't kill them completely. And when he was hit, it would cost him. Though Raynor did not under any circumstances change the actually safety settings for his simulations he found a fairly decent work around. Getting hit by any weapon in the simulation resulted in his armour getting unbearably heavier in that location of his body and much stiffer, making it harder, for him to move it. The weight however only applied to Raynor, and proved to be of no consequence to any of his holographic opponents when he happened to drop his body on them, which could weigh a ton under normal gravity settings, but with the heavier gravity settings, it was just preferable not to get hit.
At least this time, he didn't have to carry any extra luggage, and the weight was currently evenly distributed. A backpack stuffed with anvils would kill him with his lack of practice, maybe next week. Level 1 would do for getting back into the swing of things...
Raynor put on the gear, which made him feel like something in between a nazi SS and a samurai. He could even pull of a decent Darth Vader impression with it on. Though strictly speaking, he didn't exactly own his set of gear, and it wasn't even a Starfleet issue set of armour. It was something from his childhood, much like the insistence that he keep his body in decent shape.
"A couple laps around the track, then hunting down a couple snipers armed only with my penis, in a nice desert planet with quicksand, mines, force field generator traps and the occasional smaller vessel that will inevitably try and separate me from solid ground by creating a stronger gravity field on their ship and turn it to oppose gravity on the planet. Or do the occasional bombardment. And of course the armour I'm were just happens to be all black, so I can't hide, and I heat up faster than I should. The four snipers will of course be well hidden and moving," Raynor said, reviewing the objectives and having an idea of the hell that awaited him.
"After that then facing about a couple angry Klingons and a Vulcan who act like their under about half earth gravity so they can jump 50 feet in the air, while I'm stuck at over double earth gravity armed with only a Katana.
And of course they have to know what their doing in less gravity with speed and style and breathe the air as if it was perfectly suited for them, while I'm stuck breathing the third rate, crap that barely passes what humans can breathe, and of course, I'll already be tired from it all."
"And finish off in the battle room where I'll have to hit 20 golf ball shaped objects in under a minute with only one gun, and never miss, that will have plenty of stars floating in my way and I will have to change to a Zero gravity mentality, and for each task I will have about half an hour to complete fully, or start the whole process over again. And because of the Zero gravity trick at the end, I'm most likely going to mess up at least once or twice, because it so easy to over aim when switching gravity like that" he finished talking to himself. Of course if I know I am about to mess up anyways, I can always 'kill' myself. Any hit that would normally have killed Raynor would force the program to restart. Another work around to the safety protocols, and a bitchy one.
This was punishment but it wasn't impossible, not for Raynor at least.
This sounded like an insane task for a normal human being but Raynor was under no definition normal. The Terran Coven had separated itself from the rest of humanity 200 years ago, and forced themselves into harsher and harsher environments, inorder to make their bodies more durable, and adaptable to the harshest conditions, they also needed sharp minds and senses to survive. Since they constantly put themselves into harsher and harsher environments with each passing generation, they had definitely evolved into something tougher, genetically and still they were going.
Within another two generations, they might be considered themselves different enough to be classified as a different species, much like the Romulans and the Vulcans. But that was another philosophical debate wrapped in with genetic differences...
If he had a supposedly sore back from scrubbing all day, it wouldn't compare to how sore he was about to get... "Begin Training exercises..." he said, and began his laps.
Four and a half hours pass...
Four and a half hours of sweat, tears, swearing, and fucking up later, Raynor had finally finished his program, and let out a sigh of relief...
The computer would probably go harder on him next time, if he booked holodeck time soon... but not to book it would be worse... as he would get out of shape...
"End session," he announced... but he let the battle room run for a bit. He enjoyed the Zero Gravity after a long hard work out. He stripped, and just let himself drift for a bit... naked his muscles began to unclench themselves, and he breathe in what was the sweetest air he had tasted for what seemed like an eternity. His was almost in a paradise... of course this is how it always was after going through hell.
Self-improvement is masturbation... Self-destruction is the answer...
This was his vacation... and it was better than sex.
Credit: Fight Club/Ender's Game for a couple lines or ideas.
off: oh, let's just say that this is about a month or two before the mission starts
"Samantha's New Groove, part one"
from the Fairy Tale Chronicles Samantha Widdlestein
Arel Smith, holographic representation
and surprise guest
****
"I don't quite fully understand my role in this tale,” the holographic Arel Smith said as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror.
The dress- for once- was black and slinky and not ruffled, bow-tied, or otherwise overly feminine. The only drawback was that there was several purple feathers attached at the collar with one large purple.... something attached at the back of her dress, curling menacingly over the hologram's head in a cheerful bobbing fashion.
Even though she was only a hologram, the security chief had opted for boots.
Samantha Widdlestein sighed and swung her legs over the arm of the Emperor's throne. She was quite impressed with her throne room, which was a chair at the top of an absurdly high indoor step-pyramid, but she couldn't quite muster up enough enthusiasm to brag about it. "You're the Emperor's counsel and you've been trying to take over the throne for years."
The holographic woman turned from regarding the ground and the purple something bounced as she did so. She frowned, as the real Arel would have done because Sam was nothing if not a perfectionist. That was the main reason she had decided to start testing out these programs on her hologram; to try and predict how the real Arel would mess them up.
"You mean that I'm the villain?" Arel asked and then frowned harder. "I'm not quite sure I like that. I don't get eaten by a pack of wild hyenas this time, do I?"
Samantha smiled. It was a good algorhythm she had written; that was exactly the kind of question Arel would have asked, albeit with more curse words.
"Trust me, I'm doing you a favor." Sam told her. "You'll have more fun playing the bad guy."
The holographic Arel started to say something but then shrugged. And then slapped at several feathers.
Loud music suddenly filled the throne room, followed by fanfare, and several dancing extras. Samantha decided that she'd have to work on making the little man in the white glittery suit more visible. Sure, only she would get it but that was the price of genius.
"Now, you have to be nice to the emperor." Sam warned as she saw the man approach. The girl tapped her lips thoughtfully and then added to her list of notes that he really should have been dancing a bit more. Perhaps even moon-walking. She got up and moved Arel to sit in the throne.
"I'm always nice..." Arel started and then narrowed her eyes at the approaching figure. "Very cute, Samantha."
Normally, Samantha would have flipped her hair and said that she knew that she was but instead she shrugged. The real Arel, of course, would be furious but that was half the fun.
James Mitchell, whom Samantha had chosen for the role of the Emperor, strutted his way to the throne. Of course, the red tunic she'd created for him looked ridiculous, and the crown was not much better, but Sam had to admit that he had the attitude down pat. Especially when he sneered down at Arel and said that she was in his chair.
The holo Arel shot Sam another dirty look before gritting her teeth and apologizing. Sam got out her pen and added to the list of corrections that apologies didn't usually contain expletives.
Just then a guy who had the build of Raven Darkstar on steroids came running up the steps of the pyramid three at a time. "Uh, sorry I'm late, Yzma. I had chocolate chip cookies in the oven and then the quiche started to fold in on itself..."
"What's he babbling about?" Arel asked Sam.
"He's talking to you." Sam said back, looking thought fully over her list.
She heard the holographic Arel say in confusion that cookies were good and tuned out the conversation for a few minutes while she thought about what her next story should be and how she could convince Arel to let her stay onboard the Miranda for awhile.
It would be perfect, Samantha thought. She could help watch Korvin and start her application to the Academy and would’nt have time to think about...
"HE FIRES ME!" the holographic Arel exploded as she turned to Sam.
"Yeah," Samantha explained wearily. "He wins too. You are the villain, after all. But you get to have some fun so pipe down."
"Goram son of a mak'dar." Arel pouted.
"Just think of it as your being let go," James the Emperor began cheerfully over Arel's snarls. Samantha followed after the woman as she stormed down the step-pyramid and listened wistfully to her friend's curses.
****
The Holographic Arel looked at the galley of Mitchell heads and smiled as she hefted the mallet again "So, what now?"
"You have to think up a plan to get even." Samantha said.
"Well," Arel said. "I have this mallet here." She smashed another head as if to prove the point.
"No," Sam said, shaking her head. "This is a G rated fairy tale."
There was a loud *SMASH* as the marble head of Mitchell was pulverized.
Samantha thought the real Arel was going to love this portion of the program.
"What's that mean?" Arel huffed.
"Implied violence. No blood and guts."
"Great," Arel said. "You made me useless."
"I know you've got some imagination in that thick skull of yours." Samantha snapped. It felt good to snap at someone. Other than Branwen, she'd isolated herself lately and being irritable with your therapist got old after awhile.
"So use it."
The hologram frowned as the program ran through several possibilities that Samantha had listed. Of course, Sam could only hope that the real Arel would come to the same conclusion as the program would. Luckily it wouldn't move forward until Arel had given the right prompt.
"I'm a witch." The hologram said triumphantly. "I can curse him.
"Sorta." Sam agreed. "You can change him into something."
"Like?" Arel asked as she reduced another Mitchell statue to bits.
"Well, that's not really important cause Kronk screws it up anyway."
Samantha said with a shrug. "But it should be fun."
There was that word again. Fun.
***
Kronk, as programmed, had messed up. But then again, so had the holo-Arel.
Any horror that Samantha could imagine the real Arel doing, the hologram did.
Arel punched out the emperor before he could drink his poison.
Arel punched out Kronk.
Arel left in a huff.
Arel skewered the theme song guy, just for the hell of it.
It was pure mayhem now. Kronk and Arel were screaming at each other over the spinach puffs, the emperor was currently eating the rest of the dinner off of the table, and Samantha was holding her head in her hands.
“Well, this is interesting.” A voice said.
Samantha looked up and gasped at the woman in the archway. "Computer freeze program!"
The woman looked around in bemusement before walking over to Sam to drop her bag. She narrowed her eyes at Samantha's face and then looked back to where her holographic representation was frozen, in the process of shoving a spinach puff down the henchman's throat.
She frowned.
“What the fuck is that purple thing around my neck?” Arel Smith asked.
Samantha gaped for a moment before throwing herself into Arel's arms.
OOC: Forgot to mention to Dallas that that previous post, "Big Swingin'
Sticks",
is backdated a little, maybe a few months before November..
"Reunion"
Lieutenant jg Claire Barnes, Security Officer,
Lieutenant jg Holly Goodhead, Medical Officer (APC),
Lily Goodhead, Civilian Child (APC)
Location: USS Galaxy Docking Hatch
Racing through the corridor, Claire jarringly came to a halt near the docking hatch, where a shocked ensign blinked at her. It had been a few months since she talked to James about things, and now, Holly was arriving.
"Umm.. Can I help you, Lt?"
"Waiting for a close friend."
"Oh, okay. They shouldn't be long with processing. There was a little bit of a holdup just before."
Claire nodded and just waited. Eventually, she smiled when she a brunette woman and a small child walking down the corridor.
Moving forwards, Claire raced ahead and the brunette sighed. Catching upto them, Claire gave her a big hug, before kissing her, "I've missed you soo much, Holly."
Holly hugged her back, "Woah, calm down, Claire, and ease up. There is a time and place for that."
Claire blushed a little, letting go as the little girl giggled. Claire smiled and ruffled the girl's hair, "Hiya, Lily."
"Hi, Aunty Claire. We missed you a lot, even if Mum isn't showing it."
Holly made a little face at her daughter, and they continued on with Claire and Holly holding hands. The ensign gulped but didn't say anything as they passed and entered a turbolift.
Once the door closed, Claire asked, "I hope you don't mind, but I went and put in for a shared family quarters."
"That's fine."
"Good. I still need to shift some stuff over."
Holly smiled, as Claire directed the computer to take them to the correct deck, "I bet that will be a lot of work knowing you. How is Blinky going with it?"
"He's doing okay. Slept through most of it anyway.
Engineering adjusted the room layout the other day. Here it is."
Claire tapped the button and they let Lily race forwards to explore. Claire grinned and followed after Holly entered.
Holly looked around, quite surprised. Turning back to Claire, she exclaimed, "This looks very very familiar."
"Yep. It is virtually identical. Just a little bit bigger, especially with the bedrooms."
Moving forwards, Holly sat down on the couch and gasped in surprise when she saw a small tear on one edge of an arm-rest, a tear coming to her eye as she remebered stuff, "Wow. Now that is just freaky."
Claire laughed, sitting down next to her, "Before we left the Victorious, I borrowed a holo-camera from Engineering, and recorded it all exactly. They were even kind enough to help me take replicator scans of everything. Some of it I got put in stasis storage too, and had it shipped her."
Holly leaned forwards and kissed Claire on the mouth, holding her tight. After breaking the kiss, Holly leant against her much less fragile friend, letting Claire put an arm around her, "I don't know what to say. It is wonderful, especially you."
They just stayed there for a bit until Lily came bursting out of the room that was now her bedroom.
Racing over to Claire, she hugged her, "I love it, Aunty Claire."
Claire grinned, "I'm glad. Do you need to use Aunty? I'm not that old."
Holly laughed, "Just typical, you haven't changed. I bet you are still giving hell to your commanding officer."
"Oh yeah, but he is great. Puts up with me a lot."
"Poor guy."
Lily had headed over to the replicator and was looking through what it had available.
Holly turned to Claire and asked, "When we came in, it looked like things in the station weren't in a good way."
"Yeah, it kind of got banged up a bit. Nothing to worry about."
"What about the ship?"
Claire was silent for a bit before replying, "It is okay now."
"What happened?"
"You'll get upset. I know you worry."
Taking Claire's hand, she spoke, "Claire, I made the decision to come back out here, and so did Lily. We both know there are risks, and both accept it. I can't just hide from life."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"I can tell you the unclassified stuff. There were some telepathic aliens named Dithparu, who took over a lot of the crew with mind control. I wasn't one of them, and we led a sort of resistance until some being cleaned up the mess by knocking out all telepathy. Any crew member who had telepathy lost it for a bit, but they will get it back eventually if they haven't."
"Sounds dreadful, but I can accept that stuff like that happens."
Claire smiled, "Okay. How about I take you and Lily on a tour after lunch? This place is bigger then the Vic by a long-shot."
"Sounds like a good idea. I have to stop by Sickbay to check in and arrange for the standard physicals too, along with booking Lily into the shipboard school."
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