"A Whole New Woman"

Lt (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Chief Science Officer

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

It was The Day.

By virtue of Lady Luck, God's grace, or spontaneous goodness, 8-ball had been able to delay her mandatory counselling sessions for quite awhile. She didn't have any specific reason for not wanting to see a counselor; it just happened that she, like 99% of the universe, didn't particularly like counselors. At least, not when she was being forced to see one. Counselors, like disease and death, were what happened to other people. You were supposed to be sane enough to not need one.

Unfortunately, then came along the Dithparu to royally fuck things up. And Lady Luck did not persevere, so now 8-ball found herself walking into the office of Counselor Elessidil. Godammit.

The lieutenant's reticence registered on the Betazoid's keen empathic sense like latinum to a Ferengi. There was something odd about a Vulcan being the catalyst for such a reaction, though after familiarizing himself with T'Pol's file Brian had prepared himself for a less than "typical" counseling session.

"Lieutenant," he managed, seeking to employ the most emotion-neutral greeting he could think of as the dour science officer breezed past his desk and headed directly for the other side of the room. He watched calmly as she came to a halt in front of the window. Arms folded, she kept her back to him, eschewing the comparatively restrictive confine of his office in favor of the freedom of space.

He knew this was going to be interesting.

"Counselor," 8-ball replied, turning around. She decided immediately that she didn't like this place, and wondered why they couldn't do counselling sessions in big, open places, like beaches imitated to look like Risa. If she was a counselor, all therapy would begin on Risa. Then again, if she was a counselor, she'd probably drive all her patients mad. Or madder.

"You ought to do more with this place," she told Elessidil. "Get some pretty pictures or knock another window into the wall or something. Windows give people the feeling of space, freedom. Of course, it's kind of a stupid idea when you remember that all that beautiful space is just a bunch of beautiful nothingness that could kill you in ten seconds flat, but it's the perception that matters."

8-ball chewed on one of her nails for a second. . .an old habit that had annoyingly come back. . .and asked, "So, what do we do now? You ask questions, I look at inkblots, what?"

Witnessing the movement, speech and opinion that filled the first thirty seconds after the half-Vulcan's arrival was almost surreal. For a split second, Brian found himself wondering if a Klingon warrior in full battle armor was coming next, doing the dance of the seven veils while wearing fuzzy pink slippers and chanting El-Aurian love poems.

"Not unless you *want* to look at inkblots," he answered, joining her at the window. Peering out into the blackness, his eyes focused on the stars but his attention was definitely on her. "Perception," he reflected after a long pause. "It can be a very powerful thing, don't you think, Lieutenant?"

8-ball resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only barely. "Yeah, I guess," she said in a totally unconvinced manner. She glanced sideways towards the counselor's face before returning back to looking out the window. . .she felt fidgety, and she hated it. She kept her arms tightly around her so she'd stop trying to bite her fingers off. Damn shrinks. It was all their fault.

She tried to think of something useful to say, something that went like, "I'm wonderfully well-adjusted and happy, so you can let me go now" but she couldn't for the life of her think of anything that would sound believable. She sighed, frustrated, and turned her body towards him. "Look, I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing here, so if you could give me just the slightest bit of direction. . ."

"But you don't want direction," he calmly replied, his gaze still fixed on the stars. "You have a lot you want to say . . . I'm just going to listen."

8-ball considered smacking Elessidil and decided that sighing in frustration was easier. 'You have a lot to say'. . .well, 8-ball supposed that she did. But what did she want to talk about? The kids? Azra popping in and out? Himne breaking up with her? The weirdness of Victor's mind? The weirdness of being a Chief Science Officer? There was too much to say; that was the whole point. She didn't know what to pick.

So she decided to pick everything.

"Okay," 8-ball finally said. "Fine. You want me to talk about things? Here are some things. I got promoted to Science Chief and Lieutenant in practically the same day, which was weird and crazy and most likely a catastrophic mistake. I got into a food fight with a girl named Sam. . .a girl I incidentally tortured later on loudspeaker, by the way. . .and got sentenced to first daycare duty, and now to Command School. . .who in their right mind would make me a Commander, anyway?"

"Let's see, what else: Oh, well during that wacky Dithparu 'incident', I beat up my boyfriend and then he broke up with me. . .guess he doesn't like a woman who can kick his ass. . .I forced a mindmeld on Vicky "Death" Krieghoff and you wouldn't believe the wacky shit that goes on in that boy's head, and, oh yeah, I lost a friend who you actually killed while you were possessed by an alien psychopath."

8-ball glared at him, her fingernails back in her mouth despite all best intentions. "So," she said, "do you still want to talk about perception?"

"Yep. Yours," he answered succinctly, still as placid as pond on a quiet spring day, despite the reference to Ensign Enkert's death. She was talking, and *that*, for now, was the goal.

"And you have a lot of them," he continued, turning his head to face her a little. "Every one of those things you mentioned? How you feel and react to those is all about your perceptions. Doesn't say a thing about the events themselves. And having those perceptions has no effect on the causes; you won't change them, you won't make them go away, you won't undo anything." Elessidil spoke slowly, calmly, like a storyteller who wanted to make sure his audience got every word.

"But they have a *lot* of effect on you. *That's* why you're here."

8-ball glared at him and then, hopelessly, began to shake her head and laugh. "You're not exactly easy to piss off, are you? Nope, not you, you're as calm as the dead. I think you should have been the Vulcan, Counselor. It would have been a better fit."

8-ball sighed, moved around the room a little, and finally plopped in a chair. She felt more tired than she would have liked. . .that seemed to be

pretty common these days. She tilted her head back on the chair so she could look at Elessidil upside down. "I'm changing the way I perceive you," she told him dryly. "You look good upside down."

Brian smirked . . . that one was amusing.

"I'll remember that next time I'm trying to impress someone," he said. "So I'm curious, Lieutenant," he began, still standing next to the window but turning to face her fully now. "All this . . . energy -- unfocused energy, I might add -- is this your usual reaction to stress, or is this a special situation?"

This time, 8-ball didn't bother to keep herself from rolling her eyes, which may have looked amusing, considering she was still looking at him from upside down. "No, it's pretty normal," 8-ball said lightly. "I've always been just a touch hyperactive."

She turned the chair around so she could look at him normally. . .she was beginning to get a headache from all that blood flowing to her brain. "Most men find my energy an attractive quality," she said, arching one eyebrow just slightly as she smiled at him.

"I'm sure," he replied, smirking anew. Even if he weren't a telepath/empath he'd have picked up the suggestive overtones. He walked toward the couch, his amusement with the whole scene still evident on his face. For a moment, he contemplated saying something to the effect of with that much energy she must go through a lot of men, but thought better of it. Might not come off the way he meant it. "Do you have trouble finding men who can keep up?"

"You have no idea," 8-ball said. "Men talk big but most of them are so worthless. . .it's sad, really. It is fun to shop around, though, and see who actually has earned their reputation. Sometimes, you get quite surprised: you can judge a book by it's cover, but not a man." She pursed her lips. "It's probably a good thing that Vrih and I broke up," she said. "Monogamous relationships take so much work, and they're not nearly as much fun."

She smiled widely at him and leaned forward a bit. "Still. . .so many boys with such crappy potential. . .I don't suppose that you could keep up with me, could you. . .Brian?"

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hand. "Easily . . . Lieutenant," he replied, with a Cheshire Cat-like grin. "But why couldn't Vrih?"

8-ball waved a hand at this impatiently. "I told you, he wasn't man enough for me. Some men don't like a woman who can take charge." She returned his grin with the hope that he wouldn't continue to ask about Vrih. . .she didn't want to talk about him. "I bet you wouldn't find that to be a problem."

"So is it safe to assume that this breakup isn't really causing you all that much stress or concern?" Brian asked, ignoring her remark.

8-ball fell backwards into her chair, sighing. He obviously wasn't interested in her at all, which was mostly annoying because she couldn't avoid hard questions by flirting with him. Definitely disappointing. "Fine, fine, just be a counselor, then," 8-ball said. "Yes, the breakup was a little annoying. I mean, I got dumped. Me! ME! I'm always the one who dumps people. But he couldn't handle things." She shook her head, irritated. "It's for the best."

"Sounds like maybe you're doing a little not handling things yourself. This time someone broke up with you . . . definitely a new perspective for you there. So what's brought you to the conclusion that it's for the best? Did you want the relationship to end?"

"Well, no. . ." 8-ball said. "Look, this is what happened. During that wacky Dithparu possession thing, I got taken over by two different aliens, the dominant one being this sadistic, psychopathic bitch named Anlaika. Anlaika didn't really care about taking over the ship or anything. She just wanted to hurt as many people as she could. She got off on it. . .literally. So, when I was possessed by her, I sort of kicked the shit out of Vrih. After I broke up with him. Really, really meanly. Anlaika wanted to kill him at first, but I convinced her that leaving him like this would have caused him more pain."

8-ball's fingernails went back in her mouth. "If I realized he was going to dump me because of all this, I probably would have let Anlaika kill him. The bastard."

Brian cocked his head and raised his eyebrows in amused disbelief. "Well...I suppose that would be one way of heading off the emotional discomfort . . . . But that opportunity's passed you by, so now what? Are you going to let it weigh on your mind until you have no nails or fingers left? Or have you considered another way to approach the issue?"

8-ball glared at him. "You know, you're definitely kind of snarky for a counselor. Isn't there a rule book that stipulates some sort of prohibition against making fun of the patient?"

He just grinned. "No there isn't. Actually, the 'rule book' says I can work under whatever tone's been set within the context of the session."

"Well, there should be," 8-ball said. "Only I'm allowed to make fun of me. Everyone knows that." She sighed, readjusted in her chair, and bit her lip. "Look, I wouldn't mind so much about Vrih. . .I mean, he was probably right. Our relationship wasn't exactly solid to begin with. I can't remember how many times we've broken up before. But it's just. . .when Anlaika was controlling me, when she was telling Vrih that I had never loved him and everything else. . .Vrih said that part of me meant what I said." 8-ball shook her head bitterly. "He said he could see it in my eyes."

"People often read their own fears or what they want to see in someone else's reactions. The important question is, do *you* feel there's any validity to what he said? What do *you* see in your eyes when you look into the mirror, literally and figuratively?"

But that wasn't a question 8-ball wanted to answer. "Pupils," she said dryly and stood up. "Look, not that it hasn't been fun, but you got other demented, psychotic people to treat, and I gotta get to shift. Looks bad when the Science Chief can't even make it to work on time. So thanks for all the therapeutic treatment; it did wonders. I feel like a whole new woman."

Brian did nothing to stop and simply watched her exit his office with the same arrow-like determination she came in with. If she wanted to leave, fine.

He knew he'd be seeing her again eventually.

"Due Time"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Sol Roswell

***Main Engineering***

Nara wondered why it seemed strangely calm in Engineering lately. She did the normal, worst-yet-not-too-bad-part-of-the-job duty of watching over incoming data from diagnostics and scans and making sure nothing spiked out of the ordinary.

As if anything on the Galaxy was ordinary or normal. The crew itself was well over it's quota for odd-balls. The ship hull was that of a refurbished flagship. That hull itself had seen many adventures before being attached to the Galaxy and her crew. It was no doubt the Galaxy had already started to punish the new/old hull with it's own adventures.

By about lunch-time one day, she concurred that it was just typical days in Engineering. After all that happened, a typical day felt suspicious.

After about a three month reprieve, the oddness started anew. Captain M'Kantu was being transferred. She didn't know the captain well enough to really be sad, but she knew changes would occur. She wasn't sure she would even notice being so low on the Totem Pole.

Life itself seemed to be getting back to normal.

Saia was going to school without much trouble, especially since there was a promise 8-Ball wouldn't be back. Nara personally knew that it wasn't 8-Ball and the woman was likely tormented with it. But the children likely weren't caring. Not she could blame them either.

She had realized how damaged she was by Marks when Saul and she became intimate, and weren't able to get far. She wasn't sure how she would deal with that. She hadn't heard anything about a trial for Marks either. Legal systems always take forever. Still yet, Saul and she were getting along great. A much needed change after all the fighting and distance.

She and Saia had settled back into their routine. Bran sometimes joining them for dinner, but often hardly at home doing who knew what. Nara was curious, but hardly had time to ask what the marine was up to in her spare time.

Nara was trying to get back to her spare time activities herself. She had yet to see the dolphins. She wondered how they handled the whole Dithparu situation and if the Dithparu did anything to or with them. She had also yet to visit her horse back riding program. So far all she did was take her un-attended anger, pain and frustration out on a marine called Baile, which turned out to be the scary ride of her life. So she was done with reading creepy people's mind for awhile. Or even approaching them.

Someone was trying to figure out what happened to Klaus and Nara did miss him. Others had died, but she only went to Indigo's wake, which was basically a beach party. Nara could only be thankful no one she had let into her little life had died or gone missing. Yet.

Yes, for the past few months, things were strangely calm.

Nara was quite nervous because it was due time.

Due time for a typical crisis on the Galaxy to erupt.

Due time for another chance to lose the people in her life.

Or possibly her mind.

"The Silent Service" - Prologue: "The Situation"

Captain Cassius Henderson,
Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy
Clandestine Operations Handler, Hydran Sector

Captain Kit Jordan Elaithin,
Deputy Director of Clandestine Operations, Starfleet Intelligence

Admiral (ret.) Jas Abrik,
Federation Security Advisor

****

Captain’s Ready Room,
Deck 1, USS Galaxy

Cass Henderson shifted in the desk chair, leaning on the right arm. That position wasn't any better than the previous one, or the sixteen before it. He sighed and gave up. The chair wasn't the problem. It was the same model as the one in his own office on Deck 8. No, the problem was that the chair belonged the Captain M'Kantu.

Though he had been officially installed to his first captaincy a few days previous, the reality was only now beginning to hit home. It was a field promotion, rather than a brevet. That implied a certain permanency which he wasn't certain he was prepared to take on. But he had agreed, and there was no taking that back.

Henderson stood up and pushed the chair out of the way. For a moment, he was tempted to call operations and have them bring his old chair up to the ready room. While he was still hoping that M'Kantu was coming back after the inquest, he did need a place to work in the meantime. But having operations do it would send a message that he was uncertain... he'd have to do it himself.

And there was the real issue. How do you become a 'captain'. The myth of captaincy was strong in the cultural memory of Starfleet. Names like Jean-Luc Picard, Kathryn Janeway, Benjamin Sisko, Robert E. L. Price, Victor Murdock, Irene deMercereau, and of course, James T. Kirk. Echoes of people who haunted the expectations of Starfleet crews.

So the main question on the mind of the recently appointed commanding officer of the USS Galaxy was the same question that had faced almost every commanding officer at the onset of their first command.

~How will I stack up?~

Henderson shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the issue at hand.

Henderson shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the issue at hand. There were many protocols for operations in Atlantis Sector, and he had to memorize the their nuances before they departed from Deep Space 5. He would be too busy during the actual trip.

[Comman... Captain Henderson?] the voice of Lt. Commander Corgan, the duty shift commander, interrupted. [There's an incoming conference call from the Palais de la Concorde and the USS Miranda, sir.]

"Patch it through to the Captain's Ready Room," Cass said, without thinking. He promptly bit his tongue when he realized what he'd said - but didn't correct himself. Strictly speaking, it was still true. "And make sure that I'm not disturbed while it's taking place."

[Aye, sir,] Corgan replied, and the channel closed.

Cass reluctantly pulled the chair back over and sat down. The screen lit up, and the Starfleet emblem was quickly replaced by two people on a split screen.

One was an elderly Trill man in a military cut suit - retired Admiral Jas Abrik, the Federation Security Advisor. Abrik was well known as a moderate 'Hawk', who had been the campaign manager for Special Emissary Arafel Pagro's unsuccessful bid for the Federation presidency in 2378. Henderson held a certain respect for Abrik, though he didn't always agree with the former officer's political decisions.

The other was a relatively young woman with dark auburn hair, cut much shorter than when he'd last seen her. Jordan Elaithin was only in her early thirties, but already held the chief position in the Clandestine Operation Directorate within Starfleet Intelligence. A prodigy in her own right, she had been identified by SFI when she was only a child, having begun training at the age of nine; she started to participate in formal operations when she was only fourteen. Her amount of experience was impressive and unquestionable, however her rather record included involvement within the now exposed Section 31 and included various missions of a questionable nature. In light of that, she was, most certainly, a controversial choice for CO Director.

Despite anyone's personal feelings toward her, however, it was difficult to deny Jordan had been doing her job well since rising to the post. She had been responsible for the implementation of many of the sweeping reforms within Intelligence, and had begun to slowly restore the Directorate's now-tainted image within a post-31 SFI.

Even with that in mind, few people trusted her, inside or outside of Clandestine Ops. Cass was no acception and Jordan knew that.

"Cass," she stated, her tone solid and formal, still holding a slight Boston tilt from her posh Earth upbringing. "I heard that promotion of yours might just stick. If so, you might have to think about a replacement for your handler duties." She offered a small smile.

"I suppose that depends on where *I* stick, Jordan," Cass replied, nodding respectfully to both Elaithin and Abrik. The sight of his immediate superior in Intelligence was a sobering reminder of more than a few things. As a officer in his first command, he was going to be observed by somebody from SFI. He quickly made a mental note to look at the personnel jackets of the officers who had transferred on at DS5. "Admiral Abrik, Director Elaithin. What's the situation?"

"Shortly before DS5 went dark, they conducted a series of long-range scans into Hydran space. For the past several months, everything has been rather peaceful along the monarchy's borders, but these scans show what our analysts have determined is an increase of activity within the Vaden system, which sits a few light years in. I'm sending the exact map to you now.

"Knowing this, we've been confronted with a series of... concerns. First, the incidents on DS5 hindered our abilities to track movements inside of Hydran space. Our other outposts are still operational, but they fall short of this particular system, which is of particular interest because Vaden serves as a jump-point for the Hydrans into Federation and Romulan space. If the activity is troop build up..." She paused a minute. She knew Henderson already had this background, but it never hurt to reiterate. "Second. The ion storm that passed through the sector cut off any communications into the area. Had the storm not occurred, we would still be relayed messages and scans, but the entire station array has been knocked out. We've not only lost the ability to receive information, we'e also lost track of an operative behind the borders."

Jordan brushed a piece of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind an ear. "That's where you come in. I need you to assemble a team from Galaxy to go into Hydran space and do two things: determine the threat level of the Hydran activity within the Vaden system, and locate our missing operative. You should receive the service jacket in your encryption stream shortly."

Cassius frowned. Almost all of his agents were out on assignment already, on both sides of the border. Despite the importance of the assignment he'd just been given, his resources were very limited - which meant he'd have to go outside of SFI for people. He had never been fond of having to recruit outsiders for missions that had to take place immediately. It invited too much risk.

"Between Federation Day and the ion storm, I've only got a few available operatives right now. I may have to recruit outside the directorate," Cass told the director. She needed fair warning for any such event.

"Yes; given the deployment of agents, I expected as much," Jordan said, with a nod. "I've identified three members of the Galaxy crew who have some SFI experience. I believe you've worked with Remur previously, Saul Bental has experience with Special Observations, and Madden Jayce was very involved in the DS5 Hydran observation team, as well as having limited field work experience. I strongly recommend you make use of these people. The other team members are up to you, though I would appreciate a report of your final selection for review."

"Yes, I brought Remur in two years ago. I'll have the final selection sent to you for approval in a few hours," Cass replied, making a few more mental reminders. Abrik looked like he wanted to say something. "Admiral?"

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but right now the Romulan government is unstable. The Hitan government is barely more popular than Tal'Aura's was," Jas Abrik explained. Though he privately didn't approve of the Federation's alliance with the Romulans, President Bacco was set on maintaining it. Therefore, having another government on Romulus fall apart wasn't a good thing. "President Bacco has asked me to impress upon you the importance of not allowing the Hydrans to gain a foothold that close to Romulan space... not to mention our own."

"Not to mention, sir," Cass nodded in agreement. "Will there be anything else? Ma'am? Sir?"

Abrik shook his head and with a characteristically brief farewell, he blinked out, leaving the Director along on the screen. Jordan and Henderson had known each other since their days at the Academy though never had they been in anyway considered friends. They were classmates and colleagues, but that was where the relationship ended. While she was very much a career Intelligence Operative, his choices had led him in a variety of directions. To a certain degree, she disliked that; Jordan had always believed it divided his loyalties and attentions in a way that could potentially harm his other objectives, whether it be his intelligence work, his tactical decisions, or his command level requirements. She was one of the several people in Intelligence that believed everyone should follow a path similar to her own, one of dedication to SFI.

With that in the back of her mind, Jordan wasn't exactly thrilled with SFC's decision to grant Henderson a field promotion to the Galaxy's Captain's chair. Especially given the tenuous situations of the modern Federation: she needed her people in a position that was easily accessible.

"Cass. Don't go trying to find the COIA operative. You won't," Jordan stated.

Henderson sighed. Of course she would want to talk about the COIA operative. It was a little known practice to send an operative to keep an eye on any officer who was on their first command. "I doubt I'll have time to give it more than a token effort, anyway. I take it you sent somebody with some real skill? I'll be insulted if it's one of those kids IA usually deploys."

"Give me more credit," she stated with a small smirk. "I need you to be honest with me, Cass. If Daren's relief from command sticks, are you planning on keeping the Galaxy? Because if so, I need to look into finding a replacement for your position, unless you have recommendations. You can't do both. Not when it requires juggling a ship as important as the Galaxy and a sector as important as the Hydran."

"I don't know the answer to that question yet," Cassius shrugged. "It's not something I've given much to. I'll send you some recommendations anyway - just to be sure. But I wouldn't spend too much time worrying about it. Daren has his bases covered, I'm sure."

"I'm sure he does," Jordan said, "I just wanted to make sure we were clear from the beginning, where my line is drawn." She cleared her throat. "Okay. Keep me aprised. I have nothing further for you."

"Of course," he nodded. "I'll be in touch."

"Good. Elaithin out."

The Director's face was replaced with a simple "end transmission" remark across the screen. Cassius shut down the terminal and shook his head. It never just rained - only poured. Bringing up the crew roster, he began the search for potential recruits.

"The Silent Service" - Part 1: "Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It"

Captain Cass Henderson, Clandestine Operations Handler: Hydran Sector
Master Chief Petty Officer Madden Jayce, Command Master Chief
Lieutenant Commander Brian Elessidil, Assistant Chief Counselor
Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Operations Officer
Lieutenant JG Miramon Terrik, Chief Flight Controller
Lieutenant JG Saul Bental, Chief Tactical Officer
Lieutenant JG Chase Remur, Chief Tactical Computer Specialist
2nd Lieutenant Jebediah Baile, SFMC Recon Specialist

with... Ensign Zev Raynor, Intelligence Officer

****

Executive Officer's Office,
Deck 8,
USS Galaxy

After wrapping up his meeting with Admiral Batanides, Admiral Abrik, Captain Elaithin, and Lieutenant Dobryin, Cass had spent several long hours working in his office to determine exactly who he was going to need for the assignment. In the end, it had boiled down to convenience more than he preferred. Most of the operatives that he'd already established were tied up with assignments elsewhere, or didn't have the necessary skill set. In fact, the only person who had previously worked for him that he'd selected was Lieutenant Remur, the hacker.

Before taking his dinner break, he'd sent a message to Master Chief Jayce, Commander Elessidil, Lieutenant Jamson, Lieutenant Miramon, Lieutenant Bental, Lieutenant Remur, Lieutenant Baile, and Ensign Raynor. The message had been as brief as it had been vague, telling them only that they were required to be in an out of the way conference room on Deck 23 at 2000 hours that evening.

Dinner with Ekoma had gone well, relaxing him after a long day of dealing with minor disputes and fielding conference calls about major ones. But it had gone as quickly as it had come, and he found himself in his office again, preparing for the meeting.

Glancing up at the chrono on the wall, he frowned. 1950 hours. Time to go. As he gathered up the PADDs and other equipment, he reflected on his choices. The selection just didn't sit entirely right. Too many of them had no experience in clandestine operations, and the ones that did were potential security risks because of their personal issues.

This wasn't starting well...

****

Chief Tactical Officer's Quarters,
Deck 5, USS Galaxy

Saul was lying stomach-down on his bed, re-reading the recently decrypted message that flickered on his personal computer console.

It was sent to him from Starfleet Intelligence Headquarters, and included only two, most unexpected lines.

"Lieutenant Saul Bental, you are hereby reactivated as a member of the Special Observations program. Briefing will soon follow."

His head was buried deep beneath his hands when his console chimed. He peeked at the screen again, expecting the worst.

This time, it was a message from Commander Henderson.

****

Conference Room,
Deck 23, USS Galaxy

Cass arrived first, as planned, and activated the devices that would sound-proof and scan-proof the room. He'd called in a favor with Lieutenant Tarin to ensure that Operations would ignore the room long enough for him to hold the briefing. The PADDs remained in a bag next to his chair. Taking a seat at the head of the conference table, he awaited the arrival of the unsuspecting recruits. Most of them were probably unsuspecting, anyway. Bental and Remur at least knew of his work for Starfleet Intelligence.

The doors swished open and admitted the first arrival...

"Evening, Commander," Miramon grinned as he walked into the conference room. "You sure picked a nice spot for a meeting. Everything good?"

The Bajoran was clearly in a good mood. His shift had finished ages ago, during the afternoon, which he always liked, since it gave him time to wrap up his work, take a shower and cook something delicious - taking his time as always. About now he'd either be chatting with Saul, spending a little time on the Holodeck, or curled up with a good book. But since the Commander had asked him over here, such things were postponed for a little while. Still, that was never enough to ruin his overall optimism.

Taking a seat at the table, he watched the XO with a careful eye, his expression relaxed and even somewhat amused, as was pretty much his default state of being. He didn't know what this was about, but hopefully it'd be something routine. That said, the XO and an obscurely placed conference room? It wasn't the Captain's birthday party they were planning, that was for sure.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Cassius replied. It was a half-truth, but it was what he had. He cocked his head toward the great observation window that dominated the outer wall of the conference room. The tip of one of the ship's warp nacelles could be seen. "This place has a nice view."

When he'd received Commander Henderson's message to report to a conference room on deck 23, Brian wasn't sure if he'd ever even been to deck 23 before. His arrival in the unfamiliar room confirmed that he hadn't.

Obviously with only two others in the room so far, whatever this was about hadn't started. Seated at the far end of the table, Henderson appeared to be in a very serious mood, a fact that the Betazoid counselor could empathically tell without even looking at the man.

"Gentlemen," Elessidil quietly greeted with a slight smile and nod, before seating himself immediately to the Commander's right.

"Counselor," Cass nodded. He could feel the brush of the telepath on his mind - just at the edge of his consciousness. It reminded him of how relieved he was to have his own mental ability, however limited, back. They were comforting.

Madden was on Elessidil's heels, more or less, and entered the room just as he settled down. With the return of her telepathic abilities, she was feeling much more like herself. She'd regained much of her usual swagger and, with the approval of Starfleet, had officially assumed her position as CMC of the Galaxy. It was nice to be back on a ship; she hadn't been for some time.

Happy to see her here, Brian quietly smiled at his fellow Betazoid. Since their first anonymous telepathic communication three months ago, the bond between them had steadily grown to the point where now, probably more than anyone else in the room, he knew the person that lay beneath the self-assured surface.

"Sirs," she said, settling at the foot of the table, staring across at the XO, particularly. "I'm feeling just a little bit out of place here." She glanced at the door as other officers began to come in. "And I have a feeling that's not going to be going away any time soon."

Miramon gave a gentle laugh at the words of the newcomer, recalling her name and position on the ship with a quick piece of mental fluidity. As far as he was concerned, there was really very little reason for her to feel that way, and he pretty much said so, too.

"I said pretty much the same thing when they promoted me to CNO, but you soon get used to it - especially after you end up spending most of your time amongst the other senior officers. The Commander there is your new best friend, and the Captain is the guy you get sent to if you're really good. Besides, at least here, nobody's gonna make you bow and scrape because you're lower on the ranking tables, and at the same time you don't have to worry that you're talking to your subordinates. So, relax."

Madden glanced at Elessidil and stifled a wide-eyed smirk; he thought he was being helpful, it was almost cute. "Lieutenant', that's, ah... not quite what I meant," she said, voice laughing. "I'm not new to my position and am quite comfortable in my status as a noncom, I chose it for a reason. I'm just amused at the situation, that's all. This isn't my standard cup of tea." She looked toward Henderson with a knowing glance; she knew a little more about what was going on than some of them might, she couldn't help it.

The counselor simply raised an eyebrow and looked askance in amusement. Whatever Henderson's intentions for those here assembled, it was reasonable to assume they'd be working together on some level. The group dynamics were going to be interesting.

The next person to walk through the doors was Saul Bental. The Chief Tactical Officer seemed very apprehensive, and stepped on the conference room's carpet as though he was treading on glass shreds. He took a seat by Miramon, and the Bajoran Chief Navigator could see that his friend was somewhat pale.

Miramon'd been waiting for his human friend to arrive. Sufficed to say, these days he did end up seeing a lot of Saul Bental, but since they were both pretty diametrically opposed as far as their personalities went - the human tending towards being quiet and often secretive in nature, whereas Miramon was open and pretty much as relaxed as the rest of his people - spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and then some. So it was never the case that either of them knew what the other was going to do, or what they were thinking - and thus, the Bajoran didn't tire of being around his friend, since it was almost impossible for him not to be surprised by what Saul did. Well, at least unless Nara was involved.

Giving the human a brief glance, he noted that Saul didn't exactly look well - maybe his diet was all wrong, or something. Either way, if Nara or Branwen saw him looking like that, they'd declare a medical emergency or some such thing. And frankly even Miramon wasn't happy with the idea of Saul collapsing in the middle of a briefing, so he leaned over towards Saul slightly, his eyes narrowed.

"Saul, you look like you've had a close encounter with a Pagh-Wraith."

"You can say that I did," Saul replied, his eyes narrowed to slits. Miramon could see that he was watching Commander Henderson. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Cass caught Saul's eyes and shot him a look whose meaning was plainly clear - keep your thoughts to yourself. Before anyone else could take notice, his expression shifted back to what it had been before - relaxed, with just a hint of a smile.

The telepaths in the room didn't need to see the commander's face to pick up on his reaction. More group dynamics. Brian just continued to observe in silence, certain that it had caught Madden's attention too.

Chase Remur slipped quietly into the room, taking the closest available seat. Remur felt like something of an oddity in this case. She knew what to expect from the meeting, while the others were probably still wondering why their schedules had been interrupted. As she watched the friendly greetings, she remained silent, unsure of what she could say without feeling awkwardly well-informed.

For once, Jamson wasn't late for a meeting. Still, he was very happy to get some time off from Tarin the operations department. It'd been quite a mess since the Galaxy's last mission involving Deep Space 5. The captain wiped all the systems out. This alone turned to be an endless task for all the departments, keeping the entire crew on its feet for the last 5 months. Of course, the Galaxy also had to share and assist with the repairs and defense efforts along with the other starfleet vessels in the area. Shore leave was in order.

"Incredible!" Jamson spoke to himself out load, reading from a stack of padds he was struggling to hold. Walking around the corridors of the massive starship, he caught a few glimpses here and there from passing crewmembers. 'I'd have to speak to Tarin about the bloody tactical department' he mumbled about the regular scheduling of the ships' systems. The new Chief Tactical Officer was trying to make a mark on his officers, and the rest of the ship. He had placed holodeck session times for the last 3 months routinely, ignoring operations strict regulations. Turning him over and over again didn't seem to work.

"I need a break..." Michael sighed, closing his eyes, imagining some time off at the beautiful and relaxing botanical gardens of Risa. Soon, they would be on their way to Starbase Atlantis, and be relieved by Starfleet Border Patrol.

On thing lay ahead before his shift was over. A meeting on Deck 23, with the executive officer, now acting commanding officer with the appropriate rank instead of the captain. Deck 23 was usually occupied by the tactical and engineering teams, as it had both torpedo magazine 2 and main impulse engine support systems. This must have been authorized by Tarin. The operations officer played with a couple of ideas running in his mind. Perhaps a first contact mission was just around the corner, or the discovery of a new race nearby, crucial for Federation strategic effort in this region of space. Either way, Jamson learned from past experience, as a commanding officer, never to underestimate the unexpected, and routinely boring unknown conference meetings.

"Good evening" He said and stepped quickly as the doors closed behind him. Taking a seat at one of the remaining lonely conference chairs, he arranged his padds in order on the table, and glanced around to see who was attending this appointment.

"Evening it is. What is good about it has yet to be determined, although judging by the officers present, I get the feeling we're gonna be waiting a while to find that out." Miramon piped in with a slight tinge of amusement in his voice, even with cynicism being clearly dominant in his tone. "All the same, good evening, Lieutenant!"

"Shalom, Lieutenant Jamson," Saul Bental greeted the veteran OPS officer as well. "If you have time after this meeting, I want to exchange words with you about my department's upcoming training exercises."

"Oh..." Jamson said with a puzzled look on his face as if he was caught with his battle dress trousers down. This was probably the new Chief Tactical Officer, the same one Michael muttered about some minutes ago. "Salutations Lieutenant" He nodded, "I would have thought, we would meet under other circumstances". The tired operations officer hoped this meeting had nothing to do with their joint interest. "I believe your departments' training is of mutual interest to the both of us. I would certainly clear some time, so we could meet and discuss the matter".

Remur pointed refrained from frowning. Had her department chief not consulted with Operations before scheduling the extra practices for the W359 Challenge? Though she had been adjusting to less detail oriented department heads ever since Henderson's promotion to XO, minor details like this one never failed to surprise her.

Red Team, Baile's group had sighed in relief when Baile left for the meeting. But just to be on the safe side they waited until he was out of earshot. The Marine ran a hand through the short mohican on his head before entering. The tightfitting darkblue t-shirt sported the Marine Corps insignia, with his tattoos spiraling out where the fabric ended on his arms and around the neck. The slim dark goggles he wore made him look more like a pitfighter than anything else. Seeing the people seated he gave a quick nod. "Sirs." This was going to be... interesting. None, as far as he knew, were hardcore fighters like him. That indicated legwork, which was fine with him. Sitting on the Galaxy was making him go stir crazy.

Raynor rounded the corner and flipped open his cellular device from his old coven days, and checked the time. 22:09. He was definitely late... but then again, when you place the meeting in an out of the way location onboard the ship made it hard to actually find and/or ask for directions. Especially when one is new to a ship... At least that was the cliché motions he was going through.

Raynor liked to make himself easier to underestimate... most of the time, it made his life not easy, but less interrupted, as well as proving a fatal mistake for his enemies. He was going through the process of reading every door... often finding himself covering doors he had passed at least once until he finally managed to reach the door. He flipped open the cell again for a moment, and then closed it and put it away. 22:17. This was going to be good.

He walked in with a sort of swagger, as if he was slightly drunk, which he wasn't. "Hello everybody..." he said in a spaced out sort of way. He guessed he was probably the only one out of this bunch who hadn't entered with the word sir, coming out of his mouth. "What's up? What's happening? What did I do this time?" Raynor looked around the room, and noticing that everyone else in the room pretty much outranked him, in experience with Starfleet, if not in rank. They also had this sort of air about them like this was going to be an overly serious meeting. One sarcastic thought crossed Raynor's mind as he observed all this. 'Joy.'

"You're late, Mr. Raynor," Cass snapped, with an edge in his voice that was reserved for the times when he had to discipline the most insubordinate of officers. After letting Raynor off lightly for his earlier infractions, he had expected the young telepath to have some respect for his commands - a faith that had apparently been misplaced.

~I know that you are deliberately late,~ Cass thought *at* Raynor. It was a technique, known as Directed Thought, he'd picked up during a counter-intelligence course during his training as a field agent. Usually used to throw known telepaths off their guard, a particularly clear and psychically loud thought was pushed into the mental periphery of the target telepath. As mental disciplines go, Directed Thought was a parlor trick - anyone with a disciplined mind could block one.

However, the mind of Zev Raynor was anything but disciplined. Cass accompanied the thought with a more verbal directive. "Don't sit down. Unless you can give me a very good explanation for why you've been so lax in the timely execution of your duties - then I suggest you go back to your quarters and forget all about it."

Of course, a particularly forceful DT could easily affect strong telepaths in the immediate vicinity. Given her comfort level in the room, Madden heard it loud and clear; it left her psychic "ears", for all intents and purposes, ringing.

Brian, too, winced slightly in response.

Raynor smiled slightly, but then decided to take of the sheep skin which he wore, and present his wolf like nature. In a cold serious voice he began to speak, "Sir, I'm late because I figured it would in the best interests of this meeting for me to show up late. Given the vague cryptic nature of the message I received, coupled with the fact that I have not don't anything recently, nor am I planning anything in the near future, and my unique talents on top of that, I simply concluded that what I was being called in for would be less then overt, and decided to continue my non-disciplined demeanor. Thus making anyone who might have been watching aboard ship, less suspicious, because that undisciplined officer as you put it, could never have anything to do with any real Intelligence work." In reference to the possibility of spies, on board the Galaxy was far fetched but then again, they didn't exactly need to be on board at this very moment, just check the video records later on, and do a little detective work.

From his side of the table, Saul blinked, amused. Is THAT what Cora brought in to fill his spot on the Intelligence department? Saul himself was rather free-spirited and didn't believe in formalities, but there's a difference between that and making fun of your ship's executive officer.

'Thank goodness he's not in Tactical,' Saul couldn't help but thinking.

The Galaxy seemed to attract all sorts of types, especially those indolent characters who thought they could play around the vessel as if it was a huge playground. An officer, late for a meeting set by the Commanding Officer? This was unheard of! On Jamson's starship, this officer would not even have the benefit of the doubt, or courtesy, as Jamson saw it, given to him by Henderson. Michael would throw him away and confine him to his quarters for being such insubordinate. Punctuality is part of every Starfleet officer's duty and must never be underestimated, that is, unless you have a bloody good reason.

Then, as he continued looking at the newcomer, Raynor turned his head to the food replicator in the far corner... "Ooohhh... Maybe I can get pie!" he said once again in his cheerful tone.

"If you want to have pie, Mr. Raynor, then you'll have to do so elsewhere," Cass interjected, stopping the other man in his tracks. "As much as Starfleet is only a quasi-military organization, Intelligence is one of the military branches - so you'll follow orders how they're given, not how you choose. "You're dismissed, Mr. Raynor."

Raynor turned to leave... an indifferent look on his face. He felt the question of how he was ever able to make it into intelligence in the first place, rising from the others in the room. The answer was simple, he didn't have a choice in the matter... but sticking true to the mask he had decided to wear, he simply let out a loud fart just before exiting... a real stinker... not that it would matter much, as the ventilation systems would probably clear it up in two minutes or less. He withdrew his cellular device, and checked the time. 22:18. It had to be a new record for how fast he got kicked out of meeting. Oh well...

Counselor Elessidil continued to observe Raynor closely until the ensign finally left the room. From the first time he'd met the man -- actually, from the first time he'd *heard* the man -- he found him peculiar and somewhat irritating. But it seemed Raynor actually liked being peculiar and somewhat irritating. Brian made a mental note to speak with Karyn about him at point . . . soon.

*PIE?!* Jamson could feel his blood vessels bursting in pain. He had to calm himself down, or else he would find himself at brig instead of Mr.Raynor. He had to remember this was not his ship, or part, to bring this man to order, which in a way, represented everything he disliked. `Patience is a virtue...patience is a virtue...the bloody and useless patience is a virtue' he repeated endless times in his mind, just like the ship's chief counselor have told him to do, so many times before.

Cassius, meanwhile, had turned back to the assembled crew members. He fervently hoped that his dismissal of Ensign Raynor wouldn't bring any of the others to reject the offer he was about to make. "I'm sorry that you had to experience that," he frowned, but continued.

"Okay, I'm going to be very honest with you," the ship's new commanding officer said. "I selected you for this not only because you have a variety of skills to offer, but also because you are more or less trustworthy individuals. Starfleet has given me an assignment to pass on to you, one that is highly classified, but must be undertaken. It will be very dangerous, and it will take you into the territory of another government - one which is hostile to the Federation."

"More or less" trustworthy? Brian thought it an odd choice of words.

"For some of you, this will be familiar. For others, this will be the first time. However, you all have the same choice to make. You can step up and take the assignment, or you can walk away now, no questions asked, and nobody will think the worse of you."

Cassius folded his hands on the table and awaited each other their responses.

Madden glanced around the table. What the hell? "I guess I'll start. I'm in," she said. "What do you need me to do?"

Miramon raised his eyebrows slightly, his brows furrowing as a result, but didn't say anything. He was a little less at home around this sort of secrecy, at least as far as Starfleet was concerned. Sure, he was used to the odd covert conversation, where all that could be said had to be done quickly and quietly, but that was in a time of war, at least as far as it could be said that Bajor was at war with Cardassia when the latter had occupied his home planet. But this was Starfleet, for the sake of the Prophets. What did they need veiled secrecy for?

Saul Bental sighed. At least he didn't need to wait for long to find out why he was reactivated. As an ex-member of the Special Observation program, and as someone who is more accustomed to treading alien markets than a Starship's corridor, he was probably the most natural choice for such a mission.

He could only hope that this mission will turn out better than his final mission on the Special Observation Program.

"I take the assignment.", He said dryly.

With a mental 'told you so' directed at himself, Baile nodded. This had the potential of being very interesting, considering the mix of people present.

Jamson kept starting at Henderson's new earned captain pips. How he missed those 4 little golden pips. So tiny, and yet so significant, with all the power and respect that came with them. What a grave responsibility, that caused him so much pleasure, and currently, nothing but pain. Clearing his mind for a couple of seconds, thinking of this mysterious mission that was offered to him and his colleagues, he tried to grasp what the commander had just said. 'Classified? Dangerous?? Hostile???' This was music to his ears! Joy!! Pure ecstasy!!! 'Fight? Blood?? War???' That meant...Duty! Honor! A place in history!!! Finally after all those years of sitting around and doing nothing, he was given the opportunity to spring back into action! He wouldn't miss it for the universe, it was his ticket back in. Although he had seen some action back on DS5, it was unexpected, unforeseen. It's been years, since he was given a real mission, with a true purpose. No more operations related crap, but a genuine, secret, high risk, away mission. He was ready to jump right back in, but no one gave him the chance up until now. If Jamson could, he would literally hug and kiss the commander, now captain, and invite everyone to a huge celebration at the nearest mess hall. But then...he would have to kill them all later - so they wouldn't tell anyone. He wondered what Karyn would say of this, if he told her. "Sounds like fun" Jamson kept a cold expression, hoping not to reveal the exploding vehemence inside of him.

As soon as Saul had said he was going, Miramon's mind was pretty much made up. Whatever his possible objections, the newly-promoted Captain had said he wanted the Bajoran along (hence his presence in the meeting), and now his best friend was going too. It sure wasn't as though he was just going to say 'no' and let the tactical officer disappear to wherever Captain Henderson was sending him. That was a definite non-starter.

"I'll go as well, sir. Can't let the rest of you have all the fun."

The gravity of the mission was apparent to Elessidil just by sitting next to Henderson. As the others gave their respective replies, the Betazoid counselor silently contemplated the situation, wondering if he was ready to put himself in a risky situation so soon after the Dithparu incident. But his inner debate was short-lived. Henderson had personally selected him to be part of this small group, making it apparent that Brian had some skill or knowledge that was considered important to the success of the mission. That alone would probably have been enough reason for him to accept, but the attraction of something different than the past few months of constant counseling sessions made it all the more appealing.

Brian stared vacantly at the table as he thought, nodding slowly to himself as he came to his conclusion. He waited for the next break in the discussion.

"I'll go," he stated simply.

"Then we're all in," Chase Remur said, rounding out the group's consent. Immediately, the feeling of apprehension began to gnaw at her - like it always did when she accepted an assignment from Starfleet Intelligence's Clandestine Operations directorate.

OOC: A bit of a backpost. Occurs somewhere toward the end of the initial month or beginning of the second month after the Dithparu incident.

"Damsel in Distress"

Ens. Ember Lansky
Pilot

Lt. Cmdr. Brian Elessidil
Asst. Chief Counselor

It was an unearthly hour of the night, and Ember Lansky had every reason to be elsewhere than where she was right now. She could be in the holodeck working off her excess energies, drinking herself to sky oblivion, or hell, much as she hated to admit it, she should be in bed. But, she was in none of those places. Instead, she was here standing outside Lt. Cmdr Brian Elessidil's quarters, strangely, because she had been avoiding him like the plague for the last few days. She had canceled two counseling appointments and ignored the messages he had left for her, amongst others.

It wasn't that she was afraid of the things the counselor was going to dredge out of her; she didn't run from anything in her life, and she wasn't going to run from this. It was just sickeningly annoying and a total waste of her time. She had faced down worse… like the events that had only recently transpired with the Dithparu takeover. The bodies… the injured… the dead. She had seen it all. This in comparison, was going to be a piece of cake, one she was going to get over and done with so she didn't have to bother with it anymore.

So obnoxiously, she rudely rang the bell thrice in succession. It was, pardon the macabre cliche, loud enough to wake the dead.

The strategy achieved the desired effect, as a bleary-eyed and bedraggled six-foot-one Betazoid grudgingly hauled himself out of a nice, well-deserved night's sleep. Who in heaven's name was ringing his chime in the middle of the night? A glance at a chronometer indicated it was just after 0300 hours. His telepathic ability had been slowly coming back but it wasn't yet quite strong enough for him to determine who was out there initiating yet another annoying stream of bleeps. As much as he would have preferred otherwise, he would have to answer the door.

Stumbling out of his bedroom he requested some lighting from the computer -- only 25% for now, though. His eyes weren't ready to take anymore than that. Reaching the door to his quarters, he poked at the control pad on the wall, causing the door to unlock and open. He squinted and held up a hand in a futile attempt to ward off the jarringly bright light from the corridor as he tried to make out the silhouetted form occupying the doorway. He now sympathetically understood how vampires felt at sunrise.

"Whoever you are, just come in," he muttered, clad only in blue and green striped boxers and a black t-shirt. "It's too bright out there."

Ember walked in, casting a look at the counselor as she did, completely without any hint of apology for calling on him in the wee hours of the night. Picking out an armchair, she plopped herself down on the seat – just like that, as though she owned the place. It might be too dark, but if it wasn't, there could just be a hint of smug satisfaction in the Ensign's brief smile. It was as though she had planned this, that if she was forced to go through something she didn't like, well then, he shouldn't expect to have a good time either.

"I'm here, Pilot Ember Lansky reporting for mandatory psych evaluation," she said crisply, with an almost impatient air, like he shouldn't be dawdling and dragging the session on for longer than it should last, like *she* blamed *him*.

As the woman breezed in and made herself at home Brian remained where he was, turning just enough to follow her with a still squinting and rather perplexed gaze. If this was a dream it was the weirdest one he'd had in ages.

"Excuse me?" the slightly -- and only slightly -- more awake man asked in a tone of disbelief.

"I'm Pilot Ember Lansky… here for counseling," She repeated, one word followed by the other and more slowly this time. Through the dimness, she peered at him inquiringly, wondering if the enunciation had been clear enough for him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know who you are, Ensign," he interrupted. "What I'm trying to figure out is why you're here in my quarters at 0300 hours instead of in my office at 0900. If there's a psychological emergency here it's not apparent."

The stating of her rank - for one fleeting moment, sent a shard of hesitation through her. For just a fraction of a second, she questioned if she might have been too impulsive when she decided to appear here, at this hour. But that was quickly dismissed, and her doubts barely showed. Her answer was quick. "There is. Any form of trauma, once suffered, can't be allowed to fester too long, can it? It'll sink deep and begin to lodge itself permanently inside," She recited flawlessly, confidently. What a load of bullshit. "I realized I couldn't hold it off any longer. And I couldn't sleep. I had to see you."

Elessidil believed her line about as much as she did.

"First, you're awfully bold for someone who's dealing with 'festering' trauma," he noted in a tone laden with faux doubt, slowly moving toward where she smugly sat. "Second, I'm sure there's someone on duty in the counseling department who could have spared you the difficulty of finding me at such a 'critical' time. And third, judging from your appearance and the fact that you're still in uniform, my guess is that you haven't even attempted to sleep." Then, surprisingly, he sat down on the couch across from her. "But you know, I think I *am* going to listen to you for awhile because if I've ever seen a candidate for counseling, you're it," he added with a facetious grin, now much more awake than he was only a minute ago. Sitting back, he stretched his arms across the back of the couch, crossed his legs and made himself comfortable. "So let's hear it; tell me all about your traumas, Ensign."

She didn't expect him to relent so readily, and that was evident in the swift surprise that crossed her face when he planted himself before her. She hid the emotion, suddenly forced to grasp at straws because she had no pressing traumas that she particularly wanted to relate. Sarcasm, annoyance and irritability she could deal with; such blatant patience on the other hand, pushed her boundaries.

"It was horrific. I wasn't mind-controlled by any of their Kind, thank god - but seeing the way the whole team and hierarchy crumble and not knowing who to trust or who to turn to… that was just unimaginable," She began, her mind's wheels spinning as she went along. She sounded almost sincere, but there was something too glib about the whole thing that made it suspicious. "And, considering that not too long ago, I had lived on Deep Space 5 for a few days, waiting to rendezvous with Galaxy, it made it so much more unbearable to witness the destruction of the station," she continued.

A dose of drama, a touch of personal tragedy, and a pinch of sentimentality. Easy work. The mandatory counseling wasn't that bad after all; Ember was starting to find it entertaining even.

The forthright Ensign wasn't the only person in the room who felt entertained.

"Hm . . . I see," Brian said, maintaining as professional-sounding a tone as possible. "'Horrific', 'unbearable' . . . those are pretty strong words. So how have you been dealing with the impact of all that? What thoughts have been going through your mind? What symptoms of stress have you noticed?" Underneath was some effort to cover ground that they would in a "real" counseling session, but otherwise, the counselor was just seeing how far she would go with the thinly disguised melodrama.

She couldn't believe he was undeterred and had continued to probe at specifics. She hadn't scripted that far, and her answer, unlike the first, was more of a half-truth that revealed more than she would have liked. "Like any other person would, I guess. Stay at my usual routine, go back to work, regain some normality in my life and all that. It's not like it's incapacitating. I might have been having some trouble sleeping and I keep feeling distracted these days, but I think that will all pass in time. Time heals all wounds right?" She said, repeating that trite and overused Terran phrase like it was evidence enough that she would be okay eventually, with or without his 'counseling'.

"So they say . . . then again, ignorance *is* bliss," he casually countered.

Ember shrugged, giving him a small smile. That remark of his, without any overly loaded, probing questions, she could handle. "It is bliss. Too bad what has happened can't be erased. But pretending to be ignorant isn't too off the mark."

"Are you concerned that it might all catch up with you? Like you said, it can't be erased, and the mind's a great historian. Pretending to be ignorant may not be very effective for the long term."

This was really starting to grate on her nerves. The slight curl of distaste on her lips aside though, she still seemed *relatively* cooperative. "No. There are too many distractions to keep you from going back to those events anyway. What does it matter?" Another shrug.

Even with his telepathy still impaired, the Betazoid could sense Lansky's irritation.

"Ensign, need I remind you that it was *you* who came barging in here at this hour to see *me*? Anytime you're ready to call it quits, you just let me know. I have a warm pillow waiting for me in the other room that I'll be more than happy to return to."

"Only a warm pillow, counselor?" Ember teased boldly, the implicit question clearly being what he was doing alone, even if that was marginally considered 'crossing the line'.

"Well," She leaned back against the seat, folding her hands behind her head, adopting a perfectly relaxed look. "I suppose we can wrap up this session anytime you want. That's it, then?" As long as the requirements were fulfilled and she didn't have to come back. This was one quick, relatively painless psych eval.

"Yeah, I'd say that's enough . . . for tonight. I'll see you in my office tomorrow at 1300 sharp . . . I believe I have a slot for a double session open at that time," he replied with a smile reminiscent of the cat who'd swallowed the canary. Fine by him if she wanted to play hardball.

Brian stood and gestured to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back to bed. I'll see you tomorrow . . . oh, and don't be late, Ensign. That's an order."

Her pain hadn't even begun.

Lovefools May Tell

By Branwen London and James Lionel Corgan

~"What the hell am I doing here?"~

James Corgan thought this to himself, holding the small PADD in his hands that held his annual psychological checkup appointment, written in fairly large red letters that the screening was mandatory; no exceptions, not even for commanders like himself.

To put it in perspective, James Lionel Corgan is one of the most messed up people on the ship at one point, on a vessel where you were most likely to encounter an A-cup Vulcan officer than a crewmember with some sort of disorder. All a matter of policy. James believed in second chances; he was one, but all beside the point.

Because of his past dealing with traumas such as the all conquering Borg, the Dominion War (the bloodiest in Federation history!), mind probings, hoardes of angry aliens, stalkers, poets and thieves, James was classified by Starfleet's Psychological Board as a 'Class 1 Clusterf**k' (or in more official jargon, a likely case for psychological instability). This meant a monthly check for the rest of his life. It also meant heavy doses of anti depressants for times when his brain needed some leveling out. Both he took with great displeasure, for he was off the anti depressants for over two years and counting, and the monthly brain tunings resulted in no real changes. What was the point?

The orders were clear. Due to the Dithparu's influence of last time, everyone had to get their head's checked, James included. So he kissed Mika goodbye, promised profusely that he would make up for yet another absent date, and have his brainbox doctored until THEY said it was ok. Which it never was, so the examination was going to take a long time.

Bran took a cup of coffee and then opened the file on her next sceduled patient. She had ten minutes to read it. With things being busy as it was she really didn't have enough time to prepare. So far luckily most people she could help with one or two talks. They just needed to tell what happened and get it off their chest.

She almost jumped out of the chair to see this one was a navy commander. How the hell did he end up with her. And to make matters worse the file was pretty extensive. She could never read it all in ten minutes. Bran dived into it as best as she could hoping to read as much as possible until he arrived.

Meanwhile, James was in the waiting room.

He hated waiting rooms, but tended to be a good judge of them having stayed in many for long periods of his life.

The waiting room he was in spoke of good taste. Ambient lighting was soft, but bright enough to be mistaken for daylight. The colours were soft beige like the older sections of the ship, and not gunmetal gray that was popular in the post war Starfleet of today. Plants were used, but not overused, in a couple of corners and a reception desk; Aldiveran ferns, Sempa fireflowers, and a Terran banana tree in its juvenile stages. PADDs with the Federation News Service, Christian Science Monitor, CNN and GalacNet laid in neat piles on a sophisticated looking coffee table. And there was a replicator with coffee. James helped himself.

A good waiting room.

Still didn't take the edge off his visit.

~"So... who am I visiting today?"~ Corgan thought to himself. He tried to recall the visit notice. ~"Hmmm... ummmm... Dr. London. Oh yeah... the woman that tried to come onto me in the gym months back. I wonder how's she doing?"~

=/\="Commander James Corgan, please report to Dr. London's office."=/\= The computer reminded.

James reluctantly got off his chair; it was soft but firm enough and he was getting comfortable browsing through the Romulan news, ~"Note to self, try not to be such a hard case on this one. She may have tried to get a date without knowing me to well, but she is a decent person."~

~"I'm still not going past my comfort zone. If I don't want to tell her my darkest secrets, that's my goddamn business."~ He told himself.

~"Deal"~ Both sides of him secretly shook hands, and went to her office, ~"I wonder why i'm stuck with a marine psychologist?"~

~"A, June 27th 2376, DS9. Cute little counsellor named Ezri... way too cheery with me, pried too far, I smashed a coffee table and told her to shut her trap. Three security officers later and I had a date with the brig. Can't get away with that with a marine. B, overflow. Everyone's getting these exams. The Dithparu f**ked with us like nothing else, so here we are."~

~"Seriously, what the f**k? Am I supposed to blubber on about how insecure I felt after my friend and most trusted deputy used me as a trained pitbull to manipulate my crewmates and nearly get the ship destroyed? Because to be honest, I don't feel like i'm going apart at the seams here. I've had worse happen."~

~"Yeah yeah... tell it to the headshrinker."~

James ceased the self prattling in his head and entered the office. Like the waiting room, it had a calming ambiance. He took his seat, and didn't expect much afterwards.

Branwen quickly closed her files and looked up and smiled brightly. "Hey! It's you, you probably don't remember, but we met a few months ago in the gym." She remembered that. She remembered the commander is being a bit strange and although he had been nice, he didn't have much liking for shrinks or marines. "I mean Welcome Sir." She flushed.

James rested on the psychologist's couch. "Good morning." He lazily 'toasted' his cup of coffee, and slid the rancid swill down his throat. "How are you doing? Haven't seen you in ages."

"I have been fine, Sir." She said. "I am however very surprised to see you here. I mean to see me professionally."

Puzzled, James shifted in his chair. "You're a headshrinker. I'm a head that needs shrinking. It was inevitable. Overflow, I bet." James tapped his appointment PADD. "But I think i'm getting better. I don't have so many nightmares these days. I've been off meds for years. Hell, I even want to live these days. I guess everything else is just fine tuning until this whole Dithparu incident."

"Until the incident, how do you feel now?" She asked.

"Well... truth be told, I felt like I f**ked up and dropped the ball." James said outright. "There. That's it. I should have been better. If I hadn't let my guard down around T'lan, the ship would have been in a hell of a lot less danger."

"Did you have any reason to have your guard up, Sir?" She asked. "As far as I know, everybody was surprised. And nobody is to blame."

James tried to recall vividly the events of the Dithparu incident, "Well, I gave the order for the away team to go into the Dithparu structure. We took every precaution, even though in retrospect it couldn't work. As soon as Lieutenant T'lan and Major Rex started feeling a psychic attack, we ran the hell out of there and erected forcefields, again a useless precaution that seemed like a good idea at the time. You're right for the most part. Nobody's to blame, really. I know the people I led did what they could."

James added, "However, as for myself I think I should have been more cautious once I saw what was going on with Lieutenant T'lan."

"Can you tell me why you didn't?" Branwen asked.

"Well." James shifted in his couch, not sure if he wanted to go further, chiding himself to do so, "After the attack she returned to normal. She told me that everything was fine and that I didn't have to worry. And mind you, she is a Vulcan. Vulcans never lie, though they omit some truths or twist them in ways their adherence to logic allows, and i've never known T'lan to lie to me. In fact, I trust her the most in my department because she is honest and dependable, so it never occurred to me until it was too late that it was her Dithparu parasite talking and not her. But still, the way she talked, like she was trying to add some dramatics to whatever she said... it was... strange. But I trusted her, so I didn't ask. When she did take me over, I definately blame on myself."

"How did she manage to do that? I know you are a man who can defend himself very well." She observed.

"Oh Christ... how embarrassing." James muttered to himself. His capture was VERY vivid, down to the sonically misted off day's toil from T'lan's naked body. "I got caught in the sonic shower."

"Excuse me, you were caught how." Somehow she managed to keep her face neutral.

Corgan sighed, assuming with that tidbit that he couldn't back out of his story now, "After the incident in the structure, my away team went to do other things to help with the cleanup. T'lan and I went to the ship to work on an after action report and try to figure out what happened. I pulled T'lan off the space station for another reason too; she was exposed to a few of my own traumatic memories months ago during a mindswap. Considering that Vulcans are more vulnerable to emotional mental trauma, I thought two mindf**ks in one year were more than enough for her, so I put her back on the ship. In the lockerroom, I asked her if she was alright, and she assured me she was, so for then I let the conversation stop and I took a sonic shower."

He blushed, a small, nervous laugh escaping his lips, "I was making an audio entry into my log while in the shower. I had just ended it when all the sudden she came into the shower naked. No, not naked. Nude. She was well aware of her state of undress and she made no secret of her intentions at the time."

Branwen blushed slightly. "And those were?"

"She made sexual advances on me." James plainly stated. "Don't get me wrong, she is a very attractive Vulcan. Is there any other kind of Vulcan woman than that? Problem is, she's my subordinate, and it would be a breach of interest. Anything between us would get us both court martialled. And also, I already have a girlfriend whom I love very much. I had enough excuses to throw her out of the sonic shower the second she tried to touch me, but I didn't. I was... too slow. Too shocked. I didn't know what to do next."

"And frankly," James added, "I was attracted too."

And maybe there lay the rub, with the woman. "I see." She thought for a second. These were not easy matters to discuss with a senior officer. "But does it mean for you that you were attracted to her, Sir?"

"Physically." James said without a doubt, "She looks good. Attractive. Beautiful even. That's the pure unadulterated id part of me speaking. But she is my friend and my deputy. Putting sexual tension in the mix is... uncomfortable. And it was used against me, and I let it happen. Son of a b*tch, I let it happen."

Branwen again gathered her thoughts. She didn't find it easy to talk about things like this with a superior officer. Something she would have to learn. "Are women a problem for you, sir. I mean relationships."

"Not easy for any security officer." James admitted, "Long hours, constant danger, and most of them are kids that are far away from home. As for me, everyone seems to think i'm a ladies man. I can't blame them. A Romulan spy, the former second in command, the former chief of operations, a klingon princess, and now my current girlfriend who happens to be a schoolteacher on this ship. I'm not like that. That is so far removed from the truth that it's like hearing about someone else. I'm not that great with women. I try to be a total gentleman towards anyone. I don't try to be lecherous. Hell, I haven't even had sex for well over a year. Does that sound like someone with an overactive sex drive? So are women a problem? Hmmmmm... getting on their good side isn't much of a problem for me. I treat them nicely and in turn they treat me well. But beyond that, I'm a bit awkward around them. I find it hard to introduce myself, or even start a relationship. Just ask Mika."

"You have a girlfriend and you haven't had...." Branwen blushed. "She is THE girlfriend isn't she, sir?" How the hell did she get into this conversation with a full commander.

"Well... yeah!" Corgan exasperatedly piped up, "Not for a lack of trying, but duty pulls me away from my private life alot. The fact that I believe one shouldn't rush into sex doesn't help either. But that's beside the point..

Branwen cleared her throat. "Is it duty or the fact.... I mean that you are not that fast with sex." She kept a straight face. "Is it... something you want to talk more about, sir?" Yo, she was THE person to talk to, a 23 year old virgin.

James scrunched his face. He was on the verge of laughing. "F**k no! Oh my god!" Unable to hold back any longer, he let out a torrent of giggling laughter. It cut out fast, as he became serious again, "But seriously, I have a good friendship with Lieutenant T'lan. What do I do about the sexual tension?"

"Is it still there, sir? Now that she is back to normal I mean." Trying to keep her composure after his fit of giggles.

"I haven't seen much of her after the incident." Corgan admitted.

"Have you been avoiding each other? I mean you work with her, so normally you should see a lot of her." She asked.

"I see alot of her." Said James, "But not as of late. She's on medical leave, taking a rest after what the Dithparu did to her. Why do you ask?"

"Because you mentioned that you didn't see much of her lately I was trying to find out if there was significance in that." Branwen said honestly. "Do you visit her during her recovery?"

"Ummm..." James stalled, a deep seeded feeling that he was about to be busted for doing something wrong nagging him, "...no. I haven't."

Branwen chose her words carefully. "If the situation had been different, if it had been another mission, would you have gone to visit her than?"

James thought long and hard, and his answer came out with a great deal of serious thought behind it, "I think that in another mission, with the same circumstance of her life being in danger and myself being put in a situation where I had to protect her, I would have come to the same problem that I have today. I am aware that I am protective of her, because this situation happened before multiple times. Once she shared one of my worst memories, and another time she was shot on duty when I was nearby. Both times I tried to move heaven and earth to make sure she was safe. And in those times... I knew that we felt close as comrades. In those times, I even knew there was that element of sexual tension on my behalf... when you work close to someone and they share so much hardship with you bonds can't help but be formed. But I always kept it aside. I knew that it was just lust, and it was different than the friendship I felt with her. But now... it is hard to face her without remem bering..." James said whistfully, his voice taking an airy quality best out of a ghost more than a man, "...her hot breath on my neck, her arms around me, myself feeling aroused, warm, comforted, close to someone, until I realized I didn't know who that was holding me. I turned around and it was her... my friend. And not my lover."

James turned to the councellor, "I betrayed my girlfriend, and I can't think about my deputy without feeling embarrassed."

~Oh Shit, you had to ask~ Branwen thought, yet nothing showed on her face. "That must be an awkward situation for you?" She said gently.

~"No sh*t."~ James thought, "Somewhat."

"Have you thought about how to resolve it yourself? What you want to do about it?" Was her next question.

~"Scour my brainpan with a phaser to prevent the memory of her bombastic body rampaging through my sexual fantasies?"~ James sarcastically thought, then confessed to his councelor, "I'd prefer to get things back to normal. I thought of just telling her, but that would risk making our friendship awkward. But if I don't resolve it, that will be the result anyways."

"So...?" Branwen said.

"So.... aren't you a councelor? Aren't you supposed to know about the subtleties of human relationships? I don't know what to do. I was hoping you would have some advice."

"It's the misconception most people have about shrinks. It is actually my job to listen, and to get you to talk and basically find the solutions yourself. Of course if that is impossible I will offer advice and support. So far you are doing very well." She smiled.

~"What a load of crap. If i'd done well, would I be agonizing about this instead of the Dithparu?"~ James thought. ~"But she is being nice about it."~

"How about your girlfriend, does she know any of this?" Branwen continued.

"Mika..." James sighed, "No, but I have some idea what would happen if she did. She is Andorian, and polygamy is traditional there. Four people. Two males, two females. They call it a 'quad'. The concept of being intimately involved with another wouldn't phase her. It would take some questioning of my loyalty to her that would make her take notice. So if I ever got involved with another woman, theoretically, she would have to like the person in return, and if she liked her enough Mika might invite her to the 'quad', and that clusterf**k can wait for another session because it already gives me an ulcer thinking about it. If she didn't like the woman, she would be very cross and ask me to break off the relationship, and if I didn't then it would be considered cheating on my part. I've seen her fight. I pray to god that she likes T'lan, or sees that T'lan and I are just friends, or she'll dislocate my arm in three places and shove the remains in one very painful place. I know. I've seen her do it."

"Do you have any idea what she thinks of T'lan?" Bran asked.

"I've told Mika about the people at work. Her impression of them all is that they seem like good people. She hasn't meet T'lan herself."

"Do you think T'Lan is somebody she might like?" Branwen looked at him.

"Mika is very personable and friendly, and T'lan doesn't seem to shy away from emotional people like most Vulcans I know. I think they would get along famously."

"It sounds logical for them to meet." Branwen said softly.

Dumbstruck, James uttered, "Care to explain?"

"If you think they will like each other. And you say that if you think that your girlfriend will like her, you might even love them both. Sounds like a possible solution to me." Branwen suggested.

"Sounds like you want me to get greedy." James deadpanned. "But that's not what I want. I know the different degrees that love and friendship prevails. I also know what physical attraction and lust is, and how different they are from love. I like T'lan as a friend and comrade, i'm attracted to her physically, but I do not love her in the same sense that I love Mika. Mika's my one. My mate. My companion through life. That's how I feel. T'lan isn't that. I suppose with that in mind, I can introduce them. It should be safe enough."

"Seems like you have your feelings pretty clear. And knowing that, do you think you can visit her while she is recovering?" "Yeah." James nodded his head in agreement, "I think I have the balls to try. I can do that. I sure can. Yes. I can." ~"Actually, i'm really f**king nervous about it... what the hell."~

"great!" She said smiling.

"Hey doc." James had to ask, "One question before I go. It's strange, but even though I have some regrets about the Dithparu incident and I wished I've done better to see the threat coming, I also know that I did all that I could and for the most part I did well. I was more concerned about what was going on with myself and T'lan afterwards. Is it normal to come out of a catastrophe and think about a totally different subject?"

"I don't think it is. Actually I think it is pretty normal." She said. "If you would like to make a follow-up appointment, feel free. I would love to hear how you're getting on, sir." Branwen told him.

~"Better councelors than you have tried."~ James sarcastically thought.

"I don't see why not, if that is ok with the councelling staff." James said, contradicting his planned sentence, ~"Goddammit!"~, "Listen, thanks for talking about this, and thanks for not telling anyone that I find my Vulcan assistant attractive. I appreciate that." James looked at the time on his watch, "Oh look, i'd love to get into how the Borg constantly keep me awake at night but I have to not only see my deputy and wish her well, but also take my pregnant alien spy ex-girlfriend and my yet born child in DNA only to a lamaze class and still somehow tell Mika that I was doing the right thing. See you later!" James made a hasty retreat before the councelor marine could stop him.

She watched him leave with a smile. An interesting man, Branwen genuinely hoped he would sort out his problems without hurting himself and the ladies. And she hoped he would be back to tell her.

"Forbidden Fruit"

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

Being in love, Ella had decided, was 98.9 % mental and as such could be overcome, overruled, and outlawed. It was all a matter of changing that persistent little voice that sighed with happy little coos of love to a voice which scornfully rolled its eyes and said that it was "so over" that particular lapse in mental clarity.

She was over Victor, Ella told herself as she entered her quarters. She stripped off her workout shirt and threw it casually (landing innocently over her Andorian language tapes) onto the couch and kicked off her shoes and socks as she made her way to the bathroom.

Ella was so over Victor it wasn't funny, she repeated as she turned on the shower, testing the water of her newly installed water-shower (which had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Victor didn't use a sonic shower) before stripping off the rest of her clothes.

Who was she trying to kid, Ella thought as she stepped into the shower.

She commanded the computer to play some of Indigo's music, loud and screaming obnoxious music because if one couldn't change the little love voice, then one could try to drown it out with the screams of angry rockers.

Ella jumped slightly as the water hit her flesh before sighing slightly. Being in love sucked.

Over the last several months - particularly since Tish's rather memorable departure - Corran had found himself spending more and more of his off-duty time with Ella. It had gotten to the point where she'd finally just programmed her quarters to admit him (and he'd done likewise) instead of having to open them each time.

Of course, the last time he'd come over, he'd been told to leave before she "threatened" to "ride him so hard his spots fell off." The idea itself bore consideration. Damn that stubborn streak of honor, or ethics, or whatever the hell it was that wouldn't let him sleep with the girl anyways. She was hurting, she needed comfort, right?

"Stupid morals." he muttered to himself as he walked into her quarters. "Ella, you around?"

She tilted her head. Had she just heard a voice? She quickly ducked her head under the water to wash the last remnants of conditioner before turning off the shower and reaching for the nearest towel. As luck would have it, or perhaps the will of the some sadistic force out there who thrived on Ella's misfortune, she grabbed the small pink towel and wrapped it around her just before Corran walked through her door.

When she stepped out of the bathroom - wearing a remarkably brief pink towel - Corran knew he should have looked away. He was only Trill though, and couldn't help but take a good.. long.. (and very appreciative) look. "New uniform?" he smirked.

She was startled for a moment but then slowly smiled. "Federation issue. But don't worry, the boys will all be getting them in blue."

"I can live with that." he replied confidently. "After all, I have the finely toned physique of a god." he replied in all seriousness.

Ella laughed. "What are we doing today?"

"Actually, I thought we'd just take a walk." he replied. "No weird new hobbies today. Not after the Vulcan horticulture incident."

"Sounds good." Ella replied. That had been a horrible disaster. "But you'll have to go wait in the other room while I get ready."

"Now that takes all the fun out of it." he mock-pouted. "It'd be a lot more fun if I just stripped down and joined you in the shower."

She gave him a look.

"Well it would!"

"I have no doubt." Ella replied in as dry a tone as her implant would allow. "But that would lead to some of those things we decided against."

"'Fleeters." the Trill muttered. "Always gotta play by the damn rules. Hurry up and get dressed, would you?"

"Low Down Man"

Lt. Ella Grey
Indigo Renkert, holographic representation

From one dark corner of the Holodeck, a hologram in a black flapper dress and long white gloves took the stage, her platinum blonde bob-cut marred only by the single lock of bubble gum pink hair.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." Indigo Renkert said warmly. "And friends that are supposed to be enjoying their evening but are too busy obsessing over some old data files."

From the opposite end of the Holodeck, where the smoke and shadows of the nightclub abruptly came to a halt and the yellow grid pattern began, Ella Grey stuck out her tongue. She had told Indy right from the start that she wasn't crazy about this program, mostly out of some anxiety that her friend might have been programmed to try and get Ella to sing, and was far more interested in running some of Victor's recreations of past battles.

Their compromise had been to run both programs, although the seriousness of some of Victor's simulations was somewhat diminished by Indigo's singing, especially by songs like "Girls Just Want to Have Fun."

"It's research." Ella called out to her friend. In her ongoing quest to find some small clue as to how to get Victor to forgive her, she had figured that re-running these old recreations couldn't hurt. In some ways it was nice to be in the same room with Victor again; on the other hand the programs were mostly about death, dying, and destruction and the holo-Victor was usually bloody by the end of them.

"It's brutal." Holo-Indy replied. "You've gone through two of these already. Twice. There's only so many times a girl needs to look at her beloved getting bashed about, right? Come on take a break. I've got a song for you."

"In a minute." Ella said, her eyes narrowing as she watched the holographic Victor stumble into the cargo bay of the USS Gyrfalcon.

Indigo sighed loudly over the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to dedicate this next song to my good friend, Ella. Who needs a new hobby."

Ella made a face even as Victor began to taunt a Borg.

"That low down man of mine." Indy sang. "Mistreats me all the time. He says he loves me only, then turns around and leaves me sad and lonely..."

Ella rolled her eyes. The song was definitely a selection of the young Samantha Widdlestein. Had Ella had any choice in the matter, she would have requested "Mein Herr" from Cabaret as it was more fitting. She watched as Victor smiled humorlessly at the Borg.

Indigo sang on. "If he could see through my eyes and be the one who cries. If he could see, he would never be, that low down man of mine."

Ella frowned and tuned out Indy. That was something different about Victor, she noticed. All of these past tapes had shown a much warmer Victor, if that was the right term for it. He was certainly more approachable towards this Chief Galdo, and even the Borg, then she could ever recall him to people onboard the Galaxy.

She paused her section of the program before the part where Victor would get impaled and walked over to Indigo. "I think I made him worse."

"Sssh." Indigo said. "I'm not finished singing. I'll wait till then, this story's ending. It won't be long..."

"He's always been a little... off to most people," Ella continued anyway. "But he's so much colder now. So much more... isolated. I think I did that to him."

"Oh for heavens sake." Indigo said, tossing her microphone to an unsuspecting member in the audience. She sat on the stage. "Isn't that a bit egotistical?"

Ella shook her head. "He's worse than he used to be if you look at these tapes and then to where he is at now. I mean he's even worse than when I met him on the Defiant. He was getting better and then I..."

Indy looked uncomfortable, no doubt trying to cross reference what she should say to that with what Samantha had stored in her memory banks under Clichéd Condolences. A man in the audience that had caught the microphone began to sing "Nothing Compares to You."

"It's okay, Indy." Ella said. "What can you really say? I just have to figure out a way to make him take me back. And only hope that I didn't do too much damage."

"You'll work it out." Indigo finally said.

"Yeah." Ella replied, rubbing her temples. She wanted to believe it but it was getting harder and harder to.

***

off: Low Down Man is sung by the Squirrel Nut Zippers :)

"Can you take the mic back, Indy?" Ella asked her friend. "I wouldn't mind something a bit more cheerful. That guy makes me want to go walk over to Victor's sim and impale myself a few times."

NRPG: Occurs before the Galaxy departs DS5.

"Departure, Part II"

First Lieutenant T'Shani

Second Lieutenant Branwen London
Executive Officer
SFMC Furies

------------------------- Outside Branwen's Office -------------------------

Tish felt somewhat guilty, having just left Corran's quarters half an hour ago. Though she could have said goodbye better, she knew that this was best. This way, neither of them had to get hung up on awkward "goodbyes". She'd just be gone, and they both could get on with their lives. Unfortunately, she knew that saying goodbye to Cassius wouldn't be so easy.

But before that confrontation, she still had two others to see: London and Baile.

London first.

She pressed the doorchime, wondering what she was going to say to her former Exec, who was now under Baile's command. As she waited for Branwen to enter, she still couldn't believe Command's decision to promote Baile to command the Furies. Of course, he had plenty of field experience, but he was--as the Pinkskins said--a loose cannon.

It was out of her hands now, anyway.

*****

"Come in?" Branwen asked. She was not expecting another patient right now. In fact she was closing down the office for the day. Another long one, and she hoped it was not an emergency.

The doors opened, allowing Tish to walk into the Marine psychologist's office. Tish looked around for a moment--she had never been in London's personal office, before. There was good reason for that, however. London was sweet and full of good intention, but she was could be quite emphatic about psych evaluations. Somehow, Tish couldn't see herself talking to Branwen about all her problems. But that didn't matter, that's not what she was here for, anyway.

"I take it you've heard the news, Lieutenant?" Tish asked. "For the record--whatever it's worth--I recommended you, but I guess you're stuck with Baile." She waited for Branwen's response.

"Baile." She whispered. "Couldn't you just shoot me now." Branwen groaned. "Of course I knew I was not going to get it. I am barely a year out of the academy, it is ridiculous. But Baile, he's going to kill me."

Tish sighed heavily, then sat down in the chair opposite Branwen. Carefully, she studied the young Welshwoman. True, she *was* only a year out of the Marine Corps Academy, but she already had the makings of a fine officer. She just needed to be more... assertive. As much as T'Shani understood Branwen's reservations about Baile, she knew that it might be just the tempering that the young Marine would need.

"Branwen, he won't *kill* you, but I don't doubt that he will be a handfull to deal with," she stated plainly. "However," she continued, "how you handle that will be up to you. Although Jeb's rough around the edges, he has more SpecOps and tactical experience than either of us combined. *That's* why Command chose him."

"I know he won't kill me." Branwen smirked. "But you also know that I am not exactly his favourite person. And you know what he thinks of my ability as a Marine."

Tish thought for a moment, then leaned forward. "I may not have told you this, but I've been impressed with your services to the Furies, Lieutenant. You've been nothing but hard-working, honest to a fault, and have upheld the Corps values. You have the makings of a fine commander."

The Welsh girl blushed. "Thank you, it means a lot. It was an honour and a pleasure serving with you, you have taught me quite a lot. And I really wish you didn't have to go."

~I do too,~ Tish thought silently to herself. In many ways, she wished she could stay. The ship, the crew, the men and women of the Furies, Corran... Cassius. But within herself, she knew that it was time to move on. Wherever that would be.

"It's time for me to move on, Branwen. After all that's happened in the past four months, I need a change." She stood from the chair.

"Keep in touch?" Bran asked getting up herself and giving her former boss a hug.

Tish immediately stiffened, not expecting the hug. Awkwardly, she returned it, somewhat. "I will," she said, then turned and walked toward the door.

"The New Guy"

Lt. (JG) 8-ball Hunter
Ensign Xavier Smith

8-ball was sitting behind a desk. This felt wrong. No matter how many times she said it to herself, or how many times other people said it to her, 8-ball could not wrap her head around the idea of being Chief Science Officer. She certainly couldn't get used to the idea of subordinates. But walking in the door now was her latest one, Xavier Smith, and 8-ball was supposed to greet him and make him feel welcome and reassure him somehow that she had leadership capabilities.

Ha. Ha-ha.

As Xavier was walking through the door, he took notice of his new CO, Lieutenant Hunter. She was obviously of Vulcan heritage of some sort. When she rose to meet him she stood nearly 1 foot shorter then he, yet he knew better than to underestimate something in a small package. That episode with the dog when he was 13 had burned that lesson into his mind.

Xavier stood stiffly at attention, saluted his new CO, and stated in a rather cold and matter-of-fact manner, "Ensign Xavier Smith, reporting for duty as ordered Lieutenant." He handed her a PADD that contained his orders and special notes pertaining to his "previous issues."

~Oh, good God, how he's stiff~ 8-ball thought to herself. ~He couldn't be more Starfleet if he tried.~ She took the PADD from his hand and glanced over the specs. Depression, seven years in a mental rehabilitation clinic. . .

"You'll fit right in," 8-ball told him honestly, and offered him a seat. "I'm 8-ball, by the way. You can call me Lieutenant Hunter if you want, but I prefer 8-ball." She glanced down at the PADD again. "Haven't exactly had an easy time in Starfleet, have you?"

"Well, 8-ball, Starfleet didn't give me a difficult time," Xavier said as he sat down. He pointed to his left eye which was obviously a cybernetic replacement, "Let's just say that the Dominion War made things.......difficult."

If there were ever an understatement, than the description of the past 7 years of Xavier's life as being merely "difficult" was it. A more accurate discription would have been personal hell, yet she could draw her own conclusions about his time at the rehabilitation clinic on Betazed. The less he had to discuss it, the better. He'd get his fill of talking about what happened at the Chin' toka System when he reported to the counseling department to set up his schedule for mandatory counseling sessions.

Xavier slightly leaned forward and looked 8-ball squarely in the eye, "I can assure you that my past problems will not affect my performance. I made an oath to serve Starfleet, and I am not a man that takes an oath lightly."

"I can see that," 8-ball said dryly. And she could. Xavier didn't strike her as a man who took much of anything lightly. Then again, she took everything too lightly, so maybe their opposite styles would compliment each other while working together.

Or maybe they'd try to kill each other.

8-ball shrugged at the thought, and returned her attention on Xavier. "I'm really not worried about your past problems," 8-ball told him."Plenty of people on this boat are running around without a full deck, and they function just fine, which is all that matters. If you say you're all better, then you're all better. And as long as you show up for your shifts and do you work, I'll continue to believe that you're all better."

"One small word of advice, just to let you know. The Galaxy. . .well, she's a pretty good home, but she is one twisted ship. I mean, I'm not trying to scare you or anything, but a lot of weird stuff happens here, and I mean a LOT. You know that expression, 'the past has a way of catching up with you'? Well, we mean it literally here. So just, you know, understand that. Things aren't always easy, living on this boat."

"Now," 8-ball said, leaning back in her chair, "away from all that ominous, creepy stuff. Do you have any questions for me? Anything you need to know?"

Xavier breathed a slight sigh of relief at the thought that his new CO wasn't your stereotypical Starfleet officer; and though he appeared it on the outside, Xavier wasn't either. He had to keep some defenses up. He couldn't let anyone get close to him again. Anyone that was ever close to him ended up dying. It was for everyone's protection.

Xavier's eyes released their lock off of 8-ball and glanced around her office, "No questions come to mind 8-ball. I will let you know if I have any." Xavier rose from his seat, "If you will excuse me 8-ball, I have an appointment to meet with the ship's counseling department." Again, Xavier snapped to attention and saluted, "I look forward to serving with you 8-ball."

8-ball saluted him in a negligent manner. Saluting wasn't really her thing. "Likewise, Ensign Smith," she said and sat back down behind her desk. "Good luck with the counselors." Smith nodded and left.

8-ball watched as he left and then frowned down at her desk, still feeling strange sitting behind it. "That didn't go over so badly," she said out loud to herself. "I can deal with this whole 'leadership' thing."

Maybe she could at that. But something still didn't feel right.

A few minutes later, 8-ball got up and sat on top of her desk.

"Much better," 8-ball said and smiled.

"A Dose Of Your Own Medicine..."

Lieutenant Kimberly Ann Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

Ensign Artim
Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

USS Galaxy, Main Sickbay

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

~ And the down side of being CMO, leading by example! ~ Kimberly mused, she'd met a few of her staff so far, formally or informally, and for the most part they seemed a nice bunch, she'd have to organise a department thing at some point, a formal meeting with each shift definitely, and soon, then next time they were somewhere civilised a party. A big one.

Looking around sickbay she watched her staff coming and going and spied someone she'd been meaning to catch up with, her physical gave her as good an opportunity to speak with him and see how he worked as well. Walking over to the young doctor she smiled, "Hi, are you in the middle of anything?" she enquired.

Artim was crouched over a console looking over some data from some tests he'd just finished running as part of one of his ongoing experiments with a bacterial strain from Vergus VI. It had a very odd morphology and a metabolism that seemed to break all the normal rules. This data like all the others was just. wrong somehow. He took the interruption as a welcome respite from wracking his brain.

"Just finished," Artim said smiling

"Great, I need my physical updated, do you have an hour or so?" she asked.

"I suppose I could clear that much of my calendar." Artim said already on his feet and heading for his tricorder.

Dropping herself onto a biobed she watched the diminutive doctor go about his preparations, "So Artim, how long have you been aboard?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting to start somewhere.

"Few months now" Artim said as he pulled his step stool up next to the bed. He then pulled out the tricorder and started making some baseline scans. "Though I still get strange looks from crewmen who come in here. Guess they aren't used to a 420 year old kid as a doctor.

"I've seen stranger, trust me, have you ever seen a Horta counsellor?" she asked, "my last posting had one and you have never seen anything so bizarre in your life," she admitted, "nice guy, great counsellor, but being counselled by something that resembles a deep pan pizza takes getting used to!"

" Hmm, I suppose you have me beat, though I must admit the Sheliak bartender I saw on Daval IV comes pretty close. He made the best drinks I've had from a non-humanoid." Artim replied as he continued with his scans, pulling out the peripheral at one point. "Vitals seem normal, neuroelectrics are fine, your BMI seems a bit low though, anything I should know about?"

Shrugging, "I've always been a little on the light side," Kimberly admitted, "it's not much, so nothing to worry about really," she said, trying to dismiss the matter, "how have you been getting on here then?" she asked, trying to shift the conversation along.

"Was a rough couple months, things being on edge here and all. Still can't say I'm over the whole Dithparu thing." Artim said as he started his physical evaluation. His attention immediately went the woman's lower back. "What are those from?"

Wriggling slightly as Artim traced one of the scars Kimberly thought how best to reply to that one, "Souvenirs," she replied eventually, somewhat cryptically. "I spent some time in a POW camp during the Dominion war," Kimberly explained, "there were a few, altercations, while I was there," leaving it at that she raised an eyebrow, "they don't give me any trouble, so I've never bothered getting them removed," ~ nor will I ~ she silently added.

Artim walked in front of the other doctor and lifted up his shirt slightly so she could see the scar on his lower back. "Jem'hadar gave me one too, so I totally understand. That was before I was in the fleet though. Lets just say I was an unwelcome guest on a Dominion planet when the war started. Took a favour from a spoonhead to get me out of there. Were fascinated with me though since I'm pretty much the opposite of them since their 'youth' is only a couple weeks." Eventually the Miran realized he was rambling as he picked up another instrument and did a couple more scans.

"Well, I'd say you're in good health overall. My only prescription would be for some hearty food to put a bit more meat on ya."

Smiling at the adolescent Doctor, "Something that's been suggested many times Artim, but I'm happy the way I am thank you, I've no vitamin or mineral deficiencies, and I'm quite comfortable thank you, so I'll just carry on as I am. in the meantime, what can you tell me about the team," indicating the various staff around them, "any shift, anything I should know? Anything not in the formal files?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, so you want all the juicy dirty details huh? Not much to tell. Kio and Lansford are still recovering from the Dithparu thing, though Kio still owes me an apology for my eyes." Artim paused for a moment to put away an instrument strategically to let the CMO get the wrong idea for a moment then continued. "An experiment I was running, took weeks to regrow them, probably will be an interesting paper. Anyway, what else, Waring's a bit of a spaz, probably because Nurse Tilden has a crush on her. Don't sneak up on the Andorian, I can't remember his name and that's about it. "

Filing the information away for future reference she raised an eyebrow, "I'm hearing a lot of stories about what happened with the Dithparu, what can you tell me?" she asked curiously.

Artim had tried to forget most of what happened with the Dithparu, particularly the running firefight and the alien Taru dissolving right in front of him. However, he recalled some things to tell the new boss lady.

"Well, apparently DS5 picked up what was a part of their planet or something that was holding them. They escaped and killed virtually the whole crew at the time by possessing telepathic individuals. When we showed up, they did the same thing to the Galaxy crew, trying to take the ship so they could escape. We found some alien in cyrostasis on the station that was apparently hunting these things across the galaxy and he eventually sent out some sort of telepathic wave that got rid of 'em, but robbed the telepaths of their abilities for awhile. I was there for that last part. Learned I was pretty handy with a phaser carbine in the process. Can't tell ya exactly what happened on the ship, but I did hear the fighting got pretty intense, not to say it didn't on DS5."

Nodding, she'd read the basics in the ships files, but it was nice to hear people talk of it, personal experience always had a few extra details reports didn't, "what happened to the alien, the one who was in stasis?" she asked.

"Well, for lack of a better term he... well... dissolved. Whatever he did killed him and destroyed his body. Was rather... sickening to watch actually. Still, he saved our lives." Artim replied

"This may sound gruesome, but was there anything left?" Kimberly asked, "I'd be curious to see if we could get a DNA trace from it, perhaps get a genetic trace. was it done?" she asked.

"Didn't have time. We had to seal the room off where it happened. I would have, but I got shot during the process. Might be something in DS5s medical files, I did get a good bit of them downloaded."

"I'll have a look later," Kimberly said, more to herself, "so how are you, you said you got shot, any serious injuries?" she asked.

"Shoulder was sore for awhile, Other then that, I was fine. The really nasty stuff happened on the ship. I was treating all sorts of stuff for days, not to mention the neural damage in the telepaths. I learned more about neurosurgery in a week then I had in all of med school."

"How has everyone fared in that area, anyone with permanent damage?"

"None that I'm really aware of. We were able to repair most everyone. Couple may require more surgeries, but that's about it.

"I'll check the surgical files in a bit, get up to speed there then, anything else I should know?" she asked.

"Nope, not really. Everything else is in the files I think."

“Great,” sliding off the biobed, “well thanks Artim, if anyone needs me, I’ll be in my office doing paperwork,” she said, sounding like she was getting ready to be tortured.

OOC: Dum, de, dum, dum.. It has been a loooong loooong time until I got around to do something mischievious with them..

"Mr Potato Head with Ears"

Melvin Frohike,
Ricardo 'Ringo' Langley

"Hey, fatso!! Get your ass out of my face."

Pushing on the large backside in front of him, Langley groaned and checked the tricorder. According to it, they were five metres away from the port that would grant them access.

"Quiet. Pass me up the tool. I need to open it."

Frohike waited until the small driver was passed to him before he went to work. When he finished, he slid the plate aside and looked down.

Below them, the desk of the Chief of Security lay waiting, and it was lucky the room was deserted. Activating their night vision goggles due it being dark, Langley held the fishing line with the noose while Frohike put the small figure inside it. Adjusting the ears to be more alluring, they smiled and Langley slowly lowered it down.

Four minutes later, the small figure of Mr Potato Head in a drag version of a Starfleet uniform and Vulcan ears was left on the desk as the two engineers closed the port, making their way away from the scene of the crime.

"Taking In The Sights"

SCPO. Renora Loret, Tactical Analyst
2nd Lt Branwen London, Furies psychologist

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

Renora walking in through the doors and she could feel the difference in atmosphere. Nothing untoward but she did feel like she was encroaching into someone elses territory.

She'd made a point to try and find out as much about the ship as she could. Sure, she could read all the reports and look at all of the specs but that told her exactly nothing about the people or what they were capable of. Given Saul wanted to be the winner at next years Wolf exercise, coupled with her own desire to keep the ship safe, she thought it best to investigate.

Also marine barracks were notorious rumour mills.

"Hello there." Branwen said when she saw the naval petty officer looking around. "You seem to be a bit lost. Can I help you?"

Renora glanced back to where the voice was coming from to see a young woman, presumably human, wearing a marines uniform. She saw the gold bar on her collar. "I'm fine thank you Lieutenant, just trying to get a feel for the ship and her crew." She remembered herself. "Sorry. Senior chief Renora Loret, I'm the new tactical analyst."

"Nice to meet you Renora. I am Branwen, the marine psychologist. I can show you around here if you like?"

"That'd probably be the best idea. Please, after you. She gestured in the general direction of forward and waited for Branwen to lead the way. "So, tell me. How long have you been aboard?"

"About a year now. So I know my way around." She smiled. "It's a big ship, it will take you while, but that is nothing unusual. How long have you been here?"

"Not long. I only came aboard at Starbase 5." She looked around wistfully. "She's a class three Galaxy, right? I heard she's had some modifications made? I've not had time to review the finer points of that yet." she continued to walk behind Branwen. "How many of you are there down here?"

"I am not that technical. We have a large marine contingency here. I think we blend in really well with the Navy. What do you do?" She asked next.

"My role here is as a tactical analyst..or as I like to call it the Devils Advocate."

"I am not exactly familiar with that." Branwen admitted.

"I go over plans and battle reports and try and find all manner of weak points to fix in our own strategies and exploit in our opponents. That's why I came down to see what the ground troops were like. Find out where our strengths and weaknesses are."

"Interesting. You're going to be working for the marines as well?" She asked. "Or just the Navy?"

"Well..." Renora paused, she was aware that on some ships marines and navy didn't mix too well. She was hoping that this wasn't one of them. "...I see my remit as covering both. I do what is necessary to protect the crew and the ship." She sucked in air through her teeth. "Of course whether people listen to me is another matter entirely."

"Cool." Branwen said smiling. "I like that. I like it when we work together. For example I also see Navy patients." She explained.

"I'm glad to see that the walls are starting to come down between the divisions. Tell me something. What would you say the general mood...mindframe of the ship is right now? I can see she's a good vessel but what about the people on it...how do they hold up?"

Branwen thought for a moment. "I would say good. The Captain had everybody go through counselling. Believe me that was fun." She grinned. "Yet almost everybody did it without complaint, and it seems to have helped people cope. I am confident we are ready for a new mission."

"That's actually quite comforting. I read one or two or the tactical reports about what happened. I thought that there'd be some real problems. I also understand that there's a new first officer onboard. Have you heard anything about him? Kol, I think his name was?"

"There are, but people are dealing with them. No I haven't. The marines are getting a new commander as well." She managed to smile.

"Well..." Renora began. "...I'd like to think that the higher ups know what there doing." Even though she felt inside that they seldom did. "Why? Are you not so convinced?"

"Oh yes I am. Don't mind me." That she was not happy with things was something she really wanted to keep to herself. "I am pretty green still. So command decisions are a little bit above me."

"I think you'll find that's often the way of things." Then she added not wanting to un-nerve the young soldier. "But then...that's just my jaded opinion. I've had bad experience with some officers."

"Oh? Is that the reason you are a petty officer yourself? I honestly think they are the backbone of any military organisation. Not the officers." Branwen grinned.

"Well I think the two work well in moderation. You have to find a good balance between the two. I'm sure you appreciate that, having to split you time between infantry and fleet."

"Yes I do. And I actually like both of them. As I also like many of the officers and the enlisted. I just try to treat everybody as human beings you know."

"Hmmm." Renora semi-agreed. She tried to see most people as humans but she didn't like to think about it too much, it made her job a lot easier if she didn't. "Well, it certainly seems that your part of a fine team here, I look forward to seeing you in action."

"And I you. I think at first you will be very busy getting settled though." Branwen grinned.

"I'm afraid so, I'm trying to get around as much as possible. But, thank you for your time it was very good of you."

"Drop by any time. Maybe we can work out together one-day?"

"Maybe we can, though I should warn you, I'll push hard. I'll see you later Lieutenant." Renora turned and left the barracks room before she started to type a few notes onto her PADD. Now where to next, she thought to herself.

"Jeffries Tube Therapy"

Branwen
Ella

Ella had not come to her appointment, or the one before that. Branwen had led it slide once, but now she decided to go and find her patient. Ella was still one of the people she was worried about, as were Sam and Victor. But one problem at the time.

At the end of her shift she went of to search for Ella. Which did not prove to be easy. An hour later she was still searching after hearing 'no, she is not here' too often.

***

"Head's up, Ella. London's looking for you."

Ella smiled at the ensign and signed a thank you before grabbing her kit. She had no wish to talk to Branwen right now, especially when there was a lone panel in the bowels of the ship that was just waiting to be looked at.

Just try to find me in there, London, Ella thought with a smirk as she entered the Jeffries Tube.

***

It took Bran another half hour, some cajoling and even some bribes to petty officers to finally locate Ella in the jeffries tubes.

"Hi Ella." She said with a smirk.

Ella looked up in astonishment. "What the..?"

"Now mind your language." Bran said sweetly.

"I'm busy."

"You missed two appointments. You know that is not a good thing."

"Do I?" Ella asked as she reached for a tool.

"Yes you do, you are not stupid." The Welshwoman said.

"Branwen." The engineer said. "We can't have our appointment in the Jeffries Tube."

"Why not? There is no rule that a counceling session has to be held in an office."

"Because... I...." Ella started and then sighed. Well, it would be a hell of a lot more interesting then having it in the office. "Fine, have it your way."

"Why are you avoiding me, Ella?"

She shrugged. "I don't want to talk about anything."

"What are you trying to fix?"  Bran asked simply.

Ella sighed. "It's too technical to explain."

"Fair enough."  Bran said watching patiently.

She put aside her tools. "I've been visiting a holo program that has Indy in it."

Branwen had heard from Sam and she thought it was a very good idea. "Interesting, is it well programmed?"

"You're not going to tell me it's a bad idea?"

"Why would I think it's a bad idea?" Bran said.

"I just... well, it's not normal, right?" Ella said. Indy, of course, hadn't thought it was a bad idea but Indy was also a program created by Samantha Widdlestein.

"She told me."  Branwen said.  "I think it has done her a lot of good as well.  That child finds even more difficult than you to express what she feels."  The marine shrink said smiling sadly.  "You talk to Indy all you like, and as long as you like, Ella."

"I guess I thought that you would think it was weird." Ella admitted.

"What gave you that idea?  I applaud Samantha and you being so creative in dealing with your grief.  It's much better when people can do that on their own, and they don't really need us."  Bran said smiling.

Ella stared at her. "You're so different from other therapists I've had. I'm not entirely sure that I like it."

Branwen did a masterful job hiding her disappointment.  "Can you tell me why, and what you don't like?"

"I like stupid people or therapists who follow the book." Ella replied, picking up her tool again. "People easy to predict. Control. And instead I get Dallas and then you. Oh, well."

"Maybe because in the end it helps you more.  A therapist that would be easy to predict by you might not help you."  Branwen said softly.  "Have you been sleeping better since you started seeing holo Indy?"

"Yes."

"And have you been discussing your problems and feelings with the hologram?" Branwen asked next.  It was something Ella found very difficult to do during sessions with a therapist.

"Somewhat." Ella replied. "Sometimes we just talk about stupid things. Like art or my day at work. Nothing serious."

Branwen smiled.  "Just like old times, and can you tell her about Victor as well?"

"He comes up sometimes." The engineer said in a casual tone. "We try to brainstorm."

"And what does she suggest?"  She was really curious to know how Sam had programmed the hologram.

Ella frowned. "She thinks I should either start sending love letters or move. Frankly some of her programming isn't quite accurate. Indy would havebeen pressing for me to try dating someone a bit more... accessable."

"Sounds like very good advice.  Have you ever been interested in other guys?"  Dangerous question, after all these months she herself could still think of nobody else but Saul.

"Well, yes." Ella said. "But I'm trying to be good and not use anyone."

Bran raised an eyebrow. "Making new friends and maybe more then friends doesn't mean you use people. What makes you think that?"

"I've only been interested in other guys for sex, Branwen." Ella said bluntly. "There's someone I've grown close to, someone I like a great deal, but I can't kid myself into believing if we went any further that I wouldn't drop him in a hot second if Victor forgave me."

"Ella you didn't do anything wrong. There is nothing to forgive." Bran said. "It is months since he has really talked to you."

"Branwen," She said incredulously. "I called him every filthy name I could think of. Of *course* there's something to forgive. I dont even know if I would forgive me."

"Like he is always so nice. You fight, you talk afterwards and you forgive. Don't take all the blame on yourself, Ella. It's just not right." Branwen said with conviction.

"It wasn't a fight, it was a massacre. And pretty much unprovoked, if I want to be honest."

"You have other friends, right? You ever have a vicious fight with any of them.  Or just say something you regretted later?"  Branwen asked.

"Not like this." The engineer said. "Look this should be a psychologist's dream, a patient admitting that they're at fault. Why are you disagreeing with me on this."

"Because I am not out to get you. And I also don't think you are the only one at fault here. Where two people fight, most of the times two are at fault. I would like you to see that. And not beat yourself about it so much, Ella." Bran said.

Ella sighed. "I really don't think there's anything more to say on the subject, Branwen. I understand what you think is happening but I totally disagree with you."

"You think about it.  We will talk about it next week."  Branwen prepared to crawl back.  "I trust I don't have to come looking for you again?"

"You don't have have to go looking for me again."

Maybe next time she'd just seal herself in the Jeffries tube so Branwen couldn't reach her. It wouldn't be as if the woman wouldn't know where Ella was.

"I promise." Ella said with a tight smile.

"Departure, Part III"

Second Lieutenant Jebidiah Baile

First Lieutenant T'Shani

-----------------
Baile's Quarters
-----------------

Official letters produced just one reaction in 2nd Lt Jebidiah Baile, born in the middle of nowhere on a rusty heap of junk ship. He didn't like them. Period. It had been waiting for him after he had gone back to his quarters after yet another night of sitting alone, looking at the stars, tormented by Maya's presence.

It had been blinking on the screen. Unread. Marked SFMC-Command. Only messages he got from them was to tell him he had been demoted. Again. He had sighed, wondering what the hell he had done this time to earn a reprimand. Part from killing several members of the crew when under the influence of the Dithparu. He had snorted in disgust. He hated red tape and politics. Wasn't much of that in a jungle.

And just why the hell would they reprimand him for that? It wasn't like He had killed A LOT of them.. just a handful. Maybe a dozen or so. The whole thing had been over just as he had gotten warmed up, ready to kill every single possessed host he found. A carebear ship like the Galaxy didn't know how to handle his kind. He didn't just cause rings on the water. No, he was a fucking depthcharge tossed into the children's side of the pool. Of course he had gone off. What the hell had they expected? Enemies and Baile was not a peaceful and huggable combination.

The message had remained unread for another few hours while he did a quick workout - three hundred pushups, five hundred situps and shadowboxing for forty minutes. He couldn't arse himself to go down to the gym. Seemed all sorts of freaks found their way to the gym when he was there. He had touched his nose while thinking of the latest encounter, making a mental note to just shoot the next moron that tried to size him up. Less waste of his time.

The message had still been there when he had stepped out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel. He had shaved his head and trimmed the Mohican to its standard seven millimetre in length. Hell, he had even shaved. Not that it made him look any friendlier. It had been blinking, reminding him of its existence. Finally he had fired off a few carefully selected words about the Starfleet Marine Corps Command and told the computer to show him the damn message.

It had probably been a record in how to react to a message from SFMC. He had been drinking his beer while reading the message. Once the words had sunk in he had stopped drinking but forgotten to lower the bottle. His free hand, which had been holding the towel opened up in sheer surprise and the towel had gracefully fallen to the floor.

Powerful and deadly as he was, he was still a subject to some universal laws. One being beer in the nose. The Killer of Killers had sprayed the screen on the wall and started coughing violently while the bottle fell to the ground, keeping the towel company.

The message had been simple. He was to take command over the marine detachment onboard. Effective Immediately. A very thick and dark...darkness had settled over his quarters only a second later, interrupted by the occasional spark, as his hand had been planted right in the middle of the monitor.

Jebidiah Baile was probably one of the few people in Starfleet who had been literally undressed while been given a command.

Demotion had been preferable to this. Hell, a last meal and a blindfold would have been humane compared to this. He entertained the thought of walking into the marine barracks and shoot a few of them, but with his luck they'd end up giving him even more people to command.

Marine Corps paperwork was nothing new to him. He knew which form required how many triplicates and what-ever-cates. He had enough connections and reputation among the right people to equip each and every marine with what ever weapons and gear he could come up with. Short of a nuke. But he knew a few people who could sell him one. Or ten.

The problem was he was not... no, the problem was him. No matter what had happened to him, stolen eyes or not, he was a marine through and through. Problem was that he was not an average marine. If there ever had been a true hardcore marine it was him and his old team.

He wondered who he would have to kill to get out of it. Or rather who he would have to kill for ever suggesting him. Wouldn't solve anything, but he'd feel better.

While Baile was contemplating creative ways to be excused from command duties, his door chirped. Then chirped again. And again...

He sighed, running a hand through the short mohican. Why couldn't Someone just walk through the door and shoot him? What ever happened to the wars that had kept popping up everywhere before he got to the Galaxy? There Had to be some power hungry race somewhere gearing up for an invasion to start a war somewhere that SFMC would send him to. Right now he'd settle for anything. Even fighting Orion dancers would do the trick right now. "Alright. Come in."

The doors parted, surprising T'Shani with the presentation inside. There stood Baile, unclothed, standing next to a still-sparking LCARS terminal on a nearby desk.

Leaning on the still-open doorframe and arching an antenna in amusment, Tish couldn't help but comment on the situation before her. "I take it you've recieved the orders, Lieutenant." A wry smile curled on her face as she couldn't help but give the front of his naked form a good once-over.

"Was it the broken terminal or the cursing that gave me away?" he replied sourly and picked up the towel again. He was in no hurry. Marines more often than not shared sanitarian facilities with one another. Besides he had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to his body. Finally he turned his back to her, giving he a faint view of the words 'Semper Fi' which had been scarred on his lower back. No, he was definitely not an average marine.

"Both, actually," Tish said, dropping the smile and walking into Baile's spartan quarters, allowing the door to shut behind her. "I don't blame you, really," she said, glancing once again at the broken desk terminal.

His hand was bleeding from a couple of minor cuts. Crimson drops fell on the floor, one by one, loud enough for Baile to hear the impact. Pulling on a pair of pants he looked at her. "I take it you either want to talk to or with me." he reflected calmly and ordered the lights up to one quarter strength.

"Look, Baile," she said, drawing herself up. She wanted this to be quick and efficient. The less time spent in Baile's presence, the better. "You and I have never seen... eye to eye on things. I realize that. I also realize that you have much more field experience than I do," she said while silently thinking ~ even though I've done my own dirty work with Red Division ~.

Never seen eye to eye. He almost chuckled at the thought. A headache was starting to make itself announced, teaming up with the constant pain from his eyes. All in all it didn't improve his disposition. "Lieutenant, is this leading somewhere?"

She held up her blue hand, to stop whatever he was going to say. "Hold it, let me finish." She lowered her hand, and locked her gaze with his. She had to pause for a second, shaking a chill that ran down her spine when she peered into his eyes. She had felt it before, but not with Baile... but with Victor.

He pulled on the t-shirt, still looking at her when he was done. A very dangerous part of him was peering through the narrow crack in his mental defenses. The silvery eyes gleamed in the faint light.

She shook her head, antennas bobbing as she tried her best to clear the unsettling feelings from her mind. "As I was... saying, I might not fully agree with your leadership style, but I recognize..." she paused once more, the strange feeling encompassing her again. She did her best to push past it. "I fully *recognize* that you are more than qualified to lead the Furies."

"But?" Baile inquired calmly.

Steeling herself, she stepped forward and faced him directly, pushing down the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. "But, just know that I think you're a danger and menace to the detachment." She stepped away again, and started for the door. Pausing in the open doorway, she looked back at him, her doorlit shadow looming over him in the cabin's darkness. "I may not agree with the Major's decision to promote you, but it doesn't matter, anyway. See you around, Baile." And with that, the door slid shut behind her.

Baile's formed a gun with his hand, aiming it at the closed door. What was it with some people and getting the final word? A flair for the dramatic, he supposed. For a few seconds he debated with himself whether to put her on the infamous shitlist for doubting his loyalty towards the Marine Corps, but shrugged. His loyalty towards the Marines was beyond all doubt. It was the Federation he had trouble believing in.

OOC: Backposted to a few hours before Cass Henderson assumes command of the Galaxy.

"Debating The Merit Of Weapons"

Commander Cass Henderson
Executive Officer, USS Galaxy

Lieutenant Kimberly Ann Burton
Chief Medical Officer, USS Galaxy

with... Ensign Craig Ashby, Flight Deck Officer

****

Main Shuttlebay,
Deck 4, USS Galaxy-A

Looking up at the KittyKat, Kimberly smiled. She was proud of her little ship, a modified Aeroshuttle with two decks, impulse thrusters for extra sublight speed, and thanks to the Chief Engineer on the Arizona, capable of Warp 7.5 in emergencies, unlike standard Aeroshuttles that could only make Warp 5. Add to that the extra shield grid and sensor pallets added by the nice SCE crew on the Calleva, and this was a fast and well defended little ship.

There was however a snag in the universe that seemed to insist on testing her patience. It seemed that regulation insisted that all support vessels on board ship be capable of having weapons mounted on them in case of mission requirements or emergencies, and that was something the Kitty lacked, she had no mounts what so ever for either phasers or microtorpedoes. She had come down here today with the intention of cleaning up her little ship (at Sara's insistence) only to find the officer of the deck ready to strip the KittyKat down to add regulation phaser mounts to the KittyKat.

The argument that had followed had not been funny, at least not for Kimberly. This was not a 'borrowed' ship but her own shuttle, a gift from her big brother, and as such she felt not required to be armed, especially with her own personal inhibitions that prevented her from violence in any form. The OD had stood there, towering almost two feet over the diminutive doctor and tried to stare the young Lieutenant down, citing his orders all the while. Kimberly on the other hand had not been intimidated, or at least had tried not to let it show, the OD was one *big* son of a bitch and she had eventually tried to order him to stand down.

Things had gone down hill from there, and the OD had commed the XO in the hopes of settling the matter once and for all. The two were stood, face to face (or at least face to chest) waiting for the XO, neither one ready to back down.

Cass hadn't really been expecting to have a very eventful day. But between Raynor's prank radio broadcast and his counseling appointment, it was beginning to look like his expectations weren't going to be any more true today than they were on any other day. Especially now that he'd been called down to mediate a dispute in the Shuttlebay. Honestly, there were days when he wondered what the personnel officer and the liaison department were being paid to do.

Approaching the situation, he was immediately struck by the juxtaposition of the young doctor and towering deck officer. He knew that Kimberly Burton was the new Chief Medical Officer, but he'd been hoping to meet her under different circumstances. The Deck Officer, Ensign Craig Ashby, was a decent enough sort - if the most unimaginative person he'd ever met.

As he stepped up beside the pair, he noticed that the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. "Excuse me, I'm Commander Henderson. Lieutenant Burton, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Ensign Ashby, I hope your family is well. Now then, pleasantries aside, what was so important that you felt it necessary for me to mediate?"

Almost immediately both began talking, then stopped simultaneously and looked at each other, indicating that she could go first the massive OD stayed silent.

"Well Commander," Kimberly started, "it seems that someone aboard doesn't appreciate the fact that my shuttle is unarmed. Apparently regs state that all support vessels attached to a starship should be capable of mounting weapons in the event of an emergency or mission requirements. Well, Sir, my ship has no weapon mounts whatsoever, I had them removed while I was on the Arizona. I have absolutely no need for weapon mounts. Plus, this is 'my' ship, not a Starfleet ship 'on loan' as it were. I have never, nor will I ever have need for weapons on the KittyKat," she insisted firmly, "the ensign here, though, apparently has orders to place weapon mounts on her, so, we appear to be at odds on the matter, Sir."

"I have a work order here Sir," he got out when Kimberly paused for breath, "the Lieutenant saw the discrepancy when the shuttle came aboard and placed an order in for the modifications to be done, it's not like we're mounting weapons, just weapon mounts," he added apologetically.

"That's not the point," Kimberly snapped back, "weapon mounts imply the possibility of weapons. No!" she said forcefully, "not on my ship!"

Ashby looked at the Commander, "Sir?" he asked, plainly wanting someone, anyone, to get the diminutive Lieutenant off his deck.

Cassius shook his head. He could feel a headache coming on. As much as he was used to sorting out pointless conflicts (the amount of people who had to have it explained that they couldn't press charges for something that another crew member had done while under the possession of a Dithparu was, to put it succinctly, startling), he knew that this was going to take a while. "Ashby, can you leave us for a moment? I need to talk to Doctor Burton privately. I'm sure you have work to do, so I'll call you back when I need you."

Ashby nodded, and disappeared off to take care of other duties.

Turning his attention back to the new Chief Medical Officer, he sat down on a nearby crate - undoubtedly containing the new weapons mounts for the KittyKat. Looking her straight in the eyes, he spoke. "Doctor, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but Ensign Ashby is right."

Taking a deep breath Kimberly let it out slowly before speaking, "Due respect, Sir, but I had this argument on my last posting. I've checked the regs - they state that all support craft *assigned* to an active fleet ship must have mounts and blah blah blah. I've read it. But this is *my* ship, not the fleets. It is a privately owned ship. It hasn't been *assigned* here, I have. Are you saying that *any* small ship on board has to be ready for combat?"

"Doctor, if you'll hear me out..." Cassius attempted to interject. However, the irate young woman would hear none of it. She continued her rant, cutting him off. The executive officer bit his tongue and allowed her to finish. It would probably help if she got it all off her chest.

"Due respect Sir, but under Starfleet regulations no one may force me to do anything that asks me to breach any moral or ethical boundaries I may have. Since I'll be the only one to ever pilot the KittyKat, I can guarantee there won't be any weapons fire coming from her - so ergo no need for weapons." She said stubbornly, "I'm a trained counselor and doctor, Sir. Why in the name of the Goddess would I ever want to break my oaths!"

"Doctor!" Cass said harshly, though he was careful to keep his voice soft. They were drawing too much attention as it was. "Restrain yourself. I'm here to resolve this issue, not to listen to your tirades. Now, do you think you're capable of *listening*?"

"Due respect, sir, this isn't a tirade yet. Just an officer exercising her right to express an opinion, but yes, I'm certainly capable of listening," she agreed.

"Thank you," Cass replied, wearily. It was strange how many people there seemed to be in Starfleet who found it appropriate to shout at superior officers, or flaunt the regulations. For a quasi military organization, the lack of discipline was becoming more and more bothersome. "Let's start by establishing some facts. The first is that I passed my basic medical classes when I was at the Academy. Consequently, I don't need the Hippocratic Oath explained to me. Okay?"

"Clear, sir," she replied simply.

"The second fact is that I'm the executive officer of this ship," Cass continued, "Part of *my* job description is that I have to act in best interests of the entire ship's complement - not individual crewmembers. I appreciate your position, and if I could, I would happily acquiesce to your wishes."

"If I may, Sir - Why not,? The XO of the Relentless was agreeable to a private vessel being left as is?"

"I'm sure Commander Alizar felt that there was space on the Relentless for a civilian ship. The fact is that we're a smaller vessel, and space is at a premium here. There's an important distinction between you swearing the Hippocratic Oath and your shuttle swearing the Hippocratic Oath," Cass raised his hands to wave off any sudden response that the doctor might have cared to give. "Under ideal circumstances, you should be the only one who is allowed to fly your shuttle. However, circumstances aren't always ideal - and because you're asking us to keep your shuttle onboard, it has to conform to our regulations."

~A smaller vessel? This is a Galaxy class Starship!~ Kimberly thought to herself, biting her lip to stop the retort hovering there. ~Why is everyone so set on weapons being a solution to problems?!~ she asked herself silently. "Sir, if I may, if you put mounts on my ship, you're advertising the fact she's not a civilian ship. Also, due to upgrades there's no 'power' for weapons, the output has been reworked into an enhanced shield grid and upgrades to the warp and impulse engines and a set of impulse thrusters. If you insist on mounting weapons at any point there's going to have to be a complete rework of the power systems," she informed him, "so that they'll work!"

"Doctor, do you understand that Starfleet, while exploratory in nature, is not a civilian organization?" Cassius asked. Maybe he was jaded by the long years of war and the maneuvering of galactic powers. Or maybe he saw reality for what it was.

"I do understand that, yes, Sir. I also understand that while not a civilian organization, the Fleet is not primarily a military organization either. If I recall, the Fleet was set up to be the exploratory, scientific and defensive arm of the Federation? Sir, I know that in recent years the military aspect has been foremost. There hasn't been a choice, with hostile governments, from the Dominion to the Hydrans, the T'Kith'Kin and the Breen - to name a few. There has been more combat and violence than in any other decade in the past. But Sir, weapons aren't the solution to every problem," she offered, "And may I ask what good arming her would do? Even when she was configured for weapons she could only mount a type four bank at best. What good is that against a frigate twenty times her size?"

"Well, as a tactician, I consider it insanity to send a shuttle against a frigate," Cassius stated, inclining his head at the shuttle in question. He paused. There were come philosophical issues that needed to be addressed. "I don't mean to spend too much time on philosophy, but it's important. I understand that weapons aren't the only solution available - more than you can know. Well placed words will work just fine in the majority of situations. However, I also understand that there are some situations to which violence is the only recourse, however unfortunate. How do you feel about that?"

"Personally, Sir, the main reason I have no weapons or mounts on the KittyKat is that I feel violence solves nothing. In any situation there has to be an alternative. Violence has consequences, physical, spiritual and moral, and it's something I hope to never have to do again!" she said simply.

"As much as I'd love to agree, that's a very unrealistic position to take," the executive officer said. "As long as we live in a universe where there are people willing to kill, for whatever reason, then there have to be people willing to take appropriate action to prevent them from killing. Sometimes there's no time for anything but a phaser beam or a punch to the jaw."

Falling silent a moment Kimberly debated best how to phrase her next comment. This wasn't going as she'd hoped. "I know, Sir. Believe me, I know," she said finally after a moment, "but I have my principles and my beliefs Sir, I know there are people out there ready to kill, and to use violence to get what they want, but I am simply not one of them anymore," she said slowly, "I won't use phasers or violence, Sir," she finished simply.

"Good. I'm not asking for weapons to be mounted on your ship - and I'm *absolutely* not asking you to fire a weapon at any time," Cass elaborated a little more. "What I am asking you to do is allow weapon mounts to be placed onto your shuttle. The mounts don't constitute any offensive capability, but they do allow us to arm your shuttle if circumstances require it. Don't worry about your wiring modifications. There's a software package that will take care of it, if the time comes."

"They may not constitute offensive capability, Sir, but they do imply it," she objected, "And by even creating the possibility of armaments on my ship you're asking me to be ready to do something I am morally against," pausing to take a deep breath for a second Kimberly sat near the XO on one of the crates, "Sir, weapons will only make her a target, without them her shields and engines make her one of the fastest and best shielded ships in the bay, arm her and the power drain will make her less useful than a standard runabout," she reasoned, "What is the point?"

"The point is that it's not about you, Doctor," Cass frowned. He had to wrap this up soon or he was going to miss his next appointment. He stood up from the crate and faced the young doctor. "It's about this ship's crew, and nothing is going to stand in my way when it comes to their safety. I don't know the stats on your ship, and I don't have to. If there's an energy issue, I'm sure Ensign Ashby is capable of resolving it. You have a choice now, Doctor. You can either keep the ship here, and have mounts placed on it, or you can ship it home and I'll replace it with a Starfleet shuttle. It's up to you, but that's the best offer I can make."

"Due respect, Sir," Kimberly said, standing also. "As I said I looked at the regs on the Relentless. You have no right to order an overhaul on my ship if I do not want one. I will be appealing this, other officers are allowed to keep personal vehicles on their duty stations without having them reworked, and if you insist on having the modifications done against my wishes I will log a formal complaint and appeal with Starfleet Command, Sir," she stated formally.

Cassius rubbed the bridge of nose, just between the eyes. "Actually, Lieutenant, if you pursue it, I think you'll find that you're wrong. Commanding Officers, and by proxy their Executive Officers, have the right to refuse storage for personal vehicles. If we didn't, then our shuttlebays would be packed to the point of uselessness. Which means that because Captain M'Kantu ordered me to, I've set conditions upon which personal craft will be allowed to stay here."

"I don't know what Commander Alizar does on her ship. She's an honored colleague, but I don't keep in touch with her about things as trivial as shuttlecraft," Cass deadpanned. "The rules on the Galaxy are very clear. We don't have much space, especially with the fighter squadron aboard. As a result, all civilian craft are required to be accessible by Starfleet personnel, if no fleet craft are available. Additionally, they have to have the same capability, or better, as a comparable fleet craft."

"Basically, Sir, what you are saying is that if I want my shuttle here, I have to be prepared for you to use it as and when you want, and for it to be reworked to your satisfaction so it can be armed," she said, shaking her head, "I'm sorry, Sir, but I find that unacceptable."

"No, Doctor, that's not what I'm saying," Henderson replied, after briefly gritting his teeth. Patience, he reminded himself, was possibly the greatest virtue - and certainly the one which would accomplish the most. "What I said was that if you wanted to keep your ship onboard, you have to be prepared for me to use it when I have no other options, and that consequently it has to have the same functionality as other Starfleet registered craft."

"And I will say for the record, now, that my shuttle will not be armed, or fitted with weapon mounts. And if that means you are going to order me to remove it from the ship then I will be speaking to the Captain and logging a formal complaint with him and Starfleet Command," Kimberly stated formally, shaking her head "This is one of the largest ships in the fleet, Sir, with three very substantial shuttle bays and shuttle storage areas. If you're saying they are nearly full to capacity then you have more than my ship to concern yourself with, Sir. Starfleet is *not* primarily a military organization, Sir, and I am not aware of any reg that requires or permits you to strip my shuttle to suit your military mindset." She stepped away from the XO. "If you'll excuse me then Sir, I'll lock my shuttle and go see the Captain."

"That's up to you, Doctor, but you'll be wasting your time. Everything I do goes across Captain M'Kantu's desk. He knows what regulations I've set, because he has to approve them all," Henderson shook his head. "Doctor, you're responsible for the medical health of the crew. I'm responsible for their safety. I can't afford to live in the past, however much I might like to. The days when a Galaxy-Class Explorer was a large ship, and Starfleet's primary purpose was exploration, are long gone - and I mourned their passing. But I've moved on, Doctor, and you should too. You were a prisoner of the Dominion, and you served on the Arizona at Havras. War happens, Doctor. It's how we deal with it that matters."

"Due respect, Sir. It's not just how we deal with any given situation that matters, but how we purport ourselves as well, during and after. I refuse to fall into the mindset of someone who sees violence as an option. I have seen too much and the inevitable aftermath every single time to let that happen. Starfleet's primary goal of exploration isn't long gone, Commander. Only the desire and vision. If you choose to believe it's gone then I pity you for what you have obviously lost."

Cassius was taken aback by the young doctor's remarks. Pity? How does a person take pity upon one man for something that everyone has lost? He'd have to think about it some other time, when he wasn't late. "I wish I could agree with you, Doctor. Maybe someday, when the Hydrans, and the Breen agree with you, we'll be able to return to that vision. I'll certainly welcome the day. But for now, I have to make due with the way things are. If you'd like to file a complaint, that' within your right. But I have to make it to a meeting, and I'm already late."

"Aye, Sir," Kimberly said in a somewhat desultory tone, "But making do is..." She let the sentence trail off as she stepped up to her shuttle and sealed the hatch, securing it firmly. "Until later then, Sir," she said in a more neutral tone.

"Of course," Cass replied, extending a hand of peace. Even though their first impressions had been marred by conflict, he was still the executive officer and she was still the chief medical officer. They needed to work together, even if their viewpoints were different. "If you ever need anything, my door is open - or at least unlocked."

"I shall... keep that in mind, Sir," she replied. Accepting the hand, she shook it briefly then turned without another word and made for the bay exit, determined to speak to the Captain immediately.

Cass sighed as he motioned for Ensign Ashby to come back over. One more thing he'd have to deal with at the end of the day. Hopefully the Captain would take care of it... but he wasn't holding out much hope. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, or his 'sixth sense', but he was fairly sure he'd be seeing more of her.

OoC: I'm probably breaking like a billion technological rules... but to hell with it... if I screwed up anywhere feel free to point it out...

"Know your Enemy"

Ensign Zev Raynor
Terran Telepath "Intelligence" Officer

Raynor had been working on this Dithparu Report for what seemed to be ages... he hadn't gotten any particular assignments from his Department Head to do anything else. So he was stuck doing this.

But he had since moved on from interrogating the Dithparu in his unconscious mind as well experiencing their lives 'first hand'. The information there was massive, but not necessarily accurate. Because it was directly from their souls and perspectives, Raynor could only get information out of them from their viewpoint. And they saw themselves as invincible gods for all they cared. He needed to look at them from the outside. He already knew how they acted, and was able to determine a basic idea of how their minds worked, but he still needed another angle to look at it from.

He needed an accurate outsider view, but at the same time, he couldn't exactly going around asking everyone about his or her experiences, or the counselling staff to break the patients confidentiality.

So of course he had to accessing, and occasionally hacking his way into the video records, when his normal access codes wouldn't work. And not just the video records but other data that would become vital to examining the Dithparu mind. Data that no one would look at without hell freezing over, and then becoming a nice tropical paradise afterward where you would want to go. As hell freezing over wasn’t that uncommon these days.

He had picked up about three dozen personal codes from wandering around the Galaxy and the Station aimlessly listening in to people who least suspected him, and of course another dozen or two from those who had near death experiences. He needed information from both the base and the ship, and though a lot of the systems were down while the away teams were on board, it still had few sparse records on how the original encounter went... After crossing off all the codes that might have been changed by now, giving the original user every advantage within protocols, and those who might change it on a whim or would be using the computer system excessively at the moment… he still had about 17 to work with that were at the appropriate level for what he needed. He made sure to access from all over the ship at different times throughout the day, and just made mental note of where he had dropped each piece of information, but made sure the access did not look out of the ordinary at all.

The other data he was gathering was the raw audio input records, in which he used a simply tracking program to indicate where everyone was at what time, according to the sound of the steps, breathe, heartbeat, or regular conversation. The only reason he had to go about doing it this way was because the bloody regular internal sensors had been down, and no one thought of using the vocal command system that has ears everywhere on the ship to keep track of everyone. It wasn’t 100% accurate, but it was close enough given the circumstances. Only real problem with that was if someone wanted to, they could hear everything everyone was saying or doing. Invasion of privacy, hearing classified material, etc. not generally making it one of those sensors that once turned on, would make anyone who was aware of them, nervous. But during a tactical scenario Raynor really couldn’t give a damn.

He also recovered video records from any hallways he remember Dithparu passing in their natural state if he could. Appreciating their energy form could help one get into their mind even better.

But that wasn't brought up as a work around to the problem until they got it fixed, they were content to be blinded until they got the exact ones they wanted.

Workarounds. People hated workarounds. Or more specifically Raynor's workarounds. Raynor had come up with the general concept long ago, but it was a bitch writing the program without any help at all on it. It wasn't his area of expertise, and only because of his abilities to absorb the memories of the dead was he able to pull it off.

Once he finished figuring out where everyone was by the noise they were making at the time of incident, and double-checking against his memory. He accessed the video records of each of those areas. But he still wasn't done with his data gathering there.

He had one more type of information to gather. The raw universal translator input records. Universal translators worked by basically looking at a persons brain waves, look for 'universal' concepts and translate whatever the guy is saying it real time. However, somehow someone had made sure it only translated what you said, through brain wave patterns as you were saying it. They were WAY too fined-tuned to be used for what he needed them for. Raynor was knew that people emitted more brainwaves that could be translated than what universal translator told you. And he could go even further when mixing that data with Holodeck technology that would allow him to touch, taste, feel, and see what they were thinking, instead of just hearing it.

It also had the added bonus of being able to cut through the crap of mental defences, especially when he was looking at it after the fact. Even with all of a telepath's mental defences up, he can still be universally translated, brain waves could still be interpreted even if one was immune to telepathy. And though one can fool a universal translator in real time by continually switching languages, after the fact when it has all the time in the world, was easy for it to decipher the words.

Unfortunately he was going beyond the Dithparu for this one... which meant a before, during, and after image of what the crew was experiencing. And that could mean violating someone's private thoughts, but he wasn't going to do anything of the sort, his concern was the Dithparu, so he would limit himself to the possessed and figuring them out, not the rest of the crew. That was a Starfleet Bureaucratic Analyst’s job to figure out. He did give them one mercy though, by randomizing the records that he would send and making sure their were no names attached to them. It would be a blind survey.

Well... except maybe Proctor... just because she was an idiot... and an Admiral with a lot information stored away in that minute mind of her's... but mainly because she was an idiot... and he wondered how an idiot like her got to command in the first place... if it was completely through back scratching, then he really had to question everyone else who was above him too...

Again...

Well more this time...

Who was he trying to kid... they were all idiots about one thing or another... didn't mean he weren't worthy of respect though... he just didn't give them respect based on the number of pips on their collar, he gave it based on who the person was, and what kind of person they were... and a little bit on how intelligent they were...

He was still trying to figure out what was his thing against Proctor... she reminded Zev of Graham... the moronic Captain who he shouted more insubordinate comments to in 5 minutes than to anyone else in his entire life so far, hit twice in the same five minutes and then managed to moon him on his way to the brig.

His concern was the enemy. There were about a dozen or so bodies unaccounted for, and several shuttles missing. That probably meant that either a couple Dithparu got lucky, or Q decided to come in there and steal a couple of things for the hell of it. Unfortunately any warp trail would have been there would be way too cold by the time they got the ball rolling on both the Station, and the Galaxy to follow...

So it could be actually important for him to get this information into those poor bastards that sat behind desks all day trying to figure out the decisions. They couldn't get anything done fast enough except when Earth was in danger.

The irony was that Raynor one of the 'insane' was trying to examine other insane beings. There was still more information than he was currently getting. Of course the big question was where the hell would he find the raw input for universal translator program to function.

It took a lot of searching through various databases over several days, from different stations at different times, but he was able to find it a little backup file in a near forgotten corner of the mainframe. Raynor didn't believe the shit he thought up and went through to try and help him figure out the Dithparu mind, probably a lot further than anyone would expect him to go. Conscious and unconscious mind... the very images and thoughts recorded by the computer and no one ever looked at them... Raynor highly doubted that anyone else would go through such lengths just figure out his enemy.

Though it wasn’t his idea either... back in the Coven. Designed as an automated way of keeping track of a crews mental health, as well as used in various training programs to help holographic opponents predict their movements before they made them. This was of course included in Raynor's own training program as a higher-level workout. More frustrating still was he couldn’t read their minds back, something he rarely faced in real life.

After all his information gathering was done, he went down to the Holo deck three to assemble it.

~Getting a little over your head Zev boy...~ came a familiar voice from the back of his mind.

<Shut up Madden… I don't have the patience right now.>

~When do you ever sweet heart?~

<Alright give me a second while I sort this new raw data out at least...>

~ Have it your way darling... I just want to watch anyways...~

It annoyed him that Madden was hanging around, wondering what the hell would be so interesting about the Dithparu thinking habits to him. But then he shrugged it got to it. <Right, lets go about the overly joyful task of sorting this data.>

Possessed, self-explanatory. Those who served host to a Dithparu.

Thralls, their mind slaves. Raynor noted that the method seemed to be very flawed as it took too much effort for the Dithparu to maintain on a large scale. He would have used sleeper agents instead, no effort to maintain and they don’t arouse suspicion with out of character actions, plus no one can really resist it so easily most of the time, their not even aware until way too late… though occasionally you’d run into someone who was immune to hypnotic suggestion making it impossible for them to become a sleeper agent, but those immune were few and far inbetween, and for that a thrall might be more practical.

'Untouched' victims, those who encountered the Dithparu, but were in no way exposed to their mental presence. Just their psychical attacks.

'Touched' victims, people exposed to the Dithparu mentally but were repel them, defeat them telepathically, or regain control before Taru came. These would be the ones would the ones Starfleet would be most interested in for this incident. This list was very short. A few names... Jebidiah Baile... Victor Krieghoff/ T'pol '8-ball' Hunter... Madden Jayce... Mark Jonas, a Deep Space Five crewmember who ended up getting killed psychically but not before repelling the Dithparu telepathically... and himself...

But he would analyse those later... he made sure to delete the names off the files once they had been placed in the appropriate lists.

Once all this was done... he gave himself a few minutes and began to explore the Holodeck simulation of Dithparu mind... before he had to report for duty... he would come back to this later however...

OoC: If anyone wants to take a look through this 'simulation', I'm pretty sure Raynor could get various second opinions...

ooc- This takes place in story time back shortly after the Galaxy left Trill. According to the Galaxy Database, this takes place around May 2382, just before the Heretic Episode started. I haven't labeled it as a backpost as this is the start of a long plot line that will start to open up as time goes on. I hope you all enjoy reading it. FYI, Oded played Bannerman and Vijnitz and I played myself and Jeb.

"The Real Story"

Jacob "Jeb" Maxwell,
Prisoner, New Zealand Penal Colony
Red Bannerman,
Prisoner, New Zealand Penal Colony
Arait Vijnitz,
Prisoner, New Zealand Penal Colony

with Ensign Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Officer, USS Galaxy

*****

Jeb looked around. Jeb had jet black hair (even for a middle aged human) and deep blue eyes. Well one. His other eye he had been taken out for a bionic eye a few years back for a 'mission' he had been working on, the same 'mission' where he got caught and ended up in this hell whole.

Jeb looked around again. He needed to get a message off to Paulo before they found him. If he could help expose this conspiracy his death wouldn't be in vain, though he was still hoping to come out of this whole thing alive.

"Seekin' for something?"

Jeb had no idea how to reply. He really needed to get a communication link out without have Starfleet Security looking on. The information he had was as Paulo said "Top Secret" and letting Starfleet Security know could bring down Paulo's whole investigation.

The large man looming over Jeb was one of the prisoners everyone tried to avoid at the penal colony.

Nearly everyone who found himself in the god forsaken place that was ironically named after the lush southern Island, had a story worth telling, and some distinguishing 'quircks' that would make them stick out in regular society. Among prisoners, you really needed to be special to be noticed.

The Red Bannerman was one of the few that, indeed, every poor soul in the penal colony knew by name. He belonged to a special type of prisoners, the kind that for some unaccounted reasons decided that they were intellectuals, and pathetically tried to convince the rest to think the same of them.

Those who didn't... well, let's just say that certain heads ended up on certain pikes which appeared from nowhere.

"If you are in need of assistance, good sir, I shall be happy to provide.", The Red Bannerman said in his rusted voice.

Well... it was worth a try. "I need a communication link, fully encrypted."

The Bannerman scratched his fiery beard. It seemed as though he was rained with too many nouns and adjectives in too little time.

"Why?", He finally demanded.

"Cause, I don't want Starfleet Security to know what I have to say. I have some information for an old friend that I need to get to him," Jeb said.

"Ahhh.", A crooked smile appeared behind the beard. Then, came the inevitable question. "How much is it worth to you?"

This question Jeb didn't like at all. "I don't have much to give," Jeb finally said, "but I do have contacts within Starfleet that could get you things."

"You so cute, I think you DO have something to offer me yourself!"

Jeb knew what that meant. He would have to give himself over. So he started to take his shirt off.

"Agh, I was making a humorous comment!", The Red Bannerman tried to explain. "You do not perceive me as a fag, are ye?"

"Oh thank God," Jeb said putting his shirt back on quickly, "and NO, I am not gay," Jeb replied.

The holding cells were the status marks of the prisoners. Those prisoners who were considered to be on top of the 'prisoner pyramid' mysteriously had no roommates in their cells, whereas new and weak prisoners somehow found themselves sleeping in cells with similar size, and three more roommates.

Somehow, one of the roommates always happened to be a Gorn. Anyone who thought that this fact was funny, usually found a Gorn prisoner in his own cell within a week.

It surprised Jeb to find that the famous Red Bannerman, who scared most of the prisoners and the turnkeys, still had to share a room with someone.

Jeb thought for a second. "I don't have a friend myself within Starfleet Security, but I do have one with Starfleet Intelligence. He is in fact the one I am trying to get a hold of. He may be able to talk to someone within Starfleet Security to get you your own cell. He has a few friends, that is how he got his own cell while he was here... that and the fact no one wants to room with a Starfleet Intelligence Officer who went AWOL."

The Red Bannerman seemed puzzled. It was obvious that most of Jeb's words did not sink in.

One thing he did understand, though. "If you cheat on me, yer gonna wish yer ass is the only thing I want."

It wasn't the most well-phrased threat Jeb had ever heard, but the intention was clear, and it was obvious that the Red Bannerman wasn't just boasting. Heads found themselves on pikes for lesser reasons in the penal colony.

"You got it, and if I don't come through you can have my cell... after all, I don't have a roommate at this time," Jeb said with a sly smile.

"I shall provide you with the communicator, if one can be found within the colony," he stated. A hand landed on Jeb's shoulder, and the Red Bannerman turned around and strode on his way. The stench remained long after he was gone.

"Well that went well," Jeb said as he headed back out to the common area. He would mingle around a little bit till he got word from the Bannerman. He didn't want to get the eyes of any of the guards.

*****

The next time Jeb saw the Red Bannerman, it was during kitchen duty. One would think that in the 24th. century, the food in the penal colonies will be replicated and the dishes washed automatically by an industrial sonic washer. In reality, the food came in small, metallic boxes, and if it was replicated then someone needed to get themselves a better industrial replicator.

The Bannerman came staggering between the tables and the cooking pots, holding a food container in his hands. "Swell afternoon!", He called out, and the box dropped into Jeb's hands. "I'll be anticipating a clean cell by the end of the week. This week, eh? Not one of the weeks after."

Jeb looked down at the box. "Will do," Jeb replied with a small smile. He would eat lunch quickly then go off to make the call. Though Paulo wouldn't like it. Jeb himself hadn't slept in the last 48 hours. There was someone out there that wanted to kill him, but he did make a promise to get whatever he could to Paulo and to get Bannerman his own cell.

*****

Jeb walked down into the cellar of his place and walked into a tiny room to set up the communicator. After a few minutes of tinkering he got it on line and started a recorded message for Paulo. He then hit the record button. "Paulo, whatever this is about you can consider the deal off! This person who put a hit out is one nasty person. He has enough money to buy out anyone and anything, even members of Starfleet. He has agents all over the place, some are even sleepers." He paused as he heard a sound.

Before he got his eyes back to the communicator, he felt something tingle the back of his hand. He looked down, and his eyes met with a disgusting, hairy scorpion-like vermin.

The seven eyes of the critter closed shut. It suddenly swelled to twice its original size, and its nasty-looking sting moved faster than a phaser beam.

"O go...." Jeb yelled, but he wasn't able to finish the statement.

Two minutes later, someone else entered the tiny room. The short Tellarite sniffed the air once, before reaching for the food box which the Red Bannerman gave Jeb. He caught the Teshelovar scorpion by its sting, and placed it in the box where it originally hid, along with the communicator. He of course collected the communicator as well - there could be no evidence.

"Courtesy of the Fox.", He told Jeb's corpse before leaving the place.

*****

Less than four days later, the Red Bannerman miraculously got himself a new cell, without any roommates.

That was not entirely correct. The first night, when he woke up, he found a girl in his room. She couldn't be possibly older than sixteen, but she kept him awake all night.

"Courtesy of the Fox.", She said as she slipped out of the cell, just before Dawn. Indeed, it was a lucky week for the Red Bannerman.

*****

The message had ended and deleted and Paulo sat in his small quarters alone and in the dark. Something wasn't adding up. Why would they kill such a low life unless there was something more then just Saul involved. This investigation was defiantly going to take him places... and places that he wasn't sure if he was ready to go to.

OOC: Just want to make a note that every person mentioned in this post is unauthorized. Apologies if I muck up your PC's, but this needed to get out today.

"Terminal Velocity"

Captain Cassius Henderson
CO, USS Galaxy

Vice-Legate Kylar Curran
Chief Liaison Officer

Appearances (unauthorized) by:
Commander Kol
XO, USS Galaxy

Nieca Reyol,
Asst. Chief Tactical

Cora Dobryin,
Chief Intelligence

8-Ball Hunter,
Chief Science

***

Main Bridge, USS Galaxy

"Yes, well, maybe one day, we shall see. Now, show me this protocol on board Starfleet ships, so that I can change it!"

"Present me with viable alternatives, and I will consider them."

The Kelvan protocol officer shouldered his way past the Klingon to step down the port-side ramp. Glancing to his right, he noticed the operations Officer - Cameron Bartlett today while Lt. Tarin was off-duty - shoot his gaze back to something the human pretended was more important. More likely he didn't want to be berated by the Klingon.

Kylar fell into step behind Henderson as the latter passed orders onto Ensign Faraal, also replacing Lt. Terrik at his console. In fact, he'd noticed a few personnel were missing. Saul Bental was also not on the bridge. His duty shift should have altered with Henderson when he'd taken over Alpha shift.

He would have to inquire. Kylar did not like information being with-held from him.

***

Nieca Reyol, after having completed a standard level one diagnostic on the shield and weapons systems circuits as per procedure before leaving port, furrowed her thin eyebrows together as her console signaled an object on long-range sensors. Keying in recognition identification comparisons, she came up with a variety of celestial objects that could not be narrowed further than a half dozen variants of craft and space debris.

"What is it, Ensign?" Cora Dobryin, the Galaxy's Chief Intelligence Officer and current bridge shift officer, had detected the change in posture of the Caitian Tactical Officer and come around the ramp to see what had taken the attention of Nieca with such focus.

"Long-range sensors are picking up an object approaching the station at high warp. The library database can't make a determination of what it is."

"Did you send a transponder request?" Cora leaned over the console to scroll through the results of the comparison search, and then brought up a side-by-side display of the sensors readings on the object.

"Sending now." They couldn't rely on DS5's sensors to be fully operational, and it didn't hurt to be redundant.

"Lt. Hunter," Cora moved quickly across the rear of the Bridge to 8-Ball's station, where she was already calling up spectral imaging on the object. No one wanted another incident. This close to Hydran space, you never knew what to expect, knowing that they may have obtained Intel on the station defenses being unable to sustain a continued assault.

"Already scanning, ma'am."

"Lt. Dobryin, ma'am," Bartlett called out loud enough to catch Cora's attention, "incoming transmission from Admiral Proctor from Deep Space 5. We're ordered to intercept the object."

"No acknowledgment to transponder request, ma'am."

"Telemetry shows intercept with the station in approximately 8 hours. Still cannot determine dimensions."

"Send the acknowledgment back to Deep Space 5, Lieutenant. Ensign Faraal, set course for the object, half impulse until we're one million kilometers out from the station, then set us for Warp 8."

"Aye, sir."

"Send Proctor's command orders to the Ready Room, Mr. Bartlett."

Cora moved quickly down the port ramp to then lean on the buzzer.

"Enter!" When the doors parted, Cora only leaned in.

"Admiral Proctor issued a change in orders, Captain. I've sent the pertinent information to your terminal and ordered a change in heading to intercept. Arrival in an hour."

"Thank you, Cora. I'll be out momentarily." The Intelligence Officer only nodded and leaned back, allowing the doors to close.

***

Thirty Minutes Later

"Captain, we have achieved resolution on the celestial object." On the main viewscreen, Cassius had ordered a continued visual representation of the incoming object as they drew closer to the interception point. The main screen scrolled a continuous stream of data as sensors began analyzing and presenting data in all its various forms.

8-Ball Hunter adjusted the settings on her terminal to shunt aside the image of what appeared as a shimmering blue and red ball of ice that tore through the heavens as a comet.

Cass, stoic as he ever could be, stood and carried himself forward to the screen as he absorbed the information, Commander Kol immediately alongside. Vice-Legate Curran was a meter or so behind, his arms crossed with a curious expression on his ashen and haggard features. He'd been on his way out to deliver command and first contact procedures to Counselor Dallas. Kol's insistence on taking an active participation in the diplomacy had necessitated a balancing act of including the counselor. Maybe if Kylar was lucky, Kol would kill or drive her off the ship. Klingons had no use for invalids, either. Though, Dallas didn't deserve the honor of Hegh'bat, Curran thought he could assist if she asked. It'd be a service.

"The object is only approximately 23 meters in diameter. What we're seeing is mostly the accumulation of celestial debris caught in a backwash."

"Show us a realistic representation, Lieutenant."

"There is an energy signature present, Captain." Kol shot an armored glove forward at a mote of information that scrolled past.

The viewscreen shifted scan focus into a three-dimensional model the computer had constructed. Hundreds of pieces of artifacts spun in a tumult, the majority coalescing into a virtual shield at the fore. Chunks broke away as they disintegrated under the stress and heat.

"What is that at the core? It's barely moving."

"Gravitational center, sir."

"Sir, Engineering is reporting stress on the warp engines." Cameron Bartlett accessed several key sequences to follow up. "Confirmed. Commander O'Shea is... requesting we drop to Warp 6 so she can effect repairs."

"Ensign Faraal? Time to intercept if we drop to Warp 6?" The Zalkonian ran a rapid simulation of updated flight plans. It took less than a dozen seconds. Kol was obviously dissatisfied with the length by the baring of sharp teeth and low rumble.

"56 minutes, sir, but the object is also increasing in speed incrementally. If we reduce engine speed, we risk having the object overshoot us and increase the difficulty of halting its progress."

"What speed is the object at right now?"

"Warp 8.2, sir."

Cass took less than a second to make a decision.

"Match speed. Commander O'Shea can log a formal complaint later."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain, the interior of the object is organic in nature."

OOC: Just want to make a note that every person mentioned in this post is unauthorized. Apologies if I muck up your PC's, but this needed to get out today.

*****

"The Drop"

Captain Cassius Henderson
CO, USS Galaxy

Vice-Legate Kylar Curran
Chief Liaison Officer

Appearances by:
Commander Kol
XO, USS Galaxy

Commander Brianna O'Shea,
Chief Engineer

Nieca Reyol,
Asst. Chief Tactical

8-Ball Hunter,
Chief Science

Dhanishta Eshe,
Engineering Officer

"Organic? There's life inside?" Cass turned back to the debris field churning its way through the cosmos. Resolution and texture modeling was ever increasing in detail. He could see metallic glinting in the wake.

"No... none that I can detect. Just, organic." The Chief Science Officer ran comparison scans against Reyol's findings, and eliminated several of the results leaving two. Nieca raised one fine eyebrow.

"Captain, whatever the interior of that object may be, it's Hydran in nature."

"Red alert!" Kol's voice boomed out to the bridge, followed instantly by the klaxon and immediate dousing of the bridge in a rain of ambient lighting. The overlarge Klingon jumped the ramp to the Tactical station in less than four strides. Curran made sure he wasn't over-run, and instead took up the Klingon's old position beside the CO.

"Captain, I recommend we destroy it. This is an obvious attempt to eliminate the only defense on their border by apparent natural means."

"Lt. Hunter, can you detect any power build-ups at all? Any detonation packages, warheads, known offensive weaponry used by the Hydrans?"

The Vulcan/human hybrid shook her dark mane of hair. "Nothing, sir... wait! There's a low-level energy field surrounding the object..." She wound her way through various scanning techniques.

"Captain, that's a warp field!" Dhanishta Eshe called out suddenly. Kol hadn't even realized she was there, she was that quiet. ~Not a usual occurrence for Eshe based on her previous behavior~ thought Curran. "Not a Starfleet generated one, but I recognize the power curves. It can't be anything else."

"So, we've got a Hydran designed object, with no life, and no offensive capabilities. Yet, it has a warp core."

"Phasers and photon torpedoes locked on target, sir!" Kol had taken up a position beside the Caitian, but it was obvious his Klingon nature had taken up the potential battle. Nieca looked annoyed.

"Extrapolate the source flight path, Ensign."

"Taurus Expanse, sir. Direct heading into the Romulan Empire at the Hydran border."

Now, that was odd.

"Captain, we must destroy it!"

Cass raised a hand as he turned to face the Klingon XO. "Those weren't our orders, Commander. Proctor wants it analyzed for any remaining Dithparu. Plus," He cocked his head back to the screen. "There might be some valuable intel in there. It's not every day we capture a Hydran craft."

"We should contact Admiral Proctor at the least! She needs to be informed of our contact."

"And we will." Cass already knew what Proctor would order. She'd ruin any chance at gathering any information on the Hydrans for the sake of making a kill. "Package up the logs and sensor data, and send it off in a secure data burst, Mr. Bartlett."

"Aye, sir."

"Henderson to Commander O'Shea."

[O'Shea here, Cap'n! You nee' ta bring the engines down 'fore they crack a crystal, or we'll be dea 'n the water, sir!]

"I'd be happy to oblige, 'Commander, as soon as you can coax a little more power out of them."

[I dunna know how long I kin keep them goin' fer much longer, sir.]

"Commander, I need to know if we can extend our warp field around the object, then bring us both down to manageable speeds. Does impulse sound good?"

[Impulse soun's beautiful, sir, especially after wha' ye have planned. I think we kin accommodate wha' ye need, sir. I don't have te like it, but it kin be done. Give us navigational control down 'ere. We'll get 'er done.]

"Go ahead, 'Commander. Mr. Bartlett, give Engineering all available power. Take from everything but shields, weapons systems, and life support if they need it."

It was all they could do but watch on the viewscreen as the ship came up alongside the drifting object, and matched its speed and trajectory. Instantly, the warp field glittered as it enclosed the object. The bridge lights dimmed, consoles blinked out to go dark. Even the viewscreen died, leaving everyone blind for the next few minutes.

After sitting in the dark, holding their breaths, the first item that came back was the viewscreen, followed by the lights and consoles in flickering response. Outside, they could immediately see the debris field scattering, but a tractor beam was holding onto the central object, now completely discernible as it was inside their shields while the rubbish glanced off.

Long, dark, no corners, like a fallen sideways slender raindrop. It appeared seamless.

"Anything on sensors, Ensign Reyol?" Cassius had returned to his chair, but faced her instead of sitting. He was too tense to sit himself down. He'd only end up fidgeting.

Kol had stood up and away from the console for some reason, watching the Caitian with a stern gaze. She pointedly ignored him.

"Nothing, sir. No power at all. Just the resonant warp signature, Lt Hunter determined."

"Captain," Hunter had risen from her seat as well. Looking around the Bridge, only Bartlett and Faraal were seated. Everyone else had been around the Tactical arch, waiting.

"Yes, Ms. Hunter? What do you have?"

Leaning over her terminal, she keyed a few sequences to make a confirmation scan. "There's something inside. I can't make a determination as to what, though. I believe I'm detecting communication ID's." She stopped, and stood up straight. "They're Starfleet."

"What?" Cass spun back to face the object still holding station just under the ship.

"I want that ship brought in. Lt. Eshe, bring it into the Marine bay and station guards and force fields around it. I want an investigation team in there. Make sure none are telepaths or high ESPers."

"Aye, sir."

"Ensign Faraal, set a course along the source path of that ship. Let's see where it takes us. Mr. Bartlett, send Deep Space 5 our updated flight plan."

3072