"A Very Bhrode Christmas - Part 2 of 2"

With Fleet Admiral John Q. Bhrode, former Captain of the USS GALAXY, and current commanding officer of the Olympic Fleet.

Also appearing: Q and the ghosts of Bhrode past, present and future.

Location: Captain's Quarters, 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

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"OOC: Everybody knows how Bhrode rolls. I think it's time to give everybody a peek into why he does what he does." - Joe

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"You have got to be kidding me." Admiral Bhrode spat, glaring at Q who was bedecked in powdered wig and coat tails, swathed in chains and pointing to what appeared to be a raw pork chop floating in midair.

"I assure you, John Q, that I am not kidding, jesting or quipping. Which reminds me. I must make a note to visit that son of mine. How is Leo these days? Still running amok with the ladies? They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree you know." said Q, his typically smug grin firmly affixed to his face. "I am quite the stud amongst the continuum."

"Your son is still a pain in my ass, which ironically I now find you to be. Please be advised that I am not Picard. I won't play your little head games and I couldn't care less about the Continuum. That said, Merry Christmas. Get the fuck off my ship and take the ghost of Bhrode Past with you." the admiral said, gesturing at the floating hunk of meat.

The meat hunk began to quiver angrily.

:: YOU WILL OBEY, FORMER ALPHA!!!:::

The admiral's eyebrow shot up to such a degree, Spock would have thought it logical to be envious.

"Is that who I think it is?" Bhrode said, barely able to hide the amusement in his voice.

"John Q., may I introduce you to Lirup, the former Hirogen Alpha. Or what's left of him. Having one's arms severed, torso skinned and catching a photon torpedo in the face has a somewhat diminishing effect on one's body mass. This was all I could find of him."

:: GIVE ME A BODY AND I WILL HUNT THIS ONE DOWN AND USE HIS HIDE AS A LOIN CLOTH!!::

Bhrode laughed, a sound like the sounded like metal being scuffed.

"I think of you every time I step in a pile of targ shit, which is exactly how I left you before sending you to that great big hunt in the sky."

The pork chop roared and shook uncontrollably.

"Now, now, Lirup. Remember what you are here for." Q said admonishingly.

Again, the hunk of meat shook before calming and floating to the nearby window.

:: LOOK NOW, FORMER ALPHA. GAZE UPON YOUR MISERY PAST ::

Never taking his eyes off Q, the old soldier backed slowly towards the portal. When he was secure in his positioning, he stole a gaze outside the ship and was stunned to see the starfield had been replaced by another room, one that closely resembled that of the waiting room of a federation medical facility. The technology looked much older then that which was currently in the sickbay of his flagship.

He looked at the small boy sitting in one of the large chairs and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What fucking horseshit is this?" Brhode said dangerously, so much in fact that the omnipotent Q felt the smile vanish off his face.

:: WATCH AND REMEMBER, MEAT!::

Q coughed. "Lyrup...you are the meat, remember?"

The floating pork chop began to violently tremble once again.

Bhrode was not amused by the irony of the exchange. He was watching as a man in a Starfleet uniform knelt beside the boy.

"I'm sorry son. The doctors tried their best, but there was nothing more they could do." the man said, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

The child, fighting back tears, spoke in a weary voice.

"What...what happened? How..." he said.

"There was an accident. It was what we in Starfleet call friendly fire. Rest assured, son. Your father was a great man. You should be proud of what he accomplished in his life."

"My dad was killed by his own people?" the boy asked.

"Like I said, son. It was an accident." the man said as the boy shook the hand from his shoulder.

The hunk of Hirogen meat began to chuckle.

:: ORPHANED CUR! ::

Bhrode's face darkened.

He grabbed the writhing hunk of flesh in his left hand and with his right he went to his bathroom. He dropped the hunk into the toilet and kicked the flush actuator.

Brhode came back out and stood nose to nose with Q.

"I don't know what the hell that was all about, but if you pull some shit like that again, I will dedicate my life and the resources of this ship, this fleet and every scientist I can find to annihilating your species."

"Come now, John. Lets not ruin this day with threats.." Q started.

"It's not a threat. It's a life vow." Bhrode corrected.

"What would you know about a vow?"

The admiral turned to his right to find a woman in a Starfleet issued hospital gown standing there. Her body was twisted with dark blue and red scar tissue. IV and feeding tubes hung from her arms and trailed across the floor like streamers from an obscene party, connected to nothing at all. Her scalp was covered with small random tufts of gray hair that managed to grow through a head covered with angry looking wounds, wrapped in dirty bandages. Her lip was missing, but she curled her mouth in what appeared to be a sneer.

"Amelia...." Bhrode gasped, looking back at Q. "What the hell is this?"

"Dear brother, I assure you I am still back home, deep within my coma where I have been for the past forty years. I never got to thank you for that. Being a vegetable makes it tough to articulate one's gratitude for ruining one's life."

"Amelia, I did what I could. You knew that. " he replied, woefully.

"YOU VOWED TO PROTECT ME AFTER FATHER WAS KILLED!!!" Amelia yelled, her hands waving about causing the tubes connected to them to flail about wildly. "IS this how you protect me?"

The doors to Bhrode's quarters whipped open and rather then the familiar gray carpeting outside, Brhode saw the bridge of a starship. He recognized it immediately as the USS MIAMI, and more importantly, he remembered the chaos he was viewing. Captain Castillo lay dead on the floor by the OP's station, smoke and fire filled the bridge. On the viewscreen before them was the purple and turquoise planet of Eciv, currently suffering through the turmoil of a civil war.

The MIAMI had been brought in to mediate, when the situation boiled over. Local governor S'Burnet had taken control of the parliament and had held the staff hostage, threatening to destroy the capital city with a seismic detonator that his scientists had developed. The diplomatic away team, including Lt. Amelia Bhrode, were waiting to be beamed up when Governor S'Burnet's defense force attacked, forcing the MIAMI to raise shields.

Further complicating the issue was an Eciv freighter carrying 500 refugees from the capital city also under attack from S'Burnet's forces.

"Commander! The away team reports seismic activity is increasing. We need to get them out of there." Lt. Tubbs called from the OPS station.

"I understand that, Lt." Commander Bhrode barked, "Status of the freighter's shields?"

"Down to 10 percent. She won't last any longer." Lt. Commander Crocket said from the Tactical Arch.

Bhrode swallowed hard.

"Inform the away team that they need to find themselves a secure location. We will be with them as soon as we can. Mr. Zito, get us between that freighter and the enemy."

The helm officer just looked at Bhrode blankly. A silent pall fell across the entire bridge.

"Sir, the away team..." he started.

"Relieved of duty! Switeck, take the helm and get us there now!" Bhrode ordered.

The ravaged body of Amelia seemed to shiver as if cold.

"You protected me, didn't you dear brother? Do you remember how it ended? Do you want to know what we went through? When the gas main broke beneath us? Do you know what hell is, John?" she asked, spit flying from her ravaged face.

Bhrode stiffened. He folded his hands across his chest.

"There were 5 members of the away team. There were 500 lives on the freighter. I could save them with the chance to then rescue you or I could have rescued you and certainly lost the freighter. I did what was right and I do not expect you to understand or question my decisions. I have apologized to you a thousand times. In my heart I carry the names of not only the four who died then , but also of every soldier who has died under my watch. We are done here. I will see you as I do every year. I am sorry Amelia. But I can say it no more." Admiral Bhrode said turning from his doorway and sister to walk to his bed only to find that he was standing in complete blackness.

Slowly stars began to wink into existence, followed by planets, moons and various nebula and other spatial anomalies. Bhrode looked around, startled, until his equilibrium corrected for what he was seeing. Tiny ships could be seen flying through space like ants in a colony.

Mechanically regulated breathing echoed impossibly through space.

Before him, a dark hooded figure emerged from the middle of a black hole. It's movements were stiff and methodical, the black robes swirling behind him. Bhrode took his eyes off the wraith and glanced at Q, now standing next to him dressed in a black jump suit.

"What is the purpose of this dog and pony show, Q? What are you looking to accomplish? Are you toying with us once more? Are you looking to bring a new menace to the universe? A new Borg?" the Admiral asked.

Q remained silent pointing behind the approaching wraith.

Over it's right shoulder, Starfleet vessels that once were flitting about were now attacking one another. Swarms of fighters attacked, phasers hot and firing. Below them a blue green planet smoldered, with thick black smoke obscuring the view of the planet's oceans. A moon hung destroyed in orbit, large hunks falling to the surface of the hapless orb, impacting with ferocity.

"Are you warning me of something? Where is this taking place? Has this happened?" Brhode bellowed.

Q simply inclined his head towards the other shoulder of the now nearing wraith.

Over it's left shoulder, the ships that had previously soared through space now were lifeless husks. A battle raged between the remaining ships and what appeared to be Romulan and Triad forces. Torpedoes streaked through the starscape and slammed into the remains of the Starfleet Armada. Clearly the Triad and Romulan forces were destroying what was left of the Fleet defense.

"ANSWER ME!!!" Brhode bellowed.

"What you are seeing is what has not yet come to pass. It is the end of all. It starts with a civil war. The battle of the hawk and the dove. It is the ushering in of the Apocalypse. Heralded by the coming of the Horsemen. War, pestilence, famine.." Q said his gaze locked on the battle.

"And finally death..." he announced as Borg cubes began to fill the burning sky.

Hundreds of them. Thousands of them.

The robed wraith before him pulled off his cloak to reveal a Borg King...with the face of John Q Bhrode.

"Resistance.....is futile." the drone rasped.

Black smoke from the ruined universe slowly choked everything out of sight.

"Despite how you are viewed by the universe, John Q, you have done more good then you realize. It is your choices from this point on that will have much influence in determining if your people will die..." Q's voice said.

"Or live."

Suddenly Admiral Bhrode sat up in his bed, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He glanced at the chronometer and saw that it was now Christmas Day. Two hours before his shift was to start again.

He looked around his room and found nothing.

He rinsed his face in his sink, trying to loose the haunted look in his eyes that was slowly fading like a burning ember. He changed his uniform and walked through the empty halls of the USS ZEUS, into the turbo lift and crossed the bridge, operating with a small skeleton crew, and entered his ready room.

The doors closed, and for the first time in a long while, Admiral Bhrode felt alone.

He looked at the new stack of PADDS from Director Phall on PROJECT: NARNIA.

He stretched his still weary body, sat down behind his desk, picked up the first one and began to read.

OOC: And while I realize the aliens speak like the Prophets in a sense, with Punctuation and the like, I believe them to be more akin to the Vortigaunts for those gamers who have played Half-Life 2. I dunno, I just always liked the speaking style.

Side Story: The Wandering Physician Pt.2

Location: Unknown

The tutors were everywhere here. It was a bizarre looking partially vertical city. Massive spires of rock jutted out of the ground, surrounded by a bright green thicket. And then there were the webs. Massive spider webs seemed to make up most of the structures. The tutor that guided Klaus spoke up finally. The others had left them be. His eyes were a benevolent bright blue. "The Fienberg is amazed, and yet fearful. That is the Webbing of Structure. It is only adhesive at the ends that require it to be. In these days, the webbing of hunger is rarely used."

"I see."

They continued, seemingly heading for a central roc! kspire. Holes in the sides glowed with the light of burning pyres. Massive webbings branched off of it.

"The Fienberg takes notice. This is the Central Habitat. Many nest webs, above and below the surface. The center of the Coterminus. The place of our greatest power."

"Wow." His words sounded hollow, but his face betrayed his utter amazement.

They walked into the main ground entrance. "The Fienberg must climb onto my abdomen and clucth my thorax."

"What? Why?"

"The Fienberg must reach the summit, and his body is not built for climbing. I will be your vessel."

Klaus hesitated, and wondered if riding a sentient spider would be the strangest thing he would do today. Probably not.

With blinding speed, the tutor jumped and shot up the tower. Klaus seemed to be magnetically adhered to him, but still felt heavy and, and clutched tight. "Good, the Fienberg does well to hold on. My power is being used individually. Our power increases with the more of us in the same vacinity that are using it to the same common goal. A Self imposed limit."

Gasping slightly for air. "Prudent."

After awhile, the reached the top, the Tutor's harder pieces of carapace glistening with Klaus' sweat. it slowly absorbed.

Klaus turned to the Tutor. "You say that while your minds border, almost as one, you are individuals. Do you have a name? That you prefer to call yourself?"

The Tutor looked over at Klaus like this was a question he desired for Klaus to eventually ask. "The Fienberg asks! Good. I prefer the given name Shak'tal."

They walked out of the main shaft into a large round room, with a tree in the center. Fruit, each about the size of his fist hung from it. Their shape almost looked like terran apples.

"The Fienberg must eat the fruit. Only one. This is the begining of the process. We will be teaching you to use a power similar to our own, but you must first gain it."

Another approached, it appeared to have a small strange object. Klaus thought of him as a gardener. In the dim light, more trees could be seen.

"We will not lie to the Fienberg, but his entire genetic structure will be modified by the process."

The other looked at the tree, still talking to Klaus. "We have chosen the Fienberg, you have no choice now. The sooner you are taught, the sooner you may leave. Otherwise, the Fienberg is welcome to stay as our guest until he ready." They walked over to one of the trees. The guide known as Shak'tal returned with the fruit.

"Shak'tal....I believe myself to be ready." Shak'tal handed Klaus the soft feeling apple and backed off. "Before the Fienberg consumes it, he must know that there may be pain."

Klaus nodded. This seemed to be the path that we was to take. It was time to change. One way, or the other. As soon as he bit into the apple, it's juices splattered into his mouth. He felt what! felt like a static shock bounce around in his mouth. The juice was sweet and a flavor unlike he'd ever tasted before. Soon he was finished the fruit, and the extremely filling fruit rest in his stomach. If he wasn't so full, he'd have asked for more, but then he fell to his knees.

"Now it truely begins. Take him! Hurry!"

Hairy spider arms clutched him quickly as he passed out.

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

It was all a blur. Klaus' mind drifted between conciousness and oblivion. He could feel himself fighting the changes his body was undergoing. The everpresent voices of the tutors could be heard. He knew they were not speaking standard, but he could understand them nonetheless.

"The Fienberg resists....but he knows this will kill him." "The Fienberg still fears. He must let go of this fear."

"The Fruit changes the Fienberg so much, I know he hers us, he must accept then we can continue."

Klaus' mind filled with fear and regret, what ! was he doing here? Why was he letting these aliens change him? He didn't know, but it drew his mind to it. And slowly, he desired to undergo these changes.

Was he being manipulated? And if he was, was he strong enough to resist?

It didn't matter now. He was at the mercy of these spider creatures.

"He accepts...the fruit makes it's changes."

After awhile, the pain stopped...and Klaus already felt different, yet still drifting just outside of consciousness. "Now we must make the final changes to The Fienberg."

Suddenly a warm feeling overcame Klaus, his eyes opened, and his back was flat on a stone slab. The room was more geometric than the other, more feral, parts of the settlement. The stone slab he lay on was formed into a rigid featureless octogon.

He stood, finally realizing that he was fully clothed still.

Klaus realised that Shak'tal looked exactly like the others, and yet he still recognized him. It must have been the eyes. "So what is next in these changes?"

"They are completed. They became so several of your time units ago."

Klaus cracked his necked and spoke again. "Well, that was quick."

"The Fienberg must now learn. Come."

“Reverse Angle”

By Ensign Keldan,
Operations Officer, USS Galaxy

Location: Transport Thalassa, on final approach to Deep Space 5

The Galaxy filled the port side observation deck window from top to bottom. Two weeks had passed aboard the tiny transport vessel, and Keldan stood with anticipation as his next assignment finally appeared before him. He wondered briefly just how far in over his head he was getting this time.

No, there was no turning back now. For good or bad, all of the decisions he had made in his life had led him…here. They had led him further than he’d certainly ever thought he would have come; it was certainly further than any Talarian had ever gone before. Having come halfway across the known galaxy certainly wasn’t too bad for the fourth son of a warship captain. Too bad his brothers weren’t here to see him now. He allowed himself a smile. He hadn’t had much reason to smile lately.

The bulkheads heaved softly as the Thalassa came to rest against the docking clamps of the station. Keldan retrieved the small duffle at his feet, the summation of a lifetime loosely packed and easily transportable for necessity and convenience. In a few minutes the Thalassa would be just another part of a past he hoped desperately would remain in the past and not get in the way of his future.

Keldan didn’t see any point in wasting time aboard the station. He’d received word that the Galaxy would be departing soon on its next assignment. That should give him time to get done with the introductions and the ‘pleasantries’ as the humans liked to call them. He’d made a mental list of all the people he needed to meet and the things he would have to do before he could get to work.

Unfortunately, the first responsibility in his duties as a new ensign aboardship would be to report in to his immediate commanding officer, which according to the information he had received, would be one Lieutenant Junior Grade Tarin Iniara. The smile that had lingered on his face had faded and now in the back of his memories he could see his brothers again, only this time it was they who were the ones laughing at him. His father was there laughing at him too…and he’d been dead for twelve years.

Keldan shook off the thought. “This is not going to be a problem.” Only a moment later did he realize he’d actually said the words and not merely thought them. She’s a Starfleet officer, he told himself for the hundredth time. If she doesn’t have a problem having a Talarian on her team, then you can’t have a problem taking orders from a woman. Whether or not it would be as easy in practice as in this little theory remained to be seen. But he doubted anything about this assignment was going to be easy.

He walked along the docking concourse, heading for the nearest transporter. The hour was late and there were few people about, and those that were, like Keldan, were hurriedly moving to and fro, each step resonating with purpose.

Arriving at the transporter room, Keldan unzipped his duffle and pulled out the info chip with his transfer orders. The yawning transporter chief immediately snapped back to attention, his expression quizzical at the odd-looking alien that had silently and suddenly appeared in his transporter room.

“One to transport to the Galaxy, Chief.” Keldan handed him the info chip and waited while he read the orders and confirmed with the Galaxy’s transporter operator.

“You’re orders have been confirmed, Ensign.” He returned the info chip. “Please step onto the pad.” Keldan stepped up into the transporter alcove and waited. The transporter chief punched a few more instructions into his console. “They’re ready to receive you on the Galaxy, Ensign.”

“Many thanks, Chief. At your convenience, then.” Keldan closed his eyes. He’d hated transporters since the first time he had used one. In fact, the only time he could remember liking having used a transporter was the one time he wasn’t capable of remembering having used the transporter, and thus, never had a chance to dislike the experience in the first place.

“Ensign, are you alright?”

Keldan opened his eyes, grateful to find himself in the transporter room aboard the Galaxy, facing the female transporter operator.

“Yes. Er. Fine, uh…Lieutenant.” He stepped down to the console and handed the woman his transfer order just as he had the transporter chief aboard DS5.

The lieutenant smiled broadly and entered in the pertinent information into the transporter log. “Normally, COs like to meet their new officers when they first come aboard. But Lieutenant Tarin’s next duty shift doesn’t begin for a couple hours.”

“My thanks for not waking her.”

“Would you like security to escort you to your quarters, Ensign?”

“No, thank you Lieutenant. I’ve reviewed the ship schematics. I can find the way.”

“Very well. Oh. It looks like you have a communiqué waiting for you. I’ll have Communications forward it to your quarters.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

As he moved toward the doors she added, “And Ensign… Welcome to the Galaxy.”

Keldan paused and returned her smile before heading into the corridor.

* * * * *

Location: USS Galaxy, Crew Quarters, Deck 14

Keldan placed his duffle on his bed and began unpacking his possessions. The room was a bit larger than the one he’d had on the Ulysses Grant. And, it appeared he wasn’t going to have to share with anyone, at least for the time being.

The Galaxy’s supply officer had already filled his closet with the regular assortment of standard and dress uniforms. The only other garments he’d brought with him were the civilian clothes he now was wearing and the one extra set that up until a moment ago ahd been folded neatly in his bag. He removed two rectangular objects and layed them carefully on the bed; the first a large bound tome and the second a wooden case. He then unceremoniously dumped the remaining contents and sorted through them quickly. Numerous data sticks lay scattered across the bed’s surface; he’d have to find an engineer to hand them off so he could program the food replicator in his quarters with some Talarian cuisine, since he doubted the Galaxy would have many on file. He mentally noted a few of the sticks as those containing his favorite holoprograms: the mountain climbing runs at Yosemite; his weight training regimen; the reproduction of the forest near his home on Talaria III.

The wooden case he slipped into the table next to his bed without even looking at it. He had not forgotten the message that was waiting for him. He did not have to look at the computer to know where it had come from, when it had been sent, or who it had been sent by. He didn’t even need any extra sensory abilities to know what the letter contained.

“Computer. Begin recording a new letter for transmission.”

“My dearest Triest.”

Keldan unstrung the binding on the thick tome laying on his bed and opened it to its halfway mark. Each page was thick; the heavy paper stock was a dull white, with black etchings scattered across the surface. The drawings on this particular page were all of individual’s heads in different lightings, bedecked with a variety of expressions. Alien heads. Vulcan. Andorian. Human. Some of the heads were laughing. Some wore façades of frank determination. Some were sad.

“I wanted you to know that I received your letter. I am truly sorry this reply is so long in coming. I fear that circumstances, as ever, conspired to keep your last correspondence on a rather long trek to catch up with me in my current position.”

Keldan flipped back a few pages in the sketchbook. The new page had a sketch of the view from Starfleet Academy, the Golden Gate Bridge, and San Francisco Bay.

“As you undoubtedly know by now, I am no longer being treated at Starfleet Medical on Earth. I was relieved of my duties at Starfleet Academy and have taken on a commission aboard a Federation starship. I’m serving aboard the USS Galaxy.”

Another page, another group of characters studies. This time, students enjoying themselves on the Academy Commons and Golden Gate Park.

“I know what has transpired on Talaria in my absence. I know the accident was just the excuse your father needed to press the dissolution board into action.”

A few more pages back was a group of officers and crewmen standing as if for a family portrait. Underneath was a rather crude sketch of a starship, the USS Ulysses Grant, war-torn and ragged.

“I received a message from Torin just before I left Earth, and he told me the dissolution had been finalized in absentia. He didn’t say, but I know your father chose him as my replacement for you. He may be terrible at keeping secrets, but he is a good man and a good friend. I know he will be a good husband and bring honor to your father’s name.”

Flipping back further still, Keldan was greeted by an all-too familiar face. The same face graced countless of the other pages in his sketchbook, but on this page the image was centered and full on. No scribbles or additional sketches flanked this one as they did so many other of the pages. The woman’s face was strong but gentle; her hair was long and wild; her lips full and inviting.

“Triest, you mustn’t blame yourself for any of this business with your father. After all, it wasn’t he who chose to leave Talaria. I guess if there was anything I would have done differently, it would have been to force you to come with me when I left. But then I guess if I were the type to force you to do something you couldn’t, there’d have been no reason for you to want to go anywhere with someone like me in the first place.”

The first page of the sketchbook was dominated by an image of the same woman, a solitary figure reclining on a bed of tall grass. A young, faceless Talarian male lay next to her, a sketchbook on the ground next to him.

“I’ll write again as soon as I get the chance. Things will be hectic here for a few days as I settle into my new position here on the Galaxy. You’ll be entirely too pleased to know that my immediate commanding officer is a woman. I haven’t met her yet, but I’ll be sure to fill you in my next letter. Oh, and Triest… Stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”

The sketchbook closed with an audible thump.

“Forever Yours, Kel”

Keldan mulled over that last line for a long while before he gave instructions to the computer to send the message. He pulled the gold-knotted band from around the third digit on his left hand and placed it on the fourth digit on his right.

He suddenly had the urge to check out the gymnasium facilities for a nice hard workout, to feel the sweat pouring over his body and his muscles searing from the strain. But he didn’t have the time. He walked over to the closet and pulled out a clean duty uniform. There was a lot of work ahead to be done.

"2383"

Lieutenant J.G. Saul Bental

Chief Tactical Officer

2383.

Was I really supposed to make it this far?

I am trying to sleep for two hours now, without success. The head is full of thoughts and on the bunk across the room, Miramon snores. It doesn't help.

I've been sharing a cramped quarter on the shuttle with him and counselor Brian ever since we left the Galaxy. A Betazoid, a Bajoran and a Jew. Had history played slightly different, the date - January first - wouldn't be more significant to us than yesterday, or ten days ago, or…

But it's already twelve o'clock, and 2383 is upon us.

By all means I should've been kissing Nara at this very moment, instead of staring at the low dark ceiling. Other than that, 2382 ended very well for me. From a lowly Ensign whose career seemed to stall, I became a department head – leading twenty five brave men and women. I also became a rich man, got out a very dangerous stunt with just a minor reprimand, finished my Master's degree, and told a woman that I loved her for the first time.

Now, I'm on my way to perform a mission which, if successful, will restore my reputation among the Intelligence community and wipe the SO"C #074 fiasco from the community's collective memory.

A Ferengi once told me that a stock's value can't increase forever. I can't help but wonder if the Saul Bental stock hasn't reached its peak in the universe's Stock Exchange. Especially in light of what I'm about to do.

You see, I'm going to throw it all away for the most foolish reason of all.

The Agenda.

In the past, I proved to myself and to everyone that a man has control of his own destiny. Even if you were born in the most forgotten garbage can of the Federation, all it takes to get yourself to the top is a decision. A decision to follow your heart and your desires. Even if it means leaving everything you know behind, and giving up your old way of life. Even if it means taking a gamble which may end with a miserable failure or even death, instead of a senior officer's position.

No one is limited, no one is bound. True freedom is always just a thought away.

Right now, continuing my path in the most reasonable way seems like the right thing to do. Complete the mission, advance through the rank, get closer to the woman you love, forget all the bad things in your past and just be happy. It won't take a trip from Utrecht to earth to pursue this path, just let the momentum carry me onward.

Why can't I just do the easy thing for once? How comes I keep boasting about free will, when I can't even abandon a foolish young man's whim and continue my new, better direction in life. I can't explain it, but I feel like something keeps drawing me back. Like a stray asteroid caught in a gravity well.

Two hours ago, when I cuddled under the blanket, I wasn't confident about my decision. However, this trip gave me time to think, and I finally made up my mind. I'm going to go through with it and return home for the Redistribution. I may take friends with me, or go alone; I may find a way for Starfleet to send me there with orders, I may take a leave, or go AWOL. It doesn't matter.

I'm going back.

And by the time 2384 comes, I'll either leave the ghosts of the past behind me, for good this time, or…

You know, either that or the OTHER option. The one with the skeletal guy with the black cape and the scythe who thinks he's that Krieghoff fellow from security.

Hell, it's 2383 already, I really wasn't supposed to make it this far anyway. Between enemies of my family, members of my family, Hydrans, space pirates, Dithparu, mad Sakarian princesses, and nasty-Yridian-merchants-who-don't-enjoy-being-cheated, I outlived my luck by several good years already.

In that case… adding another one to the record wouldn't be THAT difficult, would it?

So Happy New Year, 2383. Whatever you have in store for me, just bring it on.

(Preferably tomorrow morning, I'm really beat right now and could use some sleep).

"Notes & Memories"

Nara and Saia walked into the quarters. Nara called out to Bran, but she wasn't there. Which wasn't really a surprise. Nara went to the replicator to figure out what to have for dinner. Saia went off to the room to gather her paint supplies.

Nara knew what she was doing, and was suddenly reminded of something, "I know someone who would like to give you some paints, Saia."

Saia walked out of the room, "I think this is yours?"

Nara looked over and Saia had a confused look on her face as she read the note. "Then why are you reading it?" Nara took it from her and read it. Her face held a frown as she read.

"Princess,

I'm going off the ship for a while.

I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you in person.

I'm not sure when I'll return, or if I'll be able to contact you via subspace before that.

Can't wait to get back aboard and hold you in my arms again.

Happy holidays,

-- Saul"

Nara just sat there and stared at the note for awhile. Saia watched her a moment, "Don't you guys have comm badges?"

Nara blinked and looked at her. She's right. They did. Why didn't Saul just call her using the comm? She sighed, "He probably..." Anything she thought of, she immediately thought of a counter. It didn't make sense. It could be his personal agenda, of which she promised herself she wouldn't get sore over. It was part of what she would do to try and make this work. If it was work-related, she really couldn't object.

"He has his reasons, and I can only hope he'll come back and tell me the reasons or tell me that he can't tell me. Either way, I just hope he comes back." Till then, she would miss him and wonder how he was doing everyday. She walked over to the computer console and wrote a note. Sent to his name, and wondered if he could or would check it.

"Saul,

I can't wait to see you again. Please be safe and stay alive.

-- Your Princess"

It was short, but most people expected as much from her correspondance. He may get it only when he gets back, but it made her feel a little better. She turned back to Saia, "So, do you want those paints?"

Saia had went to her canvas when she saw Nara walk to the console. She turned now and smiled, "Of course!"

Nara nodded and turned back around and wrote a quite note to Ella.

"Ella,

Saia said she would appreciate the paints. Thank you. We can come by your quarters later. Just let me know when would be convenient.

-- Naranda Roswell"

Having dealt with more correspondance then she normally does in any given month, Nara walked back over to the replicator and decided instead to take Saia to Ten-Forward. She looked over at Saia who already had a few strokes on the canvas, "Before you get too involved, what do you think of eating in Ten-Forward?"

Saia jumped up. "We hadn't been in a long time!"

Nara smiled and nodded, "I know. So I take that as a yes?"

Saia quickly, but carefully put away her paints and brushes.

Nara smiled, then picked up the note. She wanted to keep it safe. "Where did you get that memory box?"

"We made it in class one day. The teacher gave us a box and we got to decorate it."

Nara nodded and walked back to the replicator, ordered a plain, cheap box and put the note inside. She may have Saia paint it for her later, but for now, she put the box on the coffee-table. The coffee-table held several of Nara's personal things like PADDs and books. Things she would have on her bedside table.

It's been almost half a year. Though Nara wasn't sleeping well anyway, it would be nice to have a bed to not sleep in. She walked back over to the console and wrote a note to Operations about getting a larger room or even another room. Bran was practically a title above junior officer and in that sense deserved a private room like Saul and Miramon had acquired.

After sending it, she spoke to herself, "Well, that well exceeds my quota for the year." She saw incoming notes waiting to be read. They had dates going as far back as last month. After seeing none were from Saul or were work related or were marked urgent, she said "And you guys don't expect me to send anything for months anyway." Her parents knew to mark it urgent if they wanted it read within a week. For that's how often Nara even looks at her mail. It may take longer for her to read it and longer still for her to reply.

Nara turned to see a look on Saia's face. She laughed, then they walked out the door.

***Ten-Forward***

They sat near a window and Nara was eating slowly as her appitite was having an off day. It came and went. Which was better than having none at all. She figured she was getting a little better. At least she wanted to sleep, which was better than not wanting to. But still, sleepiness didn't come when it should, and came when it shouldn't. She asked Saia, "How are things with Jerik?"

Saia swallowed a bite, "Oh yea, he wanted me to talk to you about joining us on the holodeck so we can program some Trill cities. He said maybe someday when we are back in the system he will show them to me for real. I think when we go back, I just want to see my city. What's left of it."

Nara nodded. She wondered how far the rebuilding had gotten. Memories of the destroyed city filled her mind. It was a bitter-sweet memory. The death of a city brought her Saia.

Her mind also wandered to Saul as she looked out at the stars wondering where he could had gone.

"Gel" pt 1

- Vanguard Squadron -

Major Corran "Casanova" Rex, Vanguard One (CO) Pat)
Pilot Anna "Natural" Lewis, Vanguard Two (Frank)
Pilot Arlen "Shocker" Willard, Vanguard Three (Andy)
Pilot Sarel "Phoenix" Inara, Vanguard Four (Cami)
Lieutenant Teyri "Rock Star" Jen, Vanguard Five (XO)(Becky)
Flight Officer Xiaz "Circe" Padma, Vanguard Six (Kate)
Pilot Ayden "Tater" O'Connor, Vanguard Seven (Robert B)
Pilot "Granite" Graan, Vanguard Eight (Randy)
Lieutenant "Fuzzball" Kettch, Vanguard Nine (SO) (Pat)
Pilot Ember "Orphan" Lansky, Vanguard Ten (Serene)
Flight Officer "Angel" Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven (Robert H)
Flight Officer Nick "Dead Stick" Lofton, Vanguard Twelve (NPC)

AWACS Runabout Crew (USS Mallorean)
Pilot "Pebbles" Niki, Vanguard Twelve (Kelly)
Pilot Paul DiMillo, Intelligence Liasion (Russ)

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 41
Outside Pilot's Briefing Room

Major Corran Rex waited outside the back door of the pilot's briefing lounge, tapping a PADD against his hand. They'd had significant personnel changes in the squadron lately, and they needed the occasional briefing to reflect that. They couldn't spend all their duty time in the simulator, after all.

Still, it was better when the squad got together without him watching over their shoulders. It was tradition that the squadron leader entered last, and of all people, who was Corran Rex to break a perfectly good tradition?

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 41
Pilot's Briefing Room

Angeleinia suppressed the frown that threatened to flicker across her face when she realized that she was the first one to arrive for the briefing. She was used to being last, so everyone would have to turn and look at her as she came in, and without an audience, the stop she'd made at her quarters to freshen up after leaving Security Main and her alternate occupation as a Security Officer had been wasted.

Or not, as she realized that if she sat towards the front, then everyone would have to look at her as they came in. It wasn't as good as having Victor look at her - nothing was, except the thought of him touching her - but it would do until that came along. She prowled through the room, took a seat sideways in a chain to show off her legs, and waited.

Sarel entered the briefing room and took a seat. As usual had been another busy shift so far for Phoenix. Waiting for the others to arrive she spent her time reviewing various data.

Arlen stepped in, and while he was his usual flamboyant self, he was still a little freaked out regarding the incident as DS5. He sat down, alone. Something was up with the young man.

There was a brisk, no-nonsense manner to Ember when she walked in. And the moment she did, her disdain was immediate, momentarily breaking through her grim expression. Barely half of the group had been assembled and she couldn't help but be impatient with the general tardiness of the crew. She had been keen when she received news of the briefing, hoping that this meant there was finally chance for some real work rather than the routine security details she had been attached to. It was just the thing to purge the bad experiences of DS5 - by embracing headlong what lay ahead. If only the rest would get here. She took a seat, unable to conceal her restlessness when she fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Anna Lewis shuffled into the pilot's briefing room, nose buried in a PADD. Despite her growing reputation as a 'natural' in the cockpit, the Arizona farmgirl still felt that she still had a lot to learn. Technology, technique, maneuvers, commands... her transfer from engineering had left her with an ever-increasing reading list.

She was almost certain that her productivity in engineering had been suffering a lot... but she didn't care. What she did accomplish for Commander O'Shea was done well - even if it was less than she was used to. And becoming the pilot that her sister had been meant to be was more important.

Ignoring the other pilots, she took the first convenient seat and continued reading. Apparently Colonel Wes 'Phoenix' Hammond had finally left command of the famed Rogue Group, only to disappear on a pet project of his own. Anna sighed and bookmarked the article. It was no secret that Anna thought very highly of Colonel Hammond. She had met him only once, at the wake he had arranged for the pilots lost at Havras. Among those pilots had been her older sister, Heather.

Whatever else you wanted to say about the man - there were rumors of womanizing and rabble rousing - that had been a damn decent thing to do for a poor Arizona farmgirl.

Lieutenant Kettch and Pilot Nikki, some of the only Kowe in Starfleet, let alone the SFFC, entered the room together. They were chittering away in their native language, and Nikki - or rather, Pebbles - was laughing a great deal. The Kowe were a small species, often likened to Terran teddy bears. They were, however, some of the most vicious fighters among the member races of the Federation. They took their seats without preamble, though Kettch said something to his companion, pointing at the Tellarite pilot, and both laughed.

He just glowered appropriately in response. The Great Chef only knew what those little furballs were chittering about.

Teyri Jen finally came into the briefing room. She was late. She was always late to briefings. It was just something she did. She could never be on time. It was like she was unable to show up on time, no matter how hard she tried. Unfortunately, now she was the XO – which she still couldn't figure out how that had happened - she had to be on time. Set a good example, all that good stuff.

Jen looked around when she came in, heading for her seat, and she couldn't help but frown. Where the hell was everyone? The briefing was supposed to start like, five minutes ago, right? Jen sat down, tossing her padd on the table in front of her, and waited, somewhat impatiently. Another five minutes, she was about to start calling people over the ship system, get their asses here.

Fortunately for Graan, it was only about another three minutes before he finally arrived. He glanced around at the assembled pilots as he shuffled into the briefing room, and gave an irritated snort. Not only was he late, not only had he been interrupted from his meal, but there were still some who had yet to arrive. ~Disrespectful,~ the crabby Tellarite thought as he made his way to a seat, which he promptly dropped his somewhat paunchy frame into.

To say Padma Xiaz was always often tardy would be to put almost too positive a spin on things. She was not only always late, she was always the last person to arrive. Sometimes, she kept Corran waiting in the back for ten or fifteen minutes after the briefing was supposed to begin, something that, while often accidental, could frequently be an intentional dig at his ridiculous tradition.

Today, she was less tardy, having more to do with the fact that she was really just next door than the fact that she was actually paying attention. The joined-Trill stepped into the briefing room with a toss of her head, her full chestnut hair free to fall in curls over her shoulders and around her fit yet still voluptuous upper body. Pad slid into her waiting seat with the grace of an Orion dancer just as Corran decided to make his entrance.

Corran entered the circular briefing room, noting the way the dozen pilots lounged around, some in groups, some sitting alone. "Alright Vanguards," he started off. "This is the first formal meeting we've had in awhile, outside of simulator practices. I want to say you've all done a good job flying CAP while were stationed at Deep Space Five, and I've been asked by the Captain to relay that our spotting efforts in assisting the SCE salvage teams were particularly appreciated by the Fleeties."

"Nice of them to notice," Angelienia purred.

"So this is where we go from here." the Major continued, acknowledging Angel with a nod. "First off, I want to introduce our new Intelligence Liasion, Ensign Paul DiMillo. In addition to his Intel duties, he'll be crewing the Mallorean along with Pebbles. As a result of his attachment to the squadron, he'll be addressed by the rank of 'Pilot'. Let's say hi, class."

Paulo had entered awhile ago, but had stayed towards the back, and quite. He didn't know these people yet, so till he did he wasn't going to say much. But that changed when the Major announced his name and Paulo stood up and simply nodded.

Various murmured greetings, nods, and other salutations passed the spy's way, and he sat back down in his seat.

"Now," Corran continued, "To business. There's a lot of new blood in this squadron. You're all good pilots, but we need improvement on working as a cohesive unit. So I'm opening the floor - suggestions, gripes, whatever you fine folks feel needs airing, let's hear it."

For a moment, Padma joined the others in glancing around the auditorium-like room, waiting for someone else to speak up and get the proverbial ball rolling. After a few seconds ticked by with Corran standing there at the head of the table looking all proper, Padma decided she might as well be the first to speak.

"I need a new name," she stated. A couple of the others glanced at her, a few mumbling under their breaths. "Seriously. I need a new call-sign. Everyone else is something interesting and here I am with just a shortened version of my *given* name. It's insulting. Gives me a complex."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea." the Major noted. "Military tradition holds that callsigns are usually granted by a pilot's squadron-mates, not picked by the pilot themselves. I've always hated "Spots". A few of us could probably do with new callsigns." He didn't mention that it was something that would certainly further squadron unity, and help create the very bond he was seeking.

"Can I…" From the back of the room, Nick "Dead Stick" Lofton raised his hand, but Corran immediately shot him down.

"No, Nick." he said immediately. "Stop crashing fighters, and you'll get a new callsign. Not before."

"Dammit."

"My call sign is a diminutive of my name," Angelienia purred, turning to the Trill woman. "But then 'Angel' sounds so much better than 'Pad' that I can't blame you there." She shrugged. "What do you want us to call you? Something specific, or," she smiled, "are you taking suggestions?"

Inara asked a question, "What's your most vivid memory since joining this squadron or a good story from flight school?" She was looking for something to trigger a brainstorming session on a new call-sign for Padma.

Corran very pointedly looked away from his old friend.

"Oh sure, Sarel. We could listen to Miss 'I have the same callsign as the best pilot in the SFFC' Inara," Anna Lewis snarked, rolling her eyes. Since joining the squadron, she'd been honing her powers of ridicule. It was the only way to get by in fighters. You had to talk the talk. Though walking the walk to back it up was important too. She concluded, "It has to be something original."

Inara didn't reply verbally, instead just sticking her tongue out at the younger Lewis.

Butting in a little bit, Arlen said, in his headstrong way, "Always did like Shocker, cuz I strike like lightening baby!"

The Major openly rolled his eyes at the young pilot's bravado. "So you're good, then." he chuckled.

"Sure he's good," Padma replied, with a small scoff, "but it's really more like static cling, Arlen."

Shocker had the good grace to look insulted for a moment, but then he seemed to decide the comment was a compliment.

Corran paused a moment, considering Pad's request - out of everyone, he probably knew her the best. "Pad, I think 'Medusa' would be a good one for you. Anyone else agree?"

"Medusa?" Padma asked, cocking an eyebrow. "That better not be a dig at my morning hair. Why Medusa?"

The Major shook his head. "When all else fails, go Greek. Though now that I think about it, 'Circe' might be more appropriate."

Pad snorted. "It'll do for now, then."

"Anyone else looking for a new callsign?" the CAG asked, turning his attentions back to the rest of the squadron.

Ember leaned further back in her seat as she folded her arms, a look of disinterest etched on her face. If they really wanted to get into the business of discussing trivialities like call signs, she also had an axe to grind with hers - Orphan. What the hell? She would have preferred something jazzier, something, when it came down to it, less… painful in its reminders.

But, unlike some of the others, she wasn't going to protest. If it was going to be 'Orphan', so be it. It proclaimed her independence, her cold and clean lack of attachments and her solitary efficiency.

Whatever. She couldn't wait for them to exhaust this topic to death.

It was about time.

Jen shook her head. For the moment, she was still good with Rockstar, having been christened so by Rex himself. She still looked at the pilot who had expressed the need for a new call sign with interest, trying to come up with idea that might work. Unfortunately, she was still unfamiliar with several of the pilots, Xiaz Padma being one of them.

As for Rex, too bad Casanova was so long. Or Don Juan, maybe that was a little more appropriate it. Maybe there was something in old Trill literature that could convey the same impression, that of a womanizer.

Jen smiled to herself. "You could always go with Casanova, Major." she teased.

Corran turned the name over in his mind. "I could live with that, in the absence of any other suggestions." he shrugged.

"No other suggestion," Padma replied, smirking, "but I'm not sure what you do is particularly Casanova-like."

"You'd know." some particularly barave soul murmered.

"Gel" pt 2

- Vanguard Squadron -

Major Corran "Casanova" Rex, Vanguard One (CO) Pat)
Pilot Anna "Natural" Lewis, Vanguard Two (Frank)
Pilot Arlen "Shocker" Willard, Vanguard Three (Andy)
Pilot Sarel "Phoenix" Inara, Vanguard Four (Cami)
Lieutenant Teyri "Rock Star" Jen, Vanguard Five (XO)(Becky)
Flight Officer Xiaz "Circe" Padma, Vanguard Six (Kate)
Pilot Ayden "Tater" O'Connor, Vanguard Seven (Robert B)
Pilot "Granite" Graan, Vanguard Eight (Randy)
Lieutenant "Fuzzball" Kettch, Vanguard Nine (SO) (Pat)
Pilot Ember "Orphan" Lansky, Vanguard Ten (Serene)
Flight Officer "Angel" Angelienia, Vanguard Eleven (Robert H)
Flight Officer Nick "Dead Stick" Lofton, Vanguard Twelve (NPC)

AWACS Runabout Crew (USS Mallorean)
Pilot "Pebbles" Niki, Vanguard Twelve (Kelly)
Pilot Paul DiMillo, Intelligence Liasion (Russ)

****

USS Galaxy
Deck 41
Pilot's Briefing Room

"Quiet, smartass. " Corran said quickly. "Smartasses." he corrected after only a moment.

Graan emitted a noise that sounded like an eerie cross between a laugh, a snort, and a grunt, and he leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Listen to you people, moaning and whining about your callsigns. 'Oh, mine isn't descriptive enough! Why don't I have enough of a personality so that people can come up ideas for something more memorable?'" he asked mockingly, his gruff voice taking on a high-pitched tone, or at least as close to high-pitched as he could do.

"At least people don't call you by a rather defamatory nickname derived from an alien creature that has no relation to your species outside of a few unfortunate physical similarities," the Tellarite rumbled, lifting his chin so that his deep-set eyes could see into everyone else's and swerving his head around to look at each pilot in the room. Finally he sniffed derisively and unceremoniously allowed himself to fall back into his chair, folding his hands over his belly.

"Oh, come off it, Graan. Like we humans don't get called 'pinkskin' or 'soft' by other species," Anna retorted. Graan's simultaneous air of self pity and superiority grated on her nerves. "If you'd like, Graan, you can follow me next time I walk around the civilian sector on starbase. If you want a new callsign, just ask and we'll give you one."

"We could call you 'Granite', play it off your name."

"And your stony, impenetrable exterior," Angelienia added with a laugh.

Graan harrumphed, and patted his belly. "As thickset as I may be, Angel, I would hesitate to describe myself as petrous," he replied, his tone surprisingly good-natured. He glanced over at Anna and raised a shaggy eyebrow, but declined to respond. Knowing his luck, if he came out and actually asked for a new callsign, they'd start calling him "Bacon" or "Curly" instead.

"I think you're outvoted, Granite." the Major chuckled, formally commissioning the Tellarite with his new name.

"Hey, Major?" Anna said, drawing Corran's attention. "I don't mean to be a bitch, but where the hell is Tate? I haven't seen so much as his trigger finger in the last couple of weeks. What's the story?"

Corran opened his mouth to reply, but then noted that he didn't have to.

As if destined by fate to come in at that very moment, the young Ayden Tate O'Connor came through the doors, still under the weather from that damn Risan virus he got before hooking up with the Galaxy. "Sorry I'm late..." he groaned, shifting over towards a free seat. At least most of the symptoms that had confined him to his quarters had passed for the last 30 days, leaving only a quantum headache in its wake.

"Tater!" Anna exclaimed, pleased to see the last member of the squadron. Having the entire group in one place made her feel better, if only because she felt that they were diminished when somebody wasn't there. "Sounds like we'll have to pry the story out of you at 'downtime' tonight."

Downtime was fighter jargon for relaxing, usually with alcohol, in ten-forward.

"Mr. O'Connor." Rex said politely. "Nice of you to join us. And the Doc's verdicts?"

"Cleared an hour ago Sir." He replied, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve the lingering pain. The last thing that gave him a headache this bad was a woman, although the same could probably be said about this one. Either way it was definitely that last time he ever visited the 'land of free-love' again. ~I should have stayed in China...~ He thought. "They said I should be feeling back up to 100% in a couple of days, I can't wait to get behind the cockpit again."

"Good to hear." the Trill replied.

O'Conner? Ember glanced up sharply, the confirmation that met her eyes causing a volcano of shock, consternation and disbelief to erupt from the pits of her stomach, choking her throat. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be… but there he was, fate mocking her with sadistic laughter. She clamped down on her lips, turning her head, and shielded her face from his gaze as she swallowed her surprise.

It was lucky she had mastered the art of concealing her emotions, and except for that brief moment when her guard was down, she wouldn't seem - to her squadron mates, to have lost her composure in the slightest.

"Hey. The last time I showed up after you, I received a stern talking to," Padma said, cocking a flirtatious smile and a gleaming eye in the Major's direction. Such a 'stern talking to' she almost couldn't sit down for a week... yeah, good times. "You're not playing favorites here, are you?"

"Tater gets a free pass this time." Corran replied. He, of course, knew the full story - it'd be up to the other pilots to wring it out of one of their most junior squad mates if they wanted to know themselves. "If he likes to kiss and tell, that's his business."

"I try not to..." Ayden replied with a small jovial grin before looking around the conference room. Now that he was off quarters there was a lot to catch up on, especially in regards to 'business' on board the Galaxy. He couldn't of course, ignore the growling sensation for a juicy triple cheeseburger, fully loaded. That would have to come next. "So what'd I miss?" He asked, sensing a very frustrated Grann.

Paulo had watched the whole thing go on, and figured he should have a callsign if he would be sitting in the cockpit of a runabout playing go between, but there was a time and place for everything, and this wasn't the time. They didn't know him yet, so for the tradition to hold true they would have to wait a bit before giving him one.

"New callsigns," Angelienia told him, working her way around the room with a finger naming off the newly-renamed squadron members. Once she finished, she glanced over at Corran, "And me about to ask how the split-duty system was working out. Is everyone managing the split between their two jobs all right? *I'm* not having a problem, but that doesn't mean that someone else might not be. Major? Guys?"

"I'm doing dandy with it. Not as much getting done, not as much sleeping," Anna shrugged, flicking an errant hair from her face. "But I'd still like to know why we're the only squad in the SFFC that has to put up with doing two jobs."

"Not the only ones," the Major admitted. "It comes down to a matter of utility and command preference. Captain M'Kantu prefers.. preferred it, and so does Captain Henderson. At the moment, so do I. If for no other reason than it keeps you lot out from under my feet all the time." When no one else commented, Corran moved on to the next item on his docket. "All right, here's the part you all hate, sim rankings...

"Head Up In The Clouds"

Captain Cassius Henderson, Commanding Officer

Commander Kol, Executive Officer

with... (unauthorized)
Lieutenant Doctor Kimberly Burton, Chief Medical Officer
Lieutenant JG T'Pol '8-ball' Hunter, Chief Science Officer
Lieutenant JG Cameron Bartlett, Operations Officer
Ensign Nieca Rey'ol, Assistant Chief Tactical Officer
Ensign Elijah Faraal, Flight Controller

****

Main Bridge,
Deck 1,
USS Galaxy

Stretching his back until it popped, Cameron Bartlett found his mind wandering off, helped along by the beauty of the cosmos that was laid bare before him. He'd traveled amongst the stars for many years now, but never had he been out this far on the fringe, into the Typhon Expanse. Oh, he'd been briefed on what to possibly expect here, being an unstable region of quantum irregularities and all.

Usually, during his shift, he'd be fielding expenditure requests from virtually every area of the ship, and had prepared for a rise in communications as a result of their location. Everything from supply requisitions to computer time, to maintenance scheduling. With all that, he still managed to analyze, categorize, organize, and finalize all work orders into manageable areas, and assign them to those personnel in Operations administration they needed to go to.

He expected sciences to demand the usually un-needed sensor array power to analyze every mote of data that came through, but they didn't. He expected personnel quarter requests to filter through with the new transfers causing the usual friction, but those didn't. He expected Intel to request long-range sensor use exclusively, but they didn't. He never even got the usual civilian problem of over-extending their energy ration allotment in the holodecks and recreation lounges.

Without turning around, he pretended to be engrossed in the scores of data that scrolled across his display, but instead focused on the reflection of the deck behind him. Commander Kol paced back and forth on the upper section, Nieca Rey'ol just barely tolerating his eternal inquiries and seemingly never-ending questions. Even the Vulcan/Human woman at sciences looked ready to pounce; everyone was so tense around the Klingon commander. Then he realized it.

Kol's reputation had made it around the ship. People weren't demanding resources from him because they were afraid to.

Cameron shook his head minutely to shake the daydreaminess out, and returned to admiring the colorful stellar clouds they passed through.

It is when his console began emitting a series of short beeps that he snapped out of his reverie.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Kol barked out the order, but was halfway to the ops station before he even finished it. Bartlett hadn't even been able to respond before the XO got to him.

"We're on approach to a gas cloud that's not transmitting the usual readings, sir."

"Onscreen." Kol barked. He then addressed the science officer without turning to face her. "Lieutenant Hunter! An explanation is in order."

8-Ball nearly jumped at the bellow, but in reality, it felt good to have the elastic tension in her back finally snap. Maybe the big man would finally turn his attention elsewhere when he was done with her.

"Typically, a gas cloud would emit trace gases, nitrogen, oxygen, varying degrees of radiation, but..." he fingers danced across the terminal, accelerating through varying scan cycles. Cameron saw an experiment in stellar cartography go kaput as its power was shunted to 8-balls' station. He wasn't about to field that one right now.

"But WHAT, Lieutenant?!" the big Klingon growled.

"This cloud is emitting regular tachyon and dechyon waves. There is no known natural source of both simultaneously. Radiation levels are higher than average, as well. If we go in, lethal exposure will result in less than two hours."

"Could this have killed the crew on the Hydran pod?"

"Unknown. Medical hasn't filed their report yet."

"Unacceptable! Helm, continue on course through the drift. Full impulse only."

Bartlett swung himself around to face the Klingon. "Sir! Sensors will be inoperable!"

"Are you questioning Admiral Proctor's orders, Lieutenant?" Kol snorted, and then let out a bark of laughter. "I would not blame you if you did, but she is our... 'superior', after all."

"No, sir, only providing pertinent data for an informative decision."

"So, I'm not informed?!" Kol folded his arms across his chest, his teeth bared in what could be a look of hungry confrontation. The ops officer gulped, but shut up knowing what was good for him. To be honest, he was just messing with the tiny human. But then, these humans wouldn't know a good joke if it tried to swipe their mek'leth. Why, among Klingons, Kol was considered to be a consummate comedian.

"I really didn't take you for an expert in spatial phenomena, Kol." Cassius Henderson walked briskly down from the ready room, coming to stand directly in front of the command chair. He examined the viewscreen, dominated by the rapidly approaching gas cloud. "What do we have, Miss Hunter?"

"Unknown gas cloud lying directly on the path of the Hydran escape pod," 8-ball reported, "The cloud is emitting an abnormal amount of radiation. Should we enter it, sensors will likely go offline, and radiation will reach lethal levels in less than two hours."

"Such a charming place," Cass deadpanned, as the chaotic cloud drew relentlessly closer. The options weren't every good. Expose his crew to potentially deadly radiation in a race both to the other side and against the clock, or return to face Proctor's wrath and perhaps only delay the inevitable.

Not much of a choice at all. "Take us in, Mister Faraal. Bartlett, divert power to radiation shields and impulse engines. Call Doctor Burton and let her know what we're doing. Let's be about it."

"Aye, sir. I'll have to divert power from the warp drive to give us more resolution on the scanners. No guarantees of results, though." Nodding to Faraal, who had wisely remained silent throughout the interchange, the older man awaited the CO's acknowledgement, which came in the form of a quick nod before Kol could interject.

Using maneuvering thrusters at first, the Galaxy glided into the mass of roiling tendrils that licked at the shields like a hungry beast. The viewscreen shimmered with each energy surge, casting lightning electricity across the saucer horizon.

"Maximize impulse speeds to get us through as quickly as possible, Lieutenant," Cassius sat down, though his eyes never left the whirling abyss on the viewscreen. "Keep track of our progress to warp us out of here if radiation reaches lethal levels."

"I'll leave a trail of breadcrumbs, sir."

"Good plan," Cass laughed, before using the monitor next to his chair to call medical. "Henderson to Burton, we're entering a section of gaseous cloud that's putting off an abnormally large amount of radiation. We're taking precautions to avoid being in here for more than the estimated two hours before lethal dosage, but I want you to place sickbay on standby, to be safe."

[Aye, sir. I'll organize evacuation to the shelters. It should give us another few minutes of time if we need it. Burton out.]

Cassius closed the monitor and stood back up. Maybe it was the years of shifts spent standing at the tactical arch, or maybe it was restlessness. In either case, he'd never really gotten used to sitting when he was on the bridge. "Bartlett, do we have an estimate for how big this cloud is?"

"Sensors can't penetrate far enough to give even an approximation, sir."

"Thank you, Mister Bartlett. We'll give it an hour and a half, and then we leave," Cass decided. Orders or not, he wasn't going to leave his crew exposed to radiation for no other reason than to take the easy route to assuaging Proctor's concerns. There had to be a safer way. "Keep the sensors focused on the warp trail wake."

[Warning: Lethal exposure in 115 minutes] Another mauve flare erupted across the forward shields as the computer announced its morbid countdown. Cass ran a calloused thumb across his chin as he stared out the viewscreen. Kol was back at his station, running through emergency protocols and routines. Everyone kept to themselves for the next hour.

****

Eighty minutes later...

[Warning: Lethal exposure in 35 minutes]

Everyone on the bridge had a sheen of sweat glazed over their features. They were cutting it close. The viewscreen was still snowed over with a spectrum of color that still revealed nothing. Nothing has changed since they entered the nebula. The warp trail was still strong, but drifting due to cosmic wake. Lt. Hunter had been able to compensate and filter out the tachyons that threatened to break down the evidence, but still, it was like following a certain drop of water amongst dozens through mosaic. You take your eyes off it for one second, and you've lost it.

"Captain," Hunter's voice was the first one besides the computer's to break the silence of the last hour. "I believe we're coming to the fringe. The nebula chemical makeup is beginning to dissipate."

"And the warp trail?"

"It's stronger now. That shouldn't be right. Even without the tachyons breaking down the compounds, the age of the trail should be spread across thousands of kilometers."

"That's because the pod's warp trail is interposed with at least two others, Lieutenant." Both Kol and Cass turned in their seats to the Caitian tactical officer above them.

Cass looked at her expectantly, waiting for more information. The idea was good, but without being able to separate the patterns, it was far from conclusive.

"There's still too much interference, sirs. All I can gather is three distinct patterns." Her brows furrowed together as something came up on her console.

"Cross reference what you do have with the drive trace charts in the database," Cass ordered, though hopefully Rey'ol has already begun to do so herself.

"One is registering as a quantum singularity." She looked up at the two. "Romulan."

"Rihannsu, Lieutenant. Don't let our allies hear you say it that way. They consider it rascist," he replied, then swiftly changed the subject back to the matter at hand. "What about the other one."

Without hesitation, she bent her head back to the tactical display. "The other one seems to be fusion-based. I can't tell. I've never seen its like before. Cross referencing with the database."

"Captain, we're clearing the perimeter of the nebula. Short-range sensors are coming back online." Cam sent the sensors into a short diagnostics routine to verify their integrity.

"We're being scanned, Captain."

"Do we have a point of origin?" Cass snapped his head back around to look at Rey'ol. He was going to have whiplash if this kept up.

Nieca shook her head. "I can't locate the source. Long-range sensors are inoperative."

"We're out of the cloud. That should be clearing up," he frowned, then glanced at the bridge engineer. "Engineering."

Dhanishta Eshe spoke up. "The nebula must've jammed up the sensors. I'll get on it right away, Captain."

"Planetary object directly ahead!" The viewscreen almost instantaneously cleared up to reveal the enormity of a dark planet immediately ahead of them.

Without waiting for orders, Faraal reacted with an emergency maneuver that sent the officers standing teetering until the inertial dampeners could catch up. The commsystem erupted with reports, drowned out by the emergency klaxon.

"Evasive maneuvers, now!" Cass shouted, a split second late. He couldn't avoid gasping as the image on the screen became suddenly very well defined. Blundering out of the nebula, the Galaxy was now bound on a collision course with not only the planet, but a D'Deridex-Class Warbird and a Hydran vessel similar to the one that the Galaxy had confronted over Mirusa VI.

The ship was rent downwards as the Zalkonian forced her against the planet's atmosphere to bounce off and under the planet to avoid a collision with either ship. After sailing off away from the planet, the ship settled into its dampeners and leveled off.

"Damage report," Cassius spat out as he used the stability of the command chair to pull himself to his feet. The inertial dampeners had glitched momentarily as they hit, leaving him sprawled on the deck, facedown. He brushed off his uniform and rubbed a sore jaw as he surveyed the bridge.

"Minor damage to structural integrity along the starboard nacelle, several dozen injuries, no fatalities, an induced labor, and minor stresses on decks 12 through 17. No hull breaches." Nieca didn't even look like she had moved from her station as others were busy picking up chairs and tending to injuries, broken equipment, and each other.

"Yeoman, page medical and have them tell Ensign Eckart that I wish her a smooth delivery," Cass called then turned back toward Bartlett. He was about to tell the Operations Officer to open communications with the Rihannsu ship when Bartlett beat him to it.

"Incoming transmission from the planet's surface, Captain. We're being hailed."

"Put it on-screen, Mr. Bartlett." Even as Cass was brushing himself off, another gasp escaped the lips of someone on the bridge as the person appeared on the viewscreen before.

[Greetings, Starfleet vessel. Welcome to the home planet of the Free Jem'Hadar of the Beta Quadrant. My name is Goran'Agar and we would be honored if you would join us here on the surface to discuss opening diplomatic relations.] The deepset cartilage and grey screen of a Jem'Hadar soldier nodded towards them, raising his arms in an inviting gesture.

"And we would be honored to accept, Goran'Agar," Cassius replied, nodding in response. Only the years of careful practice kept his face from showing the shock concealed behind his reply.

"...provided that we work out a few of the details first."

Raynor's Standard Issue Day

Ensign Zev Raynor 'Intelligence' Officer

05:30 - Wake Up / Breakfast

Raynor raised his head; he didn't even have to open his eyes... he slept with those open... he was a light sleeper, he didn't snore, and he usually only got in cat naps... a combination of these traits made him, or any other Ronin, difficult to sneak up on even when they were sleeping... it also made it impossible for them dream... or so he thought...

This was the first time he could remember having images, and sounds in his head while he was supposedly sleeping... It was also the first time the alarm woke him up that he could remember. He usually beat the damn thing to the punch... correction he usually punched the damn thing for being a second too slow... which was the wall... because he didn't own an alarm clock.

But he was actually groggy... almost like a bad hang over, but he hadn't touched any drinks last night... he knew that by the fact there wasn't puke all over the place...

The funny thing is... it wasn’t your stand issue dream either... It was as boring as fuck. He ended up listening to an engineer and an Ops officer complain about a slew of technical problems they where still experiencing after the Dithparu... WHO THE HELL DREAMS THAT?

He got out of bed, and replicated himself a combat ration... random music was playing in the background... morning snack and then his daily morning workout in the gym... He touched his forearms... weight braces were attached to both of them... adding about 60 lbs. to each arm that he would have to deal with throughout the day... It was an old but effective training technique that got you stronger over time through out your everyday routine... he also braces attached to his legs which were about 100 lbs. each...

As he began to bite into the combat ration, he looked around the room... there was almost nothing special about it... in fact it almost looked like it hadn't been used. His duffle still had most of his possessions in it.

There was only one picture posted up, a small coffee table in the middle that was placed over one rug… the coffee table is where he set his laptop as well as a bullet with his name carved into it... there was a matt that served his purposes for sleeping... the message was simple to anyone who entered the room. He was a simple man. But there was underlying message that you would never get unless you visited him on a daily basis... the rug, the picture, and the table changed on daily basis... he was a simple man who exposed himself to many things...

While eating, he usually tried to figure out the meaning of life the universe and everything... Raynor gave up after about 3 seconds, finishing his combat ration...

He then changed the furniture, recycling the old into the new stuff, then he to jog to the gym. He didn’t need to change he slept in his uniform most of the time, anyways... He couldn't book the Holodeck everyday, and it was unwise to expose himself to the kind of training that really pushed him on a daily basis anyways...

06:00 - Work Out

Laps, weights, one arm push-ups, crunches, medicine ball, lift the weight machine a few times if no one is around, training his body to lift those heavy awkwardly shaped objects when he would need to. His best time was only ten seconds; he would need to work on that...

He always hated these types of workouts; because they were damned repetitive... he needed to get a sparring partner... or something... that wouldn't snap like a twig... He didn’t have his old Hazard Team buddies to spar with who could keep up with him.

He'd get over it eventually... actually he was kind of surprised the commander of this ship’s Hazard team hadn’t approached him yet... He was after all the executive officer of the old ship... Oh well...

Raynor was greatful he hadn't come up with anything for a solid radio show yet... he was stalling so it wouldn't have to become part of his routine...

07:30 - Wander

Get lost, stumble around the ship and wind in places he has no business being... hearing about many of the on goings of the ship, whether it be technical information, or gossip...

Raynor was particular surprise this morning. His dream was actually accurate information to what was happening within the ship... This was weird...

09:00 - Report for Duty

Raynor was back in his quarters, smoking a bong full of Fruitloops, and put on a movie on his laptop...

11:30 - Show everyone who’s the REAL Boss

Raynor called into work to tell the Department Head that, he was smoking a bong full of Fruitloops, and watching a movie. "I'll be in at 13:00, if I feel like it, and if not I'll most likely be in after 15:00 for a piece of cake for the fat chick's birthday thingie."

After all you can't take shit from someone just because you work for them...

11:35 - Receive Reprimand / Visit Hell

Have a nice little chat face to face with one's department head about protocol and showing up on time and over all discipline... and by chat it generally said to be on the receiving end of a one sided verbal assault, while observing one's steel toe boots which only vaguely looked like standard issue footwear... resisting the urge to smile... concluding with a vigorous nodding of the head... having drag one's own lazy carcass into the office area taking the desk closest to the door... after all he wanted to make it appear that he wanted out of there in a big BIG hurry...

He really needed to get on programming in his own theme song for his entrances...

12:00 - Lunch

Raynor ordered Chinese for lunch from Ten-forward, and wander in to co-worker's cubicle... and point at the picture on his desk and loudly ask, "WHO'S THE CUNT?!" Receive several strong words afterwards...

After finishing lunch he made a point of getting around to actually working...

12:30 - Slave Away

Much like the academy... despite the amount of the time Raynor spent goofing off, once he got down to something... it was done in no time, and not a half assed job either... somehow, he was able to produce perfect results in half the time... it was a mystery to many of his co-workers... even his Department Head couldn’t complain about the actual product, despite all his other bad habits...

Not that there was a lot to do in Intelligence on anyone given day for Raynor, analyse this once and a while, or receive a report from some far off contact, but most of that which he received never concerned this ship directly so it just meant passing on the information over to the high ups... His telepathic abilities were the main reason he was forced into the position, so unless someone had recently died within his range, which was long, he was essentially an extra piece of meat...

15:10 - Fat Chick’s Birthday Thingie

Raynor stepped into the office quietly, everyone staring at him, especially the woman he had insulted, her eye now narrow slits sending bad vibes in his general direction. All of them had heard his comment over the comm. He slowly picked up one of the pieces of cake and stuffed into his mouth chewing slowly... he raised a thumb to show it was good and smiled, though it wasn’t helping... he left as quietly as he had entered...

15:15 - Back to Slaving Away

Work he hated it... he started playing a random selection of music loudly as he banged away at his desk...

17:00 - RUN AWAY

Raynor literally ran out of work like a little kid... he went to Ten-Forward catching a bite to eat there, and maybe chatting with one or two people really creeping them out...

18:00 - Wandering Again

More ship wide wandering/information gathering... looking like the bumbling idiot with absolutely no sense of direction along the way... covering different areas than he was able to during the morning...

19:45 - Shower / Personal Log

Self-explanatory...

20:00 - Video Games

Many would call this wasting away in front outdated technology... and on some level it was, but at the same time a lot of game actually allowed him to cope better with ship-to-ship combat scenarios, getting his mind used to keeping track of a billion things on the screen at once, and somehow, whether it be through his skill at the games (which was substantial) or luck finding victory and high scores.

22:00 - Light Reading

He flipped through an old playboy magazine. He only read it for the articles.

22:40 - Movies

He popped in another movie... sat down and began to watch... and talk to the movie as was his custom... commenting on the obvious stupid of several of the characters...

00:00 - Think about sleep

I'm getting sleepy, so very sleepy... wait a slightly pornographic moment in the movie is coming up, never mind...

01:20 - Sleep

He turned off the laptop, and went to bed... briefly wondering, if he should just stop the façade... before losing consciousness only to repeat the same basic cycle the next morning...

"Right Enough For For Now"

Corran Rex
Ella Grey

---------------------------------------
Rex's Quarters Fighter Country, Deck 41
-------------------------------------

It was decidedly weird, Ella Grey thought as she walked to Corran's quarters. The other night had been good. Fantastic really, she thought with a smile that soon spread into a large stupid grin. But afterwards it had definitely been awkward between them and now she was left with that inevitable question of what came next.

This had never been a concern with her other one night stands, which left her to wonder if it really had been a one night stand because it sure as hell hadn't felt like one.

But then again, Ella thought with an instant frown, maybe he felt different. Or maybe he felt the same. Or maybe he was just as confused as she was.

And then there was still Victor. Always Victor. And therein lay the guilt.

She probably should have knocked but it would probably have felt even weirder. So Ella just strolled in and wondered what she'd find.

For once, Corran wasn't doing anything odd. He was imply stretched out on his couch, reading a PADD. Judging by the fact that he was still only wearing his pajama pants, today had been his day off in the duty rotation.

He looked up, and was warmed to see that it was Ella who had entered. "Well, hey." he said warmly, repositioning himself to sit up on the couch.

Ella waved a hello.

"So..." he started, and became uncomfortably aware that he wasn't wearing a shirt. After a moment of looking around - and seeing that there weren't any in this part of his quarters - he gave up, and settled for extending a hand to offer her a seat on the couch. "What's up?" he asked.

"I just wanted to talk."

"Oh - you want a drink or anything?" he finally said, as the the sense of discomfort seemed to grow more pronounced.

"No thank you." Ella said trying to not notice that he wasn't wearing a shirt as. It was distracting - but in a good way."

"Right.." he trailed.

She tried to think of something to talk about other than the obvious, the depressing, or the stupid. It didn't leave her with very much to say. "Corran, I..."

"Oh, hell." he cursed, finally getting off the couch. "This is stupid, Ella."

Ella raised her eyebrows and gestured at both of them.

"No, not us. We're not stupid." he clarified. "I mean this.. uncomfortableness. We're both legally consenting adults - there's absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, right?"

"Right." She said. Ella wasn't sure if she meant it though.

"Right." he confirmed. "I mean, so what if you've been carrying a torch for an emotional cripple and I've been bouncing from one bed to another ever since my last relationship ended. None of that means we can't make this work if we care enough about each other, right?"

A smile flickered across her lips. "Are you saying you're done bed-bouncing for awhile?"

Corran stopped. Was that what he was saying? Was that what she was offering? Was it right? The Trill wasn't sure about any of that, but he knew that, right now at least, Ella made him happy. She filled a hole in him that had needed filling.

It was as good a place to start as any. "I think I am, yeah." he replied. "That is, if you..?"

"Yeah." She said softly. Corran wasn't Victor but she cared about him. Hell, maybe she even loved him.. just differently. Ella sighed. "But..."

"But?"

"I still love him, Corran." She said. "I can't..."

"Hey," he said quietly, kneeling in front of her seat on the couch, and taking her small hands in his own. At times like this he was very much aware of how small and petite she was, and much bigger he was. Some ancient instinct made him want to protect her, fix her...

But then a part of him wanted some to fix him, too. "Look, Ella." he said quietly. "I get how you feel for Victor. I really do. But deep down, we both know you're never going to get what you want from him. And I'm not perfect either. Ancestors know, I've got more than my own share of problems. We're both damaged. But maybe, just maybe, we're what the other needs to.. fix ourselves. Isn't that worth a shot?"

It would have been easier to joke, sign, or nod in response but Ella Grey said instead that it was. She leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips to seal the deal and because he had such kissable lips.

He couldn't have hoped for a better answer. He didn't offer one verbally to her, but instead, just returned her kiss, and pulled her tight to him.

"I hope not all of you is damaged." Ella said then.

"Hey, I might be two thousand years old, but this body's much younger - and a helluva lot more functional."

Things had progressed quite nicely from that point when, at the most awkward possible moment, the ship's red alert and collision alarms went off.

"Son of a bitch." they muttered in unison.

"To Sleep, Perchance To Dream"

Principal Characters

Captain Daren M'Kantu

Dr. June M'Kantu

****

DS5
Deck 27
Main Brig

The dream was clichéd, perhaps, but he had always welcomed it.

The desert seemed to radiate with that heat. He wiped the sweat from his brow, about to go back inside to where it was cool, to where his daughter was no doubt playing with her dolls or trying to take apart the replicator, when something caught his eye.

As before, as always, he stopped to look and then could only stare as the shimmering figure slowly approached, the mirage turned to flesh, until her hands gently held his face. She opened her mouth to speak...

"Captain M'Kantu?" A nasal voice came over the comm. "You've got a visitor to see you."

Daren opened his eyes and frowned. It was several hours before his counsel was due to appear, and there was no one else on the station that he thought would be willing to risk the Admiral's wrath and petty - or not so petty - revenge to stop by the Brig and see him. "By all means," he said, sitting up and reaching for his uniform jacket. "Send them in."

"To think," June said as she entered the room briskly."They actually told me that you couldn't see any visitors, as if you were being held like some criminal. What is this idiocy?"

"The Admiral believes that I am... dangerously unstable," Daren answered standing up and straightening his tunic. "Securing me here is her way of ensuring that I cannot hurt anyone on the station." He shook his head. "What are you doing here, June?"

"Dangerously unstable?" June snorted. "Yes, I can see that you're slipping into insanity by the moment." She turned to the Brig guard. "You can leave."

The man began to state all the regulations as to why he couldn't but she stopped him with one look. Defeated the man turned away. Daren was faintly amused.

"I'm going to go to the press corps and tell them all about Olivia Proctor." June snapped. "Pompous little twit. The universe can know all about mental stability and its lack thereof when I get through with her."

"No," Daren shook his head. "Don't do that, June. It'll just make things worse." He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Why did you come? You know you hate being this far out on the Frontier."

The anger in her face softened. "I'm here for you, Daren. Of course."

Of course. Just like he'd be there for her, no matter what. He understood that now, understood what family really meant... but it had cost him too much to learn. "You need to go, June. This isn't a good place for you to be."

"Nonsense." June replied. "If you don't wish me to speak to the press then I won't but I won't leave you to wait in this cell all by yourself." Her eyes flashed angrily. "When I get my hands on that woman.."

"June..." Daren weighed his choices for a moment, and finally decided that he had to tell his wife - ex-wife - the truth. Nothing else would stand a chance of making an impression. "We're being recorded, June. She's going to see and hear everything that happens here... and act on it. She's petty, vindictive, and will, no matter what the outcome of this hearing, add you to the list of individuals that she considers enemies. Don't make it worse than it's already going to be." He sighed. "Please?"

It took a moment for her to be calm enough to answer but then she nodded. "All right, I will refrain from further comments about the Admiral. But I will visit you every day that they hold you in here." She sat down on his bunk.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly. "What are people going to say? You've got your career to think about."

She arched her brows. "We're a little old to be groping in the brig, Daren. And as this has already been recorded, I see no harm in continue to visit my husband."

"Ex-husband, June," Daren said, trying to keep the sadness he felt at the words out of his voice. No matter what, no matter if he referred to her as his wife in conversation, or if he still felt the same way bout her, that was true... and his fault.

She frowned. "Did I say husband?" June shrugged. "Well, old habits die hard, I guess. Quit being foolish and sit by me, Daren."

Daren nodded once and took a seat. “How’s my ship doing? I haven’t seen her since I transferred over to the station for this hearing.”

"Good. Although you have a very abrasive Klingon as first officer at the moment. Very uncooperative over the channel."

“Klingons frequently are,” Daren observed. “They do much better face-to-face as a rule. Henderson’s a good man though; he’ll take care of her for me while this mess is sorting itself out – and possibly after.”

His ex wife scowled but remembered that she was supposed to behave herself. "I'm sure he's a very competent officer. Unlike certain admirals I could name."

Well, no one was perfect.

“June,” Daren cautioned. “I meant what I said.” He shook his head. “My counsel is due to arrive in a few hours – I thought that you were them arriving early, actually. Once they get here, there’s a chance that this absurd confinement will be canceled and I can actually see the charges she’s leveled against me.”

"Well, that's something at any rate," she snorted.

“I thought that I ought to stick to hoping for things that were within reason with regards to this,” Daren nodded. “Much as I might like to wave a hand and make it go away, that’s not going to happen.”

"You were always too practical for your own good, Daren." June said and then looked at him critically. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

Daren decided that ‘since we divorced’ wasn’t a good answer, and went with, “Not for a while now.”

"Why don't you try and get some rest now?" June said gently. "It would do you some good, I think."

“I suspect,” Daren said with a shake of his head, “that the thing which would do me the most good is one of the things that a good person wouldn’t pray to Allah for.” Allah was not, the last time Daren had checked, in the business of delivering divine thunderbolts on demand, no matter how deserving the target.

June smiled. "May Allah forgive your wicked thoughts. Come on Dar, rest for awhile. You've earned it, I should say."

“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded after a moment. “Just wake me when my counsel arrives. I want to get started on this as soon as possible – I want it over and done with, one way or the other.”

"I will." She said in a soft voice, watching her ex-husband as he lay down on the bunk. "Rest now."

Daren closed his eyes and let the smell of June’s perfume, the knowledge of her presence, lull him into sleep in a minute or two, the sense of *rightness* he’d lost when they’d separated back, if only for a time.

This time, when he dreamed, nothing stopped the image of his wife from kissing him.

OOC: Takes place before the red alert/yellow alert, obviously. :)

"Redefining Fun, Part 1"

Lieutenant Teyri Jen FO
Xiaz Padma (PCC, Kate)

*****

Jen sat in ten-forward, sipping on her drink. She was in the corner, away from all of the action, but content to simply sit back and watch everything going on around her. There was a game of some sorts going on three tables over - something that seemed to involve a lot of cursing and jumping up in the air - and a group of Vanguards catty-corner to her,a cross the room. They were loud, as pilots generally got to be when they were off duty and drinking. She debated briefly on going to join them, but stayed where she was. She was feeling pretty mellow at the moment, and mellow and raucous conversation didn't usually make very good play mates.

Xiaz Padma was laughing as she moved away from the group, her gently curved form sheathed in silky off-duty civvies, her face creasing gently, her head thrown back, her hair falling in shiny curls down her back. She was a beautiful, sexy woman, and she certainly knew it: it was evident in the way she moved across the room, toward the bar, which she leaned against and ordered a drink with a subtle wink of her eye and whisper from her full, bee-stung lips.

She took the glass and sipped it as she looked across the room, surveying the area. Her eyes rested on the table in the back where Teyri Jen sat, still dressed in her uniform, watching in almost melancholic manner. Might as well change that.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Xiaz questioned, sea-blue eyes sparkling under the lights. "Sitting here on your own like that. Have I taught you nothing since we became partners?"

"What are you talking about? I'm right where I want to be at the moment, thank you very much," Jen replied, taking another sip from her glass.

The new flight assignments were recent, and she was still having to get acclimated to her new wingman. In the cockpit, it wasn't a problem. The other woman was a good pilot, knew how to fly, all that good stuff. It was off the clock that was taking the adjustment. Xiaz was a joined Trill, one that had been around for quite some time, and she seemed to have taken it on herself to introduce Jen to the "joys of the city", as it were. While an easy going girl, Jen wasn't necessarily one to shove herself into the limelight (something she didn't necessarily have in common with most other pilots that she knew) and didn't always like to be in a group of people. Once Xiaz learned that Jen had grown up on farm...

It had been... interesting, to say the least.

"Farm girl," she said, "we have to get you off the fence, get your feet dirty, face smudged a little. When was the last time you got any?"

Jen cocked an eyebrow at her. "A week after the last time you asked me, nosy."

Xiaz arched an eyebrow in a mirror-image. "We have got to do something about that.

"So, have you ever just sat and watched people? Watched how they interact, what the say, what they don't say, things like that?" Jen asked the other woman curiously.

Xiaz wrinkled her nose as she followed her wingman's gaze. "Sure," she said. "My most boring host. He loved it. I was trapped in that man for something like... 98 years, and I'm not even exaggerating. By the end I was trying to figure out how to take over and skewer myself with a fork." She sighed. "We can't do anything else? Nothing? We have to sit here and watch them?"

Jen chuckled. "Well, *we* don't have to do anything, but yes. That's all I'm going to do. Sit here. Watch. Listen. Sit back. You might enjoy it for once."

Xiaz sighed, heavily, exaggeratedly, but settled down in her chair, leaning against a propped up hand, her elbow on the table. She tried to see what they saw. The part of her that was or had been or continued to be Azadvam loved it but the bulk of her pasts hated it. Xiaz shifted her weight and drummed her fingers. She was about to say something when Jen cut her off.

"Can you not sit still for even thirty seconds?" Jen asked, in mock exasperation.

"I'll tell you a little story," Xiaz said. "I trained as a scientist. White lab coat, the whole deal. I specialized in nanoparticles. So... I pretty much spent twenty hours a day working with the latest high-powered microscopes on Trill and Vulcan and other places trying to figure out how to make better high-powered microscopes so that we could better understand these little doo-dads that could, potentially, change the way the universe is not only thought of, but traveled, experienced, and understood. Twenty hours a day, every day. I had a lot of patience. Not a lot of fun, really. It took a while to lose my virginity, I was so consumed in these little things... But then, a few years before I got joined, I looked up for a moment, at the stars actually, and I thought you know, maybe, maybe there's something more. You see, Jen. I did my time, sitting still. As Xiaz, and, certainly as Padma. Seriously -- ninety-something years with a guy who did the equivalent of a Sunday trip around the System every moment of his life. He moved at his own speed, in his own little world, drove me mad. I'm not a fighter "joke" just because there are no other options for me. Because I wasn't smart enough or social enough or because I had something to prove to someone. Or hell. Even because I pompously need to stroke my own ego with very little to back it up with, though that's always fun... I do this because the scenery's nice to look at and they let me blow things up. Who could really turn that down?"

Xiaz looked at her wingman with a wide toothy grin. "Can I sit still for thirty seconds? Sure. Do I really want to? There's so much more out there, and let me tell you, from someone who's on life number 14 right now? Life's short. Experience everything you can, now."

Various responses ran through Jen's head as she studied her wingmate. It seemed that she was chanting a mantra that Jen had been hearing ever since she left Veldas. 'Life's short, so enjoy it,' was what it came down to, the same thing that Xiaz was telling her now.

Why did it seem so hard for people to understand that she could still enjoy life at something less then a frenetic pace? She could sit back, enjoy the show, and still not have any regrets when her time was up. She didn't have to screw everything in sight, drink everything within arm's reach, and constantly court danger every time she left the hangar in her fighter, and still live a good life. Just because it didn't seem to be the one that they were happy with...

Jen sighed internally, and set down her glass. "Fine," she said, with a wave of her hand. "You win. Let's 'experience' life. You, me, right now, tell me what we're gonna do."

Xiaz screwed her mouth to the side for a moment, forehead creasing.

"Aw. You know what. It looks like all the good ones are gone. At least all the ones I haven't already gone round with. So. Unless you want to take me home, I guess you need to buy me a drink and suddenly become interesting. Because since we shoved off, there's nothing entertaining, anywhere. Except the holodeck. And that can just be a bore." Xiaz sighed. "See. You got me talking and we missed all the opportunities." She looked at Jen again. "What, exactly, is your whole philosophy? With everything? Are you the abstinence only type? You have to be in love? Do you even drink, or is that club soda?"

Jen looked insulted. "Of course I drink, just in moderation. I don't feel the need to get blindingly drunk every night of the week. Once a week, maybe. I happen to be drinking something that was introduced to me by a friend at the Academy, a guy named Patrick. He absolutely swore by them. Something called a 'Long Island Ice Tea'. He never could fully explain the name to me, but there ya go." Jen lifted up the drink and saluted Xiaz with it before taking a long swallow and finishing off the remaining liquid. "Which I now seem to be out of."

"Hence why you should get up and get us more drinks! I'll try it, make it extra strong."

Jen stood with a chuckle to head over to the bar, and then eyed Xiaz. "You are going to be a very bad woman tonight and make me forget about everything I just said, aren't you?"

Xiaz's round grey-blue eyes widened a little in a, who me? fashion. "Everything you just said, what? I already forgot about it..."

Jen shook her head and went to go get the drinks. Ah, well, perhaps in wouldn't be so bad to put on a 'Xiaz-mask', as it were, every once in a while. At least then she'd have some stories to tell above and beyond the whole 'fighter-pilot' thing.

"Redefining Fun, Part 2"

Lieutenant Teyri Jen FO
Xiaz Padma (PCC, Kate)

*****

When her wingmate reappeared, Xiaz took a careful sip. "That's not half bad. Not that strong though." She winked at Jen. "Seriously. What's your deal? We fly together and don't know anything about each other."

"That what happens when you build up a tolerance," Jen quipped. She could hold the glass back six inches from her face and almost get knocked out, just by the smell of the alcohol. "What do you mean, what's my deal? Elaborate, and perhaps in return it can be story hour."

"I don't know. Who are you. What makes you, you? Aren't we supposed to do this? We're female. I'm still trying to get used to it, but I tell you I spent over 600 years wanted to understand girl-talk and I've yet to really experience it."

"Well, yeah, I guess this could qualify as girl talk, but you seem to be wanting to jump right to the end of the conversation and just have me upload my entire brain, complete with history, feelings, and nuances of conversation, into you so that you can know what makes me, me. You have to work your way up to it. Ask a specific question, then get more generalized as you go. For example, you've only been, what, bonded, or whatever, to a male Trill before now?"

"Yeah, I kinda do better with men," she muttered. "I know what they want. Okay -- what was your family like?"

"Well, I don't remember my birth family very much, but my adopted family is... good. Real calm, understanding. Peaceful," Jen replied, with a pointed look at the other woman. "They didn't really understand why I wanted to leave Veldas and go to Starfleet, but they supported me because it's what I wanted to do." She took a sip of her drink. "I'm not actually like them very much. My mother was constantly shaking her head at me because I could never settle down to anything."

"Never settle down to anything, huh?" Xiaz questioned. "Maybe she doesn't know you very well. I've noticed that's a rather... common theme. Women and their mothers."

"No, she wasn't trying to force me into anything, or something like that. I would tell one week that it was my greatest ambition to be, oh... a farmer. She'd get me books and set aside part of the garden for my own personal use. I'd plant half the garden, read one of the books, and then get bored with it. Then I'd announce that my greatest ambition was to be a dancer, so she'd enroll me in what little dance classes were offered in my settlement. She'd try, but I'd lose interest. She was always right there, cheering me on, though. Her and my father both."

"My second child was like that," Xiaz said, nodding. "Interested in so many things. First she wanted to be an actress. Then she wanted to be a botanist, a pianist, a historian. A professional rider of the, ah... Trill equivalent of a Terran horse. A professional athlete. She eventually became a school teacher, helping young children figure that very question. She was an odd child, really, loved her though. Never got joined, probably for the best, really."

"Oh, really? What makes you say that?"

"Some aren't meant to be joined. There's a big kerfuffle on Trill right now, over the realizations that every one is capable of being joined. But... there's the psychological aspect of it. She was too all over the map to be able to handle having so much else going on. I'm a little... unique too, but differently. I have mental discipline, she didn't so much. It's easy to get over whelmed by the different personalities, you have to have a strong one of your own or you'll go insane. And I mean literally, stark raving mad."

"Hunh," Jen said, stirring her drink a little to help disperse the alcohol a little more evenly, and then she took a sip. "Was that Xiaz's second child, or Padma's second child?"

"Oh. Bah. Pad's. Not mine, I don't have children. God. Could you imagine? No no no, birth control injections, every two months. Like clockwork." She shook her head, eyes wide. "Been there. Done that. Not for this life."

Jen looked at her with interest. "Gah. How strange that must be. Do you... love Padma's children?"

Xiaz screwed her mouth to the side in thought, her nose wrinkling as she did it. She shrugged slightly, took another drink. "Love is a... Trills understand love differently from most cultures. Because our lifespans are so complicated... But long answer short, yes. There's a part of me that has a deep affection for all my children, and that's never going to go away, no matter how many generations pass, how long they've been gone." She sighed, swallowed the last of the drink and glanced toward the waitress for another. "Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a child. Actually have one. This is my first female host, it's a curiosity to me. But I... I don't know. Maybe one of these days. But children can be such a hindrance. Wonderful. A gift. But a hindrance to lifestyle."

Jen shook her head, smiling slightly in amusement. "It amazes me, sometimes, the way that cultures and people evolve differently. I have run into people all over this quadrant with different ideas towards parenthood and children. I've seen everything from veneration for each child born to the absolute end of the spectrum where children where hated and abused until they could grow up to become 'functional and contributing' members of society, as well as most ideas in between.

"On Veldas, children were loved, sought out, nurtured and cared for. There were some, admittedly, who agreed with you, that children, at least at that point in their lives, would be a hindrance to their chosen lifestyle. I have to admit that right now, I'd agree with that. Doing what we do, living with the uncertainty of our job, knowing that I have little one waiting at home, to see if I even come home... I couldn't do it." She stopped and took another drink of her tea. She looked at the level of it, and then glanced accusingly at Xiaz. "Did you spike my drink with something stronger? I do believe that I'm bordering on tipsy and babbling.I had a point when I started that little spiel, but I seem to have lost it."

"This drink is probably so strong that the fumes alone are intoxicating you. On the other hand. I tend to have that affect on people." Xiaz grinned.

Jen chuckled, draining off the rest of the drink. "Well, regardless of which is having the greatest effect, you or the drink, I find myself empty and in need of another one.

"How about something with a little more kick to it, huh Jen?" Xiaz asked with a small smile. "You'd look cuter with a bit of flush to your cheeks."

"Oh, would I now? Have any suggestions?" Jen responded.

"Mm... Well. I have a bottle of Trill wine in my quarters. It's a good vintage. Not the best, but it's not abominable."

"Is it from the Jaxom vineyards? I heard theirs is wonderful." Jen wasn't blind, and she was always open for an opportunity. It had been several weeks since she had been with anyone of either gender, and Xiaz seemed to be the type of person to have some fun with, simply as friends. No strings attached, just two friends, helping each other out.

It was an attitude that Jen had taken a while to develop, but being a fighter pilot had definitely assisted with that. The thrill that came from dogfighting was the same that came with any type of battle. Once it was over, proving to yourself and to others that you had survived, that you had lived to fight again... Celebrating life in the most primal way possible went hand in hand with fighting. Sometimes, you celebrated with the closest person possible. There was no shame in it, and she had quickly lost all farm girl illusions that she might once have carried within her first year at the Academy. It was a part of her personality that she tried to suppress in polite company, but here... Xiaz was definitely sending off the right signals for Jen to get some companionship for the night, or at least the evening, and if she reading it wrong, well then... At least she got to hang out with someone who was very interesting to talk to.

Xiaz frowned again. "You know. I'm not sure. I might have some of that, too. I'll have to dig my stash out from underneath the bed and see what's there. Y'up for it?"

"Sounds good. After all, as my wingmate keeps telling me, I need to get out and socialize more. What better time then the present to start listening to that sage advice?"

"I'm going to have to meet this wingmate of yours," Xiaz said, smirking as she pushed herself up. "Sounds like a regular genius."

She offered a hand toward the blonde Bajoran woman. "How about I lead the way?"

"That might be a good idea," Jen replied, taking the hand offered and pulling herself up out of the seat. "I still think that you slipped something in my drink when I wasn't looking."

Xiaz didn't say anything as she linked her arm with Jen's and they walked out of the lounge down toward the turbolift and eventually the flight officer's quarters. "My humble abode," Xiaz replied.

It wasn't exactly what Jen, or anyone else who was familiar with Xiaz Padma would have expected. The quartered were a little cluttered, but in a warm and homey, welcoming way. Colored fabrics and tapestries draped over the walls and surfaces, and Trill paintings were hung on the walls. "That one was actually done by one of Rex's past hosts," Xiaz said with a small smile, looking at the painting Jen was examining. "One of my wives." She laughed at how strange it probably sounded to Jen's ears. "The most difficult thing about being a joined Trill in Starfleet is the fact that the pronouns of Federation standard make it so difficult to communicate anything. It always sounds much different. In Trill, we have different words for all of these things. In Standard, not so much."

She had found a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "Not Jaxom wine, but I'll have a friend send some along so you can try it." She handed Jen one of the glasses. "Cheers."

Jen took a sip. "Mmm, you're right. Passably okay. It'll do, in the absence of anything better." She wandered around the living area for a little bit, looking at all of the things that Pad had up on her walls. She reached a finger up and let it trail cross the bottom of the painting that had been done by one of Rex's past hosts. "How long have you known Rex?" she asked suddenly.

Xiaz couldn't help admiring the way the much smaller woman moved around her quarters. Jen was almost self-conscious but in a very captivating way. Or it might just be the alcohol. Or her interest in everything. Or... any number of things. She approached slowly, settling at Jen's side, looking at the painting over her shoulder. With a slight hesitation she gently brushed a hand to her wingmate's lower back.

"A very, very long time. Though how long exactly is currently up for debate given revelations. We've been lovers, we've been married, we've been cohorts; we seem to always run into one another. You know. This is the most open I've been with anyone I'm about to sleep with in quite a while."

Jen turned slightly to glance at the woman over her shoulder. She lifted up her eyebrow in amusement. "Is that so? You're that confident of yourself?"

"You wouldn't have come if that wasn't where this was going," Xiaz replied, moving her hand to Jen's side as the Bajoran woman faced her. She then leaned in and very gently kissed her. "Just say stop, if this isn't what you had in mind."

Jen carefully set down her wine glass to have both hands free and then slipped them around the Trill woman. "Oh, no," she breathed into her ear. "Why would I say stop when things are going so wonderfully?

"A nice innocent little farm girl like you...? I'm just making sure." She tucked a lock of hair behind Jen's ear, her finger tip carefully brushing the side of her face before kissing her again, a little more solidly this time. Jen's mouth was sweet with the after taste of wine. Xiaz half-giggled. "I think the wine is better this way."

"You could be right. Not a rousing endorsement for the wine, now is it? Although it would be an interesting ad campaign." Jen twined her hand through Xiaz's hair, bringing her face down again for a deeper kiss. Locked together, they began to step their way slowly through the room, heading for the bedroom. Between the alcohol and the intoxicating presence of Xiaz, Jen was beginning to feel more then a little light headed, and ready to be off her feet.

"We're breaking all sorts of codes of conduct right now," Xiaz said, laughing as she almost tripped in the doorway to her bedroom, catching herself on Jen's shoulders and then half pulling them both down onto her bed. "See? I told you. We can have fun..."

"And I am definitely a fan of fun now. You've converted me." Jen pulled Xiaz close to her for another kiss. She positioned Xiaz to the best advantage, and the proceeded to prove, to both of them, that Teyri Jen did indeed now how to have fun.

Even if she was a little out of practice at it.

(Backpost)

"Repressed"

By Lieutenant Michael Jamson, Asst.Operations Officer
2nd Lieutenant Branwen London, Marines
Ensign Paulo DiMillo, Intelligence Officer
Lieutenant JG Michael McDowell, Engineering Officer

Bran and Paulo were still wandering around. Trying to help were they could. And both of them were mostly amazed at what they saw around them on the ship.

"I guess we were not the only ones affected." She said softly to Paulo.

Paulo simply nodded as they kept helping. This was their fault. They had helped do this.

So far they still hadn't found someone who could tell them what had happened. Maybe here in sickbay. Bran and Paulo were both escorting walking wounded inside.

"Well, I guess I should be..." Michael hesitated for a moment before growling "thanking you 'doctor'". It was impossible for Jamson to thank an ordinary doctor, let alone one of the medical department's EMH. The holographic projection, as beautiful as it was, was simply a program, nothing further.

"Don't mention it 'lieutenant'" the EMH shot back.

Sickbay was overwhelmed with so many crew members, the doctors couldn't handle all the patients. They were even forced to use the paediatrics EMH's and basically, anyone who had minimal medical training and was willing help around.

Wandering around herself Bran recognized Jamson and approached him. "Excuse me, lieutenant. You were with us at the station. What happened, sir?"

Paulo helped the crewmen up to the biobed then walked over to where Brawn was to see if he could start figuring out what happened.

Jamson, amused by the behavior of the computer generated holographic figure turned and faced lieutenant London with a slight surprise on his face "Lieutenant...". Dazzled by the appearance of Branwen and Dimillo, Michael found himself staring at them both. Time stood still, everything looked blurry, but slowly started to make sense. Object were clearing, as Michael's mind struggled to to set his memory straight. Nano seconds later, he found himself with the two back on Deep Space 5.

"Drop your weapon!!! Now!!!" the injured operations assistant yelled at the 2nd lieutenant. He saw she hurt and offered her a chance to surrender.

Without replying she went into hiding again and continued shooting at them. Paulo took advantage of the short pause to return the fire, and hit a console next to McDowell. Debris and electriciy paralyzed the unready engineering officer who was forcefully thrown to the floor.

Looking to his right, Jamson noticed McDowell was barely conscious. He was still aiming a federation rifle at London. Seizing the opportunity, like the Ensign before him, he pressed the trigger several times while moving towards Michael. Not knowing what happened, he bend down to the injured lieutenant, making sure he was alright. To Branwen's left, was the lying body of Ensign DiMillo, which was apparently shot by Jamson while on the move.

"I'm ok...I'll make it" McDowell said to Jamson. "Are you certain?" Michael asked again, to be sure.

"Yeah" McDowell sighed and pulled himself.

Moving quickly on his knees, Jamson still cradled his arm. It was probably broken, but the adrenaline rush helped masqurade the pain. Finding a new angle, he spotted London once again "I said drop it!!!" Jamson moved towards her.

But she didn't. The entity inside her didn't care about the danger the host body might be in. All it wanted was results.

"Yeah right," the entity replied. "I am having too much fun." At that he laid down a few more shots from his lying down position. The shot had hurt, but it was nothing that he couldn't handle.

The operations officer's mind was at it again, sorting blocks of his memories like a puzzle. Oictures of the past were rolling at an incredible speed in his head. "Sir" echo interrupted his thoughts, "Are you okay Sir?" someone asked. Shaking his head violently, Jamson was thrown back to reality. Blinking a couple of times and focusing on his surroundings, Michael started at Paulo "I'm glad to see you're okay Ensign". Glancing to London, he added "I thought you were still recovering".

"I don't remember what happened, sir. One moment we were on the away mission, the next we woke up on the ship." She said still confused. "Where we injured?"

Paulo then realized he had a sharp pain in his shoulder. "Yeah," he replied. "My shoulder hurts like hell. I guess my head was hurting too much before hand for me to notice it." Paulo paused a second. "What happened sir?".

"Well..." Jamson tried to remember, once again starting the processesing of his memories by his ever working mind, throwing him back into the past. This was no ordinary flashback, it was too real, and in first person. He felt he was really there, but had no control of the situation. He was bound to what was about to happen, but didn't know exactly what it was.

**** Somewhere in DS5 ****

"I hate jefferies tubes..." the suffocating, oxygen hungry Jamson mummbled while struggling to find his way in the station's maze of maintenance shafts. Crawling like a rat in a cage, he stopped at every junction and corner and checked with his tricorder to get a logical heading to his whereabouts and location. He he to go up, back to the Operations center, and warn McDowell before the traitors, Ensign Dimillo and Lt.London head back and surprise him. Since his departure from their last fight, he tried to figure out the cause of this incident. What in the name of Kah'less caused those two to attack him without the slightest warning. He never expected it, was he getting sloppy? Old? Or was this carefully planned and executed by professionals? Either way, he was ashamed they caught him off guard. At least, he was still alive, he'll give himself some credit for that. This was not over, not one bit...he would have his revenge, if he ever gets back to warn Michael on time.

Paulo and London moved down the corridor, heading in the general gerection of some more of the carbon based. They only needed a few more before they could finish what they had started. "This way," Paulo said turning left.

"They are so annoying." The Branwen entity said. "Why can't they just die the first-time." They were running out of time. "I can feel one close now. This time we have to take it out in one go."

THe Paulo entity nodded as they rounded another corner. "In here."

Back at the jefferies tubes, Michael continued to hope he'll get to McDowell before the poor excuse for starfleet officers would. All of their work, hard labor, was gone thanks to DiMillo and London. Heading back to the operations center, Michael felt how the stations auxiliary systems have suddenly stopped working. He had no idea why the lieutenant and ensign decided to do so, there was no logic behind their actions. Without power, their chances of survival were reduced greatly, it made no sense. Even though, this was only a minor setback, there were many other away teams wandering the station, and it was only a matter of time before any of them, especially, engineering teams, would repair the main generators.

"Jamson to away teams..." Jamson tapped him communicator badge, "Jamson to McDowell!". Trying to adjust the frequencies with his communicator, he wasn't about to give up. "This is lieutenant Jamson...can anyone hear me?". There was no response, not even static noise, no one was receiving his transmissions. Trying to solve this mystery, he again, glanced to his tricorders' readings "Must be the interferrance from the radiation around the station...". With a rough cough that resembled the bark of a Klingon Targ, and caused by the compressed foul air, Jamson decided to rest a bit before moving on. The endless efforts to contact anyone on the station didn't bring any progress. His uniforms were torn and filthy, and the long crawling was starting to show it's toll. Still, refusing to give up, he tried to take a deep breath, without tasting the dense air, and moved to examine his wrist communicator. This communicator, especially created for tactical response away team members, allowed to have greater tranmission range to the ship and his teammates. Unfortunately, it was damaged when he dodged some of Brawens' accurate shots, so he was left with nothing more than the ordinary comm badge, that was now useless. Playing with the communicator he felt a tiny sting which seemed to intensify. "OUCH!" he cried out, only to find himself back in sickbay.

"What on earth are you doing?!" he turned to the EMH.

"Lieutenant. I am taking some blood samples for further inspections" the EMH replied.

Jamson bared his teeth and growled "Get away from me, you imbecile computer generated imitation of a doctor! I said no more examinations!".

"Sir." Branwen said softly. "Please let the doctor do its job. You are injured. It has to be taken care of. If it is distressing to you to have Paulo and me here, we could leave."

Michael could never stand doctors. And counsellors. And Bolians...and Tellarites, Ferengi...the spoon heads, and there were plenty of others to mention. But a computer holographic projection? that was simply too much for him. The presence of Dimillo and London seemed to calm him down. He looked at Branwen, unpleased and irritated from the sharp and dangerous needle the doctor just stuck into his forarm and unwillingly agreed by glancing in the direction of the doctor, and giving him one last nasty stare "You have a point lieutenant. And no...I am in no distress...it's only a blood test". Shivering spread through the brave warrior's body as he imagined the aweful long needle. "It's just that I despise medical examinations, and doctors in particular...".

"I understand Sir." She said. "You just have to go through it. We are with you." Branwen smiled.

***** Back on DS5 *****

Time grew short as the filthy Jamson rushed quickly through maintenance tunnels towards the Operations center. Finally, he had some slight idea where he was heading, and with great haste, he moved from one junction to the next, climbing ladders and bypassing nonworking, disabled turbolifts, in his path. There was no time, and who knows if McDowell was not already attacked by the renegades. Other crew members of the away team were also missing, were they also a part of this? Michael then pondered on the possiblity that something greater was happening, maybe it was even affecting the Galaxy itself, or all around the station.

The human was moving fast. And they were having difficulty keeping up with him. It annoyed the Branwen entity as this was taking too much time. But now they were finally closing in on him.

"We should be able to catch him soon," the Paulo entity spoke up. "The sooner we take him out and the rest here the sooner we can have fun experminting with these new bodies."

The Branwen entity grinned. "That sounds like a plan. It might be one thing these slow bodies are good for." She followed her partner.

The Paulo entity simply similed as they turned and he opened a hatch and started to head in. "We should be able to catch him here."

Jamson slowed the pace for a bit, cathing his breath and reaching for his response suits' pockets. He stashed some high calory, emergency food just for cases like this. He was cold, tired, and needed some burst of energy to keep him going and motivated. The tubes were cold, and so was the station. Enviornmental systems were not operational, and the station was like a giant freezer. Opening his tircorder once more with his shivering hands, he took a bite from the energy snack and calculated cautiously the safest and fastest route over and over again to be certain he won't forget or make a dreadful mistake. Time was of the essence.

Climbing again on a ladder in a jefferies junction, he slowly opened the hatch above, and scanned the small room accordingly through the revealing groove. The room was cold and dark, and with no additional equipment like the night goggles or IR equipment he left at the auxiliary section, he had no idea what was waiting for him. Slolwy, Prudently, in an insect like manner, the daring Jamson without a weapon to defend himself except a metal rod he found along the way, lifted his flash light through the half opened hatch. Palm and wrist first, then forearm, followed by his right shoulder. He has done so, many times before for the past couple of hours, and was already quite proficient after adepting to the darkness and noise around him. He was alert for anything suspecious, and like a real insect that was about to be eaten, would make a run for it at any sign of trouble.

DiMillo and Londom moved along, quietly. They wanted to sneak up on this person and have some fun with him befored they ended his short, and pitiful life.

Sticking his head out guardedly, glancing around, the concerned officer waited a bit before pulling himself up above the hatch. There was no sound except his own quiet feet, balancing and leveling his body on the metal floor. His flashlight was the only source of light on this deck, but also made him an easy target to anyone around. It was like painting an X mark on his back, so he switched it off a couple of times to be sure he wasn't an easy prey. Conserving power wasn't much of an issue, since he carried some more power cells as backup.

DiMillo and London finaly stopped. The didn't move, they didn't say aword, and they jsut sat. Their body tempetures dropping so if he did have heat senssing equipment it would hopefully be of no use.

The Branwen entity was smiling anticipating the thrill of another kill.

Crouching in the dark for several minutes, making himself ready for anything sudden, seemed like hours, but Michael had to made sure no one was there, following him, or setting a trap. Finally, after some time off, he lifted himself from the floor slowly with the light still off. Holding the scanner in his left hand, he struggled with the flaslight on his right, by trying to open another energey snack. Unable to open the bloody wrap of the emergency food, Jamson decided to use the flashlight, after all, nothing was there, "Stupid, Starfleet issued survival gear..." he whispered, and turned the light on.

Paulo saw the light and took the first shot, hitting an energy bar instead of the man. "What luck," Paulo said as he let lose a few more rounds before he and London moved foward.

Havoc broke loose. The accurate yet deadly energy beam not only produced an intense sound in this cold, soundless, dead enviornment, but also vaporized the energy bar right in Jamson's hand. The spooked operations officer instantly fell backwards towards the floor, only to find himself falling down the same ladder he climed a few minutes ago. The lucky bastard found himself at the lower deck, grabbing a wounded elbow and running like a man on a hunt. Activating and diactivating his flashlight, he was able to see his way and pass through some open maintainance shafts, only to be followed by footsteps in the dark.

"Down the ladder," Paulo said as he jumped on and started to move down.

"Oh yes." Branwen said with an even huger grin as she easily followed her partner. She could smell that their prey was frightened and wounded. They would probably not have to hunt much longer before they could take him out.

Paulo smiled as they cornered the carbon based. "You will die, after you learn fear," Paulo said with a large grin. "Or.... you can just die."

The Branwen unit was getting highly aroused by this game. "Do we have time to play with it first?"

The Paulo entity smiled, "anything for you."

She smiled back at him and then fixed her stare on the human. "Let's play."

**** USS Galaxy, Sickbay - Present Time ****

Jamson held his elbow and presented it to Branwen and Dimillo. "Not even a scar" he said with grave disappointment in his voice. One of the advantages of 24th century medecine, which Jamson thought to be disatvantages, was the advanced ability to regenerate skin tissues, and leave no mark whatsoever. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure the doctor wasn't watching. All he needed, was another checkup of his arm and elbow.

"Well, that is good to see," Paulo said with a smile. "Dosn't sound like we hurt you to much, and again sorry."

"Yes." Branwen said softly. "I am very sorry as well."

"Yeah. Well. I'd rather if you didn't mention it again, it would be too embarassing to admit I was shot-" Michael sighed, "While eating" he whispered. It was frustrating for the brave lieutenant to admit he was shot while stopping for a snack. And now he didn't even have a scar to prove it. Maybe it was a good thing after all.

"You know, I think that was my shot that hit the bar. Though at least you have a story for kids. Something about a food bar dosn't make a real good shiled or something," Paulo said with a smile.

Branwen giggled nervously. She knew she would never have forgiven herself is something worse had happened to Michael.

"You know lieutenant" Michael turned to Branwen. "You're ok" Jamson paused for a second before realizing what he just said and quickly added, "For a Marine". Little did he know she was a shrink. He had the strangest habit of harassing and annoying professional counsellors. Psychologists, psychiatrists, doctors, they were all the same with their analysis of his mind and soul. What did they know? It was only the great Shivok, and Dallas who deserved to see what was going on inside the mind of the persecuted, hotheaded, former starfleet captain. Straightening his thoughts, Jamson turned to the Italian officer, "I think I might just have peace with Intel for the time being". He didn't care for the Intelligence branch, yet he admired their work. They were doing a marvelous job without anyone knowing about it. What honor was there, in doing something no one knows about?

"That will work," Paulo said, "just hopefully we will have more intel the next time we go into a similar situation."

"Hopefully." Branwen added. "It's always nice to know what you are walking into." She smiled at both men. "I think you are both great."

**** Back on DS5, Past time ****

"McDowell!!!" Jamson yelled as he ran through an upper maintenance shaft. "Lieutenant!!!" He reached a small vent just above the room, and looked through it to see if anyone was there. "Damn it, lieutenant, are you there?" Jamson cradled his hand, and started kicking the cover. There was no time, the two renegades were on his tracks and would soon reach the operations center. They had to be stopped.

"What is it?" McDowell aimed a phaser in Jamson's direction.

"There is no time!" the Operations officer was finally able to loosen up the cover, and warp it away to the floor. With his good hand, he painfully hanged from the ceiling and let go seconds later.

"What on earth are you talking about?" McDowell kept the phaser rifle pointed to the lieutenant's direction.

"Lieutenant London and Ensign Dimillo are about to reach the operations center with blazing phasers. They've been pursuing me for the past several hours all around this bloody station!" Michael muttered and helped himself up.

"What? That's why we've lost power? Are you ok?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm ok, where are the others?" Jamson asked, panting.

"I have no idea" McDowell lowered his rifle. "Darkstar just vanished and Iniara is still on the Galaxy".

Jamson looked at McDowell, puzzled "What? Vanished? We don't have time! they'll be here in no time. We have to prepare. Remember what we talked about eariler?". The engineer nodded. And without hesitating, the wounded operations assistant rushed to one of the equipment crates they've all brought along with them. Pulling out a phaser rifle, and several photon grenades, he tossed some to McDowell. "We need to set a perimeter...". As the two moved towards the main entrance, the doors were blown away by a massive explosion.

Blazing bursts of fire came through the white and grey smoke cloud, still concealing the figures behind it. The surprised men, McDowell and Jamson, both dived for cover and returned fire. Slowly, the fog disappeared, showing a clearer line of fire for both sides. The controlled officers had no expressions on their faces whatsoever, they were simple drones, like borg ones with one goal, to exterminate and destroy the starfleet officers.

During the exchange of phaser and laser fire, London, stood up and took aim. It was more than enough for McDowell, who had her in his sights. Delivering an accurised shot, similar to the one Paulo performed some hours earlier, he was able to hit her should and disable her for several precious seconds for him and Jamson to change positions.

"Drop your weapon!!! Now!!!" the injured operations assistant yelled at the 2nd lieutenant. He saw she hurt and offered her a chance to surrender.

Without replying she went into hiding again and continued shooting at them. Paulo took advantage of the short pause to return the fire, and hit a console next to McDowell. Debris and electriciy paralyzed the unready engineering officer who was forcefully thrown to the floor.

Looking to his right, Jamson noticed McDowell was barely conscious. He was still aiming a federation rifle at London. Seizing the opportunity, like the Ensign before him, he pressed the trigger several times while moving towards Michael. Not knowing what happened, he bend down to the injured lieutenant, making sure he was alright. To Branwen's left, was the lying body of Ensign DiMillo, which was apparently shot by Jamson while on the move.

"How are you doing?" Jamson asked.

"I'm ok...I'll make it" McDowell said to Jamson. "Are you certain? Can you still activate it?" Michael asked again, to be sure.

"Yeah. But we still have to draw them a bit closer" McDowell sighed and pulled himself.

Moving quickly on his knees, Jamson still cradled his arm. It was probably broken, but the adrenaline rush helped masqurade the pain. Finding a new angle, he spotted London once again "I said drop it!!!" Jamson moved towards her.

But she didn't. The entity inside her didn't care about the danger the host body might be in. All it wanted was results.

"Yeah right," the entity replied. "I am having too much fun." At that he laid down a few more shots from his lying down position. The shot had hurt, but it was nothing that he couldn't handle.

"Oh yeah?" Jamson asked disparagingly hoping she'll take the bait.

Meanwhile, in the midst of it all, McDowell crawled a bit forward. If he was right about what Jamson was trying to do then he had to find a better position. He flipped out his Engineering Tricorder once he reached the spot. He looked briefly towards Brawnen,...or rather the person who had been Brawnen. One step more...

"Now lieutenant!" Jamson yelled.

McDowell already pulled his tricorder and by now, pressed several keys. The unconscious Ensign Dimillo and Lieutenant London have stepped into a trap for the second time. This time, they moved right into the same area Jamson set when they just boarded the station, to be the emergency transportation area. Activating the pattern enhancers from afar, he sent techyon bursts who in a matter of seconds incapacitated the two entity controlled starfleet officers.

"Bite this!" Lieutenant McDowell yelled while sitting on the floor.

**** USS Galaxy, Sickbay - Present time ****

'What the hell...' he thought and pulled a scorched piece of uniform, strangely blended with a burnt piece of abrasive unknown matter. "Remember this?" he gave out half a smile while handing it to Paulo. "Never eat while on the run..." he added as a joke, but didn't laugh.

"I will try to remember that," Paulo said with a smirk.

Branwen just blushed very embarrassed.

OOC: Obvious, this comes a bit late. But better late than never. Part 2 will follow.

"The Insomnia Factor - Part 1"

Michael McDowell, Civil Engineering Specialist
2nd Branwen London

*** Counseling Department ***

Counselors, it seemed they never were far away. Not in Michael's life anyway. Alright, it had been quite some months since his last session, but still. However, after the last mission it made sense to talk. He had not slept well ever since he left that station from hell. It was either a nightmare that caused him to wake up, or he simply couldn't sleep at all. So, yes, he wanted to talk about that. Just to get it of his chest and maybe to get some advice how to deal with it.

On the other hand, when he was awake he couldn't recall much of the away mission. The dreams/nightmares faded quickly. He remembered getting on the station and working in the Ops center, but after that all became vague. Sometimes bit and pieces popped up - people screamsing, distorted faces, blood. But he couldn't place it, didn't know if it was something he had really seen. That made Michael wonder what to tell the Counselor. If he didn't remember specific things and couldn't separate dreams from reality, then wouldn't talking to a Counselor be a bit pointless?

"Mr McDowell, please come in." Branwen was standing in the door opening. "Nice to meet you, sir." She said she gestured him in. "You are a civilian?"

"Yes, at the moment I am." Michael said as he entered the room. "Does that surprise you in any way?"

"Yes it does. I was not aware we had civilians working on the ships, besides from dependants. Or are you married to one of the officers here?" She hoped it was not an impertinent question.

Michael glanced at the Counselor, then walked on towards to chair before him. He sat down. She was quite straightforward. Actually, the question bothered him a bit. "Er,....no, I'm not married. Why do you ask? I don't have any problems that concern a relationship." This was not entirely true, but then again, she didn't have to know.

"I am sorry if the question was too forward, sir. It's just that to my knowledge, because we are a warship after all, we didn't have any civilians on board that were not dependants. It puzzles me."

Warship, is that all what this ship was? Where were the days of exploring? "Don't be. I'm an Engineering Specialist. Lt. Commander O'Shea is convinced my few skills are needed here." Michael said while he mustered a smile...followed by a yawn. "Besides, I'm no stranger to this ship. Despite the changes she's been through. But,...if you don't mind..." He hoped the hint was clear enough. It was no fun when suffering from sleep deprivation.

"Does it bore you to talk about your work, Mr McDowell?" Branwen asked. "Because you and I were just getting started."

"It's not that I don't want to talk about my work. I just thought I was here for something else." Michael let out another yawn, covering his mouth with his hand as he did so. He felt the urge to lay down on the couch and just fall asleep. It looked ever so tempting. But, he knew he wouldn't get much sleep. "Look, I'll make it simple. I can't sleep. Well, I can, but..."

"Oh..." Branwen said. "I am sorry." That was stupid of her. "I see. Can you tell me a bit more about what the problem is?"

Michael took a moment to think how he would tell her what he experienced. "I have nightmares. Visions of people killing each other using everything they can get their hands on. Severed limbs. A steel bar simply smashed into someones forehead. Blood,...there's so much blood." He paused a few seconds. "It always ends the same way. Shadowy figures closing in on me, having some sort of sharp metallic spike in their hands. I just keep running from them until I reached the end of the hallway and can go no further. Right at that moment I turn and stand face to face with one of them. The last thing I see is a shimmer of light reflecting of the metallic shard in his hand. And that's it..."

"That sounds horrible, sir, no wonder you looked tired. When did these nightmares start?" She asked gently.

"Some days after the Team I was on got back on the ship. At first I just assumed the dreams would pass, like most of such dreams do. Why wouldn't it now? But it's different with the ones I experience now." Michael cast a hopeful look at Branwen. "I was hoping you know of a way to help me? I've tried everything I know,...you know, the usual tips for a good nights sleep."

"But those don't help necessarily for nightmares. A nightmare is a sign that there is something in your mind you are still busy with. Something you have to work through. Do you have any idea where the dreams might come from?"

"If I were a Vulcan, I would say that the dreams are the aftermath of the last mission. I can't think of anything else." Michael said. "You know, I know that I'm not the only one having problems. Lieutenant Eshe, a close friend of mine and who I share quarters with,...her behavior has changed dramatically. It started about the same time as I got the nightmares."

"Those above signs of post traumatic stress syndrome." Branwen said. "And I know a lot of the crew is suffering from it. The best means of dealing with it is indeed to talk about it a lot. With me, with your friends, and then also thinking about setting up therapy groups. It will pass." She said gentle. "But it will take some time."

"Better sooner than later." Michael realized that it was not all too clear to what he was referring to. "I mean, I really hope this post traumatic...stuff...is going away soon. I'm close to being a wrack." he stood up, with some difficulty. He felt as if he was half drunk, despite not having seen a drop of alcohol this day. He rubbed his sleepy eyes. "Maybe I can make a stop by the Medical Department, see if they can give me something. I haven't tried that yet.... I don't know why... That is, if you don't have anything that can help me straight away."

"I will help you, Michael. But I cannot perform miracles overnight. I think it is a very good idea to go to medical. You don't look well. Would you like me to go with you? To give them some advise on what to give you? I don't want you addicted to sleeping pills."

"Addicted to sleeping pills. Not really the thing I want." Michael walked towards the door. "Yes, maybe it's a good idea if you do the talking. Not that I'm afraid they'll drug me into sleep, but still."

"That is not going to happen." Branwen said. "Who is your doctor?"

Michael had to think for a moment before he could answer. He couldn't exactly remember to which Doctor he was assigned to. "Er,...I think Dr. Kio. But I'm not sure."

"We can find out when we get there." Branwen promised.

Note: Backstory. After last mission

“Common Ground That's Too Common”

By Commander James Lionel Corgan
Chief of Security, USS Galaxy

NPC's

Mika Sh'Sonora, Schoolteacher
Lieutenant jg T'lan, Security Deputy

Location: Sickbay, USS Galaxy

~”I should really be with Mika.”~ James kept thinking to himself, alone and silent in the halls of the USS Galaxy as he was going to take care of business equally important to himself as his ever increasingly frustrated Andorian girlfriend. None of that was a comfort, for his girlfriend would be a momentary spike of pain followed by a reconciliation, then a torrent of passion. For his next task, it was an ongoing guilttrip.

Visiting one of his officers wasn't an easy job. As leader and shepherd of the security department, James Corgan had a responsibility to all of his officers. When one was down, it was his duty to see that they were well taken care of. Kind words, messages from the troops, a how do you do and it was all routine after that. Only conversation was different, and it made sick leave visits entertaining. A crass, but apt way to look at visits from a person so used to them.

What was different with T'lan was how personal it had become.

As James confessed to his counselor, his struggle with the entity known as 'Mistress' was borderline violating, too personal for even James to think of without falling into a fit of embarrassment. It it he had discovered how much T'lan meant to him, and what boundaries he set at first he crossed later were hard to face. There was tension, one sided or not (he couldn't tell), and that was what made dealings with T'lan hard (on him, in more than one way). He had to make sense of what he thought of T'lan, and this was a start.

~”Mika would be off school by now and I was going to take her to Ten Forward for a coffee and a little recap on our day so far. But no, I just had to see the only bootylicious Vulcan in my security staff, and whenever I think of her I think of that time in the shower when she had me and all I had to do was drop all notion of morality and conscience in order to get a piece of that Vulcancake. Close my eyes... BLAM! Her tits in my face! F**k sakes, this candidness with myself is pissing me off and f**king with my mind. Do I have to do this?”~

As James stopped at sickbay's doors, he tried to get a grip of himself. ~”Goddammit James! She has an unbelievable body, and you get along with her well. Two prerequisites you've always subconsciously demanded of your women. Whoop de f**king do! She's also your friend and your deputy. Treat her as those and those only, and the other part is nothing more than whack off material. Cowboy up and get in there!”~

~”YES!”~ James raised his fist, smiling as if the rays of god's infinite love washed over him, and invigorated him with bravery never before seen in the normally sensible man, ~”That's right! My friend, my deputy! She is T'lan! And I will go in there... as a friend! I will talk to her... as a friend! Do whatever I can... .'..... .... as... a... friend! So let me get in there... charge into that sickbay... and I shall do what I have to do... because I... am.... her... FRIEND! RAH!”~

He hit the door activation sequence, and entered sickbay.

His mental rally didn't prepare him for what he saw next.

“O... hayo James!” Mika squealed.

“GAH!” James yelped, Mika's slender arms entwining around his waist, her powder blue cheek against his chest, a tuft of her snow white hair tickling his nose, telling him both that she had to stand on her toes and then some to reach so high, and also that she was glad to finally see him. But to his rather stunned response, her grasp not so much relaxed itself, but lost some of its gusto.

“James?” She said, her southern Andorian inflections mixed with the trained politeness of her diplomatic background, and strained though a smaller than average body, came out as proper, if cute and slightly squeaky, upturned 'u' at the end of his name. She innocently asked, “What is wrong?”

Honesty was not the best policy at the moment, so James went the road of tact, and decided that during his last train of thoughts that he wouldn't mention his counselor mandatory visit nor the sexual tension between himself and his Vulcan lieutenant, lest he wanted a Vulcan nerve pinch followed by an Andorian groin stomp. “Nothing wrong, baby. I was just startled, that's all. Last few days have been hectic, you know that. I'm glad to see you, I really am honey, and I'm sorry about that.”

She poked a playful finger at his nose. “Dear James, I know you are happy to see me.” She then kissed him on the cheek, “You are too... nervous, dear James. You have to relax. Better still, you have to relax with me. For that we can wait. For now, I am curious. Are you here on official business, or are you looking for me?”

Her pleading eyes, cute and watery as they were, were impatient for an answer. James pecked her on the lips. “Personal business, honey. I'm seeing a friend today. She's one of my deputies and she had a hard time during the last mission, so I thought I would check up on her and see if she was ok. But what are you doing here? I thought you had to teach a class?”

Mika faked being wounded, “Awww... you did not come to visit me? My brave sheriff did not track me down with the ship's computer just to say hello? I am starved for your attention, James.”

“I know baby, I know.” James intertwined their hands together, “And I'm sorry I'm so busy, but I'm the CSO, and that's that. But I'm almost off my shift. I'll be right there with you after my shift is over. We'll take a dinner... I'll put on some HIM, and we'll make the night ours. I promise. Ok?”

Mika nodded, “Ok.”

“Alright.” James kissed his girlfriend on the cheek. “So, you're off class?”

Mika responded, “I do not have a class at this hour, though I teach primary stellar cartography to the grade 5 students afterwards. I am using my spare time to also visit a friend. She too has fallen ill during the Dithparu incursion, and though I was under their spell much like you, I too am worried about her well being and wish to see her. She also looks forward to seeing you, dear James.”

Raised eyebrow, James said, “Oh? I didn't know I was expected.”

“Oh, you were, dear James.” She grabbed James by the hand and led the way.

By this time, James was already formulating a theory as to who it was, and it swallowed down his throat and settled in his stomach like a duranium rail spike.

“I have talked so much to her the last few days.” Mika excitably chattered to her boyfriend, who was starting to feel the onset of nervosa, “And she is such a fascinating person... so different from the alter ego that consumed her during our first meeting. A mind like a tundra bear trap! So well poised and so precise it is like pinkskin Swiss clockwork!”

“Oh god... I think I know who...”

“And she has such a probing mind! Her curiosity is so different from the rest of her Vulcan brethren, dear James! She loves to discuss matters.”

“Is that so, baby?” James bemoaned.

“Oh yes, James. Yes! She and I had quite a lengthy discussion about you. The insights she has about you... it is filled gaps that I myself may have never discovered. It is almost as if between the both of us that we have you completely profiled.”

James face turned white and his heart didn't freeze, it decided to shatter with fear. “You... what?” Then the implication hit him. They were sharing information!

Mika 'cuddled' James, which was to him as gripping as one of her scorpion wrestling locks. “Oh... that is between us female lifeforms....” She said coyly, giving James no clue to his future predicament.

Whatever James knew about himself, Mika and T'lan with their superior intelligence and a woman's ability to read people far better than their male counterparts, it meant that now James felt more naked than ever.

What if they both came to the same conclusion about James 'questionable' loyalties to T'lan?

And he wondered why, at this point, he wasn't dead already.

“Oh!” Mika perked up, “There she is!”

From behind him, a voice as pure and exact as polished glass spoke to him, and said neutrally, “Good afternoon, Commander. I see that you are well.”

“GAH!”

James jumped up, and if it wasn't for Mika clinging to his body like a puppy seeking warmth, James would have made good on an escape plan who's importance eclipsed his obligation towards his deputy. Turning around, half expecting a trap between the two women, and bracing himself as if turning to face a Borg legion or the devil himself, he tried his best to muster up any response that was appropriate.

“Hi...” James waved and stuttered.

The Vulcan security deputy's physical attributes were barely muted by the frumpy hospital gown given to her. It was as if her race found it illogical to be out of shape and ugly. Female enough to make Mika envious, T'lan was nonetheless a total opposite of a vamp, yet not a prude. She was there, acknowledged but not flaunted. Just there.T'lan looked at James like an impartial observer, taking in the shuttle wreck with an outsider's mind and an analytical brain. James could only guess what was going through T'lan's mind, but could tell his reaction to her was being number crunched, processed, and logically assembled into the best way she could reply back. For both parties involved, the process was not going well, but it was T'lan that spoke first. “Commander, I was under the impression that you were ill at ease with me. From what I surmise, I may be correct. I am sorry if I've disturbed you.”

James waved it off, “No... nonono. Sorry I acted that way. Last few days were... different.” James diplomatically picked his words under the ears of Mika, “I admit, we were not... you know...”

“If it is about my conduct while hosting the Mistress entity, then you have no need to be sorry for anything, Commander.” T'lan politely spoke, “I am to blame. Please accept my apologies.”

“No... that's ok.” James humbled down, his straight shooting ways withered by her forwardness, “You know that wasn't your fault. Someone else was doing it. I totally blame Mistress, not you. It's just... well... it was awkward when it first happened. I didn't think anything like that would happen and ummm... yeah.”

“Dear James, are you still shy about that incident in the sonic showers?” Mika asked innocently.

James felt another piercing sting into his heart. How many more daggers did these females have, he asked himself. He looked at Mika, fresh eyed, love lorn, and easily not out for blood, and then T'lan, who's expression was as hidden and smooth as Surak's backside. “You told her?” He asked with a wince.

T'lan made the first semi emotional overture by shrugging her shoulders. “I felt it was my responsibility to tell her, Commander, and to tell her that I meant not to cause a schism in Mikaiu's relationship with you. That was one week, one day, one hour and one second ago, and during that time we have had... enlightening discussions about you.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Mika nodded her head, her antennae twisting like lake reeds, “And that is Mika, T'lan. I rarely use my full name with the pinkskins. It is not nearly as... 'cute'.”

“Noted.” She said.

James had second to register what was going on, and his mind was screaming conspiracy. “What is going on? You've been... profiling me?”

“Dear James...” Mika cuddled to him, “That word, it is so harsh. And are you really afraid that I was going to be angry just because an alien entity took over her body and tried to have sex with you? No, it was after the incident that I came to visit her, and though the thought came to mind that you may have reciprocated...”

~”Oh god, I don't even know if I would!”~ James felt a swift, sharp pain enter his heart; the first onset of panic.

“But then I saw her and I thought that you would have to be castrata not to resist. But then again... you humans are repressed...”

“If I may add.” T'lan said placidly, “I am aware of my own... appeal, so to speak. It has aided me greatly as a security officer. Subtle hints can be used to relax, or even pacify the opposition. I was fully aware of what I was capable of, and so was Mistress. It was however, Mistress that aggressively advanced on you, and I felt that with the tension you displayed toward Mistress and I the entire incident, and your loyalty to your friends may be misconstrued as... sexual in nature. I felt Mika had to be assured of this. When she visited me one week, one day, one hour and one minute ago, I brought the issue forward.”

“So...” James leaned to Mika, “You know that... her and I... weren't really...”

“Mmmmm hmmmm.” Mika nodded in agreement.

“Well...” James was taken aback. The girls were talking behind his back for all that time? He was always amazed at the female ability to share information, for better or worse. “So nobody's mad at me?”

T'lan spoke first, “Vulcans don't anger. But to say that a week without your company was... illogically vexing.”

“You should visit more often, pinkskin.” Mika playfully jabbed James' stomach.

How much more of their double teaming could James take? It all seemed too easy. The discussion was already hashed out. His problem was already solved, and it was solved a week ago. He felt set up. Worse, he felt the fool. His friend and work companion, whom he hid from to hide from the truth between them, and his girlfriend whom honesty had to always be maintained for a trusting relationship. He was the fool.

“I'm sorry I didn't come here sooner, Lieutenant.” James earnestly said, “I wasn't comfortable talking about all that. I was afraid of you both, and it was irrational. I promise, if you get a psychic whammy again, Mika and I will be the first in sickbay to give you a get well soon card. And I promise to be more honest to both of you from here on in. Ok?”

Mika skeptically scrunched her face and waved her antennae, while T'lan placidly looked on. When in the full moment where James felt hurt, but then was relieved to find Mika was faking harsh criticism, he lightened up and took Mika into his arms.

“All is good?” James asked.

Mika replied sweetly, “Yes, all is good. I know you wouldn't cheat on me willingly with T'lan.”

“Oh... thanks.” James said, surprised.

She added, “Though I know you do look at other women.”

“Oh... thanks.” James deadpanned.

“But you will stay true to me. That I know.” She poked James nose, making a squeaky 'honk' sound, “And T'lan knows, and she and you both have assured me of that. So stop acting like you have done something wrong and talk to us! We have a week of current events to catch her up on! Come James, come! We must talk together.”

As James was led along by the arm, he looked back at T'lan. Like the Mona Lisa, Vulcans were always enigmatic, and that was part of their appeal with him. But to T'lan, whom every day he unraveled a sandgrain's worth of what she was really thinking, he found that he had enough pieces to at least make sense of her. The real T'lan and James were companions, that much he knew. Friends that shared dangers, death, and closeness most sentients couldn't dream in their life of achieving. Events shaped their reality, their relationship as security chief and deputy, and today as common friends.

T'lan's enigmatic face didn't seem so opaque anymore. They both understood each other and where they stood.

Their intimacy was unique, different than the love James shared with Mika, but just as important.

~”I think this was called... 'agape'.”~ James mused.

Both nodded to each other, as Mika settled them down at a doctor's biobed to recount the last week.

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

Mika and James walked out of security, having a light laugh at the last half hour's chat. Like a charming host, Mika directed the flow of conversation. T'lan added the pertinent information, and James filled gaps and asked questions. Most of their conversation was not his specialty, more to do about Mika's field of xeno-sociology.

“So you see....” Mika explained to an already confused James, “We Andorians are polygamous, yet not polygamous. We have quad relationships, but any intimate relationships after that is considered adultery. However it is rare with us Andorians to cheat outside our own Quad, so adultery is rare. But you humans are so stifled! One relationship, and you pinkskins are one of the... what was the word... randiest races in the Galaxy! How do you manage?”

“Sometimes we don't, Mika. Humans are an odd bunch.” He laughed.

“Yes... you are.” Mika slapped James on the chest affectionately, “And I am glad I have an honest one, my dear James. You pinkskins, with your complex relationships and multiple tiers of love that even you cannot describe and sometimes confuse. That is why I love humans. So enduring, always having to find the answers.”

“Hey.” James said, “That's why I need you more than ever, Mika. You keep me on the ground. Without you i'd be a free floating basketcase.”

“I am glad that I am needed. And I am glad that I need not worry about your loyalty to me.” Mika richly spoke.

She stopped James in the middle of the hall. Looking up at him, tiptoeing to be more at level with him, she loosely entwined her arms around his back. A wide grin escaping from James lips, he held her closer, his seemingly broader hands over her tiny back. She looked up at him with watery, earth brown eyes. Empathically, James lowered to a knee, until Mika was the taller one, and neared his lips to hers.

He was surprised to find her already kissing him, surprised to take in her fiery hot lips, to see dark in his eyes so that he could only feel.

All too briefly, Mika and James lips parted. She said, “Dear James, we are lucky to have each other.”

“I know it. I love you too, Meeks.” James simply said.

Giggling, she took James by the arm and dragged him (her tiny body hiding a bold amount of strength who's enthusiasm nearly wrenched James arm from its socket) to the turbolift. There she hustled him in, punched in the co-ordinates to her quarters, and let the turbolift shuff and whizz through the Galaxy's expansive lift network, keeping close to each other and just.... savoring each other's company.

James was content. There were no doubts. ~”Eros and agape.”~ He thought.

“James?” She looked up to her sheriff.

“Yes?” He asked his schoolmarm.

She replied questingly, “Can T'lan join our quad? Please?”

The screeching sound of a turbolift halting in midflight could be clearly heard by James, until he realized it was him that was put on halt.

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