"Almost Collided"

By: Pilot Ayden O'Connor
& Pilot Ember Lansky

==

The long corridor stretched across Ayden's mind as much as it did this ship, his steps heavy yet hollow. His shoulders were sagged, and his eyes stared past his environment into a lonely corner of his mind. He was getting too old for this...

From the time he stepped out of his quarters several minutes after being cut off during his subspace text communication with "Ember", it seemed that he arrived at the ship's lounge almost immediately afterwards as if he were able to transverse the ship in an instant. The truth was rather, that he was so preoccupied with his predicament that he didn't even pay attention to his surroundings.

The doors hissed to an open to reveal a very busy environment, which made sense as Alpha shift had just let out a while ago. No doubt most of these people were here to enjoy themselves as much as he was ready to dwell on his self doubts. To make himself feel better, he could have visited that Marine he had met a while ago in sickbay, but to do that probably wouldn't help him as much as it would make him feel guilty for moving between one woman to another. The heart of a woman was not something to be played with, unless the intent was serious... that was the first thing he ever learned about love and romance.

Slumping into the empty booth seat, Ayden was immediately greeted by one of the servers. "Give me a Terran snakebite, and a Captain Morgan with Light pop. Please." He said, only remembering to add the final pleasantry before the server took off. "I am *definitely* getting too old for this." He repeated to himself.

"One Klingon martini," Ember said as she sidled up to the bar, "And make sure you go heavy on the bloodwine." She exhaled in a breath of frustration, turning her back to the counter and watching the crowd. To her left, a broad-shouldered, sandy-haired Ensign caught her eye with a wink. He had boyish features with a rakish grin that would easily charm the socks off a teenage schoolgirl. But she wasn't one, nor was she in the mood tonight. She averted his gaze, her back to him. Still, it only took all of two seconds before he was right beside her. Inwardly, she cursed.

"Now, if looks could kill…" He began in an effort to chat her up.

It was irreparably lame. Almost amusing too, except she couldn't find any muscle in her face that could pull off a laugh. "You'll be dead," She returned with a stony glare. He seemed momentarily shell-shocked that his 'compliment' was thrown thanklessly back in his face, bad pun and all. Which served her well, since she took her martini and walked across the lounge to sit at a vacant booth - one of the few left in the busy room. He didn't follow, thank god. On any given day, she might have played the game, passed a few smiles and winks his way. But not today; at this very moment, the last thing she wanted was to be social. She only wanted to be alone, far away from any irritating males, especially those by the name of 'Ayden'.

As the server graciously slid the two alcoholic beverages onto Ayden's table, he gestured to his small drink. "Keep them coming, please." He said, again remembering to add simple pleasantries in order to keep himself from angering anybody else in the bar.

The server nodded, and with a single motion Ayden lifted the small green tinted glass upon his lips, spilling its contents into his mouth, swallowing with a savoring gulp. ~Just like the real thing, but no buzz... damn~ he thought to himself. At least back on earth they had the real stuff, although he never had to try to distract his mind from a romantic endeavour gone bad there either. Now when he actually wanted the stuff, it was lightyears away.

"Damnit..." he muttered, "And just why did that have to go so badly?" He argued with himself, keeping his voice below the lounge's volume level. Glancing around the room he saw plenty of attractive young officers resting idle, any one of them interested in a social encounter. But everytime he looked at one and tried to invision her as a potential date for the night, the sharp image of Ember kept looming inside of his mind.

~She's gone, damnit... hell, not like it was ever supposed to be anyways~

Ember exhaled sharply. The fiery tang of the martini left a strong, bitter aftertaste in her mouth. It wasn't enough to quench the turmoil of thoughts and memories that raged in her mind, or purge the demons that weighed upon her, but the giddy sensation that was beginning to rear its head was wholly welcomed. She took another swallow. The back of her eyes was starting to burn, but if that was an indication to slow down, she didn't heed the warning, emptying the glass in another instant and gesturing for another.

With the momentary respite, she leaned her head back against the seat. Stupid men, was the two words that she kept repeating, as though the mental chant would exorcise *him* permanently. Why couldn't they have stuck with a commitment-free relationship? It was fun while it lasted, but suddenly, it seemed like there had to be talk of something more - of caring and what not. Of course, men were liars; and everything that *he* had said to her, could be nothing but a lie built upon another upon another. Just another way to get into her bed. But sorry, he had picked the wrong route. So, what's the bgi deal? Next, move on, scat.

If only.

Back at the Academy, Ayden had acquired the taste for the green tinted beverage that he took down modestly. It wasn't an overall strong drink, but it tasted good, and would give you a decent buzz if you had any more than three or four. He wanted to let it all slip away, let all of his worries and doubts about life slip away through an awkward perception on reality. But he knew his weaknesses all too well, and it was important to him never to turn to the bottle or the shot to forget about his issues.

Damn did he want to just let it all go though...

Ayden glared firmly at the small drink as the server replaced the empty glass with a full one. It was at that point where Ayden realized that whoever was behind him was recieving routine service as well, moreso than him. Unlike him, she probably could see alcohol for what it was, and not a necessity for life. "Just one more..." he muttered under his breath, "and I'm out of here."

It made sense, he would have a long day tomorrow. Hopefully one at least that would keep his mind off Ember. He wondered though, if this was it for them. Would she ever talk to him again? Somehow this would all work out, right?

He doubted it, it was yet another one of her stubbornness that made him appreciate her so much.

"You know, the guy behind you is going at this stuff almost as fast as you are. Between the two of you, I'm kept in good business." The server said with a crooked smile.

Another poor, desperate slob was out here slugging away on alcohol? She let out a dry laugh. Pity the fools. "Well, good for you. Just keep it going," She said, her tone brisk, in a completely no-nonsense manner that stated loud as day she was in no hurry to launch into a lengthy conversation. In fact, this was the end of all the small talk she was going to make. Buzz off.

Because it was his last drink, he more or less sat there watching the green beverage dance around in its container for several minutes, waiting for what seemed to be the right moment to take it all down in a gulp. He was just beginning to feel the light crackle of an alcoholic buzz riding along his temples, yet the weight in his heart was still from touchable. "She really got me..." he uttered faintly, tempted to just bang his head into the table as if that would help. "She was... amazing, in so many ways."

That was it, time to stop dwelling. He took the glass down in a savored swish, leaning his head back to allow the fluids to travel down his throat easily. He waited for that exact moment where the drink it its peak, the point where the taste could not have been any better. While it came as it always has, Ayden's attention felt diverted from it. "Shit..." he grumbled again, planting his drink on the table. The server came up to replace his drink, but he waved him off. "No more, but some water please... in fact, I'd like a menu." He answered, noting the grumble in his stomach.

For the record, she was not pathetic or desperate. The person who was, was thousands of lightyears away, on the opposite end of the galaxy. Only he was probably laughing his head off about how he had got her good. Except he would be wrong. He hadn't. She might be sitting here and drinking, but it was because she was simply… thirsty? Insomniac? Needed to pass the time? Right.

The wave of nausea that hit her came without warning. She lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she willed for it to pass, counting off the seconds. And it did. It slowly began to dissipate, but without first leaving her feeling unusually queasy. Suddenly, the silly advice to first put food in before downing Klingon alcohol by the glasses, didn't seem so silly.

She lifted her head, just in time to see the server walk by carrying a menu. "Give me that," She said snappishly, though with the way she was feeling inside, she didn't come across half as demanding as she intended. She was too giddy, but it didn't mean she was any less effective in cutting off his words of protest and taking – no, snatching- it from his hands. Whoever had asked for it could very well wait. "I don't think he'd mind… would he?"

This caught Ayden's attention, although he wasn't in the mood to complain so he didn't. He gave the server a polite nod indicating that there was no reason to fuss over the menu, so the server left to fetch another. Apparently the woman behind him needed to vent a little frustration too, and there was no reason for him to become the target of her obsession. If only he knew though...

When he finally got a new menu, there was something in an old 20th century meal that seemed appealing to him. While Earth cut down on the slaughtering animals to produce meat long ago, a replicated Cheeseburger sounded pretty good. That and a pile of French fries with ketchup made for a pretty good cheer up meal. He mused lightly.

The server looked at him curiously, as if he were the first one to order this in a long... long time. The young fighter pilot simply nodded with a shrug, sending the server to collect his unique order.

When the server returned with the order for Ayden a few minutes later, Ember *still* had her head in the menu. It wasn't like she was actively reading and dissecting every part of it page by page, word by word, but she just couldn't seem to get the words that were swimming before her eyes to coalesce and make sense. They weren't focusing, and she had found herself staring blindly at something that refused to cooperate for the past few minutes. It was frustrating, to say the least. She had a growing urge to eviscerate the menu.

The smell of the fries though, perked her up, distracting her from her more than violent thoughts. "That smells good," She commented, looking at the dish with interest. Something about it and the name of the dish... was oddly familiar, but presently, it escaped her less-than-alert mind. "I think I'll take the same."

The server quirked his brow, looking at her strangely. She knew she was seconds away from being hailed into the 'Hall of Weirdos'. What a way to make her night. But still, she didn't change her mind, returning the menu to him – in perfect condition, too and gestured for him to get a move on.

For everything the alcohol couldn't do for Ayden's aching heart, that one bite into the juicy burger did some. The hamburger tasted *exactly* how he remembered it being served the first time, and that sensation could enlighten anybody's day in a heartbeat. Go figure, the one thing to throw his mind of women is food. He chewed the meaty substance between his teeth for several seconds, allowing his taste buds to savour every moment of it. ~And this is replicated?~ He thought, reaching for a small stack of fries.

He didn't want to eat too quickly of course, a meal like this had to be enjoyed. But something was missing, and it quickly occured to him. He glanced over towards the edge of his seat where the frustrated woman behind him was sitting, although was unable to catch a glance of her. "Excuse me, can you pass the salt?" He asked politely.

"Yea," She mumbled distractedly, half a fry in her mouth. It was *good*, way too delicious and it combated the queasiness in her stomach. She wouldn't have asked for more, but it looked good too -- enticing strips of golden-brown perfection. She may have just found her misery-buster. Half-heartedly, she located the salt shaker on the table and stretched her arm to pass it to the guy at the back. She only caught a glimpse of his dark hair – not that she bothered. She was preoccupied with remembering the name of the dish, so that she could order it again in the future. Lodged somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, it took a bit of wrestling to get it out.

Suddenly, she remembered – French fries. It was called French fries. Instantly, she felt sick to her stomach, momentarily suffocated by the nausea that choked her throat. If she hadn't already swallowed, she would have retched.

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, gripping the back of the seat for balance and half-walked, half-staggered out of the lounge, seeming in too much of a hurry to get the hell out of there.

Because she had just remembered. It was Ayden's favorite dish.

The woman behind him rushed out so quickly at first he thought she had spilled something, he leaned over the side to see if she was ok, only to see her form slipping out of the main doors.

His heart jumped with such a powerful thrust he swore it had torn itself from the rest of him. "Ember?" He uttered with a silent whisper, trying to focus his eyes although the alcohol was just now in its prime within his system. By the time he saw with enough clarity to identify her, she was gone.

Was it Ember though? Could it have been her? No... no, it was just his mind playing tricks with him. She was somewhere else in the galaxy, "thousands of lightyears away" as she put it, even to his heart.

No... it wasn't Ember, she was gone... right?

NRPG: And with this post, T'Shani is officially gone from the USS Galaxy. Thank you all for all the wonderful interaction I've been privileged to have with her aboard this ship. And don't be too sad, she'll be back, I'm sure *wink*. -- MJ

===================

"The End of Things"

*Backposted to just before the Galaxy departs DS5*

First Lieutenant T'Shani a'Akledorian
Commanding Officer (Outgoing) SFMC Furies

Captain Cassius Henderson
Commanding Officer (Promoted) USS Galaxy

With...

Sergent Louise 'Mouse' Markinson
Cryptologist/Sleeper SFI Agent SFMC Furies

---------------------------------------
USS GALAXY, DECK 6: T'SHANI'S QUARTERS
---------------------------------------

There, that was all of it.

Packing the last of her few belongings into the over-sized campaign bag, T'Shani surveyed her quarters one last time, while mentally ticking off her laundry-list of to-do items.

'London, check. Baile, check. Cassius...'

She paused in mid-thought as her mind lingered on Cassius. After last night's epic foray with Rex, she really didn't want to have to say goodbye to Cassius, either.

"Rhooz."

Unshouldering the bag, she let it slide to the floor, then plopped down on the bed. "Time," she called out.

[The time is zero seven-eighteen,] the mechanical voice dutifully replied. That left twenty-seven minutes until she was due to report on the USS Venture for her passage to Starbase Atlantis and her new assignment: the 101st Ground Forces Battalion on the Miranda.

Arching her antennas thoughtfully, she shifted back to her original problem: how was she going to say goodbye to Cass *again*. The first time, two years ago, hadn't been that bad. But then, of course, she hadn't been in love with him. This time, though...

"Computer, transcribe following dictation as a text message for Captain Henderson."

[Begin dictation,] the computer instructed.

'Here goes nothing, or maybe everything,' she thought as she began...

-----------------------------------------
USS GALAXY, DECK 1: CAPTAIN'S READY-ROOM
-----------------------------------------

Cassius Henderson closed the link to the USS Miranda, informing Director Elaithin that the Clandestine Operations team had been deployed. An hour previous, he'd seen them off the ship, watching as their borrowed shuttlecraft had disappeared into the void, bound for the asteroid cities of the Gryphon Coalition. It would be completely off the sensor grid by the time the USS Venture arrived to make the routine crew shuffle. And once that was done, they'd be on their way to Atlantis Sector.

The assignment to Atlantis Sector troubled him. Their assigned zone of operations was Hydran Sector, which was why he'd been assigned as the Strategic Operations Officer for that sector of space. Advising Admiral Valerian on the disposition of his forces throughout the sector would be much harder if he was ordered to take his ship so far away. If the Hydrans breached the border, he wouldn't be able to react until months later - when the destruction had already been wrought.

Four days previous, he'd sent a formal protest to Starfleet Command - copied to Fleet Admiral deMercereau - in her role as Director of Starfleet Strategic Operations. So far, there hadn't been a response. Thinking on that, Cass gazed out the great window of the ready room. He envied Captain M'Kantu this view - his own office being buried at the center of the ship.

His thoughts were far away when his communicator pin chirped.

[Mouse to Handler.]

He reflexively tapped his chest, as the noise shattered his daydream of days spent exploring distant worlds without having to worry about the Hydran border. Always, other duties would call for his attention. "Handler copies. What's the story, Mouse?"

Somewhere, many decks below, he was sure that a skinny young Marine from Sorvens II had just locked herself in her quarters. Louise 'Mouse' Markinson was his eyes and ears in the SFMC Furies, keeping watch over a few of its more... colorful members. Her codename, spoken into the communicator, had automatically triggered a series of encryption protocols that Lieutenant Remur - now with the Clandestine Ops Team - had written, leaving them with next to no chance of discovery.

Oh, the toys one got to play with in intelligence work.

[Have you looked at the transfer lists for the Venture?] Markinson's voice asked.

"No, I haven't really bothered to. I take it I should," he said, turning his workstation back on and uploading the manifest of what should have been routine crew transfers from the Venture to the Galaxy and vice versa, with some of those going on to other assignments.

For as long as he served, he would never understand the logic behind routine crew transfers. It took away from the sense of brotherhood that was best in a command's personnel.

[Yeah, I think you'll find it interesting. It probably means that my job will be considerably easier - though the Crow will continue to roost in my barn, unfortunately. At least once he gets back from the flight you sent him on,] the young cryptologist continued, giving him a few of the details.

The "Crow" - Jebediah Baile - wasn't being transferred. But Cassius already knew that, given that he'd sent the man off-ship with the Clandestine team.

Which left only the Swallow. Louise was fond of intelligence wordplay, and so she'd given each of the officers she was assigned to keep watch over a nickname which she could use. Both were bird-names for their ease of reference. Where Baile's came from the name of the outfit which had made him dangerous, T'Shani a'Akledorian's had a history in SFI.

A "swallow" was a femme-fatale; a honeypot. Everyone who had undergone Field Operative school knew the type: young, female, and devastatingly attractive. Most exuded sexuality when they went into the program. Those who didn't, did by the time they came out. hough Cass found the name a little bit of an ill-fit for T'Shani, Louise thought it appropriate.

She had seen the way that the other Marines were distracted by the shen's curves, something the incurably-plain Louise Markinson had never been able to overcome. But that was what made them both good operatives, Cass thought as he confirmed what the Mouse was suggesting. T'Shani a'Akledorian was scheduled to be transferred off the USS Galaxy and onto the USS Miranda, which was operating in Atlantis Sector.

"Fuck," Cass swore. That was Theda Madsen's jurisdiction, not his. "Very observant Mouse, as always. I'll contact you tonight with revised orders. Probably nothing too different from what you're up to now. With all your birds away from their nest, I'll probably be able to give you some time off."

[Ooh, Empty Nest Syndrome. Good one, Sir. Mouse out,] Markinson laughed, and the channel closed.

Cassius frowned and picked up his uniform jacket from the back of his chair. There was nothing to be done for it now - not with SFI anyway. He shrugged on the jacket, leaving it hanging open, and headed for T'Shani's quarters to say goodbye.

*****

"Thook!" she swore out loud, while punching the duraframe bulkhead that separated her bedroom from the rest of the cabin.

Shaking her head in frustration, she called out again, "Computer, delete that last... exclamatory statement." The computer cheerily obliged her request with an equally-cheery **CHIRRUP**.

'Damned machine,' she glowered. She was now, officially, in a bad mood over all this. And now she only had fourteen minutes before her due arrival on the Galaxy-class Venture.

"Computer, resume transcription," she barked into the air again, while sitting once more at the edge of her bed.

"Cassius, it's just that... Well... Rhooz, how the thuuk do I say this? You know me, I'm more of a 'do-er' than a 'show-er'.

"But after Mirusa, and you still decided to be with Janx," she paused, sneering the tactical officer's name, "well, you made it pretty clear. Then, the whole thing on D-S Five..." another pause. "I just, I just don't know. You just don't seem to get the fact that I'm in lo--"

**TWEEDLE-CHIRP**

"Rhooz," she swore again under her breath, hoping the computer hadn't picked it up. Sighing heavily, she got up from her bed and walked slowly to the door. "Computer, pause and file transcription," then, "Identify."

[Henderson, Captain Cassius Robert, Commanding Officer, USS Galaxy]

Perfect timing. And here, she had thought she could get away from him! As she reached for the UNLOCK button, she wasn't too surprised, however. Cassius always *did* have a sense of timing.

"If this is about last night, well, I was drunk," she started, catching Cassius unaware once the door swished open. "If it's about *now*, however..." she trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks for himself. After-all, that *was* what he did: fill in the blanks.

"... you're still drunk?" Cass asked, stepping unbidden into her quarters. She was breathtaking as always, even flushed and unprepared for his arrival. He did his best to ignore the stirring of emotion. "You look unsettled. Did you drink something last night that didn't agree with you?"

"Oh..." she made a disgusted noise and waved her antennas in annoyance. Still, she caught his gaze roaming her figure. 'Too bad Mister Master Spy doesn't ever *try* anything,' she thought, grumpily.

*Now* she understood better Ella's frustrations over that weirdo, Krieghoff.

"Oh, shove-off, Cass," she stormed back into her bedroom, and tried to pick up the half-zipped bag. "Ask your buddy 'Spots', why don't you?" she snapped, while heaving the bag up. Unfortunately, instead of moving it to her shoulder, she managed to unceremoniously dump half of the contents onto the floor.

"Oh, thuuv," she swore, then got down on her hands and knees to pick up the mess of clothes and personal items that had fallen out. "What do you want, Cass? I've got to be on the Venture in a few minutes, so if this isn't a pep-talk, then get down here and give me a hand." she said as she reached for several items of clothing that had fallen out.

"Would you settle for both?" Cass asked, kneeling to help her pack up her bag. More often than not, his hands were in the way, and it probably wasn't the way she wanted it. But at least he was doing something.

"I came down here to wish you luck on the Miranda. I don't know why you're going, and it's not my place to ask. But we're close, so I decided I'd do you the service of not pretending you don't exist. And what do you mean, 'ask Corran'?"

She stopped from her fervent packing to lean back on the balls of her feet, searching the bland Starfleet-gray ceiling for guidance while blowing an errant strand of her platinum hair from her face. Reaching up to her antennas, she couldn't help but run her hands through her long mane of hair as she thought about what to say.

Obviously, she had misread the situation. He hadn't come here to be the Captain. He had come to be the friend. "I'm sorry, Cassius," she amended, while finishing stuffing several items of spilled clothing back into the bag. "MarCom's sending me to the 101st for Intel Liaison. They figure I'd do better there," she lied smoothly. He didn't need to know the *real* reason, or who had *really* initiated the transfer request. As much as it pained her to not be forthright, she knew it would be easier.

Inquiries neatly deflected, Cass noted. "What do you think of it? I thought you enjoyed the Furies. I take it they didn't give you the choice of turning it down?" Cass asked, standing up to get out of her way. Awkwardly, he glanced around before deciding to sit on her bed.

She stayed seated on the floor, finishing re-packing while looking up at him, the stray strand of hair once again falling over her exotic eyes.

"The Furies? Oh, great, Cass. Just great. An XO that needs her nose wiped every three minutes, and a seriously fucked-up trooper who's still playing war games with the ghosts in his own closet.

"Yeah. 'Enjoyed' is a relative term." she finished her rant, then zipped up the bag, making sure it was secure this time before heaving it to.

He shrugged. The day-to-day operations of the Furies wasn't something he knew much about. But there was something more going on here than simple going-away anxiety...

Of course.

Two and two came together in a brilliant flash of mental light - to make five. MarCom probably hadn't asked her to transfer. It had probably been the reverse, for the simple reason of needing distance from him.

"Well then it should be better over there. I've heard that Colonel Darion forged a decent combat unit, though there's somebody new in charge now."

Feeling strangely trapped in, she moved for the door. "Yeah, some mind-scanner, Aroya - I think," she mentioned over her shoulder.

"Look, Cassius," she paused in the half-opened door, "I've got to get going, wanna carry that?" she motioned to the long, black leatherette bag that was still on her bed.

"Sure," he replied, shouldering the bag which he knew contained her sacred weapon, the chaka blade. "I might as well see you off."

"Yeah, I--" she stopped mid-sentence, holding her mouth open while trying to think of something to say. Instead, she just turned and walked out of the room, Cassius following.

"Computer, lock this cabin, and notify Quartermaster's office of vacancy status," she spoke at the control pad. The computer beeped out its compliance diligently.

Eying Cassius once again - he looked like he was going on some Klingon hunting expedition with the chaka case on his back - she marched off in the direction of the Galaxy's port-side docking gantry.

"So, they gave you a boat, huh?" she asked, trying to change the subject from her and him, something she was never good at, anyway. 'Beside,' she reasoned to herself, 'what more could be said, after Mirusa?'

What, indeed.

"She's a nice boat, isn't she?" Cass commented, equally avoiding the subject. There wasn't much more that he could say, short of 'I'll ditch the Trill and hitch up with you if you stay here.' And he wasn't going to say that, tempting as it was.

"I suspect Captain M'Kantu will be back for her eventually, but I'm enjoying my run. Trying not to think about what I'll do when he comes back."

"Uh-huh," she half-acknowledged as they stepped into an empty turbolift car, the doors closing behind them. "Port docking gantry," she called into the air.

As soon as the lift began to move, she turned and looked at him, noticing for the first time the lines around his eyes. She could have sworn they hadn't been there, before. But then, alot had happened in four months. "Cass, look at me," she said softly, reaching an azure hand to his strong jawline and gently turning him to face her.

He let her move his head, shifting his body to match. She was leaving, and so this was her moment. He would have thought himself selfish to think of it otherwise.

For a moment, something flashed behind her feline-yellow eyes. Quickly, she turned her gaze down again, before collecting her thoughts and meeting his gaze again. She couldn't - no - she *wouldn't* let herself break down, now. Oh, of all the questions she wanted to ask him, of all the things that she knew - she *knew* - neither of them could say, but that both desperately wanted to.

"You go save the Galaxy, Cassius." She leaned into him as the lift started to slow. Moving her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, she pulled him close to her, and kissed him firmly on the lips. Oh, how she wanted to do more, say more - he felt and tasted so good.

Contrary to what he *should* have done, he let her. His hands came to rest on her hips as she kissed him. It only lasted a moment, and they were apart. Once gain, he was reminded of his strange it was to kiss somebody that much taller than yourself.

"I'll do what I can, Tinis. But I can't promise miracles, like as I might."

"Oh?" she pulled back from him, smiling coyly. His hand felt so good there, just above the curve of her hip. She smiled seductively, while sliding the chaka bag from his shoulder. "I have a feeling that this won't be the last time we meet, Cassius Henderson.

"Mirusa showed me that." She stepped backwards, out of the turbolift, noticing a few junior officers ogling the strange interaction that had just taken place between the tall shen and the Galaxy's newly-minted CO.

"What're you looking at?" Cass glowered at the ensigns, before turning his attention back to T'Shani. He followed her out of the turbolift, walking next to her.

The subordinate officers quickly scattered, realizing they were trespassing into personal affairs between the Andorian woman and the Captain.

"Mirusa showed us a lot of things," he said quietly. "We'll have to wait for time to give us the real story."

Tish waited until they were alone once again, then placed the palm of her hand on his strong chest, exuding just enough of her strength to make it clear to him that she didn't want him following her any farther - the gantry-way was just ahead.

Setting the campaign bag down, she lowered her hand to pull a small black-velvet satchel from her uniform pocket. One last time, she gently kissed his cheek, antennas brushing against the rough stubble that had gone unshaved for the last few hours.

"I'm going to find him, Cassius. And once I do, I can finally be... *complete*. It won't end until then." She shoved the small clutch of velvet into his hand.

"Don't come looking for me," she picked up the bag and turned away, starting her walk down the gantry. Stopping, she looked back one last time, her silver-white mane flowing freely down her back as she eyed him from over her shoulder. "I'll find you, Cassius."

And then she was gone, as the pressure doors sealed her firmly out of his life.

He unclasped his hand, letting the velvet unfold as he thought about the times their paths had crossed over the years since he'd been promoted to executive officer, their first meeting. T'Shani had changed his life, though he'd never intended for her to do so. Further proof that sometimes you couldn't force the hand of fate.

The stone ring sat cold in his hand, resting on a pad of velvet. To Cassius, the message was clear enough: she was going to take this step alone.

Cassius Henderson placed his hands in his pockets, letting the ring tumble from his hand to join its twin, and began the long walk back to the bridge.

He still had a ship to command.

"Engineering Chit-Chat"

Lt. (jg) Naranda Roswell, Engineering
Lt. Ella Grey

***Main Engineering***

Ella felt surprisingly energetic, unusual for the fourth day of working double shifts. She felt she might even skip the coffee this morning, which she was sure might give the small congregation around the coffee machine in the break room a brief five minutes to gossip about.

"Morning, Nara." Ella said to the other engineer.

Nara turned and nodded to Ella, "Good morning." Nara had wanted to work with Hwii, but apparantly dolphins like to take days off as well, and this was the day he had picked. So Nara was stuck doing what she did her normal shift. Stare at a console.

"Slow day?" Ella asked. That might bring her energy level down.

Nara gave a small smile, "I came hoping to work with Hwii, but I should had checked the schedule to be sure he would be here."

"I'm sure he'll be around tomorrow." The engineer said. "It's an interesting experience, working with a dolphin."

Nara nodded, "Funny that for so many years we thought they just liked to play. Which they do, but few people understood the potential of their knowledge."

Ella thought of the learning centers near her hometown which used to be theme parks in the 21st century where dolphins had been "trained" to perform. She wondered what Hwii would think of them. "How are you, Nara?"

Nara didn't answer a moment, but she finally said, "Good so long as I can keep busy. With Saia, that's not too hard."

She understood keeping busy. "She seems like a good kid from what I've seen of her."

Nara looked at Ella curiously, "You've seen her? She pretty much just stays around our quarters, school and the arburetum. Well unless Jerik or Sam take her somewhere."

Ella nodded. "Sam created a program for me. She drops by every now and then to fix certain things with it. I've seen Saia once or twice with a sketchbook."

Nara nodded, "She's an aspiring artist. I have to drag her away from it."

"My friend is..." Ella said and then forced a smile. "Was an artist. If Saia's ever interested, I have a few of her supplies that I kept. I tried experimenting but I'm not really much of a painter."

Nara smiled and nodded, "I'll talk to her about it. May I ask who your friend was?"

"Indigo Renkert from Sciences." Ella replied.

Nara almost grimaced, but just frowned and looked down, "I'm sorry."

Ella shrugged. It was time to go fix something. Anything. "Anyway, its just some paints and stuff. Let me know if she's interested."

Nara nodded, "If you need help with anything, please let me know. Please. Especially if it's leaving this console for awhile."

The engineer smiled. "Of course."

"Lateral Move"

Major Corran Rex, CAG Pilot
Paulo DiMillo, Vanguards Intel Liasion

*****

Paulo walked into the Vanguard staging area tugging on his new uniform. For some reason whenever he got a new one it took weeks to get it to fit just right. You think in this day and age they would be able to get it to fit right the first time. He noticed a few stairs from the pilots as he walked along heading to Major Rex's office, but shrugged them off. After rounding a small corner he hit the chime to notify the Major that he was there

Corran's eyes snapped up as he heard the sound of that damn doorchime. He hated that thing - it was the reason he almost always left his door open. For the life of him, though, he couldn't remember why it was closed - oh.

Ferran, his thirteenth host, had had a fear of open spaces. He'd had a brief episode earlier. That probably explained the closed door - or the fact that he'd done a good thirty minutes of work sitting under his desk.

Returning himself to his chair, he tried to make it look like he'd been there for awhile before he called out for whoever it was to enter.

Paulo walked in, "Second Lieutenant Paulo DiMillo reporting as ordered," Paulo said as he stood at attention.

The Trill frowned a moment before he remembered - DiMillo was the new Intel liaison, transferred over to the Vanguards from Galaxy's Intel department. "Have a seat, 'Lieutenant." he offered casually.

Paulo sat down in the offered chair.

"So," he started. "Why exactly did Cass ask me to take you on?"

"Not much sir," Paulo replied. "I am simply here as you Liaison to SFI and your act as your go between, between yourself and Ensign T'Liera from the tactical department during fighter operations."

"This transfer, 'Lieutenant. The rank and file of Intel not good enough for you anymore?"

"No sir," Paulo replied. "I like Intel, but I just needed a change." Paulo paused. "There is also the personal reasons which I am not to inclined to talk about at the moment, unless ordered." He had thought a second about coming right out, but he didn't really want to let it get all around the ship that something was starting. He wanted to keep it on the down low till both of them where ready.

Corran gave him an eyebrow at that, but decided to let the other man's reticence slide. His instincts told him there was something more to it, but it didn't seem critical. "All right then, let me lay it out for you. You're officially attached to my command, Mr. DiMillo, but for all intents and purposes, you're under it. You're my liaison to Starfleet Intelligence - so that means when you have info, I get it. The first time I hear the words "That's need to know information" out of your mouth, you'll be dismissed from this unit, and I'll simply make do *without* whatever information you do have. We clear on that?"

"Yes sir, I understand. I wouldn't have expected anything else and I am sure I would expect the same thing if our roles where reversed," Paulo said with a nod.

"Just like to lay things out straight, kid." Corran admitted. "If it's going to be a problem, then we'll cancel this transfer now, no hard feelings."

"That wont be necessary."

"All right." the pilot replied. "Second thing: no one gets a free ride in this squadron, and we're not going to be requiring an Intel liaison all the time. So I need to know what skills you have that could be useful to a starfighter squadron."

"Well I am a decent pilot, but nothing to write home about. I've had the basic training that comes with the Academy and some extra holodeck time," Paulo admitted. "I can also find my way around a shuttle, repair wise. 'Commander O'Shea has made sure I can repair a shuttle in case I ever end up stranded. I think it's mostly due to an older sister looking out for her younger brother."

Corran chuckled at that. "All right then. For now, we'll assign you to the Mallorean, our AWACS runabout, as co-pilot and sensors. Welcome to the Vanguards, Mr. DeMillo."

"Thank you sir."

"Roomate Chit-Chat"

Nara & Bran

Bran would have slammed the door behind her if it had been possible. She was totally exhausted by everything Baile had thrown at her today. "Don't mind me." She said to Nara. "It has nothing to do with you."

Nara was sitting on the couch with her eyes glued to a PADD. She looked up at Bran as she came in. She turned and kneeled on the couch, leaning her front on the back. "And what does it have to do with, if I may ask?"

"I might not be in the nicest of moods. And I don't want you thinking it is anything you have done." Branwen said while she headed to the kitchen.

Nara rolled her eyes, and herself off the couch to walk toward her. "I'm not a paranoid freak." She smiled, "Well, sometimes." She put the serious look back, "Trust me, I can handle bad moods. Baile is a walking bad mood and I spent about an hour with him once."

Branwen almost dropped the glass she was filling with lemonade. "You know that bastard?"

Nara laughed a little at the reaction. "Learned a lot in an hour."

"They just made him my new boss."

Nara made a face, "Oh dear." She shook her head, "Don't be nice to him and never apologize."

"I wasn't planning on it. But the guy hates my guts. And he has restricted the number of patients I am allowed to see. He is making my work impossible!"

Nara shook her head, "Don't take it personally. He hates everyone. He thinks it's his role in the universe. Makes it easier to kill people. But why would he limit the amount of patients?"

"He doesn't want me to work with the combat marines. And those are the ones that need it the most. He thinks it weakens them. The idiot!" She felt like kicking the ship again, but thought better of it. Victor seemed to have eyes everywhere.

Nara thought a moment and nodded her head, "He doesn't want them to be coddled in any way. He probably thinks it will lessen they're ability to toughen up." She smiled, looking at Bran, "Not that I really agree, but I do get where he's coming from. Fight this if you feel you need to, but it won't be easy. You'll have to exert your own toughness. I know you have it in you. Use it fully with Baile. Otherwise, he'll just push you aside."

"But if I go against him he treatens to kick me off the ship!" She flopped down on the couch. "What should I do?"

Nara laughed, "He's tough, but I doubt he has enough power to get you off the ship. Take it over his head if you need to. Or follow his rules." Nara sat next to her, "I can't really help you. I believe in therapy, reluctantly, but I also agree that Marines are meant to be solid and tough. I suppose maybe a good argument would be that Marines need to deal with issues so they don't break down on a battlefield, where they're minds are needed to be their sharpest."

"That's what I told him. He just doesn't get it." She sighed.

Nara sighed, "I don't think he ever will." Nara looked down for a moment, remembering her time with Baile. Her heart ached for him. It was just so sad to think he was so cold and getting colder, and even sadder that he desired the cold.

"I don't like having to fight my boss every step of the way." Branwen said. "It burns up so much energy I could use the something else, and time. If only he could just leave me alone and do my thing."

Nara shook her head, "Sorry kid. Life isn't that fair. There will be bosses that will make your life a living hell. We're rookies. All rookies pay the price."

Branwen just grumbled something. "By the way, I ran into your boyfriend the other day, we are talking again."

Nara grimaced at that, but it went away when she said they were talking again. "Well, I'm glad. But we hadn't exactly...I mean I don't know how he'd feel being called my boyfriend. Last I knew we were just 'trying.' Doesn't exactly constitute calling us boyfriend/girlfriend."

"He chose you, Nara that means he loves you. And I know that you love him." She said simply.

Nara was getting a bit exasperated, "Bran, for goodness sake. Relationships aren't all or nothing. There's no such thing as love at first sight. You get infatuated, but that's not love. You spend time together, get to know each other. Love has to develop."

"There is. I fell in love with Saul the first-time I saw him. And I still love him very deeply. Now he'd chose you, and I am at peace with that. But I don't want you guys throwing that love away." She was irritated as well.

"No one is throwing away anything. I'm just not going to decide if I love him just yet."

Bran said something unintelligable and ran of to the kitchen. Moments like these she could just slap Nara. She really liked her roommate most of the time but when it came to her casual talk about Saul it got her blood up.

Nara decided best to drop the subject. "How do you feel about the change of Captains?"

Bran took a few deep breaths. "Lousy. I liked the old one, he backed me up when Baile didn't want to see a shrink. He is a good captain doesn't deserve this. How about you and can I bring you something to drink?"

"No thanks. And I'm too low in the chain to really notice a difference."

"Miracle of miracles, Baile kept me as his first officer. He said the rest were even worse. So even though I am the lowest rank, I keep a little abreast of what's happening."

"Oh I know what's happening, but it just hasn't effected Engineering, yet. Engineering hasn't changed much since O'Shea took over. And as big a pain as she is at times, she's made the place a lot more efficient."

"Well I don't know her very well. Definitely not professional." Bran said sitting back down.

"Oh, she's very professional. Not very personal. Heck, just recently I saw her act as something other than some verbally abusive robot."

"I only met her once with Paulo. So how is she as a boss?"

"Probably shouldn't say. In case the walls have ears." Nara winked as she smiled at Bran.

"Oh really, Nara." Bran laughed.

Nara looked at her quite seriously, "Really." Then she broke into a smile and laughed as well.

"A Very Bhrode Christmas - Part 1 of 2"

With Fleet Admiral John Q. Bhrode, former Captain of the USS GALAXY, and current commanding officer of the Olympic Fleet.
Also appearing: the bridge crew of the USS ZEUS (Bhrode's flagship) and a special holiday appearence by a friend.

Location: Bridge, USS ZEUS, in the vicinity of K-57, a classified research instillation on the fringes of Federation space in the Beta Quadrant.)
Date: Christmas Eve

****************************************************************************************************
" Humbug." - Ebeneezer Scrooge.
****************************************************************************************************

Deep in the dark, icy recesses of Beta Quadrant, there existed K-57, a Starfleet research and development station that was neither listed on most star charts, nor even known to those beyond a select few of the Federation's hawk-like faction and those who worked behind it's closed doors in assisting the controversial Nowlan Phall in his experiments.

Perhaps one of Starfleet's most famous hawks, the incomparable Fleet Admiral John Q. Bhrode, found himself and his fleet currently stationed around K-57, guarding both it and it's most prized development: a prototype transwarp conduit, from the eyes of the curious passerbys as well as anyone who's intentions may be less then honorable.

This was yet another pet project of the late Admiral Jurgan Hoth, a man Bhrode saw not only as a visionary but also a mentor and guiding force. One of the traits Bhrode and Hoth both shared was a disdain for red tape and paper work. They were men of action and felt confined by rules and restrictions issued by those who had never seen a day of combat in their lives.

Such was the case now as the Admiral found himself mulling over report after report. The door of his ready room upon the USS ZEUS was open that he might keep his eye upon his crew, who just a few meters beyond, were currently administering to their various duties on the bridge. The Christmas Holiday was upon them, and while he had no doubt that his hand picked crew would not eschew their normal duties to celebrate, it didn't hurt to let them all know that he was watching.

"A Merry Christmas, Admiral." Commander Lysander Collins said in a cheerful voice. Collins plopped down lazily in the chair before Bhrode, with one leg over the arm rest and a smirk on his stubbly face.

"I'm a soldier, Number Two. I couldn't give a damn about Christmas." said Bhrode, tossing yet another report on PROJECT:NARNIA into the ever growing pile on his desk, "To coin a phrase, Humbug!"

"Christmas a humbug, Admiral?!" said the Centurian commander. "You don't mean that?"

"I don't speak just to hear the sound of my own voice." said Bhrode. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? We're in the bowels of the Beta Quadrant with a direct line to Borg space. At any given moment we could find ourselves in the middle of another Wolf 359. The only reason I can possibly drum up that you would have to be merry is the fact that I have allowed you to sprawl in my presence for so long."

"Don't be cross, Admiral. Things have gone exceptionally well for us as of late. " said the Second Officer.

"What else can I be," returned Bhrode, "when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for another party in the 10 foreword; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour wiser; a time for finding some long legged harlot with pierced nipples just to see how she would look on a homemade holovid with nothing but a big red bow on? Don't look so suprised, son." said Bhrode indignantly," This is my ship and I know everything that happens between her hulls."

Lysander realizing that he was trying to turn back the tide, simply closed his mouth and shook his head.

"Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine." Bhrode barked.

"Keep it..." muttered the Centurain, "But you don't keep it."

"Let me leave it alone, then," said Bhrode. " And let me hear another sound from you on the subject and you'll keep your Christmas by finding yourself reassigned to Risa. In the all male colonies. As my new Ambassador to the bath house boys."

"Don't be angry, Admiral. There's gonna be one hell of a party down in the Ten Foreward. Why don't you at the very least stop down for a quick drink? The crew would love it."

Bhrode was about to speak once more, but stopped when his gaze fell upon the doorway where a Bolian ensign stood smiling from ear to ear.

"Admiral. Commander." said the Ensign, "A pleasure to see you both, sirs."

"Is...he...new?" Bhrode asked icily.

Lysander just shrugged as the Bolian took a seat.

"A real pleasure indeed." he said.

"A pleasure that will come to an abrupt end in 5 more seconds." Bhrode replied, reaching for the comm with the intention of calling his Chief of Security in to remove the interloper. Chief Mado had not fed in quite some time and Bhrode was sure the Gorn would consider this a savory treat.

"This should only take a moment of your time. At this festive season of the year, Mr Bhrode, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands, particularly amongst the Trill and Cardassians, are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."

"Are there no prisons?" asked Bhrode.

"Plenty of prisons," said the Bolian, with a quizzical look on his blue face.

"And the relief camp workhouses." demanded Bhrode. "Are they still in operation?"

"They are." returned the Ensign,"I wish I could say they were not."

"Oh. I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said Bhrode.

"Under the impression that they scarcely furnish cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the Bolian, "a few of us are endeavoring to raise a goods for the refugees and orphans. Food and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?"

"Nothing!" Bhrode replied.

"You wish to be anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone," said Bhrode. "Since you ask me what I wish, Ensign, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and we can't afford to spare any raw materials that we may find ourselves badly needing. In the unlikely event that you had failed to notice, we are at war. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned - those who are badly off must go there. That is all. Number 2 you have the bridge. Good night, gentlemen."

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue the point the Bolian bit his tongue and watched the old man depart.

Making his way to his private quarters, Bhrode entered and locked himself in. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his tunic, put his phaser on the night stand and laid himself to rest. He called out to the computer to set his personal alarm and allowed his eyes to close momentarily.

This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, when, without a pause, an apparition passed through the heavy door, and stood before Bhrode.

The grizzled Admiral didn't even bother to open his eyes when he spoke.

"I don't have time for this. If you're here to tell me that I'm gonna be visited by three ghosts, I may just try to shoot you."

There in his pigtail, waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, with chains clasped about his person stood Q, a smirk on his face.

"Where's your sense of holiday Spirit, Johnny?" Q asked.

"Humbug." Bhrode spat, reaching for his phaser.

"You Can Dance If You Want To"

Principal Characters

Lt (JG) Victor Krieghoff
Flight Officer Angelienia

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Holosuite 4

As the band started up for another number in the background, Victor scowled at the holographic opponent provided for him with enough force to have sent the average Galaxy crewman screaming out an open airlock and repositioned himself. His opponent smiled back, oblivious to the force of personality directed against it and shifted to oppose him as, all around him, holograms paired off and prepared to do battle again.

He wasn't certain why he was doing this now, or even why he was doing this at all, come to that. He just felt the need to do it. In the months since the Diparthu had tried to take the ship, he'd had little to do other than scatter messages for the Attendant across the galaxy, attend his mandatory- and unnecessary - counseling sessions, and continue his daily routine. Outside of that, there had only been a few messages exchanged with his parents, explaining that he wouldn't, for the fifth year in a row, make the family reunion, thanks to Starfleet's reluctance to let anyone that had been in direct contact with a Diparthu out of it's sight until certain that there were no implanted suggestions or commands still lingering about.

His family had been worried, but they'd understood after a call to Rexa and Ar'resh to confirm things. At least, Victor had assumed that was who they'd called. What had happened to the Galaxy wasn't a secret in the fleet, it couldn't be if the warnings about possible Diparthu escapees were to be made, and his Aunts were the ones in the best position to provide that information to the family. He'd promised to try and make the next year's reunion, and that had been that.

For a moment, he wondered what his mother had been starting to say when he disconnected the call, but the thought was swallowed up by the hungry nothing inside him, like everything else, and was never completed. If it was important, she'd call back.

While he'd been thinking, his opponent had moved in, hands reaching for him, and he had to stop himself from reacting instinctively. There were specific forms to be learned and used in this style, and deviation from them would mean having to repeat the movements over and over again until he'd managed to train them into his muscles. Reacting like he would in a barroom brawl would only delay mastering them and moving on to the next step in the training process.

Shifting his hands and feet back to their desired positions, he circled his opponent and moved in, reaching for them in the artificial way that the style demanded.

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Outside Holosuite 4

There was something wrong with Victor.

Not the thing that everyone else saw that made them afraid of him, the thing that pushed them away as fast as they could run. She could still see that, could still feel it, even when she closed her eyes in the room where she slept and dreamed of him. That was still here, that hadn't changed - it still drew her to him like a singularity drew in matter: irresistibly, inexorably, and inescapably.

No, this was something else, something different. Maybe it was the way he and the Mouse had had whatever disagreement that was between them? No, not that. Whatever the Mouse might claim, he hadn't been so attached to her that he'd been devastated by the rift between them. Or perhaps it was some leftover problem from the Diparthu Incident? No, she'd begin to realize that something was wrong before even that. It was something else.

The symptoms were easy enough to see if you looked for them, if you watched the way he moved, the way carried himself, if you listened to his voice and felt the words reverberating inside you. He'd withdrawn inside himself for some reason, his normally cool and polite façade stiffening until it was like a barrier, a wall that he'd built up around himself. His voice, already toneless, had grown sharper, the lack of life in his words now almost painful for her to hear.

Something was wrong inside him, and she ached to be the one that melted away the ice that had wrapped around his soul and set it free with the fires that burned for him inside her, to feel his arms around her and know that he was hers and she was his, the way that they were meant to be. To know that she wasn't alone again, would never be alone again, that he would always be there when she woke in the middle of the night, shivering, to make the nightmares go away with the comfort of his arms. For that, for him, she would do anything, dare anything... even the one thing that he'd warned her never to do again: intrude on him when he was in his personal space.

The holosuite wasn't his quarters, she knew that, but she could feel that he'd regard the intrusion as the same violation of space as her waiting for him in his bed last year had been. Even with his ordering her out, even with his not touching her, she could still feel the echoes of the orgasm she'd had there in his bed as they'd talked and her hands had been unable to not move across her body in response t a need like none she'd known before. No lover before or since had ever come close to giving her what she'd given herself in his bed, under his eyes, as the force of his angry presence had washed over her, and for that feeling she would dare even the chance that he'd hurt her physically in the hopes that this time, in this place, he would touch her in the way that she dreamed of in the dark of her rooms.

She checked the costume that she'd had made after the technician she'd vamped into telling her what training program Victor was using currently had identified it for her. It wasn't what she'd expected - who'd known that this was the sort of thing that interested him? - but it was perfect for her needs. It would be physically demanding and require repeated, active close contact... She shivered at the thought of his hands on her, keyed in the override code that she'd gotten from the same technician, and slipped inside the holosuite.

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 11
Holosuite 4

Victor circled his opponent once, feinted, and then moved in, trying to move with the musical cues flowing in the background. The style was harder than he'd expected, the movements faster and requiring more control than any of the others he'd studied in the past, a single misstep in practice resulting in a fall to the floor or worse as he and his opponent moved in and out, trying to get their timing right.

The cues shifted tempo, requiring a shift in opponents that he'd only managed twice without failure thus far and he turned to face his new opponent as the old one spun away to seek another - and almost lost his step as she moved into him, the smell and feel of her marking her as not just a somewhat poor choice of replication by a programmer, but a living, breathing individual - Flight Officer Angelienia.

Somehow, somewhere, she'd obviously bribed a technician into telling her what program he was using, her clothing made that clear. The style he was practicing today was far too esoteric, with it's archaic musical cues, formalized movements, and proscribed modes of dress, for her appearance in the correct garb for a female practitioner to indicate anything but that.

She'd continued to stalk him, as he'd known she would when he realized that she was assigned to his shift with Security as a cross-trained position. After a single incident, she'd realized the limits of what he would and would not tolerate while on duty and had never crossed them again. She'd up to them so closely that it might have been possible - barely - to insert a single oxygen atom between her skin and the line, yes... but only that far and no farther. There'd been no incidents like the one where he'd found her in his quarters, and no physical contact that couldn't be explained as 'accidental' while on, or off, duty. It was possible, likely a certainty, that there had been verbal cues, hints, and entendres - double or not - while she was speaking to him, but even the few that he'd recognized for what they were had all fallen into the void inside him and been lost, along with everything else.

At least, he reflected with the disinterest that marked his thoughts on most things these days, she wasn't naked this time.

"You shouldn't be here," he said tonelessly as she whirled in and sidestepped. "The session is flagged as 'Private.'"

"I know," she returned with a purr as they spun and moved towards and away from each other. The thrill of being this close to him, of feeling his hands on her, even in this formalized fashion, was more than she'd dreamed it would be, and she didn't try to hide the deepening of her voice as she added, "That's why I chose this session - so no one would disturb us."

"I don't suppose that it ever occurred to you that I might regard your intrusion to be an invasion of my privacy?" Victor replied with a scowl.

"Oh, yes," she whispered back, her green cat's eyes opening wider. "I was hoping you would."

"That doesn't say much for your intelligence, Flight Officer - or your survival instinct."

With a throaty laugh she moved in close in time to the music and said, "There's more to life than just survival... much more. You know that." She gasped as his hands caught her and pinned her arms, trapping her there against his chest. "You know that," she repeated, a shiver running through her and out into her words as she stared into his eyes.

"What I know," Victor said with a growl, "is that you aren't supposed to be here."

Shivering in his arms, her breath starting to come in pants, Angelienia pressed herself closer. "No, this is where I belong... with you." She swung her hips out of the way of his knee and leaned back to avoid a forward thrust of his head. "I can make you forget her."

Why did everyone, Victor wondered, seem to think that he spent his days doing nothing but thinking about Lieutenant Grey? Was it so hard to understand that he didn't? That he'd let her be swallowed up by the hole inside him that had torn open on Mirusa VI and lost? Counselors, holograms, and now the Flight Officer - they all didn't understand. Maybe if he made a sign - I Am Not Thinking About Lieutenant Grey - and carried it through the ship, that would do it?

"I don't need anyone to help me forget something I've already forgotten," he replied, snapping her back away from him. He tried to wonder why he hadn't thrown her out of the holosuite like he had his quarters, but that too was lost inside him. It was easier to listen to the music cues and just let his body move with them, since that required no thought, just a seamless flow of motion.

Angelienia smiled and let the movement of their bodies carry her away for a moment in a whirling spin of shifting arms and legs. He'd forgotten the Mouse - or was trying to. Whatever it was that had happened, whatever it was that had come between them was real enough that Victor was here, with her, holding her, touching her.... "Perhaps..." she purred softly as they moved again, "I can give you something else? Something that you'd *want* to remember?"

She was doing it again, Victor knew that. Not as blatantly or crudely as she'd tried the night she'd broken into his quarters and lain in wait for him in his bed, touching herself and thinking of him. He still had no interest in doing what she wanted, had no desire for the pleasures that she offered. Not with her. Not with anyone, now. But she could give him something, something that he needed.

"You can stay," he said tonelessly, "but only for this - nothing else." He flicked a hand at her and she slid away from it. "A live partner is better than a hologram for practice." He fixed her with a gaze that might have killed some crewmen. "Agreed... and understood?"

It wasn't what she wanted - she wanted everything, all that he was and could give her - but as she felt another shiver run through her, she knew that she would agree. It was a start. "Agreed," she whispered huskily, "and... understood."

Victor nodded once and let the musical cues carry him away as they moved, falling into the void within him for a time, to a place where there was no thought, only movement.

Angelienia followed suit, matching his movements and aching for each touch, anticipating each contact, praying that the music would never stop.

And all around them, the other, holographic, inhabitants of the dance floor whirled in unison to the strains of the Viennese Waltz that Victor and Angelienia danced to with near-perfect precision.

"Adding Insult to Injury"

Pilot Ember Lansky
and second lieutenant Branwen London, furies psychologist

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

Branwen was going through a series of exercises. She hated that she only had time for the basics these days. With her boss being pulled off duty,18 hour days were normal. As a therapist she had a more than normal caseload right now evaluating the whole crew on top of running the marines. But really what she thought she would be doing one-year out of school.

Working at the weights, Ember was straining against the strength it demanded of her. With her shirt soaked through and perspiration on her brow, she clearly looked as though she had been in the gym for a while, but she didn't show any sign of letting up on her routine. If anything, she seemed to be pushing herself harder, increasing the weight she lifted rather than decreasing it.

"I would be careful with that if I were you." Branwen said. She had been watching the woman for a little while now, being a marine herself she knew a lot about training. And she was afraid this young woman was working herself too hard, too fast.

Setting the steel bars back in the metal brackets, she sat up on the bench, glancing at Branwen with a look which wasn't too friendly. It was a glare that said 'mind-your-own-business', as she adjusted to add more weight on the bar. "I'll pay more attention to the exercises *I* was doing than what someone else is doing, if I were you. Accidents could happen," She said crisply, sounding desperately like she was trying to catch her breath. But she would never admit defeat. Taking a deep breath, she lay back down, lifting the bar with a grunt of force.

"Have it your way." Branwen said. Yet she stayed exercising close by, so she could keep an eye on the woman in case things did go wrong.

The loud explosion of sound came without warning. It was the violent clatter of metal against floor, and it shook loudly, terribly. When Branwen looked over, she could see Ember doubling over, clenching her right arm and wincing in pain. She was also struggling not to yield to any cries. She was biting her lips - quickly turning ghostly pale - and forcing down any verbal utterances, enduring it bitterly. The barbell rolled on the floor, fallen by the wayside and forgotten. It was not difficult to figure out what had happened.

Branwen was there within seconds. "Go and sit down. Head between your knees, the pain or make you feel like you are fainting. Hold still for a moment, I'm going to get you some ice to put on it."

"It's okay, I'm alright," She said immediately, even if it was clear that she wasn't.

"No you are not. Let's keep the ice on it for a while and see if the pain goes down. Otherwise I am taking you to sickbay." Bran said down next to her.

"Who're you anyway? You're too nosey for your own good," She snapped, but even through that attempt to be boorish, moments of breathlessness - from the exertion, and the injury, leaked out. She didn't want to be helped and it was killing her that someone was actually around to witness her getting hurt.

When Bran returned with the ice to put on her arm where she had pulled her muscle, Ember looked at her with terse hesitation, then curtly, took the pack from her to apply it herself. No word of thanks.

Branwen watched her. "It would be easier for you if you let me do that. And if you would listen to advise occasionally."

Ember had expected that woman to have gotten so angry that she would have stormed out of the gym by now. How she could still stay here and take the crap she was issuing her was utterly beyond her. Maybe she was crazy. "I think I can do it just fine. Now, if I happen to faint, or keel over, *then* maybe you'd be able to help by notifying sickbay. But other than that, I'm okay on my own. Thank you very much." The polite words were couched with a veneer of sarcasm.

But Branwen did not leave. "Why is it so hard for you to say thank you?"

She looked at her with disbelief. Not answering immediately, she walked over to the bench at the side of the gym and sat down, starring at Branwen. "I said thank you, didn't I? You mean you didn't hear?"

"In that tone of voice you used I guessed I missed it." Bran smiled. "It doesn't hurt to be nice."

The pain was gradually easing. It was throbbing, but with the cold compress and with no more over-exertions, it was bearable. The same however couldn't be said for Bran. "Sure," She answered cursorily, adding under her breath, "Whatever."

Abruptly, Ember stood. "You better get back to your exercise." She took her towel with her free hand, and slung it around her neck, leaving the gym and heading for the showers. With this injury, it seemed like she wouldn't be coming back to pull anymore death-defying stunts for a few days. Like life hadn't been bad enough already, it had to get worse. Naturally, she wasn't interested in keeping up meaningless prattle with a nosy onlooker when everything was sliding downhill.

Branwen watched her go. "Whatever." She thought. There was only so much you could do to help someone. If a person really didn't want help it ended. Bran went back to her own stretching exercises.

"Bar Room Whackiness"

Pilot Ember Lansky
Vanguard Squadron Pilot

Ensign Zev Raynor
'Intelligence' Officer

Raynor sat in Ten-Forward, playing a game on his cellular device. He was bored. Waiting for the waiter to figure out what the hell a partially gelatinated non-dairy gum-based beverage was. Apparently it wasn't in the database though... the waiter tried to explained this to Raynor who made scene out of it, so now they were trying to make something that resembled his description of the drink. Raynor didn't seem to have the heart to tell that it was a simple shake... rather watch these people struggle to figure it out.

He just finished his double shift of scrubbing, and for some reason he enjoyed the work. It was so simple. It didn't require too much thought, or effort. It allowed his mind to wander. Time to think... the time to plan. The time to fart out loudly without much worry. Well he did it without worry much anyways.

He was getting close to beating his high score in Pac man when the door whizzed open.

Ember was exhausted and worn out. Locking herself in the holodeck with a grueling rock-climbing program had not cooled her dark mood at all but had only made her more tired than ever. A sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and she was still perspiring. Ordering an ice-cold drink, she sat herself down at an empty table, drumming her fingers in semi-restlessness. For some reason, that had been her general state of feeling the last few days…ever since the last mission. She had been irritable and out-of-sorts, distracted, her thoughts unable to get completely away from Deep Space 5.

She would be the last person to admit that she needed to see a counselor, and right now, the mandatory order wasn't making her world any rosier.

Raynor put away his Pacman game, and watched as this moderately attractive woman walk in. She seemed slightly pissed, and very tired. It seemed like a bad idea to get up to talk this woman, but then again, when was the last time Raynor backed down from a bad idea? Time to get this train wreck a rolling. As he got up, he thought exactly how he would say this woman. About five steps in he had it... and continued to walk with a serious look on his face.

"Are you going to walk to your quarters by yourself later?" he asked no sense of joking in his voice, although he was. "I'll be sitting over there, watching you all night." And with that he returned to his seat, holding in his laughter. He waited to see how she would respond to this.

Ember was momentarily caught off guard, giving him a bemused, sardonic look that seemed to question his sanity. "It looks like it, doesn't it?" She stated drolly and matter-of-factly, wondering just how blind he was not to see that. When he simply turned and walked away with that bewildering note, she was further caught between laughing and choking in surprise. Train wreck – that was going to be an understatement.

It was irrational that her anger was sparked. But that uncanny statement, matched with her foul mood, only disturbed her equilibrium. It was a recipe for trouble. Unthinkingly, she closed the distance between their tables, taking her time as she sat opposite him. "What's this about?"

Apparently this woman had never heard of a stalker... but oh well. Throw that joke away for now. "What was what about now?" Raynor asked in return, with a slightly confused expression.

Mild exasperation crossed her face. She was tired, worn out and not in the state of mind for pleasantries, all of which were definitely not conducive for dealing with stupid questions. She drew in a deep breath, as though she had been about ready to lash out and was reining in her temper - for the time being - and leaned back, crossing her legs. "What you said just now. Maybe you should clarify yourself."

"It's called a practical joke... see the whole point is a situation which is absolutely unusual... but once outside the situation of the joke, you can laugh at it... whether you be looking back on the whole affair or witnessing it from the outside, you can generally laugh at the whole thing... but apparently you missed the memo..." Raynor let his voice trail off into space, and his began to stare at something else... then the waiter came up to him with another failed attempted at his thearus-overkill description of a shake.

Raynor simply shook his head, mouthing the word 'no', as he stared at the waiter. The waiter turned before even reaching the table. "SWITCH IT TO A COKE... AND" Raynor called out stopped in mid-order, turning his head. "Want anything else?"

"Beer," She said immediately, "Ice-cold."

When the waiter left, Ember watched Raynor disbelievingly. She wasn't sure if there was anything funny to be appreciated about the situation. "Try being at the butt end of the joke, I think then, it becomes a lot less amusing. Not to mention, it might have been a lot less amusing to you if you had realized you had been a mere inch away from getting a hard wake-up call."

Raynor gave her a quick glance analysing overall body strength of the pilot before saying, "Nah... I've been on the butt end of that joke, and I've found it as funny as hell. But then again I laugh at alot of shit... anyways now that your here, why are you in such a shitty mood?"

Why? If she hadn't even been ready to admit why to that irritating counselor, there was no reason she would do so now, to a person she had met no more than 5 minutes ago and in Ten-Forward at that. "Let's just say *you* are not helping," She stated dourly, glancing around, then as though something had jolted her memory, looked back to him suspiciously. "You're the one who're making the radio broadcasts, aren't you?"

"Yes." Raynor replied bluntly. He had played around with the idea of saying no, but he doubted it mattered either way, and its easier to lie later on, if you almost always tell the truth. He also noticed that, she hadn't actually told him why she was in such a pissed off mood. "And if don't want to talk about your troubles thats up to you... sometimes, people will tell friends they would never tell a counselor... but then again, were not drinking buddies yet." But behind his demeanour his mind was racing, trying and find all information he had on hand about this pilot.

He had done his homework after all, working through every single personel file he could lay his hand on before coming aboard. It was time to put it to use. Daughter of a prosititute... that operated inbetween Cardassians and the Federation... the scary thought that he might be related to this woman crossed his mind for a second, his mother also being in the same trade/ same area, but the chances were still one in a billion that they were mother was one in the same. Stupid intelligence training, teaching him to see all possible connections, no matter how unlikely.

So he knowing that this line of conversation would lead nowhere, he tried developing on the information he already knew... "So where are you from?" he asked.

"Nowhere worth mentioning," She replied blandly, clearly not eager to divulge information about herself, if at all. "What's it to you?" When the drinks arrived, she picked up the mug, chugging down several mouthfuls at one go, then set it back down on the table, looking at him. "Just a word of advice, sweetheart. The next time you want to blare your opinions out loud on the airwaves, do it at a more decent hour instead of disrupting *my* sleep patterns." Considering it was hard enough as it was, for her to get to sleep.

"Fair enough, but a word of advice to you..." Raynor said in the same tone, sipping his coke. "If you can't deal with being kicked out of bed at 0600 without whining, you really shouldn't be here in that uniform, or any other military uniform that matter... or are you used to being pampered?"

This would probably seem harsh to most people, but he had a feeling that the girl sitting infront of him didn't really give seem damn either way about what he said. Of course this statement didn't get him slapped, something esle he said in the near future would.

Her eyes instantly sparked fire. Sitting up, even with her lithe figure, she suddenly seemed more towering and imposing. It was only the passage of a server past their table that thankfully reminded her of where they were, dimming momentarily the threatening glimmer in her eyes, but only barely. "Maybe you'd like to go hand-to-hand with me. Then we'd see who's pampered. How about that?" She leaned forward, locking her steely gaze with his.

"Let me tell you. However well I do my job, I don't appreciate being woken up and forced to endure the shit you *think* passes for entertainment." Ember didn't mince her words indeed.

"You took that as an attempt at entertainment? Wow... praise..." Raynor said a mocking tone. He was not intimidiated by the pilot infront of him, he knew how to handle himself in a fight better than 99% of Starfleet personnel... though his need to hide his own abilities would probably lead him not to fight back at all, but just take it, or if he were to fight back, he would probably use drunken boxing and make a joke out of the entire affair. After all drunken boxing was meant to be one of those entertaining martial arts, rather than a serious one.

"But unfortunately you miss the primary purpose... distraction was the point, entertainment was more of a secondary objective, which depends more on someone's personal taste... obviously you like the dear Admiral Proctor... so insulting her was like insulting you." Raynor said in one of those matter of fact voices. He then made an obvious stare over at her old table, where a waiter was standing with another beverage. Apparently she had forgotten that she had already ordered, then moved.

Then he continued after a minute of staring "Of course the fact that you came here pissed off isn't helping you either... you really need to find a more stress relieving hobby, than trying to kick the crap out of every single person you find annoying. Try just kicking counsellors... you know... just say its therapy..." Raynor joked.

"I don't have to like Admiral Proctor to dislike what you put out there. Is that the way you rationalize all the hate-mail you receive?" She rebutted, unable to stem the growing annoyance inside her at this man who was being persistently irritating. Unlike him, she had no idea who he was, and she had no desire to find out or dig deeper.

Seeing the waiter deliver her drink to her previous table, she raised her hand, gesturing for it to be sent here. Two drinks was always better than one, in her opinion. There was no such thing as too many. "Yea, and it really helps that the moment I step in here, I get a welcoming committee who throws fanfare and confetti in my direction," Ember replied tersely, looking pointedly at him as she took another swig from the mug, then leaned back with a huff.

"Rationalize hate mail? What the hell are you talking about?" Raynor said, all confused. "Admiral Proctor is or has become a political figure, and therefore it sorta is open for anyone to express an opinion about her, even if it is to insult in vain attempt at humour on a large scale. She is a public figure, Head of operations in this sector, and oh least anyone forget, someone who made relations with the Hydrans worse. So whether she likes it or not, she's open to criticisms..." Raynor said, while adding on mentally, 'Though more likely from civilian sources than military ones, and I probably took it a little too far, but oh well'.

"Besides, as you can see I don't recieve hate mail. I recieve hate conversations... such as this one. If your going to try and put someone down directly, one on one, you should do it to their face. So they can smile, knowing that you care enough to make it personal..." Raynor said, with a smile. Then he said something no one would expect, and almost ensured that to make the young pilot infront of him feel better, hopefully.

"Got a favour to ask before you go... I want you to hit me as hard you can," Raynor said staring her in the eyes. If this didn't work then nothing would... or if he punched her. Good Fight Club quote... but hey, idiotic mask requires cliches... this isn't quite a cliche, but its close.

Ember stared back at him. She looked strung up and annoyed enough that she would do it. She had been itching to, and now that he was actually inviting her to do it… There were a few moments of calculative silence. Then, unexpectedly, she just burst out laughing. She shook her head, putting her hands on the table and leaned forwards, meeting his gaze. The distance between them became uncomfortably close, especially when it seemed the amusement didn't quite touch her eyes. They were hard, angry, the bitterness lurking too deep for the cause to be him – a mere stranger in a lounge. "What a way for me to get into the brig -- an 'unprovoked' attack in Ten-Forward. And what a headline, huh…" She said with a note of mocking in her voice.

Taking a few more gulps of her drink, she smiled frostily. "I'll take you on the holodeck anytime." Ember slid out of her seat, and gave him a meaningful look, then without another backward glance, left him in the cold.

"What a whiner..." Raynor said returning his coke. The cold harsh gaze hadn't really effected him one way or the other... and was with this obsession on the holodeck? A gym or anywhere esle for that matter would just as well. Headline? The hell was she talking about? As far Raynor knew there wasn't any paper that covered every single bar brawl in the Galaxy. And he wasn't going to report it...

He flipped out his cell and began playing pacman again, the thought of this meeting ever have taken place, left his mind until he needed it.

"Old Memories"

Ens. Artim - Medical Officer
Plt. Ember Lansky

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

<<Holodeck 2>>

It was good to be home. Well, it wasn't really home, but it was a close as Artim was going to get anytime soon seeing as his world was on the other side of the Federation. It would also never look like this again, as it had before they had decided to tamper with life. He was sitting on a hillside that overlooked the estate on which they had lived all those centuries ago, the lights of a city who's name Artim couldn't remember twinkling to life on the horizon as the sun set. There were woods nearby, great trees much like the evergreens on Earth. Their gentle scent was caught on the breeze.

Artim had made this program only a few years ago and didn't use it very often, probably because he had no one to share it with. Well, there was that one girl at the academy she'd never shown. For some reason when he'd seen Ember for a physical, he'd asked her to join him here. Why he didn't know, but he did and he hoped she'd come...

Call it boredom, burning curiosity, or plain misjudgment, but somehow, her legs had brought Ember to the holodeck doors, where she now hesitated to enter. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why she would suffer keeping company with a four-centuries-old man whose extensive age sometimes came through in the form of a grating, know-it-all arrogance.

But they had come onto the Galaxy together, and had both been on DS5 before disaster claimed it which means they did share *some* meager things in common. She also had friends fewer than she could count on one hand aboard this ship. Whatever the case, she was here, and might as well.

Stepping into the holodeck, she was for a moment, taken aback by how idyllic the scene that stretched out in front of her was. She was never one to sit down and appreciate nature when she could be off doing something more worthwhile, but this… briefly, it had sent a calmness into her that no amount of physical venting could have done.

Seeing Artim ahead, she walked over quietly, sitting down beside him.

Artim breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw Ember approach. Four hundred years old and he had about as much experience at this sort of thing as someone his physical age. He doubted it would go anywhere, but he did have to share this with someone. As much to recover as anything else.

"Thanks for coming Ember. I've been wanting to share this program with someone for a long time...a very long time. I suppose you can guess where this is..." , Artim let the question hang, waiting to see her response.

Should she know? Ember inhaled deeply, letting her gaze roam over the wide stretch of greenery and the estate ahead. It was a pretty place, truly scenic and invigorating, but it was almost nondescript in comparison to some of the other natural wonders all across the galaxy. There was nothing startling and extraordinary about this place, and she couldn't see anything that would make it so important to Artim. Unless the significance wasn't something tangible… "It's your home?" She asked, taking a guess.

"Right, or rather it was." Artim said sitting down on the grassy hill. "This was my home when I was a kid...really a kid. More then 400 years ago. This is what things looked like when *it* started. Before..."

A tear escaped Artim's eye as he stared off into the distance at was once was his house, his life. He couldn't help but get a bit emotional.

"Before my world died."

A glance sideways and she was just about ready to curse her stupidity in coming here. She could deal with anything that came her way, but sentimentality and crying? Usually she just turned her back and walked away, but somehow, that didn't feel so… appropriate at the moment. Steeling herself, she tried to brush it aside. "What happened to your world?" She asked. "You're sure you created everything exactly as it was? It *has* been a long time…" She said, hoping to momentarily divert him.

"Well, I did the best I could. I managed to keep some old photographs of the area. My mother was kind of a nut for that stuff I think. But you're right, it has been a long time." , Artim replied to the second question first. "As for what happened to our world, well quite simply we, they, the adults rather, tried to play god. They thought they could cheat death by creating a sort of virus that could extend life beyond the normal limits, much like the radiation on Ba'ku does. They'd succeeded only to have god, fate, or whatever higher power you beleive in play a rather ironic joke. The virus in its active form killed everyone that had reached puberty within a week while having the precise effect they wanted on the prepubescent population. We started aging slower, about 1/100th the normal rate. That is until one reached puberty when the virus would activate and cause an extremely painful death."

Artim sighed as he paused in the story. They were coming to the hard part, the really hard part. He looked off onto the horizon for a moment and then continued

"On the your calander the year was 1966. I was 6 then. In a mere couple weeks every person over 12 was dead or dying and the rest of us were left to pretty much fend for ourselves. Our infrastructure collapsed, the kids didn't know how to care for themselves. My parents though had made a point to teach me to fend for myself though, my brother and sister too. Perhaps they knew something the rest of the world didn't. We were on our own for about 300 years before anyone discovered what happened to us. That's when he came...Kirk."

It was a horrible story, and it sickened her. Even if she didn't display it outwardly, with barely a flinch registering on her face, she found herself slowly pulling her legs closer, hugging her knees. It always came back to the same thing. Power, status, money, longeivity… people were always reaching, always tearing at each other to get at those empty ideals.

When he paused, she found that despite herself, she was curious. "Then, what happened?" Ember asked gingerly.

"Well his doctor, McCoy, a legend to many in the medical community, managed to find a cure for the active form of the virus so that we wouldn't die on reaching puberty. Kirk sent for a team to come colonize my world and take care of us. Some of us were taken off world a couple years later. Some to adoptive families on Earth and elsewhere. Others, like me, were taken to Starfleet Medical to look at the virus in us more closely. After that, I went to school and proceeded on like anyone else can."

"Have you ever returned home? Not counting virtual holodeck visits of course…" She said, smiling wryly, thinking about her own home. She never really had a place where she felt she truly belonged, a place she could call 'home' For a time, she might have thought she found it, but even that didn't last. It was nothing more than a mirage, no different than the combination of light and photons before them now.

"Yeah, twice. Once just after I finished school on Trill and again for a bit longer for the 400th anniversary of...well...it. But since then, about 16 years ago, no, I haven't. Too much pain there for me to stay long. All that you see down there, that's all an empty shell now. Little more then a ruin. I've considered rebuilding it a couple times, but never could bring myself to do it."

"If you really wanted to do it, you should go ahead and do it. Don't think about it so much, or analyze it to death. Too much thought, too much emotions, and you suddenly find yourself paralyzed by inaction. Just do what you want to do, else before you know it, you'll be regretting.…" Ember told him, a strong thread of surety in her voice. It was the conviction she tried to stay true by. She was after all never the kind who swore by the age-old adage 'Think twice before you act'. Time was a-wasting while you were busy thinking.

Then again, Artim was going to outlive most of them; he had more time than most. Maybe that was why he felt it so easy to procrastinate.

"Maybe someday...just not now. Too much pain. I don't even want to go back right now."

There would be time for all of that some day. He had another 400 years or so, there was no rush. Someday he'd get over himself...someday...

Ember nodded. It was his choice. As the conversation between them quieted, she sat still for several minutes in silence. It had been a long time since she had been content with just that, starring into the scenery and doing absolutely, absolutely nothing. But true to form, restlessness and the uncomfortable sense of intimacy soon descended, yet again. Artim, as she was beginning to realize, wasn't always so know-it-all arrogant.

"Well, it's been fun. We should meet up again and chat. I'll see you around," She said customarily, getting up to go.

"Yeah, it was." , Artim said not trying to stop Ember. This was as much about letting it all out as anything. This Lansky, as arrogant as she was when she first met him, really did seem to understand. Maybe he did pick the right person to show all this to. Just maybe this could help...

"Like Riding a Bicycle"

Ensign Xavier Smith,
Science Officer, USS Galaxy
and a special guest

Xavier's Quarters

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

"Something isn't right." That same thought had echoed throughout Xavier since he had been transferred to the Galaxy. Even after getting his duty and counseling affairs in order and settling into his quarters, the same stray thought nagged at his brain. It was like being a fish with an angler's hook set in your mouth, dragging you about uncomfortably.

"That's it," Xavier said to himself as he leapt to his feet and left his quarters.

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

Holodeck 3

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

"Computer, a piano please."

The computer chimed back with its' statement: "There are over 5,000 varieties of that instrument stored in memory. Please be more specific."

Annoyed, Xavier barked back, "Steinway model R4 baby grand circa 2033, cherry finish."

The piano materialized in front of Xavier, and he sat down at the stool. He pressed middle C, and the note resounded in perfect pitch. "Well, at least I don't have to tune it," Xavier thought to himself as he began to let his fingers glide effortlessly across the keyboard.

He hadn't been able to play as often as he would've liked over the past few years. Yet it seemed as though it had only been yesterday since he had last played.

"This still isn't quite right," Xavier said to himself as he rose from the piano bench. "Computer, set environment, Cotton Club nightclub, New York, circa 1934."

The setting instantly changed, taking Xavier back to a time that he had only seen on computer screens.

Xavier sat again and began to play. Before he knew it, a small smile crept across his face. Smiling was something that he had not done in a very long time. Something just felt right about this.

"Computer, flag program as private."

At last, time alone without distraction or intrusion. No counselors asking prodding questions. No people trying to intrude within his personal space. No mask needed to be worn. No defense mechanisms needed to be active. This was a safe haven where he could be himself.

"Computer, add a standing bass player, drummer, and Louie Armstrong."

"Hey there young fella, you ready to play?", the holographic representation of the legendary trumpeter asked in his raspy voice.

Xavier couldn't help but smile. "Yeah Louie, let's do it."

The trumpet began to blare the intro to "Minnie the Moocher", and Xavier quickly caught up. Louie began to sing and Xavier thought to himself, "This is more like it."

It wasn't like with his parents as a child, but it was as close as he could come to that. He wasn't home, but he was just down the block, and somewhere deep down, Xavier hoped that his parents could hear him somewhere out there in the great beyond.

"Getting to know the team"

Branwen
Baile
Bravo team

Branwen had told the team to assemble on the holodeck in ten minutes from now for an exercise. She made sure she was on time and fully geared up and then waited for the other marines to arrive.

Bravo Team lined up with three minutes to spare. They knew what the punishment for being late was. After all the El-tee, or the man Hell had kicked out had been there CO. Now the Chain of Command in Hell had changed, making him the top honcho of this particular region of Hell. Sergeant Major Furji watched the last member of Bravo team fall into the line. Quickly he turned to Lt London and snapped into attention. "Bravo Team, Red One and Two - all present and accounted for, ma'am!"

"Thank you, sergeant major.' She said. "Good timing." Bran turned to the troops. " I am your new battalion commander. Despite what you might af heard I am a marine, and you will not have an easy time under my command. Now in a minute our CO is going to come through these doors and he is intend on kicking our buts in an exercise. Now are we going to let that happen?"

"NO MA'AM!" Bravo Team replied in unison.

Furji risked looking at his new CO. "Ma'am. Any intel on what the El-Tee is planning?"

"No." She had to admit. "I guess you know him very well sergeant major, any ideas?"

The Sergeant Major hesitated for a few seconds. "I don't know ma'am. Every time we think we know how he works he turns the tables on us. Have you faced him in training, ma'am?"

"Not directly no." She said trying to hide her nerves. "Well it teaches us one thing. We have the try our best and expect anything. You are used to working together as a unit?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Well tell me your names and your roles, people." Bran said crisply.

Furji stood at ease. They only had a few minutes until El-Tee would arrive and after that there would be no time for idle chit-chat. He introduced them one by one. The one he made sure she would recognise was Falkor, the Lupin. He was the only one with hearing good enough to even have a chance of hearing the El-Tee.

She tried taking it all in, in the exercise she would have to know what they all did. She wanted the team to do well in this.

Furji was about to say more, but saw Baile and Johnson walk in. They all snapped into attention, standing in crisp salute.

Bran waited anxiously for the boss to start the exercise.

Baile and Johnson travelled light compared to the rest of the 2nd platoon. Neither wore a backpack, just a combat harness with some goodies on it. The duo stopped infront of them. "Monkeys on time. Booyah. Miracles do happen. Now let's see if you can wipe your asses without soiling yourselves this time."

Branwen stayed silent and kept standing to attention. She was determined to show him something.

"The scenario is simple. Urban setting. You are all to move from point A to B. Electromagnetic interference mucks up your scanners, so ladies - time to use those eyeballs.. Half the platoon has to get to point B. If you don't - then we'll do it all over again until you apes get it right. Questions?" Baile was in full marine mode, pissed and mean.

"Okay marines, let's get organised." Branwen said. I want the best marksman on point."

The two groups, the marines and the two opponents beamed in at seperate locations. Naturally Baile and Johnson knew where the marines were, but it would take at least twenty minutes before contact. Until then they would be observing the unit as it moved on.

The setting was indeed urban. A city torn by war, debris, ruins and smoke was everywhere. But they were far from alone. Scared civilias roamed the streets, some of them crudely armed. The behaviour of the civilians stated that as long as the marines moved as a unit then nothing would happen. Well. Almost nothing. But if they spread out too thin, then the civilians would turn into a very troublesome mob, a mob which the marines would have to deal with.

Branwen tried to take in the scene for a few seconds before addressing the team.

Furji looked at the tricorder. El-Tee had been telling the truth. The damn thing was about as useful as a flashlight for a blind man. "I don't think we'll encounter them in another ten minutes or so."

"Probably not." Branwen said that gives us a moment to come up with a plan.

"There's always more to these scenarios than the El-Tee tells us. Remember the bridge-scenario from Boot-camp?" the unit XO asked Bran while he kept a vigilant look at the surrounding area.

She grinned. "I know, we have to be prepared for just about anything."

"I think the El-Tee is related to the bastard that came up with that damn scenario." He stopped and raised the binoculars to his eyes. "My guess is that most of the scenarios he uses on us is stripped versions of SpecOps training scenarios."

"Or he might just come up with them himself. Devious mind and all." She said good-naturedly. No word of critique on Baile would escape her lips in front of the troops.

Johnson looked down at the group from the rooftop he and Baile was standing on. "They're almost at the first checkpoint - and not one has stopped to piss yet."

The leader of the Furies chuckled. "Their tail is open. Guess Furji is trying to lead us there. Take a look at the left flank."

Chief Johnson's face split up in a wide grin when he saw what Baile was talking about. "That's close to poetry, Jeb..."

"Keep in formation." Branwen said again. "Eyes in the back of your head, gentlemen!"

Falkor was the one that heard it first. A faint whistling sound in the air, growing stronger by the second. Donut was the first one to react, running for cover and hurling himself to the ground. "INCOMING!!"

Branwen ducked on instinct. This was something which was drilled into them in Boot camp.

Baile raised an eyebrow. "Hmm.. I think I forgot to tell them about the artillery just outside the city.."

Chief Johnson nodded, chuckling slightly. "Yup."

The noise was deafening and even a little disorientating. It made your ears hurt, even made you feel funny in the pit of your stomach. This one was so heavy and even the earth was trembling a little.

"Regroup! We have to get out of here as soon as possible, we are to exposed. Head for the first buildings!" She tried to make herself heard above the noise.

Dirt, rock and an assortment of materials not normally found in the air rained down on the retreating troopers. The barrage continued with one grenade landing roughly every ten seconds.

Johnson nodded in approval. "Good choice that building. But they can't stay in there for long. Artillery got a spotter?"

Nodding Baile pointed at a house some three hundred meters down. "He's on the roof fairly hidden. They should be able to take him out if the Lieutenant sends two or three to flank. 'Course with those 'nades dropping down it'll be a handful swinging around it. Random 'nades can still take out those she sends."

Branwen knew they were safer now, but only for the moment. She had two choices, trying to move on with the whole squad now, but that would result in heavy casualties. I take the snipers out first. Which was also a risk. But a better one. So quickly she selected two who had been marksmen and scouts and send them to do the job while the others waited.

Johnson surveyed the building where the Marines had taken cover. "Two. Heading southeast. They're going for the spotter."

Baile nodded. "Alright. I'll swing around them." He grabbed his rifle and walked over to the rope hanging down the opposite side of where the marines had taken cover. With ease of practice he swung himself over the edge and repelled down to the ground, releasing the rope and took off into the ruins around them. They might see him approach, although he doubted it, but with the artillery there would be no chance of them hearing him. Some of them probably had ringing ears from the first explosions.

Branwen tried to keep watching everything that went on around her. Especially the progress of the two people she had sent out. Right now it didn't feel like a simulation. And she was really worried about them.

The marine moved fast, assessing the most likely way the two Bravo marines would take. He would wait until they had engaged the spotter, having no quarrels about attacking them in the back.

It was too quiet. She couldn't believe Baile would make it this easy but neither could she figure out what he would do. "Get ready to move.' She whispered to Furji.

Basak and Lia, the Deltan, did a good job. They had circled the spotter to his left flank, careful not to be seen. Then Basak had started to fire at the enemy, drawing his fire while Lia sneaked up from the rear to take him out. That had been the plan anyway.

Basak never saw Baile come up behind him. When he sensed something was wrong he whirled around, only to stare straight into the barrel on Baile's rifle. That was the end of his day.

Lia had winged the spotter, hitting his arm quite good. She had moved quickly to go in for the kill when a beam had hit her straight in the back. She had slumped to the ground before even knowing what happened, stunned into unconsciousness.

Furji nodded. It was too quiet, and he could see his Lieutenant felt the same. That was the problem. You never saw the El-Tee. And if you did you could be damn sure he'd put up one hell of a fight. He signalled to the remaining marines how he wanted them to move and when. He hailed Basak and Lia, but when there was no reply he looked back at the platoon leader. "Basak and Lia are down."

"Move out!" She gave the hand signals. Her gamble had paid off wrong, and now she had to get the others to safety before more people died. So they moved towards their designated next cover.

One thing had gone right. The artillery stopped. The simulation deemed the spotter to be too injured to perform his given task and let the artificial soldier die. Now the artillery would have to shoot blind, increasing the chances of the marines to get through the artillery alive.

Johnson joined up with Baile at the pre designated point and the two set up for the next phase.

Branwen and her marines just ran took cover when they could, and tried to reach the end as soon as safe as possible.

The first attempt had ended after a few minutes. Baile and Johnson had led the group into a trap. The entire alley had been boobytrapped. With the help of explosives the two had cut the group into two smaller units. From that point it had been a matter of time to wrap them up using shrapnel grenades. Baile and Johnson didn't have to take out the entire team, only half of it.

The next run had gone better. Not by much, but enough people had survived to achieve the goals of the exercise and right now that was what counted. Branwen was not physically tired, but emotionally she was exhausted. And now she waited for the tirade she knew was going to come.

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